251020 - Extinction Chronicles ·

Ran out of whiskey just as storm #8 is about to shed its first torrents - oh well · I have garlic, some so-so potato salad, cold pot-au-fue and some warm beer, what could go wrong. I have little ego sanctuary left to protect myself from myself and accept that the thoughts passing through my withering frame hungry for its bicycle time are entirely my own and bear no relationship to reality other than they might contain events that could inform choices i must certainly make, or not. “Tempest” is playing because i wanted to hear ‘Soon After Midnight.” I’ve thrown open all the possible ventilation, and have 2nd thoughts about that as a moisture strategy. Trying to keep the house in some order i chucked the banana peel from the morning’s oatmeal and got savaged by the black ant who’d apparently not got its fill. An interesting contrast, these micro beasts that in a nanosecond can raise welts that more resemble an emerging boil possess footprints that could easily be confused with peppercorn shavings. The neighbors are perturbed and i am sorry their friend the landlord has opted to justify her neglect for the mold on her walls by questioning my habits using the blood sport of Hoi An - gossip ·

I am sorry that it hasn’t worked out well for me here, but i don’t see how i can fit with Zukee’s digital running dogs, or the front men for _rump’s post-election loss agitation for reactionary behavior in support of “unfettered” capitalism to save the world from itself everywhere. It took me a year to begin to appreciate how many undercover Nazis are establishing a beach head here in this too cute world heritage site right at the symbolic fault line between the two fictional Viet Nam’s conjured in the minds of Kissinger, Dean Rusk and the “wunderkind” from Camelot, while poor John was looking over his shoulder for the bullet that came from on high to the right. The resulting ‘bamboo curtain’ for Southeast Asia showed clearly who was building barriers and who was building solidarity. Ho Chi Minh won the election and the results were tossed out by Dulles and his thugs who resurrected a French appointee as president of the supposed free South.

Any more these historical demarcations are of no importance for capital is fluid at the higher echelons and as Bob Dylan observed “shallow and weak” at the lower demographics - so i am sharing this why, when full 50% of the reading population does not parse the word “demographic”? Today fb fired across my bow for violating “community standards” disputing some cobbled together meme about Goebbels strategy for muting intellectuals - the claim even by the fact checkers was deemed “partly true;” the larger concern is why the behemoth billion dollar company would be quibbling and threatening me with “access” to what is a public utility for highlighting a “partly true” about a Nazi criminal responsible for distorting the same truths that the current administration is attempting to get re-elected spewing is the question. Where do you stand Zuckee, are you in or are you out - do you think buying swaths of an island state and transferring human initiative to Kurzwell’s AI henchmen in anticipation of the singularity is gonna get you some choice location in the digital intellect you fuckers are planning to upload after you have ravaged this planet ¿? what kind of monsters you - besides lacking spine or honor.

I have just found myself yoked into the violence of thought propagated by the social engineers to keep people terminally off-balance and unable to frame one peaceful thought after another. I think i’ll save that passion for the next vagina that presents itself to my voracious imagination for stimulation. Don’t worry boys, i’m old and the tempting pussy is banking on the GQ thing you got oozing out of the Gucci bags all the broads seem to believe represent real power - so kudos to your advertising wizards in subverting an entire breeding cohort to satisfying the pain of disease and death with the palliative of unending consumer appetizers. I’d laugh if i didn’t believe in my heart of hearts you were able to conjure this temptation for a dying species through the abject poverty of your souls. You’ve lived so long in the penthouse level and livery service of door to door limousines there is no anchor of responsibility to others except for how they feature in satisfying your every whim. In your mind that is power - to determine for others what they will do for you; where we part company is in my commitment to aid others in fulfilling their destiny, not mine.

I’d rather be so evolved that my prose was inclusive enough to appeal to your vanity, but those who read these daily ______ fill in the blank have excavated through mind numbing distractions to find material hopefully dealing, with the whole of our species and not just the “target demographics” your Power Point wizards use to spoon feed you bite-size ideas from which you can make incisive decisions utilizing the narrower and narrower gates humanity is herded through the Dream Machine X.O on their way to the cash register, or whatever current form for that action where you separate the earnings from the herdees for the benefit of the herders. If i was a smart man, i would take lessons from your laser-like focus and accept 1) there is no accommodating your greed. 2) you cannot be reformed. 3) your function is redundant and therefore should be eliminated. I left my megalomania at the door and so am only concerned with recognizing and amending my own defects, of which i contain, as Mr. Dylan once again said so much better, multitudes. I hope the logic of 1-3 makes sense to some enterprising reader who might begin a study group for how to accomplish that, short of any miracle - i will no plunge into my next chronicle.

jts 25/10/2020 

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241020 - Extinction Chronicles ·

C.G. Jung - “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.”

