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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121120 - Extinction Chronicles ·

 

For all i know, today is Pop’s birthday (111224); he was fond of muddying the waters and whenever asked declared his birthday “Veterans Day” though we invariably celebrated it on the 12th - his last wife called him “Steve” for the 20 some odd years of their union · His name was Harold Reed Stevens; and the last text message i kept on my phone for a full year and half after his death ended with the exclamation “Harold Reed Stevens, JUNIOR.” Ya’ gotta give it up to a raconteur who dissembled to the end of a life predicated on integrity - small wonder Madame Paradox and her offsprings are my closest confidants · “non, je ne sais pas où ils sont; ne me demande plus; s'il te plait” merci.

I am easily enough found, and while not entirely open to your questions - will help how i may with what i have available. We are about to extinguish an entire DNA sequence simply from greed and stupidity - near as i can tell · Yet it seems this sequence of my DNA wrap around the sun is all about learning and doubt seems to be about the only thing i am certain of anymore. I know i’m gonna die, while reincarnation sows doubt about even that simple reality. But 3 wives and 50 years of loneliness out of 66 years on the planet is enough to sew doubt about air, much less - life ever after. People, otherwise intelligent people are building and launching weapons convinced there is some path out from where we “shuffle off this mortal coil.”

I don’t much care anymore - i like it when the ducks and chickens heed my call and come close to the protection my friends the farmers provide · even if that enclosure is only a gate to the charnel floor we all approach. If reincarnation is a fact, i would have no reluctance to returning as a fowl in the yard i live next door to. I have eaten from that table, and knowing i will never ride a Buffalo to ground and pierce it’s brave heart with a bow and arrow - that doesn’t mean i couldn’t. As a man-child i found myself on a dirt road between the Isthmus on the Island of Santa Catalina and the northern lee side of the island. I was on a YMCA camping trip and in the company of principal parties in my future - a faux best friend; the to-be-dead brother of a wannabe best friend; and the sometime lover of she who-would-be-queen. We trudged and we were as brave and free as ignorant humans could be, laughing at earthquakes at the time as “Ground Swell.” Some live, some are dead and all are dear; myself counting coup for my journey into the ever after knowing i walked up to the placid beast which could have at any instant trampled me to a pulp and pulled his chin-whiskers.

I can die happy, not because i harmed another creature - which i didn’t, but because i looked into the face of death before my time and said as best i knew how at the time, “I love and respect you, thank you for allowing me to tease you without killing me for my ignorance.” Of my many “only hopes,” is that many are given a similar opportunity to dwell that close to their demise and come away with as much learning as i have been afforded. I communicate little with any of the grown men from that event, “May Tom · r · i · p · “ He and i tried, as have his brother and i attempted to create congruity from the mystery; it is not a path with road signs or indications other than the faintest memories which hold us to our earthly duty; i am grateful for the love in my heart held fast by such memories, for love it seems is more substantive than any other squall in our unruly hearts.

But what the fuck do i know¿ a besotted gimp pulling his laming leg behind him on the peddle of the conveyance he uses to deny the obvious - “you gonna die sucka’” · I’m happy at this point to gain a few more whiffs of good free air, and to declare my contempt for any who would deprive the balance of our kind the same privilege. It would seem the nation of my birth made that mandate clear, but from where i sit, and from where i stumble to my struggle to repose; that mandate is not so abundantly clear. Too many in my wannabe homeland were pulling for the “Nazi” in our midst for me to quietly; what’s the expression¿? resign. Big Shots will plague our kind as long as greed and cruelty are accepted as measures of power and competence, but as the wise rock & roll revolutionary Jimi Hendrix proclaimed accurately as well as musically, “When the power of Love, overcomes the Love of power - the world will know peace.” Live with logic you stupid motherfuckers or stay the fuck away from me, for as the “friend” Bob Dylan declared honestly and truthfully, “I’m not as cool or forgiving as I sound. I've seen enough heartache and strife.” 

jts 12/11/2020 

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111120 - Extinction Chronicles ·

Though a WWII bomber pilot with a quixotic temper and passionate nature, i never saw my father strike my mother. Aside from the requisite belt-whippings, countenanced with children’s magazines stuffed in our pants, with a younger brother who resembled Tom Sawyer’s cousin Sid enough to evade serious disagreements with our father, i recall two beatings from my normally pacific parent: one was after i had described my sister to her face as a “bitch,” not really understanding the meaning of the word, however appropriate a moniker then, as it has become over the years, based only on the little that i know about her from her actions; the 2nd was when i declared my hair my own and would not cut it for anyone but myself. Imagine my surprise when my normally placid poet parent located me in my older brother’s bedroom asking if i had called her “bitch,” when he, my poet father began to “bitch slap” my 13/14 year-old head from side-to-side - surprise is a good word. The 2nd occasion of serious physical violence was in the same older brother’s room when he my father attempting the same physical domination to make a point, only to find my surprise had been converted to awareness and easily deflected his half-hearted blows after i had put up my “dukes.”

