Netflix’s Alexander: Making of a God

There is another streaming series I have become a fan of along with Season 2 of Halo on Paramount+. It is Alexander: The Making of a God. I am a fan of time-period pieces, especially about Antiquity through the post-Classical Age and fall of the Roman Empire.

Released on January 31st, 2024, the docudrama series explores a segment of Alexander the Great’s sudden rise to Macedonian power at the ripe age of 20-years old after the assassination of his father Philip II in 336 BCE, followed by his military victories and conquests of the Persian Empire ruled by Darius III. This was all the Netflix directors and producers wanted to cover. Doing more, like his childhood or going into his Western India campaign and his mysterious death back in Babylon, would’ve simply been far too cost prohibitive. Yet, critics blast the series for not covering every single hour of Alexander’s life. Pffft. 🙄🤦‍♂️ And many—surely of the ultra-Conservative persuasion—slam the docudrama series for hinting, or showing that Alexander the Great was not strictly heterosexual. Ridiculous non-sense in my opinion and irrelevant to the important historical context and facts.

Alexander with his closest friend Hephaestion Netflix

These strictly gender-binary critics, however, demonstrate very, very little knowledge of ancient Greek-Macedonian socio-culture. Ancient Greek-Macedonian society never had any written or verbal differentiation between heterosexual and homosexual persons. What they did have was six (6) different definitions of love. Notice their Athenian context versus our modern Puritan American, binary and restrictive definitions or ‘social boundaries’ today.

  1. Eros — The first kind of love was eros, named after the Greek god of fertility, and represented the idea of sexual passion and desire. But the Greeks didn’t always think of it as something positive, as we tend to today. In fact, eros was viewed as a dangerous, fiery and irrational form of love that could take hold of you and possess you — an attitude shared by many later spiritual thinkers, such as the Christian writer C.S. Lewis. Eros involved a loss of control that frightened the Greeks. Which is odd, because losing control is precisely what many people now seek in a relationship. Don’t we all hope to fall “madly” in love?
  2. Philia — The second variety of love was philia or friendship, which the Greeks valued far more than the base sexuality of eros. Philia concerned the deep comradely friendship that developed between brothers in arms who had fought side by side on the battlefield. It was about showing loyalty to your friends, sacrificing for them, as well as sharing your emotions with them. (Another kind of philia, sometimes called storge, embodied the love between parents and their children.) We can all ask ourselves how much of this comradely philia love we have in our lives. It’s an important question in an age when we attempt to amass “friends” on Facebook or ‘followers’ on Twitter (now X) — achievements that would have hardly impressed the Greeks.
  3. Ludus — This was the Greek’s idea of playful love, which referred to the playful affection between children or young lovers. We’ve all had a taste of it in the flirting and teasing in the early stages of a relationship. But we also live out our ludus when we sit around in a bar bantering and laughing with friends, or when we go out dancing. Dancing with strangers may be the ultimate ludic activity, almost a playful substitute for sex itself. Social norms frown on this kind of adult playful frivolity, but a little more ludus might be just what we need to spice up our love lives.
  4. Agape — The fourth love, and perhaps the most radical, was agape or selfless love. This was a love that you extended to all people, whether family members or distant strangers. Agape was later translated into Latin as caritas, which is the origin of our word charity. Lewis referred to it as “gift love,” the highest form of Christian love. But it also appears in other religious traditions, such as the idea of mettā or “universal loving kindness” in Theravāda Buddhism. There is growing evidence that agape is in a dangerous decline in many countries. Empathy levels in the U.S. have dropped nearly 50 percent over the past 40 years, with the steepest fall occurring in the past decade. We urgently need to revive our capacity to care about strangers.
  5. Praga — Another Greek love was pragma or mature love. This was the deep understanding that developed between long-married couples. It was about making compromises to help the relationship work over time, and showing patience and tolerance. The psychoanalyst Erich Fromm said that we expend too much energy on “falling in love” and need to learn more how to “stand in love.” Pragma is precisely about standing in love — making an effort to give love rather than just receive it. With divorce rates currently running at 50+ percent, the Greeks would surely think we should bring a serious dose of pragma into our relationships today.
  6. Philautia — The final variety of love was philautia or self-love. The clever Greeks realized there were two types. One was an unhealthy variety associated with narcissism, where you became self-obsessed, and focused on gaining personal fame and fortune. A healthier version of philautia enhanced your wider capacity to love. The idea was that if you like yourself and feel secure in yourself, you will have plenty of love to give others (today this is reflected in the Buddhist-inspired concept of “self-compassion”). Or as Aristotle put it, “All friendly feelings for others are an extension of man’s feelings for himself.