Not a path i would recommend to many, but if you wish to suck the life blood of the essence of your existence, i haven’t found a more honest declaration of the terms and conditions for awakening. The difficulty is that there is no guide but yourself and what you feel. I have averred and attributed to others so much of what i feel for so long, it is a challenge just to feel and dwell with what i find. Social creature that i am in spite of my recluse ways, it’s become more than interesting to discover how others respond to my best efforts to stand naked without apology or demand. Music remains a solace, and Madame Paradox in her infinite wisdom has bestowed the “the tin ear” of our planet to me, so i am left with sole pleasure of plunging my last cogent tendrils as deep as i may into the melodic pistil nearest my heartstring - just now it is “Murder Most Foul” - Bob Dylan ·

Storm #8 is banking its fires just off shore and my landlady is understandably ignoring my concerns about the mold growing from the leaking ceilings on 60% of a domicile i pay too much for even prior to the the Covid vacancies. Suffering seems to be a perfect topic to listen to Mr. Dylan serenade the ghost of a dead John Kennedy. I can’t blame people i meet for being frightened; ironically it never occurred to me that anyone but those i’d deliberately menace for no more than distance or time to make an escape until a woman i grieve for not knowing whether she breathes or is dead in the hunting cabin she enticed me back to in the city i was raised, suggested to me “it may be that people are afraid of you.” We didn’t quite parse that move far enough to surmount the bugaboo of flesh on flesh after i'd learned that all she wanted was an escort for her corpse out the door and someone to sweep up the detritus so’s that her “loving son” would not be inconvenienced. I was too far gone down the existential rabbit hole to countenance such a con - but remain grateful for that important lesson so late in life.

More grateful that the first thing that occurred to me after setting my kettle of vittles on and spritzing the vinegar on the ceilings of an investment property apparently believed by the owners will magically repair itself and that i will continue overpaying for the privilege of being rained on and having to send my laundry out because there is no room dry enough or free from mold such that i can wash clothes and expect them to dry within 2 days is concern for those who are far worse off than i, and what can i do to help? I no longer feel like a chump being touched by sharper characters because they confuse my kindness for an easy touch, rather i am more discriminating about discerning the con from the beleaguered. This may be because i do not parade my misery for a purpose or that i am willing to share my discomfort more openly because i realize how connected we all are; if it could be that - i am just too fucking tired anymore to care.

- care about how i appear · yet when i bagged my clothes to send to my friend’s newly launched laundry service, i realized i had been parading the “greasy stain” one gets from too long on the bicycle without paying careful attention to one’s retreat, part of the joys and pleasures of living in a too damp environment that has been over moist, for over long. Mine is a minor complaint compared to the 1,000s of displaced families from the recent floods - but does that makes my suffering any less, nor a basis for my landlady to ignore my requests that she attend to her moldy ceilings or release me to find healthier lodgings. Though how i could ever find lodgings healthier than a back door i can call ducks home to thinking i’m helping my stalwart farmer friends, or where i can contribute to the local economy by contracting with their enterprising, genial and entirely excellent son’s laundry service while enjoying the benefit of cultural wisdom one cannot gain by any other means than living in the midst of it, is doubtful. 