I left the home i’d grown up in hours later and began a pattern of giving up ground to superior forces which has allowed me to remain undaunted, however alone to this day. The most important lesson for me, it seems has been surrender; i’m not very good at it, but i continue to give up and have found over time it not only comes easier, but the only battle worth expending valuable resources is the one that requires that i surrender to myself. That self, however worthy an adversary, has become an even more invaluable friend - the friend i have searched for my lifelong. Mysteriously as that friend to me appeared, so too have any enemies i have had disappear, for with deep compassion and solidarity for anyone wishing to prevail over this solitary pilgrim and his peculiar reticence - i cede to you all, but that of my self the sole arbitrator of good taste and decency within the “Kingdom of The Odd Todd.”

The paradox of course is that the more i eschew strife, the more aware struggle becomes aware of me - incognito is not an option, remember i am a dual-eyed cyclops dying in some foreign nation; i possess a preternatural aversion to convention and lack any proper regard for the importance of conformance - t’was ever thus · so i ease into the current and resist nothing that requires struggle: against, for, with, around, silence or acquiescence to - rather and more importantly is to align as much as i can & learn to understand about the vacuum i am · (don’t blame me, take it up with Madame Paradox & her two offsprings, t’is & t’ain’t). I like to have fun and find no reason to not enjoy that which i am engaged with - just now · words, ideas and feelings. Fun, as i was helped to learn, is the capacity to play, laughing at you, laughing at me; crying for a tragedy or exalting in a victory; however transitory, false, and/or sacred any of those states manifests.

My anima is as best i can guess is a desert rat with bloody knuckles and a horn-toad heart. My mother was man enough to back my father up - himself, not one to be trifled with · he never surrendered to her, and i believe to this day that it is that act which doomed their otherwise passionate and fruitful union. How is one to parse such an example of maladaptive behavior and learn¿ that is a question? Pop the art of surrender - it took a broken hip at 86 and a catheter up his dick for the last 10 months of his life · but eventually, he gave it up to her, his lord god, LOVE. Understand that what i write here is hyperbole in service of a point, an ever receding idea that was born of my early year’s council from Pop, “It is not from accomplishment, but from the pursuit that you find meaning;” or my personal favorite homily - “character is not born in the calm;” unrealistically good son i wanted to be - of course i went in search of every storm i could find and discover the deeper recesses of my character. “Be careful what you wish for, you might get it.” - Oscar Wilde

I want a kind companion in a gentle world - i’ve had 3 so far and welcome another; if only more wisely and however unlikely one more kind · my last wife left me 5 days after an emergency appendectomy, she took with her my faith, my dog and my “best friend.” She was fun and fooled me completely - i thought i was fun too, but she learned me differently · The fault is my own, and i bless her absence; she reminded me at an advanced age, romantic delusion is not just an affliction of the young at heart. I’d like to think she has had some things to chew on from her escape, but the best i can do is wish her well and spend no more time thinking about that “existential excursion” than there are lessons i can still learn from “dishonesty, cruelty, arrogance and betrayal” all concepts rooted in my own delusions about “candor, kindness, humility and fidelity;” it doesn’t get any better than that - lucky me ·

jts 11/11/2020 

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091120/101120 - Extinction Chronicles ·

While the world rejoices, i reflect on the year 1976 - i broke the 5th metacarpal in both hands months apart in unrelated “accidents” · met, married & and divorced my 1st wife and gained 60 stitches along the inner length of my right forearm, missing, as the Dr. described at the time, my ulnar nerve by millimeters; my left hand was in a cast at the time - Lucky me · That my birthday corresponds to the date of the signing of the Constitution in 1787, has always provided me some solace given its rugged construction as well as its namesake, the still floating “Old Ironsides;” (next day) sail on oh mighty ship of state, sang Leonard Cohen in his ode to Democracy - so near, yet so far; opined Master Shakespeare. However, these are not named the “Arcadian Chronicles” because our future is assured just because we dodged a bullet from a 3rd-rate con artist who declared, prior to his election, that he could commit murder on 5th Ave in NYC with impunity, and who then went on to condemn at the time of this writing 239,000 American Citizens to unnecessary deaths - a number which could have been a fraction of that count, but for incompetence, arrogance and a general contempt for life.

