191120 - Extinction Chronicles ·

Interesting day in paradise - went to extract money from the magic machine in a foreign land to pay rent in my overpriced moldy villa and was told “pin length characters exceeded” - a message i’d read earlier in a cloistered fb site for expats and paid little attention to · but this was rent day, which i do pay attention to. I headed for the local foreigner’s bistro to get the lowdown and was blown off on the way by my visa broker when i stopped for any information he might have. Information is gold, and i learned at the bistro through judicious inquiry it was a transient fault circulating through the ATM networks; ultimately i gained 3 new fb friends i’d shared air with - always the preferably species of virtual friends. Had another bowl of Pho from an imaginative local artist’s adaptation to the economic downturn and found myself stretching the limits of propriety, by questioning the foundation of wealth with a youngster retiree local who made a killing in my next-to-last occupation, Commercial Real Estate.

I found in my last occupation herding dead people’s estates through the corrupt probate process at the L.A. Superior Courthouse that any job that linked me to public relations was probably not a good fit - in less than an hour i manage to antagonize the nice enough young man with my concerns about real estate speculation and its deleterious effect on local economies as well as disparage the whole concept of “Greed is Good;” from there it only got worse as i explained to the kindly landlady that i would not be staying because the “bare minimum” maintenance schedule that rendered my roof permeable and home a mold swamp was not someplace i’d like to stay. It was not a happy morning in the world heritage site i live in, now reeling from 13 consecutive typhoons, and a population accustomed to the “boom or bust” tobacco economies of early Virginia.

The smartest thing i’ve done with these chronicles is to de-couple from the immediate anxiety i might feel to the actual existential threat we as a species face. My personal tribulations are relatively inconsequential given the nature of extinction - it is more than comforting to veer from my own whining to the more manly occupation of saving our species from its own stupidity. I own more than my fair share stupidity - that uniquely human trait and when i say “more” than my fair share, i mean i’ve wasted far too much time listening to the shrill and unnecessarily unkind self talk devaluing mine own worthy and decent objectives thus diverting positive energy from worthy contribution to our mutual survival. You don’t have to agree with my thinking, nor do i accept the devaluation of other’s narrow concepts of “right and wrong.” To give you an idea of how distorted my own personal cues have become, when the yelp of some winsome expat squeeze bemoaned the “caveman look” on a fb page, i nearly took the bit in hand to believe it was personal, rather than another frightened human being attempting to control their environment by dictating appropriateness for others.

This squirt with her likely  long legs and carefully cultivated “come hither” command of each and every semen donor in her nightly romps in the “2-kewl-4-school-hipster-doofus-venues” i’m sure she frequents to assuage her wounded feminine mystique, got my goat enough for me to comment here and now - though not enough to engage her “Karen” thinking more than to self-soothe my own wounded vanity that she is likely blind to, and therefore freed from any wound these words might cause. More to the point would be my taking an opportunity during my exit interview with the kind-hearted but profit-hungry landlord to defamed my struggling neighbor for raising the sidewalk cement in front of his entryway such that it deflected mud from any deluge to settle in front of her property, rather than finding a mutually beneficial evacuation for all - his behavior to my thinking, was selfish and consistent with his _rump loyalty and my discomfort in his presence.

It is this fortunate choice to learn through writing about my own behavior using the lens of “others” i am most grateful for; it supports a program of transforming my own personal wounds into thinking that will aid in reducing the suffering of all i encounter while training my mind to the ultimate conclusion of passing with peace for any who witness my demise. If i am lucky; i will be alone and none will be affected by my confusion about the transition - if i am less lucky, but still within range, I will be in the “saddle” so to speak and the woman i am ejaculating into will see love and compassion in my funny looking eyes mixed with tenderness as i expire; if i have no luck left to me whatsoever, i will die defending my right to breathe from someone who had mistaken my gentleness as forbearance and had attempted to take by force something that is only mine to relinquish and was facing the full force and fury of one who loves life and was entirely unwilling to cede ground to greed or hate.

jts 19/11/2020 

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181120 - Extinction Chronicles ·

“Keep your desires simple, and your disappointments will follow suit.” - Lao Tzu · it always seems to come down to definition; for example, my understanding of what constitutes simplicity has grown geometrically in the course of this season’s 13 typhoons; altered, rather than grown might be more apt. When i enlarged my search parameters for the perfect studio after the death of my father, it was because there was nothing really holding me to my nation of birth. I won’t go into the sordid details, but the handwriting was on the wall that i would not be welcomed at my mother’s death bed - whether my conceit created that reality, or my spooky sensitivity informed that decision is anybody’s guess - I had ma cut off my hair before i left and set out for parts unknown · 1st stop France to feast on the reality sandwich of what is romance, and what ain’t. Regardless of the outcome, i stood at the grave of Paul Cezanne and paid my respects with love in my heart and a small measure more of clarity.

