If some people are like, truly, actually, totally, or more like
basically a bunch of rattlesnakes under all the stupid looking
backward baseball caps, and the crumby looking tattoos, the vain
looking ear, eye, nose and belly-button rings; the flappy-ass, dumb
looking, too-long-to-be-shorts--too-short-to-be-long pants they got
hanging off their ass . . .

Okay, does this mean--it's a philosophical question--that on account
of the fact that some people really are just a bunch of nearly
mindless, cold-blooded rattlesnakes underneath a sometime facade of
warmth, sense and civility, then here's your proof, little did you
know, that if some are rattlesnakes, therefore that's what ALL people
are, bar none?

Figure it out! People are people and rattlesnakes are rattlesnakes.
BUT we all got that in our evolution, in our genes so that every damn
one of you, way back in it, deep in the hoary past, baby, you got a
reptile in your family for a great, great, great (exponentially great)
grandmother. Yeah! You got a way-gone-great to the gadzillion power
great grandfather back there in the tall grass of the pre-historic
Paleozoic past who had no arms or legs and just went slithering around
wherever he'd go, shooting out that long forked tongue, and shedding
his skin every now and then.

Yeah so, you just go on and keep talking, bragging about being one of
these kind of high-born types with a heritage of "good genes". Heh. Is
that what you got stuffed up that long, coiling, shit-filled
alimentary canal of your blue-blood ass? You got the "good genes" you
say? You got the genes of a goddam rot-mouthed Gila monster and a
devil-tailed stingray, let alone a shapeless, spineless, no-count,
going-with-the-flow amoeba, and a creepy little chamelion ready to
change his color to shit-brown at the drop of a dead leaf on your ass,
or to blue if you should happen upon a large puddle of spit with the
color of a cloudless sky reflected in it.

And that's what it is with the tattoos and nose-rings; that's how you
blend in with the environment, little Mr. or Ms. Lizard; that's what
gives with the camouflage design for your floppy ass pants that don't
even make it down so far as your ankles; that's exactly what's the
haps with those absurd looking too-long sleeves you got drooping over
your hands down so far as your knuckles: chameleons and amoebas, man:
that's what's you! It's all you are when you're sitting around sipping
your Naked Lunch of latte and slurping on that sweet pussy-smelling
sushi in the stinking ass of Starbucks, bragging about your "good
genes".

If one human being is a deadly dangerous, low-crawling rattlesnake,
ALL human beings are rattlesnakes, and it ain't that some people are
like this and the other 'bad' ones are like that. Only a rattlesnake
can think like that.

You think on that. And stop relying on what those frauds in the black
square caps with the rattlesnake tail for a tassel have sold you
behind the high-tuition tag of "neuro-science" because it will not be
long, not many years into the future from this day, when it comes to
be revealed that all they've been teaching you about a genetic
component to the human personality is JUNK, so far as any ability to
scientifically predict who's going to be 'good' and who's going to be
bad--well, I'll tell you right off the bat that the bad ones are
exactly the kind of drop-dead dupes for a contemporary intellectual
fad who are conformist enough and so cluelessly uncritical as to fall
for any such fascist flattery of elitist crap as that!

There is totally a place where the claims of science (and "neuro-
science" is nothing of the kind, when it comes to the rigors of the
scientific method, as any properly learned hard-science physicist or
chemist by one look at the complete lack of evidence and proof for
their theoretical claims can tell you)--where the claims of science
are found to run afoul of what ought to be recognized for the limits
of human decency . . .

And you pay attention now! At that limit, where human decency runs
out, when it does, that's when you KNOW that something is wrong with
the claim of science you are looking at, and that means 'wrong' in the
sense of being unscientific, half-baked and incorrect. How can we
know this? It's very simple: there is no distinction between the laws
of science and the laws (which remain largely ignored or unlearned)
which govern the logic of human decency.

Laugh! Go ahead, that's just the thing to do when you are faced with
a thought so far over the limits of your learning, experience and
understanding, that you can only misjudge what you've heard for
something too simple-minded to believe. Hey! This is no stink-pot,
baby-poop, born yesterday, wet-behind-the-ears "cognitive neuro-
science" we are talking about here, but the very stuff of the true,
time-honored, therapeutically proven, medical ART of "psychology"
properly so-called.

The word was invented by the Greeks, and first developed as school of
knowledge by Aristotle. The term "psychology" literally translated
means "soul science". But you don't know what the 'soul' is, Jack! Oh,
no you don't Jane. Not so long as you deny there can be any such
entity, which is the proof of your misjudgment concerning it, because
it totally is not what you think, to so falsely identify it as
'religion', thus to intellectually flop around like a flounder, as a
fish out of water, for a gasp of breath from a substance of thought
too airy, refined and subtly defined to comport with the gross, watery
medium of knowledge you are used to, and which keeps you happy,
quenched of thirst and feeling quite secure in the realm of what is to
you the better known--or so you have thought.

NO. You haven't the first fricking funky inkling of what Socrates,
Plato and Aristotle were talking about when they began to direct their
inquiries into the greatest, grandest mystery of all, which is the
question of what Man really is at the innermost essence of his being.
Bah! you say, what's that, you ask? Nearly two millennia later, when
Immanuel Kant came to confrontation with the same question, he arrived
at an intellectual epiphany that shook him so thunderously behind the
light of what he had seen that he could only compare this revolution
of thought that had come to triumph in his mind, to that grandest of
all revelations in the understanding of Copernicus--and it had all to
do with psychology, even though he seldom came out and applied that,
the most pertinent term of all to it--for it was the very nature of
mind, mind itself, that formed the soul and center of what he was
talking about.

The trouble Kant had was finding the way to explain it clearly and
systematically, let alone simply and plainly. He failed in that effort
so sorely that the number of people presently on this planet who have
had the will and patience, the sheer power of concentration to puzzle
it out from the immense length of his sentences and paragraphs, are
just about right next to NONE--and I am pleased to count myself with
that number, as I continue to grapple with those ideas with no less
exertion than any mountaineer going up the rocky, ice-glazed face of
Annapurna, Everest or the Matterhorn.

The *Prolegomena* is the Matterhorn. Annapurna is the *Critique of
Pure Reason*, but Everest? That is the *Critique of Practical Reason*--
and who, how many here present are able to make the claim that they
have read it and understood it to the fullest extent that may be
possible? I daresay there is not one.

Not one.

But only ask, and I will explain it for you, the most tremendous body
of understanding ever to be presented to the mind of man, and yet left
so entirely ignored for something unremarkable or so useless as the
molted skin of the ostensibly 'primitive' creature of nature that had
worn it. But when you have picked it up to admire the delicacy of the
fine translucent imprint, what's presented to the wondering eye in the
dizzying, serpentine pattern of its construction, is something that
comes to the solar-plexus with a daunting, if not queasy sensibility
that what you hold is something far more than you can ever now dare
know about the living, magnificently writhing body that formerly had
been so entirely, so perfectly, if not dangerously there.