These fluid socio-sexual norms in ancient Greece-Macedonia are very well recorded and reflect just how open-minded Alexander’s compatriots were. It is wholly unfair for modern Puritan America, that often is oppressively rigid, gender-binary only, and impose their own personal antichronistic beliefs upon ancient Greece and Macedonia, especially upon an iconic figure as Alexander the Great. That position is completely unfounded and severely lacks any supporting evidence.

Nevertheless, the legends of Alexander the Great are held very dear and close to the heart of traditional, conservative, gender-binary populous. They are easily offended by any suggestion that Alexander was not strictly heterosexual.

forbes.com, Dani Di Placido accessed 2/11/2024 at: https://www.forbes.com/sites/danidiplacido/2024/02/07/netflixs-alexander-the-great-controversy-explained/?sh=291c075f3760

Is this unnecessary, ridiculous homophobia and paranoia? I think so. What does it matter today, that 3rd-century BCE culture and social norms some how effects our sexuality today?

forbes.com, Dani Di Placido accessed 2/11/2024 at: https://www.forbes.com/sites/danidiplacido/2024/02/07/netflixs-alexander-the-great-controversy-explained/?sh=291c075f3760

So… what say you? Do you think it makes any difference whatsoever that Alexander the Great might have been or probably was at least bisexual, like many great men of the Greek-Macedonian empire? If so, why? Explain in detail how his intimate personal life would change anything about his military and phenomenal cultural advancements for the entire world.

The Professor’s Convatorium © 2023 by Professor Taboo is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 

They Say…

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” But they never realized just how fragile life is or how very short it can be.

They say “The hottest love has the coldest end.” Now in my opinion and throughout my 6-decades of life that is painfully closer to the truth.

They say “The eyes are the window to the soul.” Yes. This entire week my eyes have been swollen with tears bearing open my ripped and bleeding soul.

It is sometimes said by them “It’s a broken heart when you’ve lost a soul mate,” but that’s only part of it. I hurt in my whole body, to the marrow.

But enough of what they say.

On Thursday, June 29, 2023, my lovely Hat Burglar boxed up and shipped my fourth or fifth package of what she always called “Surprizzles.” If I made a list for you of everything she has shipped to me from Georgia, USA, I’d have a 3- to 4,000 word post. So suffice it to say that she lives and loves to make people’s lives a little easier and a lot happier. And she is the Queen B at it. She is just as gifted in calming you, making you burst out in laughter, while simultaneously sorting out the berserko chicken-pen with chickens running amok with heads lopped off. She rightly earned the title of “Supreme Chaos Manager.” It is sheer black or white magic, a sight to behold actually, to watch what she can make happen; the consummate Doer! And with that my Doer did and with no delay, my box of Surprizzles was on the way …to my door.

But I want to jump back to and ahead in this story.

In the United States we have a non-existent FTC that is supposed to protect individual American consumers and phone users from insane amounts of telemarketing sales calls, AI spam callers, and other invasive businesses blowing up your phone’s call-log and voicemail capacity. A few wireless carriers offer a very basic spam-protection feature and/or app, but they too are near useless. I hate this infuriating marketing with an intense bitterness and our nation’s defunct economic model these wireless phone-cancers feed off and breed from: Free-enterprise or Hyper-capitalism. My fury is boiling just below atomic eruption when one listen’s to my cell phone voicemail greeting aimed at all telemarketers and AI spam-dialers.