Clarity is what i love about his work; as a man-child artist at the museums i could find examples of his work, i stood transfixed in front of paintings depicting ceramic - of my first gainful employments was in the mini-factory of a laid-off aerospace engineer who put his 5 sons to work manufacturing all manners of vitrified clay, from an unsuccessful attempt at the 1st clay time piece, to a tiled replica of a Babylonian Lion the size of a single mattress. So when i say i was transfixed by this painter’s ability to transform one media - clay, to another, paint, i know from which i speak. Standing in front of his paintings, i swear it felt like i could reach out and plink a teapot or saucer and it would ring, glaze and all; that is the standard of verisimilitude i have striven for my entire art existence.

The art school i attended included an instructor who Mark Rothko named executor of his estate with instructions to destroy his paintings at his death - Theodoros Stamos, who instead marketed the work to the “ruling class” through the auspices of Marlborough Galleries · it is with this betrayal in mind that i have formulated and created for the past 40 many odd years of my existence. Fortunately for me, i am, and mean to remain an unknown influence in the trajectory of art history. That is not to say i intend to remain silent about the betrayal of the higher echelons of our so-called civilization. If anything, it would seem i have been thrown by the majestic synchronicity of Madame Paradox and her offsprings “t’is and t’aint” into close quarters with everything i find most repugnant about my choice of vocations - greed, and her suitors the minions of stupidity ·

Never long on visual acuity, it would seem fighting for sleep viewing telephonic screens and a maniacal final oeuvre i’d imagined to be the height of simplicity and practicality - portraits in colored pencils, taxed the capacity of my anatomy to refocus, or attenuate visual correction, and am now unable to continue what i spent a lifetime understanding 3 dimensions, with 2-dimensional vision. I’m not whining on your dime, because i don’t expect you to care, i am sharing in the venue that remains available to me - language · a left hemisphere adaptation i had to learn early on due to the influence of my benign but maniacal wannabe poet parent, Pop the High School English teacher, who also had me sawing railroad ties into fireplace lengths with a crosscut saw for $2 bucks a tie; and who put me on the roof with a towel and 2”x4” seat to choke off the drain exhaust when he taught the family how to unclog the kitchen sink drain using a garden hose and simple physics; i use that thread of learning to this day.

Mostly it is the indomitable nature of his influence which demanded i go toe-to-toe with his will, or be forever swallowed up in the paw he proffered every time he answered the door and dragged into my step-mother’s home, formerly his “lair” · a myopic concession of disloyalty i may never learn to understand, for it extended to my brethren who cottoned to, and have adhered to that exclusionary paradigm of family to this day. These are thoroughly decent human beings i speak of - blood if you will · i recount through a prism of remorse, and guilt but absolve myself from emotions and confusion i parse to this day always struggling on the side of kindness, however painful and ofttimes contradictory that feels. I cannot change anyone - i know that with every fibre of my heart muscle · my best hope is that there is enough “piss and vinegar” left in the corpuscles of my being to alter that self in ways the human i believe myself to have become would approve.

jts 18/11/2020 

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171120 - Extinction Chronicles ·

Ya’ gotta give it up to Dame ‘Merica - how many nations on the planet could have been conned so thoroughly and still come wise to the bullshit and own it · I know this from my own capacity for fooling myself in service of stupidity (a harsh, but sometimes useful realization). Nor can i say i’ve acquitted myself with the same courageous dispatch as the noble franchised electorate of my native land who now hold the future of our planet by a thread of will pinched between their fingers - fingers that continue to be ignored by the purveyors of “capital = voice” clutching their lambskin bicycle briefs to their pinched scrotums while they puppeteer a puppet dead on the vine.

