081120 - Extinction Chronicles ·

blank page after blank page - what a perfect metaphor of existence · i guess my existential luck is holding out though the rubes in my nation of birth seem to feel somehow the George Orwell’s boot on the face of man has been magically lifted because the ruling class changed its hobnail boots for gucci loafers, whaddya’ gonna do; take a powder from battling oppression and ignorance just because the last episode of “Murder and Mayhem for Profit” Season 45 episode 48 has gone into reruns while the dream machine refines the next Season’s opener; “How to Bomb Yemen & Make It Look Like It Was Famine’s Fault”. I've sold the first 13 episodes on spec to the recently registered _rumpf Network; subscriptions available at StephenMiller/BannonClone@Hateis.urs a subsidiary of Apple_fb_googol_ms.deptofdefenseforwhat nobodyisquitesureofanymore: make your cheques and taxfree contributions payable “The Ruling Class Off Shore Accounts”; C/o “none of your fucking business” - late payments carry a 1.5% carrying charge, accruable minutely.

Too funny, too late in the game - what i read myself writing is not peace, but the rind left from sucking every last rivulet of “how i love thee, let me count the ways” from the tears i scrape from the inside of my eyelids as a i wake from dreamless sleep. It wasn’t always like this for me. I’ve had a bountiful existence full of adventure, mostly provoked by fits of delusion about loving or being loved - always the best source of fictions, while fury and hatred remain thoroughly tedious entertainment, like raking the rotting pits from a decorative peach tree that dropped its inedible bounty into the too tall Korean Grass outside your bedroom window too late in the summer months to quench the stench with rain and too early to hope for mercy from a baking sunlight.

I’d prefer to be irrevocably cheerful like my heroes the 3 Lamas: Dali, Thich and Pema whose combined wisdom has diminished greater suffering in my own heart by showing me how, rather than just telling me to "suck it up"; however wise, these recommendations still fall short of impeding the misery i continue to inflect on haters worldwide. Ironically each time i raise my weapon of words in the name of justice against oppressors of every stripe and walk of life, i find myself face-to-face with both barrels of my own enmity. In an honest effort to transfigure my rage into creativity, i have submitted scripts on spec for weekly weakly sardonic morality plays modeled on early TV Dramas i.e. “How to Bomb Yemen & Make It Look Like It Was Famine’s Fault” (HTBY&MILLIWFF) · all i get in reply from the boy wonders in Hollywood is a form letter asking who the fuck is “Famine”?

I think it could be from the confusion of opening a new network so close to arraignments and other irregularities from sacking a nation and getting caught with your dick in the Ballot Box. If Herr _rumpf was as smart as he declares himself to be, ________what then¿ how much different is he than you are or i? It pains me to get this far, or close to my own demise and find little or no compassion for a person seemingly devoid of feelings for others. Yet how much different than he am i? If i find delight in his downfall - a fall as pathetic as the skinned knees of any child who knows the embarrassment of having fallen face first in front of not just those from whom one seeks comfort, but an entire planet poised with spittle dripping from their fangs to rejoice in your ______failure - who's the unfeeling beast, _rumpf or i?

Man, like i am not, or have not been him at some point in my own tragi-comedy of breath on earth. I don’t know what the answer is; i know as certain as i sit here drawing my next breath that dj _rump could live a 1,000 generations and never comprehend what i am trying to discover about my own self in this paragraph, yet that conviction does not absolve me from trying, while conversely empowers me more than any victory i may have ever known by battling and prevailing over the darkness with which his oh-so-sad vision of existence has blinded him, and seemingly so much of the world. Editorial ASIDE: I am searching for a younger, svelte woman with a loving tongue who cares very little about any approval i may bestow, yet values more than my family of birth what small contribution my relentless but seemingly intact loving heart might yet render tender service to her that she alone seems to see within the darkness that i am becoming. ¿Are we having fun yet? 

jts 08/11/2020 

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071120 - Extinction Chronicles ·