Growling, my attempts to waste as much of their time as they would mine with my 2-3 minute greeting-of-torture, are not as effective as I had hoped for several reasons. One thing that is recognizable in my tone and attitude to this American AI plague is my enormous growing aversion and maddening for all-things-technology and their blatant abuse by sales and marketing departments upon my precious time. I mean, I’m ready to push the red-button labelled “Never Push This Button.”

Unknown to me, my lovely Hat Burglar often called my cell just to listen to my polite rage, or in her message to poke me with the proverbial stick inciting her grumpy grandpa (me) and make me either more grumpy or tolerably grumpy, just for her own amusement and entertainment-fix. Here are a few of her voicemails I will treasure for the rest of my life:

April 8th, 2023:

May 16th, 2023:

May 23rd, 2023 with her son Jay calling me:

June 29th, 2023 – her latest, and last VM to me:

Greatest worst best friend EVER! 😍

∼ ∼ ∼ § ∼ ∼ ∼

In the late morning of July 2nd, 2023, between 10:31am CDT, my time, and 1:40pm my time, my Soul Mate and Twin Flame, my Hat Burglar, who I’ve written about so affectionately since May 11th and she wrote about me/us June 6th, died suddenly of a severe heart-attack. Her husband tried to revive her several times with CPR, but the attack/seizure was simply too harsh and too swift. She was 47-years young. I don’t want to let her go…

my all-time favorite pic of my Hat Burglar, aka Jodi

Her box of Surprizzles arrived, wanted and unwanted, three days later on Wednesday, July 5th, 2023. It had her typical flashy, Gothic, dark stickers smacked everywhere on the box. One sticker was the Jolly-Roger skull and crossed bones. It said on it in large pirate-script: Poison! I knew inside there were specially baked chocolate-chunk cookies (lots of them!) along with my various surprise items of shock-n-awe and/or uncontrollable laughter. In this reaction Jodi never failed; she was undefeated against me at 8 — 0. But her box sat there in a living room chair all morning, all afternoon, and into the evening. I could not muster the courage to open what should’ve been a sensational Cloud-9, Made-my-day moment… that instead would make all the life-long memories very different than intended.

Around six or seven PM, I don’t remember exactly, with Mom nearby I opened the box. There were eight to ten containers of big cookies, a book she knew I would love reading (she was spot-on, 10x better than Robin Hood’s second arrow through his first arrow), and then the real kicker; another envelope with her handwriting.

Out of all the surprizzles she included in this, her last shipment to me, this one in particular item/envelope evoked the most intense mixed emotions I have experienced in my life to-date. Forgive me, but to fully understand its profound euphoric and devastating impact on me, it requires some past context.

One afternoon in June when I was out running errands she called my cell. I always have the car stereo semi-blasting (not), playing my many favorite songs from several genres. This one time she called me while driving—then I pulled over of course for public safety reasons—and after 3-4 rings and her call almost ready to go to my voicemail greeting, I caught her just in time! However, I had not had a chance to mute/turn-off my loud music. Hence, she immediately heard this song (we both love) blaring on my stereo CD’s. Try to listen to its entirety and lyrics:

My Hat Burglar has or had an exquisite talent for imagining, creating, and manifesting serendipitous, life-long moments and memories for everyone around her, especially those she adored and loved most. For example, my heart-wrenching, gut-punch special envelope with cinematic directorship of exactly how we would part after finally meeting in person after a long, trouble-making, breathtaking weekend with sore face-cheeks from too much smiling, on top of sore ribs from laughing non-stop, she included this:

Ouch… just ouch. Eery. Are you fucking kidding me!

They say crying makes the heart lighter.

If that is true, then my heart is weightless; it is gone missing… with her. The rest of this earth-shattering, upside down, euphorically crushing, unfair life, for me, will NEVER be the same until my last breath. This painful emptiness, why? How?