It’s invigorating to know how few of the rulers of our world have the capacity to parse the above paragraph, much less make logical sequence of its meaning. Don’t believe me, listen to the sons of “he who deems himself _______ fill in the blank” I went to school with these punks; some who have risen to the occasion and some who still wallow in the conceit that might makes right and white makes might. But sadly skin tone is nothing more than a metaphor for limited thinking about _______ fill in the blank. It could be the woman you are wooing or the immigration agent parroting the vomit her drunken uncle spewed into her impressionable mind, someone you meet soon is going to be demonstrating the limits of their conceptual repertoire, and possibly take your life in the process.

Ask me again about stupid, out of the gate. I live on a coastline “big money banked on brokering business and real estate profits and which was just carved up naturally by the same investment dollars they used to leverage castles and hipster doofus kingdoms of “profit” and raves of kewlness and opportunities the “locals” would have never known, but now thanks to hand of g_d, who is never quite clear in her intent until too late - such investments are but a coastline smear waiting for the bathing beauties to return in their demureness and fictions of allure for the next wave of investment dollars to congeal and once again assault the logic of 1,000s of years of cultural development for no more than the egregious and putrid excess of 

“the handful.”

The handful seems to be a constant in the maladaptive history of our species. I taught middle school long enough to learn that within any cohort, regardless of its demographic mix 1-2% will demand and receive 80-90% of the class time instruction. Whereas the scabrous assertions you patiently evaluate herein are born of actual moldy walls, demonstrably crushed egos and ascertainably abandoned markets; because that is what capital does - finds the weakest link and exploits that to its fullest advantage and then cuts its losses. Don’t believe me - look at the Con-in-Chief who managed to parlay an inheritance of $1,000,000 into a debt of $350,000,000 and still find others to blame.

The elusive game i track is that prey which grows braver with my aim; an elusive creature which does not render more nutrition for me, but all those on whose behalf i hunt, for what good is it feed my ample belly from my years of skill if not to feed the lovely face of even one of the many starving beautiful humans in our midst. Nutrition is a tricky business, the ruling class, in its clumsy manner narrowed it down to “things” - doesn’t much matter what kind of things, just so that people want them is good enough · so contrary to all gentle wisdom guiding human wellbeing what do they the rulers of content and information do¿ inflame the passion of desire for all to want everything .  .. with a special emphasis on providing the goods those poor saps who want to emulate the rulers desire - fast cars, pretty women, rippling abdomens, Ban Ray Sunglasses and all the attention we as humans were deprived of as our parents were occupied with chasing the “better life” for their children.

man what a racket 

jts 17/11/2020 

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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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151120 - Extinction Chronicles ·

There seems to be a magic point in writing for me where my thinking intersects with my fingers, and it is more like catching a wave body surfing then stepping onto a train from any platform i’ve ever stood upon waiting. What i must relinquish in order to enjoy the process of sharing my ideas with, g_d knows who, is to cease the interminable judgement that characterizes so much of my existence. I have given up hope for approval, because it is a yoke i’d rather not carry to my grave. That is not to say i am not susceptible to unity, for that is at the core of my thinking, but i can see no point in assuming false positions simply to gain concurrence with minds i often find facile and selfish. I have come to understand i am able to perceive that manner of thinking only because i possess the same to one degree or another. What i yearn for is self-aware individuals who do not presume that because i am willing to discourse about my manifold faults ad nauseam, that i’m looking for any sort of cure, but rather a society of equally troubled minds tolerant and able to convey kindness as a resort to cruelty.

What’s stupid about my objective is seeking non-conformists to conform with. At age 11 or 12 i acted out some morality play from the pool halls of Pinocchio and engaged in unsupervised firecracker frolic at a local playground - i was blindsided by the toss of an explosive enough to rupture my eardrum and change my life ever after · It forced me to look hard at what i want and why; for example - in the decency that was my family at the time a mold was made of my ear canal that was meant to block water and allow me to continue following in the footsteps of my CIF swimming champion eldest brother but which mostly called attention to one more defect in his dual-eyed-cyclops younger brother; it is no one’s fault, and i’m sure meant with the most noble of intentions - what it lacked was will on my part · i don’t remember asking how i could continue swimming, it was simply assumed i would.

