Just when you think it’s safe to go back in the water . .. Friday before the nokingsiii i got a cryptic text msg from el mero mero del pueblo: “Te lleve un refrigerador” - a convenience which i’d not asked for but understood its intrinsic value to a planet heating exponentially by the second. This was the Friday prior to the ‘protest rally’ which might still determine the fate of our planet, yet for unanswered questions by the local Democratic ‘apparatchik’, had been reconfigured into a ‘cocktail soiree’ on a completely different day to one of the trendy local scenes expats are fond of patronizing, regardless of the ‘country du jour’ that the Digital Vagabond Tribe descends upon guided by no more than that increasingly ubiquitous sirene “a iEye” frequency now being installed in every new computer appliances via the “Epstein Class” processor monopoly - project 2o25 ‘Rockefeller Railroad Monopoly’ turned ’Information Super Highway’.
Back to the chronicle; thinking nothing of it, i left the ‘(camouflaged) tribute - in sheep’s clothing’ in the freezer of the curious ‘unaskedfor’ appliance, texting back “why am i buying a refigerador, when i’ve still not got my ‘fone, minusvoz camera BTW, howz things¿”; that was 5 days ago and i must’ve hit a nerve, for i’ve apparently become ‘persona non-grata’ in a compound within which i’ve invested blood, sweat and tears along with substantial good faith while enduring an equal measure of bad faith - ‘live and learn’ - I believe strongly in the inherent value to the community for building a “mercadoCOLECTIVO,” but am weary to the bone due to ‘cultural resistance from behind.’ I am a stonecutter, artist, writer who’d been born to members of ‘merica’s “Greatest Generation,” which like all media monikers contains it’s polar-opposite mostly because the business of creating monikers is learned in the same venal academies that inculcate the will of the “Epstein Class” rather than the more esoteric, but far less profitable socratic search for an honest man.
Now on this day before April Fool’s day, i have no home, no woman, no friend or family who’ll admit to such; guess i’ll eat some worms. And i stand, because i can, it’s what exactly for that gets a little hazy. It was simple when i’d returned from my vision quest and knew myself to be a stonecutter; though truth be told when i’d announced by ambition to become a ‘painter’ in the Vermeer/Cézanne hothouse conceit of my youth, Pop’s equally glib reply was ‘you’re not a painter, you’re a sculptor;’ as with most pronouncements of my father’s this one was a mix of fact and fiction. On balance his advice was nearly pristine in its perspicuity. For example, near his death as he resigned himself to his mortal reality, he didn’t abdicate his role as consigliere incomparabilis pulling me to his grizzle face and exacting a sacred promise, ‘don’t ever stop writing,” good son i remain, i haven’t; but i gotta say, it’s the incalculable hidden benefits i am still uncovering to this day.
For example, (one of his favorite, cliches¿) this essay like many began as a battle ground for petty personal umbrage parading as higher purpose. The entire preceding sanctimonious litany was obscured by partial truth and incomplete information; el mero mero is faced with the impending death of his father - a man i knew only a distance and through description from his taciturn son; like father like son. The tex message i share about the mysterious cold box, also included the Spanish word for “resigned” when replying to my preoccupied courtesy, “como estas¿.” It has only been through the Jesuit-like training from pop in which i further explored the meaning of “dimido” 5 days later; a century of silence, and unnecessary torment to a household up to its gills in grief. I don’t share this as a pro forma mea culpa, but to emphasize the importance of one of Don Miguel Ruiz, et. al. 4 Capital aphorisms “don’t make assumptions,” or as ‘Scotty Anderson’ a greatlymissedgrowingupgoombah might have opined in his pre ‘MAGA’ drawl: “assume” makes an ‘Ass out U & Me.’
Beside the lens essaying provides for personal growth in the tradition of Michel de Montaigne, is the opportunity for communication with the ‘shadow’ we all carry and parry in out work-a-day worlds, or at least those of fortunate enough to not have been delivered into the rapidly evolving ‘pariah class’, i say evolving for while today our collective ‘awakening’ is content with polite euphemisms like “Epstein Class,” for the unconscionable and gratuitous violence they, the pariah class, have visited upon our inherently peaceful, however paradoxically beastial lot. Time is nigh and face a ‘gordian knot’ of mythological proportion simply to get through the year, much less to arrive at a point in our future where we begin to forgive ourselves for ________fill in the blank. The oddest aspect of such a hope is how plausible it is, at least for some. Others of our kind suffer from an inevitable conclusion to all hope and dreams, consigned by an existential weight to the reality of death; about which the progenitor Mssr Montaigne of this curious form of ’trying’ kindly advised: “I would always have a man to be doing, and, as much as in him lies, to extend and spin out the offices of life; and then let death take me planting my cabbages, indifferent to him, and still less of my gardens not being finished.”
solidarność
(˚ㄥ _˚)
31 March 2026
http://ExtinctionChronicles.blogspot.com
http://JosephTStevens.blogspot.com
http://Stoanartst.blogspot.com
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reprinted with permission; all rights reserved
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