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Are You A Joke?

Are You A Joke?

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Published by davidwalters
Can you save your Beloved Self from becoming the Butt of Jokes?
Can you save your Beloved Self from becoming the Butt of Jokes?

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Published by: davidwalters on Apr 06, 2013
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05/17/2013

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THE CRITICAL TIMES 
Page
 
1
 
of 
 
4
 
Dechirico
 
by
 
Darwin
 
Leon
 
ARE
 
YOU
 
A
 
JOKE?
 
BY
 
DAVID
 
ARTHUR
 
WALTERS
 
We
 
naturally
 
identify
 
ourselves
 
with
 
our
 
activities.
 
Our
 
behavior
 
seems
 
to
 
be
 
the
 
only
 
obvious
 
evidence
 
of 
 
who
 
we
 
are.
 
Various
 
conclusions
 
can
 
be
 
drawn
 
from
 
that
 
behavior,
 
but
 
we
 
generally
 
intend
 
to
 
express
 
a
 
much
 
higher
 
opinion
 
of 
 
ourselves
 
than
 
the
 
ones
 
we
 
receive,
 
notwithstanding
 
the
 
blatant
 
flattery
 
we
 
receive
 
if 
 
we
 
are
 
powerful.
 
 
THE CRITICAL TIMES 
Page
 
2
 
of 
 
4
 
We
 
wish
 
to
 
be
 
our
 
ideal
 
selves
 
in
 
action.
 
Yet
 
we
 
are
 
not
 
only
 
what
 
we
 
do
 
but
 
who
 
we
 
are,
 
the
 
ideal
 
self.
 
The
 
ideal
 
self 
 
is
 
free.
 
It
 
does
 
not
 
fail.
 
Before
 
all
 
is
 
said
 
and
 
done,
 
we
 
think
 
there
 
is
 
a
 
self 
 
prior
 
to
 
deeds,
 
an
 
innocent
 
self 
 
before
 
reproach
 
and
 
beyond
 
good
 
and
 
evil,
 
hence
 
it
 
is
 
said
 
that
 
we
 
should
 
condemn
 
not
 
the
 
man's
 
self 
 
but
 
his
 
bad
 
deeds.
 
After
 
all,
 
if 
 
we
 
condemn
 
the
 
free
 
self,
 
we
 
condemn
 
all
 
individuals
 
including
 
the
 
 judge.
 
Nevertheless,
 
most
 
people
 
do
 
take
 
criticism
 
of 
 
their
 
work
 
very
 
personally,
 
especially
 
when
 
it
 
is
 
mocked,
 
 just
 
as
 
some
 
condemned
 
men
 
take
 
their
 
execution
 
personally,
 
no
 
matter
 
what
 
the
 
preacher
 
says
 
about
 
saved
 
souls.
 
I
 
mention
 
criminal
 
conduct
 
in
 
passing,
 
for
 
my
 
main
 
concern
 
here
 
is
 
artistic
 
endeavor.
 
Of 
 
course,
 
certain
 
similarities
 
have
 
been
 
noticed
 
in
 
the
 
psychological
 
make
up
 
of 
 
artists
 
and
 
criminals.
 
Be
 
that
 
as
 
it
 
may,
 
any
 
divorce
 
between
 
a
 
self 
 
and
 
its
 
actions
 
is
 
bound
 
to
 
be
 
a
 
messy
 
one,
 
requiring
 
the
 
consummate
 
skills
 
of 
 
the
 
best
 
lawyers.
 
While
 
that
 
argument
 
proceeds,
 
we
 
prefer
 
to
 
think
 
of 
 
our
 
real
 
selves
 
as
 
ideal
 
free
 
subjects
 
rather
 
than
 
as
 
determined
 
objects,
 
hence
 
it
 
is
 
in
 
our
 
most
 
voluntary
 
activities,
 
in
 
our
 
creative
 
efforts,
 
that
 
we
 
feel
 
we
 
are
 
being
 
most
 
true
 
to
 
ourselves.
 
Jokesters
 
love
 
to
 
get
 
laughs,
 
but
 
if 
 
we
 
are
 
not
 
 joking,
 
it
 
is
 
hardly
 
surprising
 
that
 
we
 
feel
 
personally
 
offended
 
when
 
our
 
most
 
serious
 
creative
 
work
 
is
 
laughed
 
at
 
as
 
if 
 
it
 
were
 
a
 
 joke.
 
For
 
example,
 
imagine
 
that
 
you
 
have
 
devoted
 
many
 
hours
 
to
 
writing
 
an
 
essay
 
about
 
some
 
general
 
aspect
 
of 
 
life
 
that
 
really
 
intrigues
 
you,
 
one
 
that
 
has
 
been
 
a
 
serious
 
topic
 
of 
 
philosophical
 
discussions
 
for
 
many
 
centuries,
 
one
 
you
 
believe
 
you
 
can
 
illuminate
 
with
 
your
 
unique
 
perspective
 
and
 
creative
 
abilities.
 
Therefore
 
you
 
 joyfully
 
labor
 
to
 
share
 
your
 
view
 
with
 
others.
 
But
 
no
 
sooner
 
than
 
you
 
have
 
done
 
so
 
than
 
someone
 
appears
 
and
 
publicly
 
derides
 
your
 
work,
 
then
 
expects
 
you
 
to
 
"have
 
a
 
good
 
sense
 
of 
 
humor"
 
about
 
that.
 