So, where to die - in the tradition of my much admired Lakota Sioux brethren i would pick my time and wander out to find the place where the “great spirit” will accept my skin back into the spiritual realm of all creatures, great and small. The best i can hope for today, here and now is that my laundry load has not proven so great that the pittance they will accept for the great benefit of exchanging damp and sullied clothes for dry and folded cloth is of more benefit to my friends than it is to me - and to me that is an excellent exchange whatever the cost. Next Day: true to form, my friend’s delivered the cleanest and driest laundry i’ve had in the year and 3 months i’ve lived here, and as expected they would not accept a farthing more for a service that provided sleep at the onset of another storm, #8 in as many weeks. My landlords having gorged themselves on my latest rental payment are nowhere to be found now that the walls and ceilings in 60% of my boutique villa are oozing mold, and all i can do is cling to my dry sheets hoping i do not wake up to another creek in the hallway. I’m reluctant to ventilate with open windows and doors until the “all clear" is given, but have no one i can trust for good counsel about how much mold on the walls is considered tolerable or whether as a foreign devil i even enjoy the right to object to what i consider “unhealthy” conditions. now to begin the next day’s paragraphs with joy in my heart and hope in my imagination . ..

jts 24/10/2020 

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231020 - Extinction Chronicles ·

Unacknowledged emotion is dangerous and makes for a shallow existence. I feel deeply and have not quite bridged the autonomy gap where self-soothing is adequate to the task of taking the wounded child in me by the hand and walk him home. Nor do the stopgaps of tobacco and alcohol stifle the emptiness as they once had - insincere romance provides less and less sustenance for the heart and ego aspirations shimmer more and yield less solid contentment · Yet i am an organism plagued by fatigue and hunger; my crude sensory appendages are weary from cortisol poisoning and i suffer from endorphin withdrawal from concessions to a “once noble but run hard put away wet too often” physique. However, more and more answers to longstanding questions seem to rise like submerged ancient edifices emerging again from a draining muck. Maybe i should get my meal cooking . ..¿

I was raised on a diet of metaphor and was never quite sure when pop was waxing poetic; or simply yanking my chain. He did in the end resort to demands for concrete examples when our discussions wandered to far off course. I am living in a coastal town of Viet Nam - it is full to the rafters with grifters and charlatans mixed in amongst a hard to uncover cadre of loving hearts - how much of that statement is projection and how much observation, i struggle to discern daily · Phone prompting is not part of my rituals any longer, but from prior experience as a private detective in the texting-rich reality of the Los Angeles Superior Court i know there exists a tribal conceit based largely on access to numbers that somehow translate into relationships which sometimes intersect reality but from what i could tell mostly resembles a lot of people in a noisy bar trying to get noticed. 

Reality for me now is the death rate in the land of my birth being presided over by thugs anointed by mid-level managers from the corporate overlords masquerading as captain of industry but are more likely now 1st, 2nd and 3rd generation “trust fund” babies wallowing in more dividends than most of the planet would ever know, even if they realized biblical lives of 1,000 2,000 or 3,000 year’s. For example, on fb this morning i saw information i have no doubt is relatively accurate: 3 men have more wealth than half of all of ‘merica & 8 men have more wealth the 3.5 billion people on the planet, roughly 1/2 of all living people. It’s small wonder i grow weary of foreigners i meet propagating the party line of “Greed is Good” in the midst of a nation they spend more time and effort attempting to transplant their previous lifestyle while simultaneously convincing themselves _______fill in the blank. I grow weary of trying to decipher the “who’s in, who’s out” of the high school clique politik used to justify ______fill in the blank.

And just like discussing my own conflicted feelings about a family i have all but disowned, you must understand these are decent, caring, loving people i am alluding to - and know much less about than they apparently do me. I miss running, i miss my family, i miss drawing-painting&carving, i miss love. It pleases me that i’ve reached a state in my demise where i can take unabashed pleasure in using those things which have always seemed to create the most difficulty in my life - words, or is it ideas ¿? the two are barely distinguishable any longer. I remember declaring repeatedly as pop was in the process of shuffling off his mortal coil, “if he can string two words together, they are words worth paying attention to. Today on my way back from a necessary foray into society, i stopped to purchase fried bananas for my neighbors - there is always a plethora of people about and i hoped the greasy banana pulp would blunt the dreariness of 8 weeks of shade and 6 weeks of brutal to less brutal rainfall. Their stalwart leaning into the calamity is a lesson i hope i never forget.

