Wednesday, February 22, 2017

Subjective Utilitarians...

Subjective Utility: the utility or satisfaction an article gives to an individual based upon his personal judgment and desires rather than upon market judgment


FreeThinke said...

________ A Primly Moral Pose _________

A primly moral pose can serve to mask
Bilious temperament and vile conceit ––
In fact the urge to cripple and defeat
The one once loved now harshly brought to task.
Counterfeit religion acts the fiend,
Hobbling Affection’s natural course
Overcoming love with fake remorse.
No bliss survives when righteously demeaned.
What makes a creepy, sickening sense of shame
Haunt happiness as though ‘twere harlotry ––
Even husband’s needs belong with deviltry?
Evil righteousness kills Passion’s flame.
Let him whose pious poison mars affection
Suffer from rebellion and rejection.

~ FreeThinke

FreeThinke said...

We ARE what we BELIEVE we are.

Ergo, "training children up in the way they should go" is of paramount importance.

"As the twig is bent, so grows the tree."

However, once we've been subjected to the seductive, deceptive, Siren Call of Mammon we are plunged, whether know –– or choose to acknowledge it –– or not, into a desperate struggle to save our souls through constant mental fight.

It has bece increasingly obvious to me that Satan is firmly in charge of the temporal world. The allure of profound UGLINESS, PERVERSION, DISRESPECT for others, extreme RUDENESS, the metastatic growth of unrestrained INSOLENCE, LAZINESS, SLOTH, SELF-DESTRUCTIVE PRACTICES, an endless variety of POINTLESS, PROFITLESS, WASTEFUL, UNWHOLESOME and frankly INANE PURSUITS that have taken over, debased and redefined our culture since the end of the First World War [Think "Roaring Twenties," "Organized Crime," glamorization of Gangsters, Divorce, Adultery, Promiscuity, Illegitimacy, Alcoholism, Drug Addiction, militant Inanity, adopt of or reversion to Primitive Tribal practices, extreme tattooing, mutilation, bizarre anti-social customs, the increasing evaluation of "Swinging," Sadism, Masochism, Transvestism, Transsexualism, and increasingly Dissolute Behavior in general] prove this conclusively –– to ME.

As has oft been stated, "Satan's greatest accomplishment to date has been to convince the world that he doesn't exist."

FreeThinke said...

_______________ BOB _______________

Blithely terminating family life
In mad impulse to boost her ego strength
The little woman ceased to be a wife.
Told by pop psychologists at length
Existence as a mother was a scam ––
Robbing women of Fulfillment’s joys ––
Outmoded –– overrated –– a flimflam ––
Like childhood with no candy and no toys.
Deserted and dumbfounded the poor father ––
Bereft of help –– was left alone to raise ––
In sorrow and chaotic endless bother ––
The little ones perplexed, and in a daze.
Children so deserted often grow
Harpooned by blades of grass they later mow.

~ FreeThinke

FreeThinke said...

Perhaps Noel Coward thought he was merely being funny, perhaps not. We'll never know for sure. In any event, despite the dissolution and sad end of his life at age 73, this notable playwright, composer, lyricist and beloved, blatantly homosexual, much misunderstood icon of stage, screen and television turned out to be a major prophet of what we were making of ourselves in the twentieth century.

The song used to amuse me greatly when I first made its acquaintance back in the 1950's, but lately, –– considering what has happened during the pat fifty-odd years ––, it frankly makes me weep.

WHAT’S GOING to HAPPEN to the TOTS? (1927)

Life today is hectic.
Our world is running away.
Only the wise can recognize
The process of decay.
All our dialectic
Is quite unable to say
Whether we’re on the beam or not,
Whether we’ll rise supreme or not,
Whether this new regime or not
Is leading us astray.

We all have Frigidaires, radios,
Television and movie shows
To shield us from the ultimate abyss.
We have our daily bread neatly cut,
Every modern convenience but
The question that confronts us all is this:

What’s going to happen to the children
When there aren’t any more grown-ups?
Having been injected with some rather peculiar glands
Darling Mum’s gone platinum
And dances to all the rumba bands.
The songs that she sings at twilight
Would certainly be the highlight
For some of those claques that Elsa Maxwell
Takes around in yachts.
Rockabye, rockabye, rockabye my darlings,
Mother requires a few more shots.
Does it amuse the tiny mites
To see their parents high as kites?
What’s, what’s, what’s going to happen to the tots?

Life today’s neurotic, a ceaseless battle we wage;
Millions are spent to circumvent
The march of middle age.
The fact that we grab each new narcotic
Can only prove in the end

Whether our hormones gel or not
Whether our cells rebel or not,
Whether we’re blown to hell or not,
We’ll all be round the bend
From taking Benzedrine, Dexamyl,
Every possible sleeping pill
To knock us out or knock us into shape.
We all have shots for this, shots for that,
Shots for making us thin or fat,
But there’s one problem that we can’t escape.

What’s going to happen to the children
When there aren’t any more grown-ups?
Thanks to plastic surgery and uncle’s abrupt demise,
Dear Aunt Rose has changed her nose
But doesn’t appear to realize
The pleasures that once were heaven
Look silly at sixty-seven,
And youthful allure you can’t procure
In terms of perms and pots.
So lullaby, lullaby, lullaby my darlings,
Try not to scratch those large red spots,
Think of the shock when mummie’s face
Is lifted from its proper place,
What’s, what’s, what’s going to happen to the tots?

What’s going to happen to the children
When there aren’t any more grown-ups?
It’s bizarre when grandmamma, without getting out of breath
Starts to jive at eighty-five and frightens the little ones to death.
The police had to send a squad car
When daddy got fried on vodka
And tied a tweed coat round mummie’s throat
In several sailor’s knots.
Hushabye, hushabye, hushabye my darlings,
Try not to fret and wet your cots.
One day you’ll clench your tiny fists
And murder your psychiatrists.
What’s, what’s, what’s going to happen to the tots?

~ Noel Coward (1899-1973)

Notable Coward Quotations:

It is discouraging how many people are shocked by honesty and how few by deceit.

Work is much more fun than fun.

Wit ought to be a glorious treat like caviar; never spread it about like marmalade.

FreeThinke said...

Noel Coward may generally be regarded as a "lightweight," but as usual, Popular Perceptions –– and the acid-tongued opinions of Critics, Academicians, the tedious pronouncements of repulsive Jewish "Intellectuals," and the ponderous ratings of self-styled, self-important Philosophers –– almost unfailingly miss the mark.

Noel Coward was a remarkably great artist, who could say more of value in a few lines of witty, deceptively brittle, comical-lyrical-satirical poetry than many of the noted Great Sages have said in huge tome of turgid, impenetrable prose.

-FJ said...


-FJ said...