141220 - Extinction Chronicles ·

It is raining, like it hasn’t stopped for 4 months - people are tired and hoping for the business of open borders · my presence only seems to exacerbate the obnoxious fact of closed borders; ain’t life grand. The long slow cooked chicken noodle soup a la ‘Nowhere in Particular is sumptuous and i have no one to eat with - the long suffering, but circumstantially greedy landlords want me to stay, even reducing the rent, but have yet to connect the fact that until they repair the roof, anyone who lives here will suffer the same mold that has reduced the walls of my “foreigner villa” to abstract murals of shades of green and white only somewhat more natural than the cosseted efforts of local “art aficionados” under the careful tutelage of imported “art industrialists” which pales in cultural impact to the  deluge and its economic threat to ancient agriculturally-based food sovereignty. The cognoscenti ignore my cautions that the corporate food paradigm is not their friend and so open restaurant after 

“hip” restaurant to satisfy the finicky palettes of the hopefully soon to arrive tourist hordes coming to the rescue that Mssr _rump promised in his veiled threats against the “boogey man” to the North; the Ngoui Viet have been repelling the boogey men for well over 2,000 years and need no help from a non-potty trained, rumpled suit con from Scarsdale - apparently no one told the Politburo.

I’ve never been under cloud cover this long, 4 months and counting, and have begun to understand the deleterious effects of shade. Yet there is a dread about the obscene heat which follows the short window of a temperate winter in this remarkable country of contrasts. When i say deleterious effects from a lack of sun, i’m referring to the malaise that insinuates itself into one’s soul. And when i say contrasts, there were days during the hottest part of the summer i had to contract a cab to get from where i’d walked to after i’d left my bicycle for servicing; the heat from the sun was beyond my physical endurance to retrace my steps. Now a scant 7 months later i’m whinging about shade - go figure · It is easy to imagine why the population here is quite so susceptible to the siren song of capitalism and how with just the right location and proper “concept” anyone will be able to command bezosesque villas anywhere in the world - Ad copy from “Trump University.” Disclaimer: Trump=Lie

And herein lies the rub, no one is coming to rescue us (humanity) - if the steps you take are not born of concrete self awareness from “bitter searching of heart,” you will be thrall to each and every prompt dictated by your +/- 5v shackle on which you may even be reading this cautionary tale. We as a species cannot ascribe our misery to such an empty spirit as the former leader of the free world #45; just look at how his friends are fleeing the sinking ship while attempting to abscond with the tattered remnants of perceived power of his 4th Reich, each clutching a fist full of hate they’d conceived of as born within the genius generous heart of Mr. “empty suit” himself shimmering with virulence, rather than virility. The premise that someone is going to protect you by using their fear as your shield is just fucking stupid.

I know i’ve tried, not consciously but by imagining that if i aligned myself with scary people it would rub off on me and i could frighten into submission those who bully me - a long road to nowhere. It is myself that i fear - the painful process of peering into that shadow part of me that does not believe i am worth affection, respect and regard. And there is no easy path out of such misconception except to hold the gaze of one’s self - to mercilessly examine each act of love against each act of aggression and try to honestly determine which is which. What has saved me is the conviction that regardless of any heinous deeds i may have committed in my life, it was done by the same person sitting here now exploring my nakedness as honestly and lovingly as i have learned i can be - that and strengthening those aspects of my self i love most in others · compassion, generosity, kindness .  ..  ···

There is no expert solution that is bandied about in popular DIY enlightenment programs; there is no messiah worthy of her allure that would declare, “I know what you need.” The answers are only contained within each of our salty hearts cured in the crucible of strife and failure. That is not to say we cannot be aided by others, because the delusion of solitude melts continually into the shoreline of awareness - anytime you look at the misery of a mother’s face witness the pain of her child, no matter how full up you are with delusion, there has been such an expression somewhere in your own life - that is your salvation. If you can dwell for even a moment on the face of someone you recognize is suffering, you are on your way to your own salvation.  

jts 14/12/2020

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111220/121220/131220 - Extinction Chronicles ·

