Today, i did not ride my bicycle - maybe the first time in a month · maybe less; i stopped keeping track when i could no longer run; i really loved running, especially low tide between Santa Monica and Manhattan beach piers, earlier in the day the better: this in the days after the iPod shrank and i was still addicted to music. I am still addicted to music, but like whiskey, i have figured out how to sip and savor - if i could figure out how to do that with women - i may have figured out the secret of life itself. So we’re all clear on the concept, y’all understand that previous sentence is braggadocio and bullshit mixed with a dollop of liquid courage designed to aggrandize myself in your mind while diminishing my faults in my own - so we’re all clear · nothing quite like the end of life to clarify things. But man, what a good time we’ve had; look around you - somewhere close by there is a lovely woman doing some lovely thing, weather getting hotter, or colder depending on what pisses you off most, something in the background · just below the threshold of earshot, but interesting enough to get your attention; then that thing you thinking about when you woke up today, but forgot with your coffee.
I’m in a challenge with my neighbors about when and how to cool the walls off without making it obvious. It it is too obvious, then i’m made for weak-kneed foreigner currying favor, but if it remains at the threshold of simple kindness, it is no more than dharma - which g_d knows there ain’t near enough on the planet to carry us into nirvana, no matter what the tabloids say. What’s weird is how the “Lotus Eaters” from Homer’s Ulysses so resemble the destination junkies of todays planetary dystopia. I keep trying to imagine that i’m the first person it occurred to to go here ________ (fill in the blank), only to find a well-heeled confederacy of, again forgive me ________ (fill in the blank). Invariably it’s not a congenial lot, ‘cause you never know who’s on the payroll of the 0.01% and who is just petitioning for a seat at the grownups table. The trillions of $’s busting the seams has to be giving fits to the interns at Harvard’s MBA program hoping to rope a dope for that shot at Maisey and all the comes with the dreams of a “Great Gatsby” whether it is understood as that or not.
What i love about Pop and his memory is his intransigence - invariably he took the high road when he’d had so many opportunities to be otherwise. He got kicked the curb twice by women he’d endeavored to aid - the 3rd just took his coin collection as payment for her indulgence of his dotage. Yeah, i know that sounds harsh and bitter - as though their behavior was noble and nurturing. We are not going to get out of this cul-de-sac by playing patty-cake with bullshit. “Quid pro quo, tit for tat, piss on a rat, get your ankle bit for that,” however you want to characterize this phase in the extinction of our DNA - jump right in when the troll in you wants to say directly what you disagree with about what i say, otherwise sit and wonder about what you cannot parse because of your twisted motivation - could i be anymore clear¿ This morning my father’s cousin posted a photo of himself and his family the year i was born. The photo was a family portrait on a lake near where my younger brother would “trim tab” his life as Buckminster Fuller might have described, but the synchronicity does not stop there: true story - i spent a day, a week with one of the mental giants of the “digital age” whose claim to fame was “working out the geometry” of Bucky’s Domes; “what he and i did, that is noteworthy, was to swap out a VW bug engine using a skateboard - everything else seems hyperbole meant to separate you from you “wherewithal” rather than unite the kingdom of Homo Sapien as was promised in the increasingly rotten apple ads.
Where to go - like there is someplace to escape to · hahaha, or as they say in other parts of the world, jajaja · I guess as long as no one has a knee at my neck, i am okay with how i die. So how do i go about making sure that the other human beings i share this miraculous, but diabolically threatened world with have the same opportunity to either work toward her rescue or whore your soul for the sake of a few convenient shekels to moisten your lips with upon death ¿ that is a question ? It is only just past the witching hour - meaning: the sun is somewhere over the yard arm · an expression i reminded of by a woman who bet the farm i would mortgage my last years to clean lift her out of what she presumed would become her sepulcher at death with me in mute attendance - it didn’t happen and still i love her and wish her peaceful passage. But the only way it seems to make that possible is to attend to one’s one passing. Ma, it seems has lined that trajectory up from an early age and dedicated remarkable portions of her existence to making that transition - how shall we say · “just so”
I don’t forecast that in my passing - rather i would welcome attendance after the fact in anyone who considers these faint missals as worthy of the time it took to decipher; 1st out of the vault of the “knuckleheads” who tried to consigned the fate of an entire DNA strand to the hubris of a conceit known as the “singularity”. This supposed point in human history where logic prevails over sentiment without the requisite pain that is inherent to our species. From the first time a human ran to ground flesh because he/she understood stamina better than the flesh being sought. Kid yourself with your balance or your influence - your future is no less threatened by the inordinate stupidity of greed - kid yourself not · we as a feature on the planet face extermination of no uncertain extent without radical reevaluation of what is our responsibility to all around us - not with regards to how they benefit us · but how we benefit them; pay heed, or be gone - please i beg you ·
jts 27/05/2020
http://stoanartst.blogspot.com
reprinted with permission - all rights reserved
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