He
 
deliberately
 
tries
 
to
 
make
 
a
 
public
 
 joke
 
of 
 
your
 
creation.
 
Your
 
brand
 
new
 
baby
 
has
 
become
 
the
 
butt
 
of 
 
a
 
 joke.
 
You
 
 
THE CRITICAL TIMES 
Page
 
3
 
of 
 
4
 
quite
 
naturally
 
take
 
that
 
personally,
 
for
 
you
 
created
 
the
 
work
 
in
 
order
 
to
 
share
 
your
 
person.
 
Are
 
you
 
a
 
 joke?
 
You
 
hopefully
 
know
 
better
 
than
 
that.
 
Still,
 
your
 
 joker
 
might
 
think
 
you
 
are
 
a
 
 joke
 
while
 
making
 
your
 
work
 
a
 
butt
 
of 
 
his
 
 joke.
 
Or
 
he
 
may
 
think
 
he
 
is
 
being
 
your
 
buddy
 
in
 
a
 
 joking
 
relationship,
 
a
 
relationship
 
where
 
life
 
must
 
be
 
a
 
 joke
 
because
 
buddies
 
would
 
otherwise
 
cut
 
each
 
other's
 
throats.
 
Or
 
maybe
 
he
 
does
 
not
 
intend
 
to
 
put
 
you
 
down
 
at
 
all,
 
but
 
is
 
amused
 
by
 
your
 
creation
 
in
 
comparison
 
to
 
other
 
works
 
of 
 
art.
 
Indeed,
 
we
 
have
 
all
 
laughed
 
at
 
some
 
of 
 
the
 
ridiculous
 
creations
 
out
 
there.
 
Yet
 
one
 
wonders
 
why
 
he
 
must
 
laugh
 
out
 
loud
 
and
 
record
 
his
 
laughter
 
for
 
all
 
to
 
hear.
 
Maybe
 
he
 
feels
 
inferior
 
and
 
must
 
save
 
himself 
 
by
 
putting
 
others
 
down.
 
Or
 
perhaps
 
he
 
is
 
 just
 
a
 
vulgar
 
and
 
insensitive
 
boor.
 
We
 
are
 
often
 
unaware
 
of 
 
the
 
insensitive
 
cruelties
 
we
 
perpetuate
 
on
 
others
 
until
 
we
 
suffer
 
them
 
ourselves.
 
Even
 
then
 
we
 
might
 
remain
 
obtuse.
 
Selective
 
retaliation
 
is
 
rarely
 
effective:
 
the
 
mocking
 
ignoramus
 
usually
 
cannot
 
recognize
 
his
 
own
 
derriere
 
in
 
a
 
mirror.
 
Imagine
 
that
 
this
 
is
 
a
 
special
 
case
 
where
 
you
 
know
 
your
 
creation
 
is
 
a
 
fine
 
one
 
although
 
it
 
is
 
not
 
the
 
finest
 
in
 
the
 
world—an
 
experienced
 
baker
 
does
 
not
 
have
 
to
 
be
 
told
 
what
 
a
 
good
 
cake
 
is.
 
Assume
 
that
 
he
 
laughs
 
because
 
he
 
thinks
 
make
believe
 
itself 
 
is
 
a
 
 joke.
 
Perhaps
 
he
 
has
 
 just
 
had
 
a
 
rectal
 
examination
 
and,
 
being
 
caught
 
up
 
with
 
his
 
own
 
mortality,
 
wants
 
to
 
put
 
down
 
what
 
he
 
perceives
 
as
 
your
 
vanity,
 
your
 
confidence
 
in
 
make
believe,
 
now
 
that
 
he
 
knows
 
he
 
has
 
colon
 
cancer.
 
It
 
might
 
be
 
added
 
that,
 
since
 
life
 
is
 
a
 
disease
 
ending
 
in
 
death,
 
cancer
 
is
 
really
 
not
 
required
 
for
 
this
 
sort
 
of 
 
 joking.
 
Man
 
is
 
allegedly
 
more
 
of 
 
a
 
worm
 
than
 
a
 
bird,
 
so
 
we
 
can
 
ridicule
 
his
 
flights
 
of 
 
fancy,
 
his
 
cultivation
 
of 
 
heavenly
 
culture,
 
by
 
smearing
 
his
 
wings
 
with
 
mud
 
and
 
excrement.
 
Welcome
 
to
 
the
 
excremental
 
culture
 
where
 
only
 
the
 
material
 
"facts"
 
are
 
worshipped,
 
the
 
articles
 
of 
 
death,
 
dead
 
things.
 
Only
 
the
 
particulars
 
are
 
important,
 
while
 
universals
 
are
 
for
 
naught,
 
are
 
merely
 
names,
 
or
 
signs
 
for
 
insubstantial
 
fleeting
 
processes
 
at
 
the
 
very
 
most.
 
This
 
is
 
a
 
coprophilic
 
zone
 
where
 
nothing
 
really
 
is,
 
except
 
a
 
bowel
 
movement
 
in
 
a
 
cavity
 
where
 
there
 
is
 
no
 
being,
 
only
 
the
 
production
 
and
 
consumption
 
of 
 
excretions,
 
and
 
of 
 
information
 
that
 
conforms
 
everything
 
into
 
excrement
 
for
 
digital
 
manipulation.
 

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