A seminal film in my early years was “The Lost Weekend” with Ray Milland, not because it foretold my life story, but for having informed me at a young age about the dangers of heedless drunkenness - like you don’t get that the morning of your first hangover. My first and most memorable hangover of many some over my lifetime occurred after an Arcadian Spring Night in the city of Pasadena - i was 15 or so and being warehoused in the basement of one of my 1st cousins and her then, or soon to be husband, a rakish Villonesque hero whom i owe much; this event occurred while my parents matriculated their dissolution in the quiet of ______fill in the blank. Physically i was coming into my own and had the privilege of schlepping soft water tanks up the steep driveways found in the havens of the, then modestly rich of ‘old money Pasadena’. You’d have to have been there, but imagine, i had my first domicile replete with madras bedspreads on the ceiling of the basement in an old craftsman duplex and a too fine porch of those better days; it was a spring afternoon after 6 hours of toting torpedo size canisters of soft water rock salt and being faced with a bohemian sized gallon of “Red Mountain” wine that had no parental supervision associated with it.

What could go wrong besides plenty - (the Rhesus Monkey as i recall, was out of its cage that night) · Joe was mythical and had lived in Chicago as a teenager, however well-heeled a teenager of what was then my age. By the time he became fiancee to my cousin, he’d beaten Heroin and knew the rock group “Strawberry Alarm Clock” well enough for them to play at their wedding in Altadena · heady days. But that day i’d carried much weight but knew in my quiet heart i was really facing a Sea Change which by the end of the summer would include the absence of my father, my oldest brother and my dog. I learned later it had been decided that the two oldest siblings knew of these changes which i would gather only as surprise upon my return - but back to that Arcadian Spring Night · Joe liked to laugh at me as i hoisted his job on my back trying to be a grownup about things i only sensed but felt like the ground swells one learns from growing up in “earthquake country” along the San Andreas fault lines of California. 

Joe’s pride and joy was his Austin Healy, not me - however much i vyed · my thinking was that if i earned his respect, my eldest brother - the wounded one, would open to my adoration and deliver me from his sullen rancor; wasn’t gonna happen, not then not now. My responsibility as i now know is to love him to the end regardless of any benefit to me. None of this entered into the equation that night as i relentlessly matched Joe glass for glass - a man 8 years my senior, and 100 lbs my better but whom i loved as though i knew what love was. Somehow it was determined that i might get “laid” if we got to Sunset Blvd in Hollywood - a short spin down the Arroyo Seco Freeway which along with being the 1st freeway in the country was presided over, however indirectly by my Maiden Aunt, Anno - the executive secretary to the Chief Engineer of that project, and so goes my “15 minutes of fame” for those keeping count.

I was so certain that the drive we were embarking on regardless of the Red Mountain haze which made more confident than sober, and then more so, even through the blur of 50 more years of hard living remembering that night, i was out of my depth; i can still feel the physical swell of riding in that dark spruce green sports car and having good looking women ogle back - that was all she wrote · My next recollection was of a gray morning out of doors; i was bitterly cold; my face hurt, but i wasn’t sure where or why and my handsome overlarge sweater stank of vomit which also reeked within every nook and cranny of Joe’s Austin Healy. My morning did not end there, for i learned from my very angry hero-Joe there was no place for me to sleep until every speck of vomit had been cleaned from the cockpit of that conveyance which had hours earlier been a chariot of love, but became little more than a Herculean stable to be swamped, then swamped again.

No, i did not get laid - on the return trip, fortunately for me and my next day’s schlepping chores, the instant i began my technicolor yawn on the wiggling Arroyo Seco, Joe cold-cocked me with a right backhand to the jaw which i did not wake up from until the next morning. I know . .. some guys have all the luck. While you may be repulsed to the core to read of my dissipated youth, it is galvanizing to peer back into my own abyss in the midst of today's sorrow gnashing of the teeth, to know just how tender and fragile i am - very. One would think with a lesson like that, it would be over · not even close. Though today, i can say i am master of my ship and if i so choose to get sick as a dog and remember very little about how it happened, i am very nearly a fucking authority. Who search for still, is that young open-hearted youth freely giving his love and admiration to worthy leaders, however fewer and farther in-between they have become. Oddly, it looks more and more that if i am in need of leadership, it is i, myself who is left to show me the way - go ahead say again how GOD is not a broad with a wicked sense of humor · i might even believe you.

jts 11/12/2020;12/12/2020;13/12/2020  

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101220 - Extinction Chronicles ·

I think i’m beginning to remember the fun of being alive - nor can i say exactly why, for there is so much, and so many arguing today to the contrary · I grew up in a contentious family that mostly argued about love: lack of, wrong kind, too much, wrong person, place or thing - you get the idea. It was all very confusing to this wall-eyed cyclops given two eyes by the goddess Gaia for flavor in her existential stew in which we all seem to be steaming. And i am thankful, because the closer i draw to my next transition - the more humor i find in the act of breathing in pain and breathing out simplicity, patience and compassion. 

