I’m now 5 days and 1,000s of miles from “Thanksgiving Day” in the land of my birth, and so full of thanks, i could just shit. I’m not sure how to parlay that into gratitude for the multitudes, but from everything else i’ve been watching - it could be worth the effort · I am surrounded by the stink of greed and am really struggling with whether the stink is my own or others; this pleases me. Pop was an OG (original gangster) by every decent standard that title was ever meant to convey - he attended Bell High School in the 1940’s prior to applying to fighter pilot squadrons flying the “Lightning” P-38s, then successfully combatting fascism in the later stages of WWII South Pacific - instead he was assigned to piloting the B-17 “Flying Fortresses” of “Catch 22” fame · a synchronicity that well harkened to the next 6 decades of his life.
I’d love to speak with authority about what that time meant to the man i knew as “Pop” and whom i revered as well as i knew how until the day he died. What i learned from him that is most valuable today is his distrust of those who “have all the answers.” He was a High School English teacher for nearly 4 decades and who later taught poetry to any whose lapels fell close enough for him to grab in his later years. It is testimony to the conceit of our civilization how much of his disciplined literary output is moldering in a crawlspace in the gr8 Northwest where his - at the time of his death · 40 year old 286 processor got stored after the 6 grocery bags full of his poetry got lost in the rapacious dismantling of his last man-cave; that my friends is a future we all face.
The faux führer donny is as we speak being foisted on his own petard as another previous traitor, Spiro t. described as being left “twisting in the wind.” While the “new boss, same as the old boss” joey is populating the liberating leadership cabinet with whores (apologies to sex workers worldwide) from the same corporate ranks into whose pockets donny was draining ‘merican wealth while making the modern cradle of democracy Gr8 Again. My vituperation isn’t much help to you - lets try this tack · every umbrage you read herein, whether it be a grievance about inequality of income distribution, sexist assault, racism or contempt for big shots of every stripe and walk of life is in someway an unresolved resentment and conflict within my own being and only couched as dispassionate discourse because i lack the moral fiber to own it to the bone - so fuck you, and the horse you rode in on.
My candor has often been interpreted as an opening for leveraging the great conceit of our epoch - mental control over another · I do not wish to control another, and struggle against that inclination with all my mortal might, but find within that personal resistance the cesspool of my own fragile fear. Today i found myself staring at the new shoots of bamboo in what passes for a backyard where i live; what came to mind was Dame Pema Chodron describing what is behind hate - fear, while behind fear is the “soft spot” that remains of our essential being. The logic of the Dame is unassailable, which does not render the undoing of its pernicious influence any easier - just more informative · At least i gain a better understand about what i struggle against knowing it is not you - whoever the fuck you be.
Nor do i give a fuck any longer for concurrence, but rather strive for, as Sensei Bruce Lee loved into the aether, the “strength to endure a difficult life”. If i can manage to love with the little i understand about what that means, to the end of my days, than i’ve done the most with what i have. It also allows me “wiggle room” to suck a little more pussy, drink a little more booze and exert more of what is left of my legendary muscle in support of good shit and not live in fear about retaliation from the bullies roaming our planet - I am that bully, and it shames me to understand that my hatred toward bullies is in reality toward the least favorable aspect of my own character. It also heartens me to know that with each step i take toward my own fear, brings me that much closer to the soft loving core of a being Dame Pema Chodron describes and whom i hope to take with me to the grave, rather than the crafted illusionary “fool” the presumptive social engineers would imagine they have created - again · go fuck yourselves zukee, company and the digital AI horse you rode in on.
jts 21/11/2020 ,
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