Pop used the diminutive “burro” when he wanted to slap me upside my head, but elected not to - though with pop, fathoming was always a dicey prospect. Yet it is he who taught me the most important lessons about going the flow - “path of least resistance” · reality 101. My last conversation with him was at 2 am the morning i arrived at the youngest brother’s home in Mount Vernon, WA, from Los Angeles. The miracles of technology allowed we four children to speak with one voice into the ear of our sire just prior to his death, though the eldest two siblings were across the continent at the elder sister’s home in Ithaca, NY. Nearly a decade later - we four are further apart than we were the night Pop died. The next day my younger brother forbade me to speak of “obesity” while a guest in his home - my character shrank from the task and i left him and his family in an “obesity” free zone · because i was too arrogant to shut my mouth about fat while my kid brother grieved.
I am no better today as a human, evventhough i have a better understanding about why my little brother might not feel safe in my company - i can be “burro”, but where my father mocked and encouraged my fervor, family recoils · always have, likely always will. I have no other skin to leap into and must make peace with what i have to work with. What i have found is anymore when i begin to relish the experience of how stupid, or wrong, or _____fill in the blank that person passing across my attention is, the only logical recourse is that particular person, or behavior or objectionable act is nowhere near and i am stuck with a surrogate of my own conceit for some unknown reason. Whatever energy that i glommed onto to has to, by physical law dissipated and resides elsewhere with others, so any attachment i maintain is entirely of my own making - how fucking stupid is that¿
That’s not really a question for you to answer - rather one for me to expire · I’d genuinely like to ease the suffering of all i encounter, but have found wisdom in reducing my wants to what i have control over; the further i go down that road the more i find there is no one i can help, until i have relieved myself of my own self-imposed cruelty. Just writing that down makes me scratch my head in wonder - lucky me · Here’s a leap, if i cannot find compassion in my heart for the virulent stupidity of the current leader of the “free world,” how can i expect to find kindness for myself - an infinitely flawed person from a family in so much pain that it cannot, or will not coalesce as a unit in the midst of the most horrendous suffering our planet has ever endured, much less conceived¿ I am locked into a location that somehow has rendered me immune for the time being from a pathogen wreaking death and destruction across whole swaths of the land i was born to and there is nothing more available to me aid my friends and lovers than language - how’s that for fucking paradox¿
Each day this continuing effort toward understanding the impossible falters at paragraph 3; all i can do is press ahead in what can mostly be described as a trance-state. I ride my bicycle for and hour in the morning so my body contributes to some semblance of acuity; i struggle to contribute to a culture i know only as a robust body of echoes from different times in my own development. Sometimes i see the names of cities which represented a vacant media fear and loathing that i resisted out of the gate for the luck of my upbringing which demanded justice for a people who were not my enemy, but who suffered heinous acts of egregious violence from money that was being stolen from the coffers of what had once been a righteous nation, but has since become little more than a “chop shop” for the corporate thugs who to this day prey on the same nation i now live in, but under the pseudonym of “development.”
The last community i lived in within the continental U.S. was once the domain of outlaws and rebels, but now is so yoked to a media-induced identity that iy no longer recognizes its capitulation or adherence to a morality of such a distorted fabric one must ask - “how fucking stupid are you¿” · These people where i lived fully believed that they are the most free on the planet - free to hate, free to cluster in compounds that require obedience to a code defined, not from discussion or examination, but ascertained on a digital shackle which they have willingly placed on their own wrists and which they monitor on an irrational frequency - looking for the next ______fill in the blank · Cloistered is the best description for their condition in Kern River Valley - Lake Isabella · land of the never gonna be free because that requires too much thinking. Even Orange County, CA where i grew up has transitioned to the progressive agenda, but the ruling class is banking on pockets of fascists, armed and prepared to defend whatever the corporate voice dictates, because ______fill in the blank.
jts 20/06/2020
http://stoanartst.blogspot.com
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