The first starts as a vulgar association–a shot and a spurt, the male response to sexual excitation and stimulation. The biological shot…and what is just a shot away? War, children. And if we leave out that comma, which we CAN, “War Children” are born.
There is DNA evidence that Genghis Khan is the “father” of 16 million men alive today.
It’s just a shot away
It’s just a shot away
A friend, after reading yesterday’s post, sent me an article about a man who has “super seed” and has been a sperm donor (both via laboratory means and by personal copulation) with a “resultant” count of 98 children.
I might suggest this is the basic fear of all men–one man will serve. If diversity is necessary for evolutionary strength, then maybe a double-handful (ah, now we begin to create nations!). This is an interesting inversion of the Queen Bee. In that sense a man is only “useful”–a tool of nature–and somewhat unnecessary and useless after insemination. If women had the power to enslave men, that would make sense to me.
So, perhaps to defend (or rather, explain) the “ad nauseum” self-quoting and the use of Pound: the Word is the seed of “culture” (or as Pound might have it, Kultur). And, of course, War, children.
What is the Biblical Tower of Babel after all? The word and a tower. The spurt of the minded cock; descent in division.
The false striving for “heaven” (Eternal Priapism…a pathology, you know) is a pathetic aim for which we already know the truth, the reality of the body–flaccidity–the limp exhaustion of the single purpose. To make cognition out of this is, shall we say, a troubling thought. The Neanderthal “gift” of extended intercourse, where insemination is delayed (possibly leading to pleasure as a motive for intercourse, a motivated identity) and man realizing he can withhold his biological imperative, is the realization that the narrow, identity-less act of accidental begetting can be avoided, rethought, reconsidered. The generative pause yields the pleasure of power. Man can make War, not Love.
And thus is born a mighty King (a Worldly Divinity) to hide the truly weakest alpha male in nature–any man can be King and the physical power of the “selected” few is trumped by the linguistic intelligence of the cynical and sinister (ah, the “bar sinister” becomes a player on the world stage).
Human history is our “sympathy” for the devil (“what’s puzzling you is the nature of my game…”); a sympathy that drives “civilization” and from which we must beg shelter.
There is always hope, though, and the Stones ask for it in this simple and powerful song. It is the antidote to the actions of men and the systems of men throughout recorded and memorialized history.
Do you know how this perfect song ends? Do you know the shelter begged for?
Love, sister, is just a kiss away.