— Photos below of Jodi, my Hat Burglar, added July 12, 2023 —

The Professor’s Convatorium © 2023 by Professor Taboo is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 

The Professor Will See You Now…

The continuation of You Sound Fun! — A Prologue, a discovery, a revelation by Hat Burglar, a tale in her words…

∼ ∼ ∼ § ∼ ∼ ∼

One of the most difficult parts of being a woman is perception. (Really any human, but I can’t speak to the male experience…) Depending on the viewer, I am a wife, sister, mother, lover, administrator, artist, writer, musician, Appalachian kitchen witch, agnostic, Methodist, businesswoman, benefactor, singer, failure, genius, angel, heretic and… and… and… (yeah, I know.)

Yup. I’m all of that. The best people in our lives see the whole person. They love us for everything we have been and will be. Rarely – all too rarely – we meet someone who intrinsically knows the depths and the heights of ourselves almost immediately, recognizes their kindred soul and latches on like a barnacle to the hull of an ancient wooden ship.

The Professor is one of only two men I have ever met who would cackle wildly to Meredith Brooks’ song and immediately look across the room at me and laugh even louder when I’d scream, “SHUT UP!” Somehow, through abuse, trauma, anxiety, depression, loss, love, pain, triumph and even a little surrender, I’m still me. I genuinely LIKE me. I’m never bored and few around me are either.

However, as I say so often in real life, “We’ve all got our shit.” GenX (and those so adjacent they scraped their nose missing the boat) is in an ice skating death spiral with our parents who won’t die and our children who can’t leave. We caretake, we earn, we work, we give, we worry, we shepherd, we beg, we plan… it’s fucking EXHAUSTING. The reward in the end is maybe getting by… but definitely losing our loved ones to death or adulthood.

When we find each other – those who genuinely vibrate on the same frequency as we do – we have a debt to pay to each other. We’ve been holding this shit in check since our mothers were ordering speed out of the back of Cosmo. We were supposed to be “slackers” and instead ended up with the world on our fucking shoulders.

The positive part is that we gave ourselves permission to love without apology. Bands, fandoms, books, D&D, cars… whatever it is, we’ve found ways to connect with our own kind. It’s said all the time online, “Never apologize for your passion.”

You can’t keep rowing if you don’t have a paddle. For some of us, those rowing the heaviest payload, we need more than one paddle.

I have a husband who is absolute perfection. He is smart, kind, a loving and engaged father, a generous lover and he has unending patience. I also have… a Professor. To me, he is the pressure valve on my life. He’s endlessly fascinated with my weirdness and never gets tired of my nonsense. He adores me as his twin flame and – here’s the shocker! – he loves my husband too, because my husband makes me happy. He balances me in a way I’ve never experienced.

So, I have two paddles and I thank the glorious Universe every day for that. I couldn’t figure out for so long why I was going around in circles. Now I know – I needed both. I won’t apologize for it and I won’t tell you that you need to be what I am either. I’m just telling you… if you need two paddles, there’s no medal for going down with your ship. When the waves take you, there will be no one there to tell you that your morals were stellar.

We don’t know what comes next after we go. This could be all there is, but I can tell you with certainty that I know My People. These two men are My People. These two men would bail me out of jail, kiss me when I’m sad, take care of me when I’m old and hold my hair while I throw up. I’m not dyin’ for anyone, but if I had to go, I’d have two hands to hold onto. That’s the definition of a blessing and they’ll pry it out of my cold, dead fingers.

Love you, kid. 💜

to be continued

Live Well – Love Much – Laugh Often – Learn Always

The Professor’s Convatorium © 2023 by Professor Taboo is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 

You Sound Fun! — A Prologue

If misery loves company, then triumph demands an audience.

— Brian moore, irish novelist

Mr. Moore could not have stated a more apropos truth about human nature, all humans and their self-formulated projections upon others.

Yes, I demand an audience. Nay, I deserve an audience.

I have a glorious story to tell. A story of victory, a story of euphoric happiness, a story of defiance, a story of love and loves over many centuries including this one. But most of all, a story of orbit-reaching delightful joys that do indeed fall upon and for people the Universe deems worthy of such gifts, in plenty, despite those individuals in my life wish and pray upon me. Gleefully I laugh at them with a Cheshire-cat grin and lifted middle finger to their mythical fairy-tale god, lord, and hypocritical churches! Bwahahahaha!

