060720 - Extinction Chronicles ·

I hated going to elementary school - my crossed eyes drew attention, and my gentle manner encouraged cruelty · Because of this childishness of mine and others, i chose to forge my mind into a cruel weapon that could peer into the souls of others and force them to spontaneously combust at any moment of my choosing - there was a lot of ash and debris in my younger years. At some magical moment, i began to see the pain of others and could no longer sustain the anger necessary to inflict “spontaneous combustion” at will; i think it was Patsy Donahue’s fault, because she wouldn’t stop smiling at me. I’m probably the only master villain in history to be turned into a chump by a little girl. Nor am i complaining, for my life has been richer and more meaningful, albeit more dangerous due to my lifelong study of the female’s smile.

60 years later, i have to admit - i am a rank amateur · but i wouldn’t trade the smiles i’ve tried to fathom for any scholar’s certain knowledge about what they mean. From what little i’ve learned, it may be our future is inextricably linked to the number of smiles men can create on the faces of women; but i’m just guessing. Here’s the logic behind my guess, and i don’t have a 60 year-old database with columns and check boxes to back up my claim, but i’d be willing to stake my social security check on this fact - good shit happens when women smile · Call me a wild-eyed romantic making things up to suit some nefarious plot to overthrow the fascists posing with their mitts on “The” joystick just now, and you’d be right; but it’s more than that - you know in your heart what i’m saying is true just by closing your eyes and picturing all the good shit that has happened to you · “there was a woman close by smiling”.

The obverse is true as well. If you’ve ever woken up to see the scowling face of some woman hovering over you - you can bet something shitty is about to take place · don’t believe me, look back over your own life experience and tell me i’m lying. It is this immutable law of human nature i believe is freaking out all the “tough guy” conservatives, they know the truth of what i’m saying, AND they probably couldn’t tell you the last time a woman smiled them: sneered, yes; snarled, certainly; gritted her teeth, no doubt; but smiled, not likely. I’d go so far to posit donny hasn’t seen a woman smile at him with love in her heart since his Mama peered into the crib and realized she had spawned the devil’s own son. Can you imagine what kind of a life poor, pathetic donny has lived¿ if he wasn’t such an asshole, i’d almost feel sorry for the putz. 

Actually that is part of my current self-improvement plan. I figure if i can locate compassion in my heart for a putz like donny; it should make it a lot easier to be kind to the mooks i meet in my day-to-day suffering. Many are very fine human beings near as i can tell, but like the smile on the face of every woman i meet my pea brain quakes at the infinite possibilities behind that expression. I’ve tried questions like “how are you?”, but somehow the answer i see on her face doesn’t seem to match the answer i hear - but i’m kind of “deef” due to a childhood accident, and g_d in her infinite wisdom made me kind of blind, so i’m never quite sure if the distortion i’m experiencing is my own heart; her appearance; or some amalgamation of what i thought i heard. Paradoxically the “iffy” sort of reality i experience on a day-to-day basis corresponds to the mystery of meaning i’m only beginning to appreciate at age 65 - lucky me ·

Or, i’m just an excellent student harvesting the fruit of a lifelong study of the female smile, and from what i’ve learned so far, it’s pretty clear i won’t know until many years after i’m dead and gone. Nor do i feel too bad about that, ‘cause that reality is getting closer all the time. The challenge that remains to me is how many smiles i can create in as many woman as a find. Not in a greedy manic kind of way, ‘cause making a woman smile is as ethereal as chasing happiness - Odysseus found the “lotus eaters” as dangerous a lot as any in his travels and i’ve never found reason to disbelieve his wisdom. I think the Dalai Lama is more clued-in than most and when he says look to your own heart for the source of your suffering as well as the root of your happiness, from what little i’ve learned, he ain’t lying; not only is he not lying, he has staked his reputation for truth as the 14th in a chain of holy men going back a long ways. My prayer to you who read this is that you find in your heart what it takes to help a woman smile - from which i argue, the whole world will be made a little better · thank you for that .