5 paragraphs a day anymore is a lot for me, but i am mindful of how much emptiness our world feels from not having daily occupation in service of the ruling class - so i try to keep my daily appointment with the “tabula rasa” which has beckoned our species from the time of the first bare cave wall in anticipation of an important hunt for game that might mean the difference between protein and starvation for our ancient brethren, as evidenced in Lascaux and elsewhere there were personalities goading the hungry hunters to superior skill using whatever imagery or stories that could be conjured in smoke filled caverns to yield food for the collective tribe.

These collections of impressions and exhortations last to this day demonstrating mostly how powerful love for others can be. Those within the tribe who murdered the weak and aged to keep more for themselves are found nowhere in history of our species except for a slightly higher pile of bones a little closer to the fire that selfish brutes to this day claim. And i am willing to wager that when the silicon charge has expired and the conceit of AI has evaporated like the Edsel on the ash heap of history - there will be some loving evidence of the creative hand loving all of us closer to each other rather than dividing what will be left of our rapidly dwindling DNA potential.  

My humble hope is to have some phrase left in the memory of a shared story that was made useful to the most vulnerable of our kind - a cupped cheek, a tender touch or even quiet whisper at the nape of a loving neck which helped to yield one more safely protected from the rapidly extinguishing flame of hate inspired by greed and delusion: 12 Dec 2020 “Blowout for my expedition to My Lai, it dredges up so much confusing emotion · like what am i doing here in Viet Nam¿ What are my motivations if not to woo Diem Hong? There is no doubt it has been a learning growth experience, but do i belong where i am? if not, where to, and why. I found just what it took, which along with blowing my nose after eating chili, i possess a strong urge to express or to develop my expressive skills depending on your orientation for understanding. I feel most clear perceiving others and my world when i do so creatively and no longer wish to question that prerogative, rather to see more deeply what i can with what faculties i have left to me.”

My intended mission of atonement to My Lai was based on a false premise - that i could exculpate my sins by praying for forgiveness for the actions of others. My sins are different, they are mine alone for not wholly embracing the miracle of the moment allotted to me - by not expressing myself with every inclination that comes to me, be it a flirtatious smile with a comely woman or the follow-up to a solid commitment toward a joined loving life; all those inclinations i turn from believing myself unworthy · that is my sin. I am not a murderous sort unless it is in the service of liberating my brothers and sisters from yokes of greed they assume will enrich them, which i understand differently to be comprised of empty gestures for affection that are rooted in the self-interest of the proffering agent. “If it sounds to good to be true, it probably is.” We will survive as a species based on self sacrifice in service of other; anyone or any influence to the contrary is suspect if you take the time to peer into their agenda. “Enlightened Self-Interest” is the greatest universe worthy of exploration - believe me or not - i could give a fuck · a loving fuck, but a fuck nonetheless . ..  ···

jts 10/12/2020 

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091220 - Extinction Chronicles ·

I am going on Sunday to visit the scene of an American massacre on foreign ground - Son Mỹ, what ‘mericans understand as Mỹ Lai · The leader of this murderous rampage was pardoned by Richard Nixon. I was 14 years old at the time of the killings and feel as responsible today as if i had been there 16 March 1968. It would be a comfort to me if this was the only travesty i feel personally responsible for in the world, and with gentle application of loving mindfulness, i will find comfort. For now, i feel it is important to make an effort to atone for actions which the culture i was born to has taken - reparations for the racist slaughter of black lives · honoring the treaties made in the name of my forbearers; crimes against love that i have committed in the thrall of lust · and acts of hostility toward myself lacking foundation or justification.

A tall order, but what are ya’ gonna do. We as a species are sleepwalking to our doom, goaded on by accountants and posers acting out their agendas no differently than Charles Starkweather of “Nebraska” fame. I cannot rectify the 3,000+ gratuitous deaths that have occurred in the land of my birth just yesterday, much less atone for the lives taken for profit since greed was introduced into the imagination of human development. What i lack today is a cohort of allies for altering that vocabulary of self-interest into one of compassionate concern for generations yet born. I am not sure how to proceed, when all i really want to do is disrobe fine looking women and spend hours depicting their ineluctable figures for hours and hours before i explore their neglected libidos for years to come.

