YouLoveMe

Granting freedom raises rulers' own wealth, The ruled do better with moderation, So why are there harsh rules, broken in stealth? How to explain this sad situation? Suppose a mother wants her son to choose, Suppose the son prefers moderation, All is well, you say, there's no way to lose, If only that applied to our nation! Not so fast, I say, the outcome's not clear, The mother wants her son to be naughty, The son wants rules to rebel from and fear, He winds up stealing, she winds up haughty. Their acting for the other brings them down, In empathy's ocean, we sometimes drown. [Part II?]

Is My line empty or a cred'ble threat? Is self-love or vengeance closer to true?  Is how I behave based on what I get? Or do I act 'cuz I want to kill You? Pick up Our guns and shoot Them in the back, Aim Our rifles straight, shoot Them in the face, Punish Russian soldiers for their attack, Punish Their wrong in invading Our place. Fighting spirit's a mysterious thing, It's a matter of improvisation, Of buzzing on though I die as I sting, Of transcending prudent calculation. My payoff's a part of a choice to fight, But justice's logic is also right.   [II or IV?] b

The game poses a fundamental choice, Do you play for yourself or for the whole? It's easy if you have a single voice, It's hard if you have a divided soul. Inside you is a negotiation, It's a matter of self-definition, Are you phlegmatic calm?  Exaltation? Unqui'et insistent ire?  Fusion?  Fission? They roil, invis'ble games inside of you, They work 'cuz you're a mys'try to yourself, Chinese walls divide joy, disgust, and rue, Part of you wants shame, part of you wants pelf. We cannot bring all that's hidden to light, But let's dare to dream that in part we might. [Part IV]

Hargraves-Heap and Varoufakis, hurray! Their project is a model for this book, But what's here is diff'rent from what they say, Like Irma Rombau'er, I write for the cook. It's good for crits to learn mainstream models, And their failures to reach resolution, How they put wine inside cloudy bottles, How they wind up in fogged involution. My book does not explain the mainstream's ways, My cooks are very light on mathy tech, But they saute, reduce, puree, and braise, They think it's good to stick out your own neck. Should we critique the mainstream?  Cook new stuff? Both paths are good, each one is not enough.  [Intro]

We were equal and we should be again, We were equal but we need a strong hand, Rousseau and Hobbes have ruled--but what          comes when, We decide they wrote 'bout the wrong band. Suppose that we were always unequal, The mad, the normal, and the in-betweens, Present in civilization's prequel, 'Twas diff'rence that made our ancestors' scenes. My account is like Wengrow's and Graeber's, In seeing us as diff'rent from the start, Our souls weren't just diff'rent from our              neighbors, Madness is the key to the human heart. We in-betweens are an odd ruling class, Our strangeness brought us to our present pass. [Part III]

Mainstreamers say life's not always a game, It's sometimes solo maximization, Bowling alone, no one else in the frame, Arcing a curve of optimization. In the critical view, it's all a game, Each of our selves is deeply divided, We want privacy, en'mies, love, and fame, We're ambivalent and multi-sided. We never stop playing games with ourselves, With our peers and with all other critters, We are earthy mole rats and airy elves, We float free and we're tied to our litters. Dividedness is actuality, The critical line is reality. [Part IV]

I tore up terrorists in the paper, I felt disgust at my own righteous rage, My old line--rad, elite--was lost vapor, What was I to think?  How to turn the page? A scoundrel's last refuge?  Moderation, In the event, that was how my thoughts turned,  I liked the mainstream of my own nation, What I sought, they had already learned. All the disputes of the libs, cons, and mods, That I'd thought dumb from my radical height, I would now embrace these camps and their gods! Forgo turning dull day to starlit night. I never could write my moderate book, I'm glad that I gave the center a look. [Part II]

Human beings are mighty pecul'ya, I'm thinking that it is all for the best, Our feelings are well designed to fool 'ya, And you're like me, we're equal to the rest. We're usefully split between love and hate, And also 'tween apathy and actions, Our feelings calm us down and militate, Pull us away from and toward our factions. We're a roiling sea of contradictions, We're greedy and we're giving, all in one, We're hopelessly addicted to fictions, If anyone says there's an answer--run! Radicalism is all very fine, Moderation is the beer to its wine. [III or IV?]

Your sight grew dark in your sabbatical. Your model of constructive group-splitting, Intended to promote the radical, Yielded to rage and to your unwitting. The trade tow'rs fell and your compassion crashed, Hitler and Nietzsche and Stalin and Marx, You wanted them tortured, their faces smashed, You wanted their balls chewed by great white sharks. It's twenty years on, you're off to Berlin, You've exchanged Entro rage for Evo hope, You're seeking green shoots, release from your sin, Radical community, a whole new trope. We all can fall into a deep dark hole, We all can climb to light and save our soul.

Mainstream logic can make you radical, Garret Hardin is a good example, His critics say he was fanatical, Wide is the range in a bell curve sample. Psychology can make you quiescent, I wonder 'bout myself that way some times, My emotions flick'ring, evanescent, My energies turning to making rhymes. Without the PD there's no Green crusade, Greta Thunberg embodies game theory, May she be remembered in a parade, Joan of Arc in an Earth grown lame, weary. I've learned my econ and psychology, I wish I knew some more biology. Part IV