jts 06/07/2020

http://stoanartst.blogspot.com 

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050720 - Extinction Chronicles ·

4 pm is late to start the 1st paragraph - oh well · My 2nd wife J____’s favorite expression; another of my wounded darlins’ who almost relished the recall of her mother waking her from a nap with a belt buckle to her face. At the time i imagine i was too emotionally retarded to contribute much to her healing process, for our entire world seemed to revolve around saving her and her daughter J_____. I don’t say this with any recrimination, simply fact. Her ex had made her escape a challenge, and that challenge defined the tenure our our relationship. I’d have like to have done better; though i have yet to meet another man that could have accomplished more - she did find someone, or so she said as she left. I hope that's true and wish them both all the goodness they can find in their world after ours.

I have not always been so consistent about my own well being, for within 3 months of that cataclysm, i was ensconced with a woman inconceivably more needy than my 2nd wife. Number 3 could almost channel the time and date of horrific stories about being locked in the chicken coop while her mother and paramour made love; and when her mother was impregnated from this tryst was then blamed by her birth father for the aseptic abortion that she had responded to too slowly at age 11. What can i say, i’m a sucker for damsels in distress. What i struggle with is how useful this makes me as a transformative companion which is what i’ve wanted to be for as long as i could remember; i think it is reaction formation/projection about a world i perceive that blames me for its suffering.

I am old enough now to understand how common it is to seek responsibility elsewhere for what one suffers in the moment. I am not free of my own inclination to see power over me in the behavior of others - regardless of how illogical that concept is · The leap i have yet to accomplish is to own my own behaviors to the extent that i can be objective and critical without being cruel about what i do. The Dalai Lama stated quite clearly that when your intentions are on behalf of another - it gives one great confidence over one’s actions; he wasn’t lying. It is where i lie to myself about my reasons for doing things that i get tripped up - do i spend to help, or to gain; is my comment constructive or self-aggrandizing; do i write to be read, or to be useful to others . .. ··· ?

Here’s a fucking paradox to chew on - i have spent a good 1/2 of my life hewing stone · and with not always an entirely selfless motive. Now i sit at 65 and rue the scar my birth nation created carving temporary heroes on a timeless indigenous sacred mountain. Where does one reconcile such contradiction¿ I cannot hate the buffoon acting as the leader of all i was raised to revere - including the features of 4 imperialists posing as liberators while acting out heinous crimes against humanity · ? As difficult as it may see to you who have read this far, it is, excuse the vernacular - now in your court · I have great difficulty remaining positive about such destructive learning, but i refuse to surrender. I still seek a loving companion to soothe my wounds and to aid me in building a better world, yet the further down the “rabbit hole” i get the more i think that stubbornness reflects stupidity, rather than character.

These are called “Extinction Chronicles” for a reason - we, as i see it are entirely responsible for our doom; however close we may be to redemption · it is our destruction i feel we must respond to - not react · but respond. Greta Thundberg has been neatly eviscerated from the newsfeed. The more that we as a species allow some pissant technogeek to determine what is a valid consideration, the greater our danger. At this instant the http channel has been overturned and neutrality of packets has been hijacked by a fascist focus on what is worthy vs what “is” - that my friends is bullshit. As long as you tolerate who you are allowed to communicate with whenever you enter any domain - the more you are nothing more than a fucking serf paying fealty to whatever the “man” wants you to witness on your screen. Rise above that limited digital view of what is possible and insist that what your neighbor wants to share with you is as accessible as the merchant who has bought every store in your neighborhood. 

jts 05/07/2020

http://stoanartst.blogspot.com 

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040720 - Extinction Chronicles ·

Independence day - Viet Nam · brutal as it ought to be; missed connections with many i’d hoped to see, and miraculous discoveries i never would have thought to find. 4:42 pm and counting, am normally under wraps by now, but barely 3 lines into my day’s responsibilities. To my credit: the laundry’s done; cousin M_____ acknowledged receipt of BD well wishes, floor is swept, like a “kiss and promise”, bicycle rear hub is replaced, language lesson successful; new fb friend’s, but like real life - ya’ never know who they are. Independence day - 2020 · and we are no closer to liberation than we were the day Jesus was born, s’plain that to me; please.