Life is good when calling the ducks to shelter is the high point of your day - don’t believe me, try it yourself. So the lullaby begins and our covid weary planet rests its head to a troubled sleep while the barely concealed ignorance of fear-fueled hatred crawls back under the nearest solid squalor to fashion pustules of fetid rancor to maim and wither limbs until the pertro-nazi-borg can install pre-singularity-android responsive limbs to the pathetic zombies of socially engineered hate-wraiths wandering without a Corporate North Star to guide their mincing, but resolute Goose Steps to the next “Reichstag Fire” - Fuck you Mr. Buffett, i’m sure you’re a very nice-a-guy, but fuck you for your cowardly comedy japing for your Omaha homies about your “ah shucks, t’weren’t all that” shuck and jive. I’ve seen orphan artists on the streets of Oaxaca with more game than you proclaim.

But this is now: “A time of healing; reconciliation and good-deed-doing, while the same capital hoarded in off-shore mountains of money destroying a planet for the enrichment of a handful continues, just without the constant, “ WE’RE DOING YOU - AND THERE’S FUCK ALL YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT” trilling on Twitter, because now the voice you hear is a DNC sponsored “public utility in service of humanity” - ¿right? ·

The challenge remains, how to guide old people to safety where young people can hear them recount a life prior to the “screen.” There have been 11 storms directly across the coast i live on in the past 6 weeks; logic dictates this exacerbated pattern will increase in the years to come and all the well wishing of visionary foreign investment, nor sand-bagging grit of a DNA strand born of heinous ecological cruelty of the gene pool, nor simple common decency born of an enlarged world view by an enthusiastic but “experience vs blog” bonus points based consideration of human growth for our species remains no more than a petri-dish of social engineering bullet-points in some too, too smarmy swarm of “ideation” by a class of techno-nobility long since rendered flaccid and effete by their own hubris.

It would seem as my fingers fly searching for meaning in a world that would entertain d._rump attempting to dismantle eons of democratic tradition while covid_19 choked the larynx of weak and muted windpipes worldwide - the minions of order and profit are guiding us most benevolently to a comfortable demise depending on our own particular brand of ecological or religious torment slated for the “excitement” channel at that date and time for perfect “social engineering” keystroke-campture-impact. Laugh if you must - i just witnessed 4 years of naked aggression by a “water boy” for the ‘shot caller’ of the ruling class who doesn’t apparently possess cajones sufficient to say for the record ¿“t’was i who murdered the conceit of your democracy; whaddya gonna do - sue me?”

I’d like to sue, but without class action revenues on deposit, the shyster lawyers, i bounced elbows with in the Superior Courthouse of Los Angeles won’t even acknowledge that dead-people’s money is sacred; how the fuck am i going get them to acknowledge $gazillions of potential revenue for fraud claims against ‘merican nazi potentates not yet charged, much less dislodged from the “Department of Justice.” SCOTUS fumigation alone won’t begin until January, much less arraignments and due dates for the plaintiffs. ‘Remember, technology is wise and way ahead of the curve, so if you have questions about whether your grandchild’s tumor is “Agro, or Petro” in nature, consult your MAGA representative in the nearest just-moved-Boutique-Business site Mini-Mall-in-Default whose electric bills reflect a 24-hour shredder having bee recently actively destroying records.   

jts 07/11/2020 

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061120 - Extinction Chronicles

Tomorrow is 5 days ’til my monthly visa renewal where i happily spend all i gain from my 66 years as a ‘merican citizen - though whatever i have “gained” was given in good faith while young and stupid to a government now owned by corporate overlords too cowardly to represent at a time of planetary upheaval. If Capitalism is so great, why is it that that the bulk of all the political investment is simply “junk email” which i could accumulate as easily for nothing by subscribing to bezos-zukee-gates-Apple.com¿? that is a question. The funniest meme this morning introduced the new “world leader” - Donald Biden ·

Why am i not laughing? there is much hype about the gender wisdom of the feminine, yet it is the republican shrew/Karen who has upended the 2020 election cycle. Is there truth about the “Handmaid’s Tale” that men nor women of our epoch are not willing to face? I D K, i’ve ignored the hype and only just now informed myself of the plot line - a plot line as old as the “Stepford Wives” or more accurately Emily Dickinson’s repulsion for the literary tradition of her land of birth. George Elliot beat them all to the punch and declared war on the patriarchy emerging during the “industrial revolution” better understood as McConnell’s tongue fucking of the ruling class.

