Stroke me, hominid…

Oh, I admit it right now…The whole “hominid” schtick is designed to be didactic…I might as well be Aesop, my intentions are the same as his…I have a lesson to give…A form to impart.

I have an experiment to perform, to practice, if you will…As well.

I will climb onto the stage of the theater of the mind, but I will do so with the conceit…

That my performance is a practice, a praxis…Get it?

I can dodge the egoistic connotations and denotations of “performance” if I get you to call what I am doing up there, all alone, but alone in the lime light, (and hey, baby, being alone in the limelight isn’t really what we properly call alone, now is it?) my practice, my praxis? It’s a verbal sleight-of-hand…But it’s a verbal sleight-of-hand which informed a century.

I’m up here on the proscenium stage, my voice is clear, my clothing revealing, my diction quite sophisticated…

It’s a narcissistic display, but I’ve jiggered in some suffering, some confusion, some sweat, some indications of adversities overcome…

The expectation is that it will be you who will be “overcome”, you’ll be moved…You who will forget what’s apparent…(we’ll give this nonsense the charming name of "suspended disbelief", and with this deft and skillful move philosophy will be castrated for hundreds of years..)

I’m not an actor and this is not a spectacle…I’m a worker, and dingnab, look what I am producing:

Geez, man, the Serengeti GNP is increasing at a rate of 8.9% per annum! Wow!

And I’m a hominid, scratching myself in Olduvai gorge, Wow! That I could get this big!

I’m a worker, not an actor; I produce, I do not dramatize; I’m a socius, not an ego; I’m a force, not a sublation…

I’m a hominid now.

Hominid didactic praxis now.