But before i could return back with my sumptuous booty, i circled back to the old man sitting at the bench gnawing on his apple, and before i could even get the bag of six fried bananas opened - i was faced with as many open hands from the local renegade, but ever beauteous hag cotillion with their perfect polka dot hats, and clear confidence that what was in my bag, would be theirs - he the old man sat on bemused, but clearly disinterested in what i’d turned full circle to offer, then and later after i’d replenished my humble offering. If this event is the last notable occurrence in my continuing trek to death, i have to number myself as one of the more fortunate persons in these the seeming last days of our human species, if for no other reason than to meet face-to-face some of the bravest, most resilient and cheerful members of our species - yet being unable to convey the full scope of that miracle · somehow feeling forgiven, when i could barely do so for myself. AIN’T LIFE GRAND ¿?

jts 23/10/2020 

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221020 - Extinction Chronicles ·

A wonderful day full of lopsided joy and uneven happiness - faces full of caution, generosity and pain · i’m really beginning to enjoy this living shit, but i’m at a dead loss as to explain how. Very little of what i was raised to believe constitutes “success” is evident in the life i live, yet like some bizarre existential kaleidoscope, i cannot turn a corner without finding some budding growth of a previous planting. I am just now listening to Willy Nelson and his Sons sing an homage to John Lennon - “Watching the Wheels Turn,” an act so simple yet so plagued by overlord search engine intrusion that the title required a second search, i d k ¿ how do you spell “ c l i c k b a i t f o r p r o f i t “ ? It gets really lonely trying to explain the ignorant travesty of such greed and how its parasitic behavior is driving our species to extinction, yet does not mitigate my personal responsibility to laugh, and inspire laughter at such insipid stupidity - you digital wizards, can go fuck yourselves if you had a clue what sex looked like having been cloned in the googol laboratories of Chief Nazi Scientist Kurzwell and his manservant Jeron Lanier. 

Next day - Thur 22 · tried to return to the beach i was able to pitch in anonymously the day before, but the local lads were justifiably perturbed that an aged foreigner garnered photos and attention for a few whacks at a few piles of sand, while the mass of effort was quietly accomplished without recognition for many more long hours than my paltry attempt at aid. I understand, but do not know how to explain this fact to the stranger who, i’m sure had the best intentions, snapped my photo and propagated it as though it was important. The cadre of youth and community leaders who have coalesced into a human barrier against an angry sea are the heroes, but they are heroes i hope who will take a cold hard look at what they are defending and why. I learned that the shore road and artery to the downtown were once part of an estuary and natural waterway that became thoroughfares, which i’m sure seemed like a good idea at the time with a placid climate and habitations already lining the banks. Mother nature, however had determined these routes to be waterways from eons of drenching and re-drenching, and by god, she is going to have her way come hell through high-water.

Just like it was ignorant and delusional to think at my age and state of physical conditioning i had anything to contribute when in denial i waded into the fray, so to is it unwise to continue building on a shore that may have decades, if not years left as shoreline before it becomes coastal waters. Part of what i am experiencing is a reckoning with lifestyle choices i have made to the detriment of my physical health, ostensibly as a catalyst for a creative trance state i’d convinced myself would, like some sort of bacchanalian  existential steroid might push me over the bar from mediocre wannabe artist to bonafide “somebody.” I was wrong, maybe. I am no longer deluded about passing into the great beyond with having left no more than memories with the scores of individuals who have kindly encouraged me on the creative path and the many who in some small or many large ways helped - Thank you ·

I was speaking with a stranger i’d met today who was describing the relief of having relinquished his lifetime collection just prior to moving to Viet Nam; i understand all too clearly the dynamic and had to bite my tongue to keep from commenting on the aftermath of being aged in a foreign land with little of the memorabilia around that comforts more conventional lives. My father was spirited away from his last independent living circumstance to an “assisted living” domicile - read supervised. I took a lot of smack from siblings for bringing him from his now digs to witness the dismantling of his former castle keep. It affected me deeply to see the look of surprise on his face while people were breaking down the years of thoughtful assemblage he’d concocted, but i was more struck by the presumption my siblings made under the mantle of protecting him from himself - the arrogant, self important choices they took under the guise of “protecting” him · from what i still have to ask, himself?