Forgive me, and not for my vulgarity, for we live in times where men who ought to be pissed on are applauded for fictional candor, yet other more candid voices are shamed publicly for what the corporate "vote brokers" were certain would result in “solidarity” with the masses but only muddied the waters already sullied by billions of $”moolah” promised from the gates of heaven, sort of like the “fatted calf” of old. How many times will the people of planet earth get conned by a handful of charlatans promising “ever better returns” if only .  .. ¿? i suspect many, based solely on the number of “cons” i’ve married coupled with my relentless determination to “love” at all costs.

I do not understand the mystery of existence and find each waking day more mysterious than the  last - that is my good fortune, my better good luck is that i have no idea what constitutes your success. Just this afternoon, the universe allowed me to translate that ignorance into a lesson · i was feeling depleted and cornered by the rain, my mold soaked walls were closing in on me, yet from the porch i was able to greet Comrade Baha, the farmer’s wife. Though absorbed with a task at the time, she gave me hearty greeting while we aped our well-wishes for each. Her apparent task was setting a pin between a cut on tree limb segment and a joint that from where i stood was an exact outline of the face of the “Anteater.” Our sign-language conversation and the passing rain squall interrupted a better understanding; i’ll be curious to learn if my anthropomorphic fantasy was close?

This now the next day and my 5th paragraph, just like witnessing the regenerative creativity of my ancient family neighbor friends, tenuous - it occurred to me that a better idea for me to learn the language might be to pay - solid money · to the neighbor children for tutoring me in the language, a win-win proposition however unorthodox. Remember i have just roused myself from my Urside hibernation and am struggling more to hear what it is i admire about you, than what you could possibly approve of me how little that might be - unless you have demonstrated yourself as sexually precocious, but left out the parameters of your “terms of endearment.” In some cases, i’ve lept continents to learn your meaning, while with other muddy ponds, i am content to make discrete inquiries and either drawing more near depending on how you treat me, or vanishing in a haze of, “¿did he just say that?” mixed in with BD’s better come on, “i’ll look at you until my eyes grow blind.” get a grip people, ain’t love grand ?

jts 06/11/2020 

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051120 - Extinction Chronicles ·

Lao Tzu was a fucking genius without whose presence on earth, our world would likely have been vastly more miserable and the odds of our kind’s survival much slimmer, My Ma - not so much · personally i hold her in high esteem and value the toughness she beat into my tender soul, however much that same lesson rendered her deaf to the love in my heart i hold for her closest amongst all the luminous loves i’ve managed to entertain in my wayward journey to death. The rain has been relentless for 24+  hours and the most accurate predictor of weather patterns has disappeared from my certainly "socially engineered screen." I believe that the digital ovelord yutz’s who put _rump in office are running scared, and that the “investment wizards” imported to where i live in a SEA nation to teach the ignorant, but the highly disciplined surplus labor pool from its epoch past how to really “capitalize,” are jumping ship like rats off of the sinking MAGA-Ship-Of-State - or so my fear describes · i've been wrong before, ask anyone who says they know me.

I liked it better carving stone - each day ended with some measure of depletion, either from the stone, and/or my own physical endurance. Not much different from the act of running which like my idol “Forrest Gump” allowed for a legitimacy from striding to follow the tide tables of Santa Monica Bay to determine the optimum times for running on a flat shoreline at low tide; just now through my rain soaked kitchen window, i witnessed an unknown neighbor dragging off, by the scruff of their neck, loads of the same ducks which had days, or hours earlier been amongst voices i storm greeted in passing - bon appetite, mes amis · (I raised a hatchling duck in Kindergarten circa, 1960 and value highly the memory.)