It is 5 pm an i am on my 2nd paragraph, tired like any 65 year old might after wandering around in 100 degree heat for hours while waiting for his conveyance. Walking becomes increasingly difficult which poses interesting challenges. I ran the L.A. Marathon in 2006, 6 months after an appendectomy, dissolution of my 3rd marriage. I was 52 and remember vividly trailing toward the finish line an impossible distance behind a couple of plucky prepubescent heroes and thinking to myself - oh fuck · That feeling doesn’t compare to realizing my capacity for self-sufficiency is intimately tied to a bicycle and the rain cycles of a tropical nation i know for no more than a year, yeah fucking Independence - let’s all celebrate our freedom. 

Nor am i complaining however much it may sound that way. There is someone i barely know who has staked his entire existence on a move of unknown value to find the “rain gods” chose his moving day to rain strong and hard at the end of what can only be described as long - even in my perverse lexicon of meaning. I love the rain and welcome it each time i find myself inside and able to enjoy its pitter-patter from some manner of shelter. Even just writing this now, i realize how much of the world’s population cannot take such a whimsical relationship with torrents of water pouring into whatever is their shelter at the time. What is so astonishing to me is how utterly unnecessary that is in a world capable of creating monster viruses able to eliminate with precision whole segments of the population, while employing nanotechnology to surveil other segments of the same population.

All of this is needlessly taking place while infants languish into starvation for nothing more than the cost of a cup of coffee - that my friends is not INDEPENDENCE · and sadly not even remotely close to Master Thay’s gentle admonition toward “INTERBEING,” side note: so advanced an expression that the dead apple master’s platform kicks it out as a non-word in its ruling class weighted business language. There is so much guidance by Yahoos glorifying their geekworld with its bells and whistle, but with no more soul than the bumper of a ’76 Barracuda; that i’m often able to cry myself to sleep without anyone noticing, is the saddest part of this whole passage for me. How close we are to complete success as a species - there is love around every corner i peer, save the rats in my attic - they just want to be dry and safe · then again i’m pretty sure on one thing in my life, i do not understand rats; they just don’t like peppermint, it’s not rocket science.

When i began this essay, i could not conceive getting this far and yet here we sit. I have good solid food chilling in the freezer waiting for me to forage. To be honest, i would rather forage hand in hand with some gentle dame who after we’d satisfied our hunger on nuts and berries looked into my eyes and asked gently - “can you still see enough of me to draw me naked?” · when one gets older, it is important to as one said once “know your limitations.” Yes I think i can manage more drawings, though not as close to the quality of the work that was stolen from me under the guise of “bad todd”, an imprecation i hope no one here reading ever understands, but if you must - i hope it results in a continued determination to draw or create, or express what you must without regard to others or to value about your efforts. Struggle to “pour beauty into the world” as one consort to Master Leonard Cohen once advised me while politely putting me in my place for the arrogant snot that i was/am, and hope to remain until i learn better.

jts 04/07/2020

http://stoanartst.blogspot.com 

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030720 - Extinction Chronicles ·

Closing my favorite writing table at the old Dingo Deli - preparing to find a new favorite writing table when it opens at its new location on Sunday the 5th. I felt the best show of solidarity i could observe is to bring business as it closes and then bring business as it opens. This morning while restocking from “Refillables” an eco-friendly store doing its level best to relive the landfills here i, of course, forgot the peppercorn. The proprietor is as close to kindred spirit i have found, but i have no way to know if that feeling is more a function of communication between peers or actual understanding. She has been here much longer and acclimated well as anybody .  .. ···: the proprietor of D-Deli just passed by and took a load off for a moment to share. He’s a grand fellow in an “old-school” kind of way. It is a relief to reach a place in my own dismantling of the ego to hear more clearly the lives of others, and how their own processes have informed their struggles. I realize that i need very much to stay open and not react to anything, rather peer at patterns as they emerge without judgement and share what i know when useful to what i see emerging.