Pop in his poetic fashion found an adequate distraction prior to our yearly pilgrimage to the shores of Baja Mexico, and took me one afternoon to the sporting goods store and had me fitted for a 45 lb recurve bow i could substitute for romping in the waves. Little did i know at the time that bow would take me deep into the waves of my inner life; i found a happy union between my sight and my hand that allowed me to master carving granite with a 2 lb hammer aimed at a 5/8” chisel head and to lead jack rabbits well enough with a bow and arrow to know i need not take pleasure in the death of another, however fast they flee. Later, i was to work in aerospace where computer programs for launching missiles were based on an earth center, and i understood why - trajectory for a dual-eyed-cyclops is central to existence, but as i learned when attacked by a child lacking any awareness for the results of his attack with a lit explosive - nothing will protect you from what you cannot see.

Now, as prideful and defiant a human being as i have become in my solitary trek across the surface of this planet, i have to accept that from a lack of perception i have been living in the midst of proto-fascists from my own culture but was unable to attribute the nagging unease i have felt for nearly a year and a half to this fact. In truly arrogant fashion, i’d believed my unease was due love sickness for which had no foundation; so thanks to a history rich in release i have to plumb deeper to discover the cause of my self-imposed blindness. Once again - there is no one to blame but myself, if blame is even the right word. I think now, gratitude would be a more apt description for what i feel - gratitude for the life i have lived which allows for responsibility for every step i take and every choice i make.

I like it; no, i don’t like it, i LOVE it. For for longer than i’d like to admit, i have wallowed in a vat of deference, which while consistent with other episodes of learning ¡’ve waded through, is more meaningful because my growing understanding is closer to an intersection of greater import - my passing · I am not a kid sitting in the backseat listening to adult language thinking to myself - “i know what they’re talking about, who do they think they are fooling?” The trick is accepting that as a pattern of my own history, even the deeper premises of my continued behavior and distinguishing it from other information that i might wish to disregard: like the recognizable patterns of behavior for reactionary economic predators, as well as emotional confusion about behavior from a family who shuns me based on far less (i imagine) self awareness than what little i possess as i march to my demise determined to find joy, and love and peace - even if my 1st wife was named “Joy” and for whom i welcome the prospect of never sharing another word. 

jts 15/11/2020 

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141120 - Extinction Chronicles ·

The weather has affected my outlook more than i thought possible - much to my chagrin · That my nation of birth just fought off a fascist putsch, certainly contributed to a certain "terror", but the fault is my own if the flavor of what you read is bitter when the words i would grow be sweet and nutritious. There is not a lot of time for recrimination and wallowing in the danger; the 'merican language and the freedom of our traditional irreverence and open expression are in the line of fire. Only now there is no public discourse on what can and can’t be said - some twerp in a corner office with the sheepskin to prove it is now making arbitrary decisions and vetting content, not based on appropriateness, but on marketability.

Because there are no longer recognizable nation-states, only corporate regions of interest, the challenge is to incite spending, identify potential markets, diminish costs and inflate profit - all else, be damned · But that is not what i've seen in my travels. I find human beings that have not been totally subsumed, and who are asking hard questions about what is important and why. The problem is any conversation about ideas is now so fraught with volatility that discussion and discourse are reduced to branding and affiliation. I wear a pony tail because it amuses me and the prospect of ceding my freak flag to the proud boys militia was as galling to me as the gayblades of Frisco hijacking the “proudboys” moniker was for the proud boys.

We are no longer allowed to laugh at each other and i am not even sure how much of that statement is projection about my own hair-trigger, no pun intended. Our species is on the chopping block and as long as we are unable to discuss that fact, we are doomed. Noam Chomsky shared thought about how a border region in Texas, traditionally blue dog democrat voted for the _rump. Mr. Chomsky determined that it was because Joseph Biden had the temerity to threaten the fossil fuel industry about fracking - i am aghast · Upton Sinclair said “It is difficult to teach a man something if his livelihood depends on his not understanding.” Austerity and the chokehold the ruling class has on streaming content makes our circumstance all the more precarious. 

“The basic tool for the manipulation of reality, is the manipulation of words. If you can control the meaning of words, you can control the people who must use them.” - P.K. Dick I queried googol with the middle section of that quote and the hegemony of its power and a clear indication of it betrayal to its responsibility about "doing no evil" was googol's refusal to return the origin and author of that quote - how is anyone reading going to parse the danger of what i am saying, if our species is denied access to something as fundamental as language to battle the threat we face at the dawn of a new era. There will be no new era if the corporations are not brought up on a short leash and refused dominion over the free inquiry of knowledge. As long as the social engineer/billionaire class is given carte blanche to determine anything other than the most efficient return of a question, then Artificial Intelligence (AI) is not a servant but a master - thanks no, motherfuckers · i’ll walk my own dog without you telling me where, and buy every dictionary i can find that hasn't been burned.