Yet none of this discourse obviates the need for discussion as to how do we live together free of rancor and in support for each of our possible futures. Already in these past two paragraphs i’ve maligned and incited intellectual violence against: my mother, all the romantic loves of my short time on earth; the CEOs of a multinational technology companies, and countless unnamed but equally maligned employees; investment wizards; an ignorant but trainable population, and this is all within two previous paragraphs of one whose ostensible purpose for chronicling is to propagate peace on earth - forgive me, for i know not what i do.

And still the fucking rain pours unabated much like my sexual proclivities mutate unrelenting. How fucking sad when all i really want to be is cuddled and assured that everything is going to be okay. “Reaction formation” dictates the way to make that happens is to make it happen for others - most especially my family. They, i feel, wish to “push a pause button” i don’t possess, while i’m searching for the circuit breaker that frees me from any hope of belonging that i’ve learned is not part of this iteration of my reality. However, as part of that pact of peace, i must forgive all pain that resides within my own skin and to somehow mend and give vitality to people who, i for my lifetime have experienced the dullest and most senseless ache of not caring · i refuse to not care. 

So fuck you all, now you know the secret of my private wound; nor will i surrender, for i am the rhizome Herr Jung alluded to and which Master Tzu has guided into existence for countless generations. I cannot say what i do is correct or incorrect, i can only do and hope my heart remains in service to your well being knowing nothing about you or your ambitions. It is not my place to decide if you are or not a benefit - that choice remains to you alone. The best i can do is suck on the smallest measure of poison that aids my death but keeps my mind clear. I pray you find something closer to the cabbages Master de Montaigne grew to greet his voiceless demise and thank the stars for my capacity to link letters to words to string sentences in my vain hope for understanding between you and the love you find next to you.

 

jts 05/11/2020 

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041120 - Extinction Chronicles ·

Typhoon #11 has taken on the complexion of that new TV Drama the mavens of media were fond of introducing at the conclusion of whatever super bowl being played at the time - that is until, they the mavens shot themselves in the foot and hype became a blur with little marketing thrust - oh well · They always have the next election cycle and with all the new ecological tragedies in play, there will never, ever be a lack of EMERGENCY to propagate in service of ratings. My morning was spent searching internet “subtext” for clues about who will become the next “leader” of merit - of course the result of popular ballot and completely responsive to the voice of the people, be they haters or lovers; so long as their keystrokes can be monetized - VIPs all ·

Reactionaries run in packs - they require the confirmation of crowds, and possess the mind of the hive · much like the Borg; however resistance is not “futile,” resistance is the Prime Directive. Anyone who comes to me and claims to be speaking for another has usurped a voice which does not belong to them. If one is not powerful enough to stand on its own feet without the acclaim and confirmation backup would likely do the same and try to use my voice for its end - that is suspect behavior. I feel the sharpening of blades around me while some bluster and make loud their power, yet in any fight i’ve ever witnessed where skill, conviction and correctness prevailed - it was the quiet voice that did not demand, nor seek allegiance which demonstrated the deepest heart and the greatest determination.

It is for this reason i believe the current ‘merican administration lacks credibility and legitimacy regardless of the outcome of this referendum. In 1954 after the battle of Dien Ben Phu where the French were roundly defeated and their puppets dislodged from positions of authority, the Corporate Putsch that occupied the United Nations Security Council determined that a vote would be taken 2 years later, where the population of a “united” Viet Nam could express its voice. When that vote was taken, Ho Chi Minh won the popular vote by a “landslide” but the results were disallowed and the functionary French administrator Diem was installed as the “President” of South Viet Nam - in a land which even the Chinese invaders had been unable to divide for over 2,000 years of continuous incursion.

This year’s tide of adversity has been very instructional, especially for an old man with delusions of dying in a “worker’s paradise.” Capital has invaded and the bought souls proselytizing Ayn Rand’s vision of greed as salvation for our species is as tired as her paramour fronting his affection for her cold heart as any ex-wife i've ever had - 3 and counting. My affection for affection, however remains intact, and i believe that love is more powerful than the chimera of acquisition the ruling class manifests on the screens of deceit it is has fashioned to the wrists of so many believers in “buy until you die” then "pay for your grave". I still, sitting here alone and old believe there is a better world possible, predicated on generosity and love for the other greater than one’s own depravation born of, “if i could take from them, i would not only be complete, i'd be richer.”