Though try as you might that will never be possible. For example, they are moving the kitchen past where i sit, and as always it is the simple truths: plugs getting run over, dirty equipment carrying dirt to the new location - but Gordon bless his heart is much like Freidemman Mausch with a radically open heart · i recognize, but have yet to manifest, or have manifested but don’t recognize in myself just yet. What’s really neat about what i am witnessing just now is its heroic aspect - i guess a little bit like the city fathers of Hoi An realizing there is a tsunami of worldwide interest in their city which they are doing their best to accommodate, even if the response is one dimensional by adding housing units to meet demand, rather than peering deeper into the future and examining how can the community be best served and the energy of such demand be harnessed wisely.

My last recommendation to Gordon was to get someone assigned to taking video footage of the move - i try to imagine those aspects of any event that get lost, like children in shopping malls, and old people without children during holidays. He is elated with his accomplishment, and it is a fine feeling to witness. Our world would be a better place to live if more people could enjoy the type of success Gordon has arrived at. What i perceive is best about this event is Gordon is outside of his own ego and only dealing with what i used to experience when the point of the pencil dissolved into the portrait in process; i miss that aspect of the creative process and wait for it to occur while i write. It may that solipsistic essays are too thin a vehicle, it may be i am old and the elan has been beaten from my being, or it may just be too fucking hot and my patience is cowering in the corner frightened by a world disintegrating around me.

I have drunk 4 Heinekens and have only finished 3 paragraphs of today’s essay; a fairly apt metaphor for the world we occupy. In Vino Veritas has it’s limits and even the ancient cultures that employed such a crude metric for ascertaining accuracy used both states as have authors who advocate writing with alcohol, but editing sober. There is no prescription of substance that will prevent its abuse - even sobriety has its limits. What is more important is what objective you are pursuing in your efforts. If it is to blind yourself to pain, then that is what you shall accomplish, yet if the shackles of convention weigh so heavily that you are more constrained than clear - do something, anything to stay fluid and expressive.

For writing is no more than a momentary glimpse of a fluid existence that contains the makeup of a life. Ostensibly writing is to share with others who are curious about the thinking of others, and find it informative to read how others have managed pain, solitude, joy and fear. Any state of existence which helps one to peer ever more deeply into the labyrinth of our souls is useful. To shut down as so much of our modern lifestyle demands us to be - unconscious while we do the things we have been directed to do, to buy, to say without mindfulness deadens the possible blissful feelings and saps the joy we each can experience moment to moment even if it is only feeling a trickle of sweat riding down our back or witness the painful indifference of someone else attempting to weather the suffering they may be experiencing at any given moment. What is most important is that whatever strategy you choose, helps you to awaken to your life and all you feel rather than close up and hope the misery will pass without causing you greater distress not knowing if it is distress, discomfort or distraction, or discovery.

jts 03/07/2020

http://stoanartst.blogspot.com 

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020720 - Extinction Chronicles · cont’

The rain blessedly arrived yesterday just around the 2nd paragraph of writing - g_d how i do love the rain · I seem to be in a state of lassitude which in another period of my life might have rendered me anxious and insistent. I feel neither. I am quietly cooking food and planning further rectitude, not even knowing where that might take place. I have made vulgar virtual passes toward paramours and have been rebuffed, but don’t necessarily feel the need for a hair shirt. As i said in my last essay, i like sex - always have · hopefully always well, even had the good fortune to hear professors posit in classes at an early age “if you’ve never made love to an artist, you don’t know what you’re missing.” I no longer delude myself about romantic closure. I am lucky each day that passes and i am not murdered for the hearts i may have broken by stupidity, negligence or confounded curiosity. What i struggle with today is honesty and openness, if i cannot be that for any love interest, i must move on.

