Not sure if i’m anti-social or no; i’d have to imagine if you base your opinion on accounts of others - that’d be an affirmative · yet . .. ··· just now it is raining - a cold rain the day of a wake for a stranger i know not at all. His passing was tragic and i represented out of solidarity with a widow and son facing humongous “right@xmas” hospital bills in a foreign land. Mustering in the early afternoon rain, i saw no reason to remain and commune with strangers mourning his passing and so vacated the social field for “friendlier” terrain, then the power grid of the more congenial bistro i retreated to collapsed, and reignited just as i was getting into my musical laptop workaround. Yesterday my nation was faced with the first occupation of its capitol since 1824 when the British invaded just prior or after the Constitutional Congress. These insurrectionists were homegrown fascists incited by scurrilous claims of a stolen election from the outgoing MT Suit #45, and left unanswered by the incoming corporately ensconced #46.
I’ve elected to ride the crest of the coming maelstrom within the conceit of a novel - something i’ve been threatening since “My Life in a Sea of Anonymity” bobbed into my 20 year-old something imagination. In the unlikely event some of you search for “Extinction Chronicles” they may be found under “Extinction Chronicles - "The Post Extinction Inception · stay tuned, its hardly a weight i welcome on this cold afternoon, friendless in a community that prides itself on friendship but gorges on ______ fill in the blank; a clue: t’ain’t “friendship,” near as i can tell, but you should know that i am well represented in every anomaly about that meaning known to man/woman or governing agency - a renegade with regards to language signifiers. My attention to such fine points hasn’t as yet seemed to bridge the gap from “weird” to un-weird.
Luckily this personal evolution occurs just in time for me to die in peace alone and without external reinforcement for what i feel or what i think - so i say · Whether that is spiritual acceptance of the incontrovertible fact that i will die alone regardless of the proximity of a loving expression of personal affection, or utter indifference about my particular passing in the midst of hordes of other dying humans is unimportant. To me what counts is the feeling i bring to that instant i become an inanimate object of collected corpuscles continuing to decay just lacking consciousness, into a film resembling spontaneous combustion, only at a much slower pace. Ergo the possibility of my words and ideas receding at a much slower pace possibly providing aid and comfort i was unable to manifest while breathing.
If there is a residue from people’s experience that distinguishes happy from sad, or fulfilled from desperate, I D K, i do know from witnessing the pathetic expressions of wannabe patriots trapped into lies of their own conceit, and cowardice, i’d rather not commingle my tenuous wants and desires with the vagaries of vanity, prefer to leave my traces amongst the more vital fields of promise, hope and honesty - whatever that may cost me in dignity or humiliation, (for g_d’s sake, look out over the horizon and ask your supple intellect how many persons have crashed and burned in an effort to leave a footprint on the face of this planet when not welcomed by the ultimate editor, happenstance.)
I’m not afraid, i’m terrified, but have lived so long with this curious condition that to persist for a few more months before i am crushed by the weight of my own blood pump is a small sacrifice if even a single new sentence i might conjure through innocent play allows one child from one family to procreate in a loving way with one other human and thereby continue our miraculous strand of DNA which barely has become aware of its potential before being evicted by appetites and hungers that required distinction one from the other, more than providing something for the sake of other. Oh well - maybe if we remain playful and non-judgmental in support of enjoyment and loving recourse, others might follow suit, if not a scent toward a place we may once again propagate with gusto and kindness into unknown, less frightening realities.
jts 09/01/2021
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