EGOLESS ID

Miscreants and Apple-polishers

(Dec 26/05)
Pastor Pastor’s miscreant apple-polishers, never quite certain if they should be suckling a breast or sodomizing a jennet’s ass. That ever divisive queue between absolute sodomy, with all the bells and whimpers, and a Christian principled antithetical monogamy, man and wife sans jennet’s backhoe and jowl. The worse kept secrets are always the best, cleaving the levy between truth and nonsense, that invariable blowout of the damned with all the carillons and trilling conceivable. To you, and you alone, I offer my gravest sorrow and approbation. Pity the pitiful and concupiscent, for they know what they do, but proffer they’re ex Deus maledictions regardless of gods’ will and bidding. Pastor Pastor, may you languor in peace and tranquility, a milt-cloth garroting your Presbyter’s frock and halter.

There are conjunctions and disjunction’s both in language and in life itself. Octavio Paz drew this to my attention in his book of the same name. Like language, which is the assemblage and disassemblage of words, tones, syntax grammar, etc., life is prima fascia an assemblage awaiting its inevitable disjuncture, or dissemination into parts that never seek the whole, a fixed unity, once disjointed. People whom I have met, kibitzed with, become friends, some enemies with, fit into this pattern, or dialogue, of conjunction and disjunction of wholes now rendered into parts, and bit-parts, and parts of bit-parts and so on. Once the whole, or the unity or conjunction, (conjunction, because all things, people included, are a composite of other conjuncts and parts and bit-parts) is divided into parts, disjunctions, disassemblage is inevitable. The Pastor Pastor is a prima fascia example of this, as his disjunction into parts and bit-parts was the inevitable result, a cause without an affect, of a disassembled conjunction that began at birth, perhaps at the moment of conception. Aldo Busi, Jean Genet, the Marquis de Sade, these three writers are examples of sodomy in it’s infancy; a prima fascia conjunction of language, thought, evocation and life itself. They antecede the Pastor Pastor and his infantile need to declare his annunciation into the world of sexual misdemeanors, moral in-censor, and protracted masturbation.

If Freud is to be believed (as he must, in excelsior glorious) whence was Id, there go Ego. This, I fear, is not so for Pastor Pastor, as his is an Id bereft of Ego, an Ego-less psychical malfunction, a congenital deformation, a genome without a periodical table to keep things in check. A chemical imbalance that defies biological reification. A displaced hypothalamus with a pineal glandular rhizome that has neither a beginning nor an end. One of Kafka’s burrows from which nothing enters or leaves. The Ego neither is nor was, but is a composite that is forever modifying to maintain a stasis with an otherness, an outsideness that is in constant, unremitting flux, a circumnavigation of a unity that is not nor ever will be a whole. If the Ego is nothing more than a social/moral modification of the Id, an adjustment that allows us to live in a socially (moral/religious) coded world, then it stands to reason that the Ego can remain in abject infancy, moral/social no-man’s land, as long as the psychical mechanism it plays host to remains stunted, immature and malformed. Miscreants and apple-polishers beware, the orchard keeper is onto you, and your little dog, too, cogito ego sum.