To where, i know not. Between the last period and this sentence i cut overgrowth with the kindly, indefatigable neighbor lady who has blessed my yard with more than one flowering plant and many small delicacies, but it has always been awkward due to my qualms about married women - much less the profound regard i hold for her lion hearted husband who has only shown his care by his, subtle and constant disapproval of my tepid insobriety. I believe myself riddled with cancer, only based on the length and duration of pain from inflammation over an extended period of time and my “at risk” behavior amplified by the ignorant and malicious shunning by my birth family instigated by my birth mother who i am certain suffered a prenatal fall somewhere in my gestation that resulted in my “Frank’s Breech;” a congenital bald spot at my left temporal lobe and anomalous vision that has rendered me a “dual” cyclops against my will - and i am not complaining, simply trying to embrace my suffering and move on.

From my experience i believe very strongly that one can behave poorly and atone for bad behavior; i also believe it takes very little to live a happy fulfilled existence predicated on constructive acts that satisfy some inner yearning for meaning that only individuals seeking answers to the mystery of existence can identify. I don’t think anyone can maintain any control over another; and any effort contrary to that belief reflects only on the person attempting to control another rather than any susceptibility by those hungry for approval - we all want to be acknowledged · especially the control freaks in our midst presuming that their notion of correctness is any more correct than any other.

I have no clue what is going to happen next - whether around the next bend in the road, i will meet back up loving soul sent to redeem my broken heart, or the broken heart i was sent to redeem. I am ready to die as much as i have ever been, but in no more hurry to do so than i have been in my life - though outward manifestations of purpose driven by reaction formation of worthlessness diminish, i find it more and more natural to do nothing more than open to whatever it is about this world i do not understand, and focus my withered mind on ways to comprehend. 

Where once i valued my life based on efficiency and a well-honed ability to do the maximum number of chores in the minimum amount of time - it wasn’t until recently that i began to understand my real reason was to preserve my ability to do nothing without attracting attention. I cannot any longer deflect my pain - the best i can accomplish is to find a way to dwell with my own pain in such a way that it does not expand and become a part of yours. I do not know how to accomplish that and hold little hope for a time in my future where my loving heart is what animates the energy around me; i have about lost hope with each failed experiment at honoring my truth - whatever gruesome aspect that might take · (read tongue-in-cheek) i’m not a vile creature; (horny as fuck, but not vile); i have gotten that far, but i also realize that i have the capacity to create disturbance and that self-knowledge causes me too much distraction to be of much use; so like a guest in the Monkey forest of Ubud, i try and train myself to simply observe without valence or interest but to bring as much love as i have witnessed in our blue orb back into focus in this obscure spot in the middle of nowhere, overflowing with love while abiding in the real danger of dying from too little · LOVE .

jts 02/07/2020

http://stoanartst.blogspot.com 

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010720 - Extinction Chronicles ·

I never would have thought myself fortunate to think like a rat, yet here i sit in a 1st rain-soaked sort-of modern home in an agrarian foreign gulag of a UNESCO site. I beat back the vermin invasion with no more than odor - who’d have thought a boutique “peppermint” essential odor would render me the pied piper of an ancient asian trading post - up to its gills with predatory capitalists · and it just gets weirder and weirder. The rats are not happy that i burned peppermint incense just as their domicile received its 1st rain, and i feel their pain. Sort or like seeing images of Mussollini’s hanging upside down at the end of WWII. Fascists are rats for no more than they are at the service of corporate thugs, and have always been .;

and i am no better for my cultural arrogance - in U.S. today understood as “white privilege”. This cultural assertion is not something i have always understood - during the 60’s i often envied Black Men the solidarity they seem to enjoy by belonging to a cohort that was indivisible. I grew up in a suburban Southern California demographic that claimed a whole lot more than it delivered. The police arrested me on numerous occasions - some; on infractions, some on no more than “differences of opinions.” In the high school i attended, that was enough, but once those i disagreed with became authorities, that was no longer enough.