Until we as a species understand fully and in the deepest recesses of our pain that only by helping that dying person next to us will we be enriched and our loved ones saved, we will be scrabbling for morsels tossed from the tables of those who care nothing for anything except that which enriches them. Many know this from personal experience and many more are only learning this from daily exposure to the cruelties of a world based on selfishness and power. I’ve never met another person who presumed to control me who did not possess more fear in their heart than kindness. It would seem that they who would control, presumed me to hunger for something in their empty hand extended full of "give me, and/or i will .  ..; i've yet to meet any possessed of the courage of character to finish that sentence honestly; though many have given unexpectedly what i never asked for, and for which i will remain grateful long after my voice is silent with my spirit at peace.

jts 04/11/2020 

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031120 - Extinction Chronicles ·

Now 4:59 election day and i am only just beginning - joe, you ain’t it · you as Bob Dylan said so well, are just pumping out the piss. I realized blindingly and painfully before i began writing today that i am as entrenched with more fascists than had i remained on the coast of California where i was raised. Nor are the people i’ve met in this leg of “the” journey any more evil or vile than those smarmy, ignorant and hate-filled hearts i fled from at the check stands and cash registers of where i was raised. William Shakespeare - “Hell is empty, all the devils are here.” What to do¿? remains the question as if as a 15-year old i'd never left not welcomed home and simply stood my ground, refusing the aggression and injustice of my family of origin and mirrored the hatred i could feel but lacked the wisdom to reflect.

Now is not too late to do so, the channel is just so much weaker that there is little volume for anyone whom i’ve loved for so long and so fruitlessly to hear. I remember a number of calls my eldest brother made after he and my sister absconded with my soon-to-be-dying father; i shut off each call relentlessly; this many decades later Brad, i remain astonished by the number of efforts you made to communicate · i have no one to blame for that missed opportunity at communication between us, each full of pain. I am sorry - i know you tried, and i did as well. Our father understands wherever his soul listens as carefully as though we were alive and on that long last walk we three strode together - however complex and painful it seemed at the time · a high point in my memory of our father’s resolutely decent ambition.

I sit in a mold shrouded villa on the central coast of Viet Nam listening to Neil Young, and if you ever read what i’ve tried to share with the world about our upbringing; know that i have loved you as best i could, as i’m certain you have me. I hope any ambitions for decency and justice have been as condemned, but sincerely emulated the poetic conviction of our too decent and too soon departed voice of our shared paternal reason. I cannot blame my feelings of fear and vulnerability on the squalls of the child across the table from you  anymore than i can assure my friend across the neighbor wall that his current feelings of fury and antagonism during his matrimonial squabble are temporary, than i can change the complexion of our family’s pathology - though there is no one but myself who can.

It is the unique condition of our human kind that in the midst of massive change, we - each of us is as powerful and more powerful than what the “powerful” proclaim, and alone possess the power to affect change. I love my father and my family for that conviction which will not be altered by all the events i am about to face in my private march to a demise i have no control over - if it is to be from plague, or ants eating the flesh from my face, the only recourse in front of me is to embrace my suffering with the love and willingness to transfigure that discomfort into something more useful to those that follow me or my absence of self into another plateau of existence than this silly cul-de-sac i have led myself into and hopefully allowed you the reader a path out from - stranger things have happened, i know - for i still breathe, as can you you to your everlasting pleasure at the service of others. 

