This should be interesting, i’m commencing the day’s writing chore at a time i’d normally be wrapping up, and i’m tweaking my normally rigid routine. I realized that i enjoy sipping whiskey because you get more bang for the buck, and you pee less nor feel bloated like when drinking beer. I accept i will offend some in the audience delving into the shameful practice of altered states, but without a regular "squeeze" one relates as best as one can. When a younger fellow, i shared my drinking theory with a mental health professional, he remarked, “oh, you’re a scientific drinker,” that coupled with a passing observation by an examining physician, one of many after Dr. Welby M.D. retired, this examining physician opined - drink for taste, not the high · The problem with whiskey is not unlike a woman who clutches; it’s a great feeling when both of you are in the groove, but lord help you if one wants distance and can’t explain why. I stopped drinking for a decade after my 3rd wife bailed 6 days after i enjoyed an emergency appendectomy. It was a great 10 years. .. Tobacco free, I ran the L.A. Marathon, enjoyed dopamine addiction like a boss running 20 miles a week for a decade.
I can say i ran an hour in Death Valley at noon in late July the year my father died - ultimately what i accomplished was oblonging my short-leg socket so when i fell off the rock truck in Romblon, Philippines onto my short-leg flank all i did was make a satchel size bruise that left enough coagulated blood deposits to inform me of the very real need for a disciplined and consistent range-of-motion regime well into my elder years if i expect to remain standing past 66 - my luck just seems to be the gift that keeps on giving. Just the other day i read the Dalai Lama expound on the role of toxins in battling disease; while i believe the allusion he was creating centered on language and the unfortunate, but sometimes very necessary use of excoriating phrases, that is not inconsistent with the sage Lao Tzu who also observed “the truth is not always beautiful, nor beautiful words the truth.” I’m pretty sure that when i die which we all do, my incarnation will be as the triplet sibling to Madam Paradox’s twins - “T’is and T’isn’t”
If my luck holds, as it has this lifetime, i will be born to Madam Paradox as “T’ain’t” which for the libertines in the audience know to be the region in the “nether realm” as the highly erotic gap between the gonads and the anus, if not that than the bottom step in the mausoleum memorial to the senseless deaths from the plague of 2020, after mankind had come to her senses and put the greedy war monger capitalist class back on a short leash and intentionally utilized the intensity of their pathological greed to illuminate mushroom farms that had miraculously sprung up devouring the plastic particles which ultimately failed in their effort to achieve a sentient state. This was just about the time AI went off the rails in its own arrogant attempt to achieve singularity, for just like its progenitors the narcissistic billionaire coders responsible for that testimony to hubris, right at the moment when it became self-aware - it, AI was blinded by its own beauty and went into a backdoor loop calculating Pi to its last place · t’was never heard from again.
Storm #9 is bearing down on Vietnam and the people of the city where i live are rising to the occasion with aplomb and loving courage. My artist friends are propagating an exquisite meme demonstrating how to lash door knobs together for French doors giving added strength. This storm is predicted to be 16 on a scale that ends at 17, so it’s anybody’s guess what that’s going to look like. I marvel at the resiliency and generosity of spirit of this population; as an example, Murphy’a Law dictated my toilet paper would run out just about dead center of the eye of the storm, but when i stopped at the local bodega, all she could do is shake her head pointing to the empty shelf, miming 4 fingers when asked about how long before the next delivery. From no more than a wince from my cheek, she removed herself to a hallway and returned with two rolls - i can only grimace realizing in the land of my birth, people have been shot in struggles over toilet paper post Covid-19.
paragraph 5 can be found in the realm of prayer for all who suffer in order to embrace the unbearable and to extend to the unextendable.
"I heard a voice at the dusk of day sayin', 'be gentle brother, be gentle and pray'." - courtesy of the loving heart of Bob Dylan ·
jts 26/10/2020
http://stoanartst.blogspot.com
reprinted with permission - all rights reserved
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