I am finding it difficult to transmute the repulsion i felt, however inaccurate, for what i perceived as self-serving injustice by my siblings. From that experience, i determined to remove myself as much as possible from the passing of my Mere. It has caused enormous internal turmoil of which i am determined to own as much as possible, but am finding myself ill-equipped to face the task alone · As my 2nd wife was so fond of fatalistically expressing at the most inopportune times, oh well. 92 year-old Ma has Covid, and my siblings in their muted fury share nothing about her condition with me, because when growing up we all witnessed shunning as a blood-sport, yet i as a born mimic, foreshadowing my loving regard for Leonard Cohen’s emotional acuity I, “Like a baby stillborn, like a beast with his horn, I have torn everyone who reached out for me.” So you see why i must transfigure my suffering, because until i do there will be no unconditional love in my life, i will not find ways to relieve the suffering of others because there will always be a hook with anything i do until i learn to show myself the love that i wish for others to find everywhere they turn.

jts 22/10/2020 

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201020/211020 - Extinction Chronicles ·

it’s now 2 hours and 22 minutes into my “writing time.” Nor am i standing still and picking my nose, slogging just seems to take on an added dimension when wading through fecal saturated flood waters watching the faces of people who have lost loved ones needlessly. i do not wade anymore, my anatomy doesn’t fight infection like it used to and meningitis takes on a new complexion in my memory banks for my youngest brother’s brush with 7 year-old death is haunted by ancient, but whispered distinctions between “viral and bacterial.” - a day later · 211020 . . . i went to the well, and the well was dry. This morning i committed to sandbagging for things are so dire on the shore where i live, even the limping efforts of an out-of-shape foreigner are useful when bulwarking an angry China Sea. It breaks my heart to know in my scientifically artistic mind that dreams of staunching the rising tide are more akin to the children’s story of the emperor so enamored of his power he drowned in his throne when the sea did not obey his command, than the stouthearted cheery face of the crowd who graciously gave me access to the help line.

I only wish i was still the working fool of my youth, instead i am a caricature of some aged hippy looking for Further, as though i’d recognize it if it rolled over my big toe. There is no way to recapture youth and vitality except for right living, good companions and a cheery disposition. I find i am of that cohort, who is oddly more kind to strangers than my own self, or at least aspects of my self. I’ve always been something of a libertine with exotic erotic proclivities, only by the time i reached a point in my emotional development where i could openly share those fantasies, animal magnetism had turned to rusty iron, and the stench of rotting teeth from too much tobacco and not enough flossing. I was never good at the vanity game having grown up as the two-eyed cyclops with the congenital bald spot over his left temporal lobe in a family of lookers · think intensely attractive people such that i could never quite understand what the eldest brother saw when standing in front of a mirror for hours, or how it could take Pop and hour and a half to trim his beard.

I realize now how very fortunate i have been to not have an external image to live up to - or stand behind depending on your perspective · rather i have been forced to consider appearance as a very minor component to that persona which fronts my path on this earth. It would be grand to declare my unconscious is that which you experience in your dealings with me, but even resorting to the “me” demonstrates how vain that fantasy is, however worthy. I have saddled my unconscious with a variety of “me’s” from different epochs in my journey. This morning for example goofing with the impresario of the local bistro i’ve grown quite fond of, he pulled from his riff-line the kung fu pose we two old men tease each other with when feeling frisky or wishing to bolster the other’s fearsome character, and rather than assume the stance i said to him after he holstered his lethal fist, “would you like to see it again?” using my best Clint Eastwood “do you feel lucky punk, well do ya’,” glance - it took him a second, but before he could reply i asked him if he’d ever picked up his teeth with broken fingers?

And this is man-playing, or me posing in hats i’d needed to feel safe in some environments i’ve lived. The sad truth is few men say anything encouraging, “nice shot; fine looking shirt; I admire your kindness,” instead the competition for poon tang that nobody wants to discuss demands that we prevail over others to demonstrate the viability of our sperm, as though somehow one’s ability to dominate another is the best indication of furthering the gene pool. Feminists don’t want to talk about this because _______fill in the blank, but they are as responsible as either gender for the “toxic masculinity” that has become the convenient scapegoat in current, “blame everybody but me - point the finger - the fucking ship is going down, i can’t swim,” panic one of the many post civilization narratives. Nor are we lost and condemned to a senseless end, devoid of meaning. My morning effort, however slight, buoyed me more than i have words to express, not for any personal reason, but to witness a community assess-and-elbows contributing gallantly to each other’s wellbeing - however inexorable be the rising seas ·

