Tuesday, November 17, 2020

161120 - Extinction Chronicles ·

After typhoon #13 Vamco has gone, i sit a changed man, as though there is any other condition available to our species, but change. Yet to learn how pitilessly negligible is my desire in the face of the sometime munificent character of our atmosphere compared to the intractable reality of the physics of its potential is a lesson in humility. It would seem the lessons i’ve failed to learn from the women in my life, have simply moved sidewise into the realm of Mama Gaia for upper-division remedial instruction - lucky me · I’m happy to have become as ignorant as i am, however precarious that position may be in this information predicated environment that has been created for us - seemingly by those holding the reins on all “valuable knowledge". Having worked in “super-secret” environments i feel a great affinity for Peggy Lee’s poignant refrain, “is that all there is?”


“Early Roman Kings” is playing as loud as i can on my narrow profile Macbook Pro - and there is so little attenuation from such a diminutive protest, i have to accept i live in the “echo chamber” allotted me, or i realize there is no one to communicate with but my self · Mr. Dylan does not allow public distribution of this tract; i don’t know why; "the election" is in mid-air, and from where i sit it is not clear who stands where. The philanthropic money is gathering steam to reset the yoga patios, the yogurt bars and the martini lounges where "real" decisions are made for people who have no voice but that which is granted them by economic velocity - having watched Mama Gaia wipe out an entire economic projection and learning more about what real planetary velocity feels like, my contempt for modern economic models congeals.


The daylight is waning, my life force is ebbing - riding my bicycle was grand, sort of like peppering the tail of a snail with only so much salt to sting, but not enough to destroy. I know few people where i live, and the fault is my own. I am fairly certain the same cast of characters i veer from can be found in any destination i've arrived at only because greed is and has has been sung in “Villanelle For Our Time” a result of steering by the venal chart, but with oh so little “Bitter Searching of the Heart.” How i ever became such a scold, i’ll never know, but it is more than tired, please take this badge off of me, or arm me to the core with love enough to protect all i see that which is vulnerable and save me from that greed that threatens our world.


Better yet, enlarge my phallus to the point where every woman that beholds my fragile frame can imagine nothing more than “fucking my brains out,” lord knows thinking hasn’t done all that much for me or the world i know. Are we that removed from wiggling protoplasm¿ if so, how is it a handful of “suits” with backup have cornered an entire species to where everyone is afraid of everything¿? What bullshit is that; i’ve just past through winds which obey nothing but the physics of moisture, heat and  oxygen. Near as i can tell, the force washing entire economies out to sea asked no permission and sought no notice of consumer specs - pretty much acted like most beautiful women i’ve ever known - lacking consideration for anything but pure attention ·


Fine - my mother is an incomparable “beaut” · i miss her, and would rather have been at her side for this passage of her rich existence; she arranged it differently. Why is that, i have to ask myself, much as i did at age 15 when she changed the locks on the doors to the house i grew up in. If it was for education, i cannot deny i’ve learned a lot - i’m now 66 and accept that if i am not at home where i sit - there is no other place. Yet like the wizened indian father from the land i hail from who would walk out into the brush to find a place to meet his maker, i now search for my place to die; from that thinking, the issues held close to my skin by the ghost of my ego, flutter in the wind and no longer carry weight. I do spend a fair amount of psychic energy imagining the life of my 92 year-old mother and can honestly say with love in my heart, adieu. There are few i know, or have met i can say that to with the same feeling - g_d speed Ma · 


jts 16/11/2020 

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