211120 - Extinction Chronicles ·

I’m now 5 days and 1,000s of miles from “Thanksgiving Day” in the land of my birth, and so full of thanks, i could just shit. I’m not sure how to parlay that into gratitude for the multitudes, but from everything else i’ve been watching - it could be worth the effort · I am surrounded by the stink of greed and am really struggling with whether the stink is my own or others; this pleases me. Pop was an OG (original gangster) by every decent standard that title was ever meant to convey - he attended Bell High School in the 1940’s prior to applying to fighter pilot squadrons flying the “Lightning” P-38s, then successfully combatting fascism in the later stages of WWII South Pacific - instead he was assigned to piloting the B-17 “Flying Fortresses” of “Catch 22” fame · a synchronicity that well harkened to the next 6 decades of his life.

I’d love to speak with authority about what that time meant to the man i knew as “Pop” and whom i revered as well as i knew how until the day he died. What i learned from him that is most valuable today is his distrust of those who “have all the answers.” He was a High School English teacher for nearly 4 decades and who later taught poetry to any whose lapels fell close enough for him to grab in his later years. It is testimony to the conceit of our civilization how much of his disciplined literary output is moldering in a crawlspace in the gr8 Northwest where his - at the time of his death · 40 year old 286 processor got stored after the 6 grocery bags full of his poetry got lost in the rapacious dismantling  of his last man-cave; that my friends is a future we all face.

The faux führer donny is as we speak being foisted on his own petard as another previous traitor, Spiro t. described as being left “twisting in the wind.” While the “new boss, same as the old boss” joey is populating the liberating leadership cabinet with whores (apologies to sex workers worldwide) from the same corporate ranks into whose pockets donny was draining ‘merican wealth while making the modern cradle of democracy Gr8 Again. My vituperation isn’t much help to you - lets try this tack · every umbrage you read herein, whether it be a grievance about inequality of income distribution, sexist assault, racism or contempt for big shots of every stripe and walk of life is in someway an unresolved resentment and conflict within my own being and only couched as dispassionate discourse because i lack the moral fiber to own it to the bone - so fuck you, and the horse you rode in on.

My candor has often been interpreted as an opening for leveraging the great conceit of our epoch - mental control over another · I do not wish to control another, and struggle against that inclination with all my mortal might, but find within that personal resistance the cesspool of my own fragile fear. Today i found myself staring at the new shoots of bamboo in what passes for a backyard where i live; what came to mind was Dame Pema Chodron describing what is behind hate - fear, while behind fear is the “soft spot” that remains of our essential being. The logic of the Dame is unassailable, which does not render the undoing of its pernicious influence any easier - just more informative · At least i gain a better understand about what i struggle against knowing it is not you - whoever the fuck you be.

Nor do i give a fuck any longer for concurrence, but rather strive for, as Sensei Bruce Lee loved into the aether, the “strength to endure a difficult life”. If i can manage to love with the little i understand about what that means, to the end of my days, than i’ve done the most with what i have. It also allows me “wiggle room” to suck a little more pussy, drink a little more booze and exert more of what is left of my legendary muscle in support of good shit and not live in fear about retaliation from the bullies roaming our planet - I am that bully, and it shames me to understand that my hatred toward bullies is in reality toward the least favorable aspect of my own character. It also heartens me to know that with each step i take toward my own fear, brings me that much closer to the soft loving core of a being Dame Pema Chodron describes and whom i hope to take with me to the grave, rather than the crafted illusionary “fool” the presumptive social engineers would imagine they have created - again · go fuck yourselves zukee, company and the digital AI horse you rode in on.

jts 21/11/2020 ,

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201120 - Extinction Chronicles ·

It may be that the most useful information the internet has ever provided me is a quote from Albert Einstein - “The most important decision we make is whether we believe we live in a friendly or hostile universe” · What i like most about this quote is how much internal disquiet to which it opens my calcifying mind. I can recite any number of mantras and discipline to pacify my fury until i’m blue in the face, but which side of the fulcrum i rest the weight of my choices may well determine futures i cannot comprehend. Nor is facile denial adequate to the task - i hurt when people are cruel to me, and many are; i’ve come far enough in my own journey to understand those many are often oblivious to their own pain, much less the consequence of their behavior (just as i am); which leaves me again sitting in a corner with Lao Tzu whining about what i should do. There is no choice: just as there is no depriving death its due. I guess the question is what do you wish to have on your mind as you pass - “wasn’t that fun¿” or “why wasn’t that fun?” ·

I have been amongst friends to the degree i know something about who is, and who ain’t. What i don’t understand is how and why so many feel the need to fake it - including myself. I understand from my own loneliness that i am too ready to see friends everywhere i go in every face i find; i also understand more and more that friendship is rare and my hunger for kindness and fraternity is not a useful guide. What is not clear to me as i wander in search of my tribe is how not to harm the capacity for likeminded strangers i meet to find their tribe but for whatever reason have fallen short of my admittedly, too severe criteria for trust and confidence to be included in my too, too exclusive company. The conundrum, as always, is that same criteria is always a dagger pointing at my own heart, and the rejection i employ is always to some degree a rejection of that part of my self i find repulsive and, to quote, Albert Einstein - “hostile” ·

It may be that Madame Paradox and her offsprings “t’is  & t’ain’t” is some emotional sleight of hand i use to abrogate the anger i feel toward a negligent parent who lay dying; i don’t know, but suspect it is so. Those troublesome aspects of my anima which peer into the souls of all i meet, while useful in fantasy, are not always useful in interpersonal relations. Ma, by all accounts has had real difficulty with boundaries, and was not what you might call the example for mirroring youngsters to themselves. Again, i don’t know - i do know that she has confused boundaries about what she feels to constitute reality and what i know to be true about myself. I don’t mean this observation as a defamation about someone who is not here to defend herself, only as a metric for understanding my own assumptions about what i perceive about others vs what can be an entirely different reality to them - most especially siblings, who logically are behaving the same too much so to be comfortable.

But back to the, as Frank Zappa remarked so well, “crux of the biscuit,” is my world friendly or hostile¿ When it involves my own company and i am able to reflect quietly about exchanges, i find i error on the side of “friendly,” but when faced with what i understand to be an intractable exchange, i revert to “donkey mode” and as my last wife demonstrated in her European fashion dragging her hands down across her face to her lap declaring “closed,” i understood her meaning all too well. The challenge is temporal, for nothing, most especially this chimera of emotion we wallow in that reflects the larger arc of transformation we pass through every second of our existence - my bladder fills, i pee; my hunger, or emotion grows, i eat; my fantasy intercedes and i run like a rutting pony for the panoche - but none of this describes the dwelling mind i knew as an infant/child trying to understand a harried human female towering over me with 2 other squalling children demanding that she look at them instead of me.

Yet even the Gaia “she” in my constellation of fixed fantasies is waning as my own life force is ebbing on a planet searching for renewal. I do not know how to reconcile those real conditions with the tenuous future i want to cast as a sea anchor into some sort of comfortable death, preferably with copious amounts of nudity, erotic drawings, searching application of a lifetime of aesthetic contemplation salted with nutritious meals and romping tunes compacting comforting composure into the very nether cavities of my soul - is that too much to ask¿ I have no one else to blame, and find no percentage in seeking justification for such scabrous behavior within what i am coming to understand as my own native innocence; Yet how a ribald character as i’ve discovered my “self” to be could ever expect tolerance, much less acceptance is beyond the scope of even my fervent imagination - but what fun envisioning a life like that · it’s enough to give one hope, however audacious that hope may be.

jts 20/11/2020 

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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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