Stick a fork in me, i’m done; i’d come here, ostensibly chasing a romantic fiction, and substantiated that flaccid logic with the addendum - “if anyplace in the world can turn the tide of our extinction by our own hand, and demonstrate leadership for a path out, it would be Vietnam.” · i may be right; though i’ve met more acolytes of the fascist regime entrenched in my native land and being hounded out of office as we speak; i’ve met more predatory entrepreneurs selling digital snake oil than i’d have wished for, and a tourist industry that is one step removed from Hollywood Blvd’s lock on destination addiction, yet i stay; hopefully i continue to have my nose rubbed in my cultural presumptions in a way which learning is the only option available and a loving self awareness becomes a path less lonely with a loving other who finds my ignorant charm more irresistible than my myopic self-loathing is resistible; stranger things have happened - you're still reading ·

jts 20/10/2020-21/10/20 

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191020 - Extinction Chronicles ·

Pop was about the funnest person i’ve ever known - and to be unable to get his take on events we all face constitutes the greatest misery for me of his passing nine long years ago · Yet he made me swear, knowing the “burro” in me that i would never stop writing. Lo and behold in these, some of the darkest days in my life of more than enough sorrow, i grinned just now facing the “tabula rasa” of today’s work; go figure. Ma’s gonna die soon; i’ve been grieving her loss nearly all my life at which time the reality she apparently attempted to beat into my “Peter Pan” take on existence, will simply transition from stabbing pain, to dull ache. She is a fine dame, and i’ve yet to meet another who could goad so much of whatever it is i have to leave in this world. I hope that she will pass in peace, not for what she has accomplished with my sullied soul, but from understanding better what pain she must feel to behave the way she has toward me.

Whether that translates into any, as Pema Chodron describes, “unwinding of karma,” the voice you are reading cannot say, but the heart you might feel from the words you read will tell. I’m an asshole, and from that i see all the jerks who trumpet such behavior in a different light than the simple “fuck you” repulsion, i feel toward them similarly to the compassion i excavate from my being for the hatred toward me of my own family - a family who would keep me in the dark about our mother’s covid condition - almost as though my awareness of her discomfort could constitute  proof of my responsibility for her suffering · how fucking stupid is that ¿? Yet without that doubt, i’d have never begun to understand Madam Paradox and her two offsprings: “T’is & T’ain’t.” What saddems to me, is for all her efforts as i understand them to be, to help me accept my “weirdness” in an un-weird world - it is her disappointment that i seem to be most responsive.

Today i practiced “random acts of kindness as best i could. I don’t feel strong, nor in the midst of any happy band of renegades, rather more like Obi Wan in some fucking canyon hiding my presence from mean-spirited creatures who remain distant from fear, rather than respect. I don’t think my old age will in anyway resemble the nimble repose of my much better prepared mother, but this is the same person who on road trips would make great proclamations of sharing expenses and then neglect to make good those obligations. It is this and other vacant assurances which break faith with my natural inclination - g_d knows where it came from · to do right by the world, regardless of the facts. I don’t want to die, feeling betrayed and now realize i am the only one who could possibly be my own “best friend,” but this does not obviate my personal responsibility to do as much good for as many as i can for as long as i can - even if that pablum was uttered by Henry Ford · Nazi and agent provocateur originator of that sappy however efficient ad copy.

My friend’s son just walked me through the cavalcade of egregious defects in the boutique mini-but-not-too-ostentatious villa i tried to live in unobtrusively. To my credit i was still laboring under the delusion of a useful graphic output for a world that is no longer starving for “fine art,” it is just starving. This neat correlation nestles sweetly with the my soon to be lingering disease of the poverty where only aged, undiscovered - however diligent artist egos perish · lucky me. It is not just my bitterness and repulsion for every value propagated by the art industiralists, but a real and virulent resistance to your disrespect in favor of profit at the expense of every beautiful work achieved outside of your narrow - pecuniary speculation at the negligible cost of one more crushed creative soul for the dreck hung on the walls of casa versailles du bezos · fuck you and the horse you rode in on.