Until that happens, i’ll be content to be a stumblebum on the fringes of a culture that doesn’t exist except as some white paper in a corporate boardroom free from the caustic effects of its incompetence and immune from consequence by its legions of lawyers - but as the famous punk rock photographer Edward Colver once mused, “when the shit hits the fan, there won’t be walls tall enough for them to hide behind.” The paradox is it is not the ruling class that is living in fear - the balance of humanity is responsible for its own fate, if it wishes to believe the crap passing for civilization, it is on them to live differently. Just as i cannot blame my family for shunning me, if i am attached to anyone that would behave that way toward me - the responsibility is my own. Conversely, if i choose to be kind to any one or number of human beings, i cannot reasonably expect a return in kind; that i am beginning to believe is the foundation of faith. 

jts 14/11/2020 

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131120 - Extinction Chronicles ·

Friday the 13th 2020 - who knew, who cares · the brat is holed up in the “people’s house” the “white” people’s house built by black people, who built if for free, because they were not. Is it just me, or is that fraught with irony¿? There is a lot that is not being said right about now - like what of the gazillions of $ ripped off from the population · they way the turncoat 4th estate describes in benign terms, it’s some sort of magic nest egg sitting in offshore accounts gathering interest with which to fly to and from Davos, or invest in sleepy little farming hamlets in a formerly war torn nation, like where i live. I used to fancy myself fairly insightful, a common enough delusion for anyone with 3 marriages under their belt, or skirt as the case may be. But it has taken me a full year+ to understand just how republican is the influence where i live in a South East Asian nation - Very.

And just like my marriages, i got no one to blame but myself. What Bertrand Russell advocated makes a whole lot more sense just now, than before i arrived. “When you must decide about something, consider only the facts - not what you wish it to be, not what others describe; base your decisions solely on the facts” paraphrasing Sir Bertrand Russell. Where i live is about to encounter the 13th typhoon of the “wet season” and the money flowing into the region does not align with it’s historical economic base, agriculture and trade. Trade in the 2020s is not trade of the 1920s - at that time a foreign merchant would bring a commodity, an industry or deliver an available market and seek equitable exchange, often at an unfair advantage to one or both parties - sometimes oppressively so.

But there was recourse - revolution, boycott or war · none of those options are available any longer. Trade in the conventional sense does not exist, customer is no longer “king” just one more integer in some algorithm to be attenuated over cocktails attended to by the latest cadre of interns slitting each other’s throat for a slot on “Apprentice 2024.” We are being herded by digital cowboys to a slaughter house of ideas. Human beings are perceived by the ruling class as ATM machines wherein a steady stream of media hype is vomited out of the magic screen and ipso facto votes are cast, cars are bought and as the man said “consent is manufactured.” This is a very modern state of affairs; even just 100 years ago wars were fought eyeball to eyeball and aerial bombing was a recent innovation. The bulk of the battles were fought from trenches with men drawing a bead on one another and pulling the trigger.

The innovations in science represented independent thinking built upon bricks of reason stacked up over the ages. The leaps that were made were not tweaks in an application, but concepts built from the ground up. Today, the curious have access to vast amounts of data, but that data is now catalogued with access guided by an algorithm as narrow as frequency channels of old time Television; you can switch channels, but what you see is almost entirely dependent on who or what money is producing the “show.” It is the same thing for elections, in every election for the past number of decades, the president elected was based on the money spent by that candidate. It is extremely dangerous to freedom everywhere for the population to conceive the excessive wealth distribution is simply one of opulence vs envy - John J. Gould said famously at the turn of the last century, “I can hire one half of the working class to kill the other half.”

It is that now in spades. There are wannabe gangster thugs spending untold money spray painting what they’d like to believe are revolutionary designs, but are little more than diversion of otherwise valuable intellectual resource on masturbatory secrets like the whispers between prepubescent teems who have yet to get to the nitty gritty of fitting the parts together, much less how to raise a solid human being in an environment free from toxic waste, toxic information, toxic food and toxic air. Nor do i see a path out anytime soon with the villains simply swapping uniforms and the producers swapping sets as easily as some of us change underwear but still soil our clothing because that is the nature of living; like Bob Dylan said, “leaving a greasy trail.”   

jts 13/11/2020 

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