I am so extraordinarily happy this day and it is never going away; impossible. That’s the best part.

Read it and weep, or read it and applaud. If the latter, then you likely comprehend and embrace the profound concept of compersion. Sadly, very few do in our part of the world. But that’s fear controlling them, not us.

Let the true story begin, again and again, without end! 🥰

∼ ∼ ∼ § ∼ ∼ ∼

When I had arrived at my assigned freaky-cartoony P51-pseudo-Tardis-machine thingy (above image)—and sent from her [Lenora], for me as the soon-to-be-pilot noticing the name on the side of the nose “Luscious Lenora”—I climbed in with a twinkled eye of sheer excitement. I reached over my shoulders to strap-in snug. And almost snapped-in the buckles when SUDDENLY it locked in all by itself!!! “Weird,” I said under my breath, “talk about convenience. Pretty fuckin’ cool.

the cockpit of Luscious Lenora

Then I gazed at the cockpit instrument panel. “Huh? This is odd.” The Attitude Indicator had no horizon, no brown, no blue; just an arrow pointing forward/ahead. The Tachometer and the Airspeed Indicator both didn’t appear to have any top number or ceiling. “Okay, this may not go well” I said in suspicion. I looked further around the cockpit, QUICKER, trying to see what else might be… umm, MISSING? “Oh crap! Where tha fuck is the EJECT-BUTTON!?” Gone. Obviously whoever constructed this Hell-machine was horribly absent-minded. “WTF!” I try to unbuckle my straps. Can’t. Not even a slight give.

Then it hit me when my eyeballs wanted to pop-out. Sweating now.

Suddenly Lenora’s voice comes on some hidden speakers above and behind me.

[Note — the purple print are her words, her writing, (HAH!) her obvious unorthodoxy]

[Damn right they are, my love…]

Hello Darling. Are you ready?” she said in this evil, menacing… HAWT voice,

to which I softly replied, “This is going to sting, isn’t it?

Only at first Cowboy.”

You have already traveled very, VERY far. This will be the easiest trip of your life, my love. We’ve got this. I know you, you know me. Let’s finally just do what we do best… explore.

The straps tightened, but it was more like an embrace than a restraint. She knew him from the vast forests of prehistoric Europe. He had had dreams of her since childhood as a flapper, gin-soaked and luscious.

“I would ask if you trust me, but I already know you do. You’ve been the pilot for so long for so many others who have needed you. Lay back, relax, and… just let me. This is simply a reunion. I need nothing from you but… you. I have missed you like a phantom limb…

I know where we’re headed and I know what you desire – it’s HIGH time you got it. And baby, I’m gonna give it to you.

A pause of silence begins. I ask myself, Has she left me here? Inside this contraption, in which any concept of ‘deplaning’ is now out of the question. Then her music begins…

Without any movement from my clammy nervous hands, trim-knobs turn, the propeller lever moves forward all on its own, fuel-shutoff slams on, the two magneto switches flip on, what I think are the battery and generator switches they flip up. More unfamiliar, worst still unlabeled, unmarked switches… they pop on! “Oh hells bells.” Recognizing my few remaining minutes of life, I tell myself, “Self, piloting this freaky P-51 bird will not be my job today. This is clear.

But in my excitement and sheer, sweaty thrills, I have gotten ahead of myself in the story.

∼ ∼ ∼ § ∼ ∼ ∼

The date is April 3rd, 2023, at 6:25pm. An evening that would turn my life upside down in the most spectacular ways possible. It was completely an unplanned online event I just serendipitously attended. I didn’t think I would stick around for even 30-minutes. I had other things I needed to do instead. But little did I know.