Now i sit wondering who gives a fuck about my rotting body and it’s no longer funny. .. 020720 so i stopped pressing and went to relax. Now a day later and another bicycle circuit under my belt, and while not entirely feeling better i am more at peace and comfortable about where i am at - alone, older and still curious · i am not seeking counsel outside of what comes to me from my interior; nor is it always palatable. I have always been sexual which doesn’t dovetail easily with a solitary stature that that corresponds to a fallacious belief that others are more worthy of company than myself. After 20 years of intensive psychoanalytic psychotherapy and another 65 years of sacred devotion to plumbing the mystery of life, i have found no easy answers - but i am more comfortable with the bad answers i find and no longer evaluate my success or failures based on other’s approval · i hope.

Nor is that a cut & dry condition with many cul-de-sacs and false starts, but i no longer berate myself for using cliches, or ending a sentence with preposition. Whatever compensation i utilize in defense of reaction formation get vetted with what one therapist described as “hyper vigilance,” actually two separate Doctors described the behavior in different ways - one using the description i just described; the other Doctor using jokes to illuminate one oblivious to the good around them: for the sake of literary development, we’ll try abbreviating both - the first was a Jew seated next to two SS operatives during the 2nd WW; Jew oblivious to his danger and thirsty, “Oye, am I thirsty, oye am i thirsty & on & on.” finally Heinrich tells Drumpf, “for god’s sake give the schmuck some wasser to shut him the fuck up.” Drumpf good nazi that he was obeys orders and gives the poor schmuck a drink of wasser, only to hear; “Oye was i thirsty, oye was i .  ..” The 2nd was about a sophisticated traveling salesman who got a flat tire in the wilds of the cornfields of Iowa and had nothing he could do but walk because there was a time when cell phones didn’t exist. This salesman, walked and walked and talked to himself a lot. “Fucking hicks, here in the middle of nowhere - what am i gonna find but fucking hicks. Mile after mile and hour after hour until finally the poor wound up city slicker spied a farmhouse alight, but it was too late for when he knocked on the door to ask for help, all he could articulate was - “Fuck you, you can keep your goddamn jack and spare tire, i wouldn’t use them if you begged me.”

We all could benefit from therapy, not the over inflated “wellbeing for a profit” kind found in the US of A and those medical industries modeling such a selfish business model, but the kind oriented by suffering of those around us who have been helped by a consistent attention to probing the difficulties we each face in daily life · probing in such a way that helps each of us move toward wellness as we conceive that state to be. I should have died any number of times in my life, beginning with pneumonia at age one - that i have not yet died does not make me feel brash, nor has it cornered me in a state of constant fear wherein i believe my next move could be my last. And my survival has not encouraged me to be reckless with the time i have left, nor manic about making every last second count for something. I sit closer to wonder than i ever have, and i’ve always sat fairly close to that state of confusion. What i strive for in these chronicles is to establish and maintain a friendship with one the world has not often been fair to, nor friendly with - myself. .. continued on 020720

jts 01/07/2020

http://stoanartst.blogspot.com 

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300620 - Extinction Chronicles ·

“Make it simple, but not simpler” - Albert Einstein; Lao Tzu - “Simplicity, patience, compassion · these are my three greatest treasures.”