Fuck - once again the painter’s corner of 4 vs 5 paragraphs, past the “witching hour.” When i say witching hour, i mean where i grew up they are casting ballots to determine which flavor of tyrant our kind will enjoy for the proximal end of our kind - the ants who leave pustule filled bites on my tender “white boy” skin are, as i type, waiting for the oily residue from my fleshy meal to find pathways to their next meal, while the mewling child screaming at a possibly similar discomfort groans close enough to disturb my solipsistic preoccupation with a pain in my ear no one will know of if i don’t remark about that here and now · the problem is that i’m not sure if the pain is from an overlong exposed molar root or just fear at what Leonard Cohen described about death as the “preliminaries.” The irony is that is doesn’t much matter, for as certain as i type my thoughts, i will die - and there is not fuck all i can do about that · are we having fun yet ¿? i am, sort of.

jts 03/11/2020 

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021120 - Extinction Chronicles ·

At the last election of such moment, i lived in Uruguay and was finishing the finest drawing i’ve ever made. My friends were renegade bohemians and very progressive Anti-Capitalists led by a benevolently maniacal grandson carpenter of an SS Commandant from the Third Reich whose last days were lived in infamy, save the loving affection he held for my dear friend Friedmann Mauch the genius Organ Builder of South America whose singular ambition has been to accomplish the greatest number of Medio Tangue Asados on record for the Guinness Book of Records for this planet in any given year. Tell me again how my life has been wasted and i will introduce you to the crones who visit next door to where i now live, so they can cackle at your impudence as they may do mine, if i’m even remembered tomorrow. Pray with me now: that Herr Friedmann Mauch survives this plague, and if not that, then his widow the famed poet/activist Luz Del Alba Nicola Dinperio is well loved and cared for.

Though i began a full two hours earlier then yesterday, i'm only now on the 2nd paragraph at 4:44 pm. It would seem dame time is laughing at my efforts to measure my output against a tick Herr Einstein was never sure whether it be wavelength or particle and here i sit in my vanity+ attempting to measure it in alphabetic symbols representing words representing sentences representing ideas in a language which may, or may not be familiar to you - does that or does that not describe vanity++¿? It matters not much to me, the last electio night i spent like this, i was again alone. My neighbor as Herr Mauch speculated was an cocaine addled Argentinian who delighted in ratcheting up the volume on his TV as the hours progressed into late evening/early morn just as the harried off-duty cop/landlord in the Pensione in which i found a bed sank deeper and deeper into troubled sleep.

World traveled-sophisticate i fancied myself to be at the time had no idea my neighbor the wannabe street artist making a living inhaling aerosol paintings of planets on horizons i realize now must have seemed very real to him, as unreal as his volume control at 2:30 am on our shared speaker-like plenum wall and its 14 foot ceilings, but that was then; this is now. Herr Mauch was a tobacco enthusiast and i willingly ran back down that rabbit hole to nowhere, for it was winter and all socializing took place inside, which after a decade hiatus from tobacco and alcohol, like most things bad - seemed like a good idea at the time. Hours of barbecue, remarkable live songs of that nation coupled with copious tinto rojo and laughing women - ¿what could go wrong?  

6 years later i’m wheezing like i’d never ran a marathon 15 years ago; drinking like a fish for cowardice about realities i publicly proclaim are resolved and am alone because my shaggy exterior and aged frame no longer excite the erotic, but biologically practical fairer sex. Better to learn now than on my death bed. I am not sure what steps to take next, and am entirely reluctant to slough that decision off on the results of an election so fraught with deceit and machinations of an economic class i am beginning to wonder whether my vow of militant pacifism is worthy of - i guess we all have our doubts.

At this turn, i’m sort of okay with passing through my existential transition into the next dimension not knowing - mostly because there is fuck all i can do to know differently. Sort of like the imbalance the ruling class has enacted just prior to this worldwide referendum on planetary leadership. I would have no problem whatsoever ever voting my neighbors to my west as leaders of the planet for a century, while possessing a reciprocal measure of skepticism toward my neighbors to my east. For the record, “therein lies the rub” - that same confidence i bestow is of a myopic and largely uninformed nature which in no way begins to account for the complexity of the lives of those i mistrust vs the lives i believe i do trust - one is pretty much the same as the other. There is no one vs another that does not resonate with doubt and confusion - we’ve reached a state of evolution where we are all d.j. _rump, or none of us are he. I wish i could put it more kindly, but there ya’ have it · my best guess. 

jts 02/11/2020 

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