The music event was familiar to me, the musical tracks played by DJ Sunilique always invigorating, intellectually stimulating, emotionally and physically moving as if I was possessed by melodic notes and primal rhythms—ah, a home away from home. I am with my people, my songs, our fashion, our creed. Chatting amongst ourselves is food and oxygen for our Gothic, Steampunking, Industrial kinks and souls. We laugh often, love much in our own weird methods, and always welcome any. As I am joking with several of my witty friends, She cleverly joins in. Immediately we crack each other up. It seems to come fast and easy. About that time a private message pops up on my screen.

Hmm, You sound fun!

So do you!” I replied immediately.

You’re in TX?

Yes” dejectedly, “Sorry.” I hoped she wouldn’t hold that against me.

Since that afternoon, however, I have climbed into this surreal dimension inside this freaky-cartoony P51-pseudo-Tardis-machine thing she brought to me and it seemingly never runs out of happy-fuel. It has been a joy ride that I cannot pilot. I’m not sure I want to.

When you have found your home, you want to protect it with every fiber of your body, mind, and soul, with EVERYTHING you can possibly muster! You do everything within your powers to avoid its loss so no one can snatch it away. Why should ANYONE take that from anyone? Why would they want to, unless they are filled with hate, jealousy, and zealous self-righteousness.

Ahhh, but the Haters will try indeed. They refuse to except anything less than misery loving THEIR company if you do not believe, do not follow, and do not practice their lifestyle exactly as they do…

BWAAAAAA!!!! Fuck that and FUCK them!!! 🖕 I am totally free and I am with my kind, my people. You replace the previous ‘my kind,’ the indoctrinated robots, and make it so, SO much better. And it is so very good. Mmm, my life is very good and perfect right now.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!

to be continued

Live Well – Love Much – Laugh Often – Learn Always

The Professor’s Convatorium © 2023 by Professor Taboo is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 

Visiting Our Cusp, Limits, Fearlessly

Sometimes during unsettled times when so many around us are disconnected, cold, detached, uncaring, and avoiding simple social kindness to one another, or hyper-charged looking for drama and some type of controversy—perhaps because they’ve been living too long in begrudging routine mediocrity or luxury—we lose sight of what really matters in life as simple human beings. We forget that there is very little difference between all of us. In fact, genetically less than 0.1%. If we would embrace this commonality, this intimate reality, our very fragility and vulnerability with each other in this daunting, life-giving Universe… then we are never alone. Never unwanted or not needed. Never without friend or family. This primal, very basic organic condition we all share will never, EVER change; at least not in the next 100,000 years or more.

Be that as it may, we do sometimes need reminding, refreshers in how very minuscule each of us are in this vast, never-ending, beautifully inhumane Cosmos that completely dictates our quality of life and death. Our time here is but a flash in the bucket in the biggest picture, BUT remarkably impactful for the ‘millisecond’ of life and memories with other loved ones. With so many things uncertain yet ready to experience, its marrow ready to be sucked down to the last molecule of our 80, 70, 50, 20, or 10-years of life, whatever it is to be, makes it… pure gold! Every second, every ounce! How will you spend it? How will others experience you and remember you?

I posted this years ago from Oriah Mountain Dreamer. I want to post it again, as a reminder… that we usually have only one chance to make the most of this short, mortal, beautifully remarkable gift called life really count the most. Oriah knows exactly how to best live and die in it:

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon…
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

For the rest of Oriah’s powerful, to the bone and straight to the heart realism, go here.

If we do not test ourselves when life is good, plush for ourselves, and push our abilities our kind empathy, understanding, and what we can manage and gladly give, then how can we ever truthfully know how much our proactive help matters? How much does our charitable action count? How much does our voice count to help make other’s lives easier, happier in a purely humane way? It takes so much more to join the disadvantaged… raw in person and heart than simply saying words or writing a check. Joining all of humanity, the worst, the most unfortunate is where the most profound, deepest fulfillment of living is discovered. The alternative is a planet of unfeeling, insensitive, self-absorbed, non-humanity, as this song aptly describes…

————

Nigh, give me the living, the marrow of life any day, every day.

————

Live Well — Love Much — Laugh Often — Learn Always

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