That two of the smartest guys in human history would advocate simplicity should tell us something about a world where corporations are selling, at a premium, electrical gadgets that require an advanced degree in Computer Science to open, much less operate, and like most flimflam have a “backdoor” used by the house to skim even more off the top. Don’t believe me, look at your own bills and count up how much you spend on shit you cannot touch, have no way to save and likely have forgotten 3 days hence. Nor do i advocate that you toss your phone, because paradoxically, one adds a layer of complexity to one’s existence trying to unshackle the +/- 5v shackle ostensibly there to ease your suffering, but in reality, something you yoked to your own wrist with greed and hubris & pay for the privilege of doing so - they tell me i’m crazy · you should listen .

But in the scheme of things the nation i was born to is burning up in a conflagration of disease which has oddly increased the wealth of its richest citizens:

• U.S. billionaires saw their fortunes soar by $434 billion during the nation’s lockdown between mid-March and mid-May, according to a new report.
• Amazon’s Jeff Bezos and Facebook’s Mark Zuckerberg had the biggest gains.
• Bezos added $34.6 billion to his wealth and Zuckerberg picked up $25 billion.

This my friends, if any are still alive does not bespeak a world aright, rather a world in “Dire Straits” described well by the “Talking Heads” song - ‘burning down the house’· However intellectually satisfying such a question might be, it does not absolve all who read this sappy renunciation of the status quo to formulate a rational reaction to my statement of despair based on no more than reading as Bob Dylan “the writing on the wall”. Aren’t ya’ glad you took time out of your busy “shelter in place” schedule to soak your soul in more “OH FUCK”¿? I can’t help myself, or more accurately, i don’t want to stop; these chronicles are the only itch that scratching satisfies my dying being just now. 

I do not want you to die - What i want is for you and your relations · all of them good and bad to make it through this rough patch. Moreover, my deepest purpose as my days wane is for each of you to find some venue for our DNA to resolve itself into new life - free from and unencumbered by cortisol: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cortisol, this is just a guess, but i’d be willing to stake a portion of my meager fortune of “my nut” that is principle and not leveraged by debt to pay for concrete evidence that if one were to look deeply enough there would be trail of “capital” related to cortisol as it affects health directly into the pharmaceutical’s revenue stream - the hunt is on · “so i declare that 15% of my net worth goes to the first actionable discovery that the HNWI are betting on stress manufactured by their fiduciaries to harvest your cortisol for profit.”

Me, i think love is where the “smart” money is going go - though not with a fuck whole lot more transparency than exists today. We human beings are not necessarily a stupid species, and there are a lot who are not so distant from as Garrison Keillor, pointed out - “Even in a time of elephantine vanity and greed, one never has to look far to see the campfires of gentle people.” Small wonder that John Lennon used “Imagine” as a catch basin for his evolved thinking. Our species seems so enthralled with the “bells and whistles” that come each new packaged tchotchke, we would like to ascribe our adherence to sobriety societally palatable conformance, because that behavior denies the abandon of the unknown that is dangerous to the “economy.” I posit, and am convinced the only rational economy for our planet is one that enriches from the bottom up. I am not willing to debate this logic with anyone, but am entirely open to exploiting how this superior survival tactic can be enacted - because i am an asshole, and you are not ·

Just to add “emphasis on the syllable”; i’d just about abandoned you without your due fill - a 5 paragraph essay deserves its conclusion · don’t be a jerk and let your entire DNA strand, strand itself because you were too vain, or too stupid to act in a timely manner. I’d like to be polite and encourage cordial exchanges wherever possible, but given there is all the planet’s wherewithal in the hands of a maniacal cabal bent on kissing each other’s arses into the apocalypse, i think i’ll just abstain and picture myself in the arms of one or another of the more sexually intriguing trysts that see past my withered frame into the ardent heart of my “i hope you feel my love;” it hurts me to imagine Thay’s disapproval of my standards for “Sangha,” yet somehow - what he, Master Thich Hhat Hanh has taught me about breathing and love, i remain confident that the universe will forgive me whatever soft embrace i might find on my path to death - as i hope the universe blesses you for your kind touch for all .

jts 30/06/2020

http://stoanartst.blogspot.com 

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