I am about to flee from a property into which an entirely decent family has sunk their wherewithal, yet by hoping to realize a few points of gain, sacrificing necessary maintenance they are only harvesting mold rendering their investment uninhabitable · i spit on profit speculation having worked cheek to jowl with the poser nobility of that real estate scam. There is no place where you can negate the foul disrespect you have shown a “marketplace” you proclaim as “holy ground," but treat as a charnel floor. I will crawl to my grave for no better reason than to see the purulence of your greed ooze into the foul repository of your mortal being after it has been sapped of all earthly energy the same as you have attempted to suck lifeblood at gunpoint from a worldwide population wanting no more than to raise loving children to loving parents in loving homes - atone and die ·

jts 19/10/2020 

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181020 - Extinction Chronicles ·

It is a dank and dreary day with just enough sunlight to de-moisten my pillow; de-film my floor, but not enough to rouse me from my lethargy nor vitalize my version of Camus’ - “invincible summer.” Oh fucking well; within a day's drive there are people: old people, young people, babies resorting to temporary floating housing because of a pernicious rain exacerbated by a cloud cover capable of retaining far greater amounts of water than ever before in the known history of our species. This emerging anomaly is due to the unflagging greed of petro-nazis hell-bent on squeezing every last farthing from their myopic trust fund accounts which they have mostly inherited and have lived large by through no effort of their own other than a pathological disregard for human existence best exemplified by the about-to-be-deposed Mssr. _rump. So that another puppet less conspicuous in its consumption may rest upon the throne of our withering ruling class responsible for extinguishing human life on our planet and 3/4 of the other species who shared their home with us.

Ironically the selfishness and greed responsible for our eviction from this planet, is the same behavior for which i have the greatest difficulty in demonstrating “unconditional love.” This behavior is not writ large, nor particularly obvious in daily exchanges: people cutting in line, merchants short changing or keeping paid-for items, punking to gain prestige and prominence in most social circles, i mostly avoid but at times am forced to traverse. At first i thought the punking reflex was a gender issue; protecting the “fair damsel” from unwelcome advances, but later learned its origins are spawned in the uniquely feminine, but sadly unconscious “biological imperative” where the much smarter dames in our herd winnow champion sperm donors by contests for which the brutes remain blissfully oblivious, and readily engage in just for a whiff of poontang.

Unfortunately this is the same yoke the “masters” utilize by allure and the bait-and-switch of modern advertising - the whiff of poontang · I like pussy and some of my finest memories are between the sheets with an enthusiastic loving other. This inclination sufficed through the first of two marriages and got me into and out of a 3rd. My best friend who happened to be present when i’d met my last wife, apparently smelled the same thing, but didn’t possess the backbone to come at my claim frontally, rather convinced her piecemeal his prospects were superior - and she believed him, apparently. Neither carried their audacity to the doorstep of my heart, rather chose to slink away in the dark of night - she days after the emergency appendectomy my karma provided her for the daring escape, and he, nothing more than the same wish for being loved that i devoted to her, and from which i can only hope he learned nearly as much as i.

It’s a lot of fun to be removed enough from those events to try and jest, however sardonic it may sound to others. The feeling is not dissimilar from parting company with violent minds - however much might be discovered by remaining composed near hateful thoughts, it is a relief to pull the blinds aside and be once more aware of the larger peace of our passing lives. My pain is so constant that it is a challenge to be aware and accepting of the loving hearts with whom i am constantly surrounded. “I” the ego can struggle to take action relieving suffering which i perceive, but is often confused by the fact, it is the “i” who am being relieved of suffering. Fucking “Madame Paradox” and her coterie of tricksters only convinces me further of our proximity to a solution for all, rather than the seduction to _______fill in the blank, that those who claim high ground resort to preserve a power so vacuous and empty that even they do not believe, rather remain in a state of constant persuasion that all those who would follow must  emulate or be trampled in the stampede for conformity.

I could give a fuck if you believe me or not, and even by the language i use, if you are alert and awake, will see the lie of my statement. I am dying; my body is wracked by a disease that is not how the practitioners would have you believe - i have broken myself by my own hand and an unwillingness to comply with the simple logic of body and spiritual health. I have dwelled overlong in the terrain of hate and envy; my suffering is at my own hand and any cowardice i attribute to others is a lesson i have not completed · that is truth as near as i can tell. This doesn’t mean i do not possess much detritus from past conceits: the delusion of passion on my person; the faith that i can heal another with devotion, or the fantasy i have any effect on the outcome of any other person’s life by choices i make, or they on mine. More to the fact that time is long and life is short - “And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.” - Lennon/McCartney · et., al.

jts 18/10/2020 

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