This essay began with a gruesome recounting of personal misfortunes - not to establish a “false intimacy” but for one lesson of caution from that time. My employer - an energetic mouse of a man who exemplified “too many irons in the fire” - Bill Mor_tz · and his long suffering family, none of whom i can tell you a thing about 44 years later. This was a man who could drink a case of Michelob beer before lunch, and another half before dinner and still manage to break his transaxle attempting to climb the, at the time accessible hills behind one of my Alma Maters, Estancia HS in his Jeep Cherokee. There are still homeowners in the Westside of Costa Mesa, who either curse his name or name children after him - what i learned about a jackhammer attempting to perforate the concrete and rebar of his unwanted backyard swimming pool, i believe would allow me to walk onto any jobsite on the planet and honestly declare, i know “Jack Hammer.” Again the purpose of this recounting of a homily he shared sitting in the camper shell parked on his driveway that served as office to “Mor_tz Construction Company.” I sat and listened patiently after sharing my confusion about a crazy woman for a wife i didn’t have two weeks earlier, this while one hand was in a cast from a bone i broke myself hitting a wall, and an arm up to the elbow in gauze from sutures closing the rend in my arm from dragging it across an unwinding coil of flashing as i stepped into a covered roof hole from the previous day’s labor. 

Bill looked at me and pulled on his beer and peered at my two useless appendages that he was still paying wages for, because it was his roofing job, and he was that kind of guy. “Joseph” he said, “Pain is stupid, it is so stupid that you can outsmart it. We’ll take this sledgehammer outside and i’ll drop it on your foot. I promise, you won’t remember a thing about this woman or either one of your wounds.” I don’t doubt he was right about that however much else in his business he got wrong, at the worst possible time. For example - an installation down the coast - a San Clemente subdivision with houses stepped up a slope · some 20’ of elevation between slabs. Bill contracted to carve a 20’ block-wall “V” into the upslope side yard and install a spa/hothub. This “V” shaped wall required 18” footings below grade - almost like the universe was demonstrating to me, that no matter how bad my own misfortunes, there is greater misery in the world. We finished cutting the earth and would have begun pouring the footings the next day, when it began to rain and continued for the next 6 weeks.

During those weeks labor on what had been a neatly cut engineering feat anticipating many hours of hot water soaking in a plush Southern California enclave, deteriorated into a quagmire of wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow of nothing but mud and misery. Where had once been the apex of a wall-ready wedge of earth became a rivulet of concern to a torrent that eventually undercut the very foundation of the upslope home. A cavity of many meters opened wider daily which took as many hours to prevent as did the increasingly questionable strategy of pouring concrete into a mud hole that grew greater daily during the relentless rain - Payroll eventually ran out before i learned whether our Herculean efforts kept the house upslope from sliding downslope, or if the homeowners ended up with a “V” shaped spa with a slender view of the California Coast.

An ambition that oddly echoes the cantilevered penthouses of the Nordstrom’s jutting over another of my Alma Maters, The Art Students League of NYC. Only we will not hear or know of the mayhem caused by a handful of tenants able to pay goofy money to have a northern penthouse view of Central Park - only because what will become an eventuality · tons of rich people’s homes falling onto the roof of a “sellout Atelier” of a once democratic art school will not occur until we are all dead and gone, that is why it was allowed; why the “economy - red or blue” is allowed to turn profit’s blind eye to destruction of life and property for no better reason than “it didn’t happen on my watch, sort of.” It may be that i was torn at this time in history for no other reason than to learn better what it means to care for others better than i care for myself - this idea itself a paradox, for the wisest i’ve heard say you cannot be compassionate to others more than you understand compassion for yourself. D.J. Trump may be the saddest person on the entire planet for all i know about him; that he apparently cares nothing at all for the people in my immediate community who are suffering great flood damage through no fault of their own does not absolve me concern for the “lowest of the low,” and if it not be me, it must be he. Madame Paradox - please get a life other than your intrusive philosophical interest in mine, for your questions about what is right and what is wrong are starting to piss me off - signed, your humble servant · the Hulk.

jts 10/11/20-09/11/2020 

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081120 - Extinction Chronicles ·

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

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

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

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

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

jts 08/11/2020 

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