[Image: “Johnny Was,” by John E. Simpson. I had no idea what this sign might have referred to when I looked up and saw it hanging over a storefront in Carmel-by-the-Sea, California; I’d never heard of the apparel chain. But a chill ran up my back — I considered it something of an omen (although nobody, really, calls me “Johnny” anymore), and went about my business for the next few days in a cloud of apprehension. (See the note at the foot of this post for an additional bit of information.)]
From whiskey river:
People have gotten used to living a botched-up life — to be anxious, insecure, hateful, jealous, and in various states of unpleasantness through the day — slowly humanity has begun to see it as normal.
None of these things are normal. These are abnormalities. Once you accept them as part of life they become normal because the majority has joined the gang of unpleasantness. They are all saying, “Unpleasantness is normal. Being nasty to each other is normal. Being nasty to myself is normal.”
Someone trusted that you would be doing good things at least to yourself and said, “Do unto others what you do unto yourself.” I am telling you, never do unto others what you are doing to yourself! (Laughter) By being with people, I know what they are doing to themselves is the worst thing. Fortunately, they are not doing such horrible things to others. Only once in a while they are giving a dose to others, but to themselves they are giving it throughout the day. If you are a very blissful human being, what he is saying is great. When you are practicing to go to hell — self-torture so that the devils cannot succeed — then it is not a good idea. People have gotten used to living in a disturbed state. It is a botched-up life.
(Sadhguru Jaggi Vasudev [source])
Not from whiskey river:
The Hall of Machines: Machines of Movement (Interlocking Machine Room)
On entering the room I found it to be full of giant metal crabs. Great struts of thin metal rod crisscross from ceiling to floor, making it impossible to see very far into the room. The very air shudders with the vibration of these machines. Although the constructions vary considerably, one from the other, a large number of them have the same basic shape. Their nucleus is a mass of rods and other interlocking members, and they stand about ten feet high. The arrangement of these rods is infinitely complex. At their apex they are thickly composed, and are surrounded by other parts which join them and permit their motion. They branch out, and at floor level each machine covers a considerable area.
All of the legs of these machines are connected by free-moving joints to the legs of the other units, and a movement of one causes an adjustment to the position of the other. The whole room is in motion, and the machines twitch each other with an action that appears almost lascivious in nature.
A rod near me is moved by the action of a neighbor’s leg. This movement is communicated at the top of the unit to another of the legs, and it, in turn, imparts motion to a machine further away. As these machines work, a constant metallic clattering fills the air, as if the room is filled with typewriters.
The machines are slick and oiled; their movement is smooth, but gives an impression of great nervousness. All over this chamber are various other parts, all of which seem affected in some way by the movement of the rods. On the wall, near me, is fixed a plaque with a jointed arm extending from it. Taut wires radiate from either extremity into the skeletal gray. One end is angled up, the other down. As the wire of the higher end is pulled by some motion in the mass of interlocking parts, the arm reverses its position jerkily…
The mind drowns among the interlocking machines. Perhaps the reason is in the similarity of this abstract maze to that pattern formed by the neural current. Perhaps these patterns of motion parallel too closely the patterns of electricity that we call personality, and the one is disturbed by the other. Conversely, perhaps the very existence of a human mind in the room causes little eddies and whirls in the motion of the machines.
I was unable to stay in the interlocking machine room for more than a minute or two before the psychological effects became more than I could bear.
(Langdon Jones [source])
_______________
About “Johnny Was”: a bit of research, of course, told me that this is simply the name of an “affordable luxury” women’s clothing store. It’s still an odd name, though. The company’s Web site explains: “Music and family have always been integral to the JOHNNY WAS culture. With his children by his side, [founder] Eli Levite started to conceptualize his fashion business in the late 1980s. The soundtrack to this period was Bob Marley’s infectious Johnny Was a Good Man, the inspiration behind the brand’s name.”
It’s a bit of a stretch to call that song the soundtrack to the late 1980s — but, well, I don’t know: for Mr. Levite, perhaps it was. In any case, in case you’re curious about it (as I was, since I knew no more about the tune than I did about the clothing chain), here’s the song in question (lyrics here and elsewhere):
Cynth says
Seems an odd ode to a clothing store about a son being shot down, but what do I know!
John says
(laughing) Now I’m imagining a mall with stores named Johnny Was, I Shot the Sheriff, and — who knows? — Hit Me with Your Best Shot.