Laugh if you must, but that is how i spent many decades after art training - searching for a muse/model companion/business partner, when from much practice i had determined i was not suitable husband material because of this unconventional approach to interpersonal relations - i then wandered off into the desert - literally living in Klan Valley of the lower Sierras before fleeing across continents in search of a woman compatible with my desire for a quiet life of loving creation · what could go wrong, except everything? My first stop was a French fantasy that i fled my homeland for was unwilling to acknowledge the extent of my graphic and physical commitment to her beauty and i too wounded from romantic delusion to stick around. It is at this point atonement confused all my ambition and i left for Nepal to “aid” a people in the process of deluding their own earthquake savaged selves about the generosity of a planet yearning to exculpate its sins with contribution, by contributing to the delusion of the usefulness of a “volunteer economy.” 

I left Nepal for Ecuador and found the level of corruption enough to drive me to the other side of the continent Uruguay, it’s polar opposite. Much like the song “I Left my Heart in San Francisco” so too it is very possibly my muse/model companion/business partner lies supine waiting for my return once i get all this “atonement” bullshit out of my system. Yet here i sit in the land my country attempted to “bomb into the stone age” in the name of liberty and freedom preparing to visit the site of a massacre that is eerily similar to the school shootings enabled by the NRA of my birth nation. How do i explain to friends here that i think i have made, and enemies who have picked me based on the demographic i so obviously represent that the savage mass murder was nothing personal - more likely a function of the same heinous corporate influence that is attempting to normalize “anarchistic capitalism” in this same valiant nation of worker comrades 52 years after the fact?

I don’t know, but i’m beginning to understand that the atonement i am am seeking must begin with forgiving myself for following my innocent heart to naked women, moderate inebriation and unrelenting service to the planet and its people - is that so much to ask? We are a remarkable species full of contradictions, but i have found on balance that when left to our own devices we can be very kind, loving and creative beings. It seems a shame to end our DNA strand for the benefit of a handful of deluded capitalists enamored of a digital upload of human consciousness to a silicon platform guided by an algorithm developed by billionaire coding geeks whose refuge to their left brain disability has been to add more bells and whistles to wristwatches worldwide than Prince John would pay for to compute Longitude on the planet - literally a “king’s ransom.” The saddest aspect of these chronicles is the certain knowledge of how much fun our species could have surviving without the capitalist incitement to profit using “greed, hatred and delusion” as its “Clarion Call to Civilize.”

jts 09/12/2020 

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081220 - Extinction Chronicles ·

I’d be lying through my teeth to say i did not become an artist for fortune and fame; i’d be as equally dishonest to not say that pursuit has revealed more to me about the world than i will ever be able to express competently regardless of whatever virtuosity i might dredge up from the depths of my soul - talk about being humbled (lord g_d above, were it that simple) · Circumstances placed me in England just after my 17th birthday, alone, and it was a great lark. I lodged in the home of a retired U.S. Army Sargent Major and his English wife in the city of Hastings a few miles from the city of Rye where the “Bastard” William captured England and made compacts with his English allies which limited the “divine right of kings” and became the basis for the Magna Carta - the foundation of modern “common law.” This agreement concerning the rights of men was enough to get our species through almost two millennium of relative peace until the “industrial revolution” upended scale such that supply has exceeded demand for the past 200 years and like the “Boxer Rebellion” to protect the Chinese market from imperialist aggression the ruling class brought in number 45 who has ruled over the “Covid-19 Massacre of 2020,” also in support of open markets.

I can tell you as an artist, the markets are not open, and just like the hoards of “hood hoopers” dreaming of their shot at the NBA - i’d be pissin’ in the wind to think otherwise about my place at the Guggenheim - lucky me. Poverty and obscurity are ideal environments to nurture creativity of spirit. Our world is now faced with an Artificial Intelligence appetite for all things human, including what Einstein described as the impenetrable - G_d herself. But leave it to the hubris of modern day “thinkers” absorbed in their world of ones and zeroes, which like all engineering master plans  hews to the axiom, “the last thing to fix on any project is blame.” - A. Nonymous · So we now have a cobbled together “world of the internet” that lacks a soul, and adheres to an axiomatic truth of computer engineering, “Garbage In, Garbage Out” - (GIGO) · Yet we as end users are too enamored of the flashing lights and shiny baubles, similar to the 1st Nation tribe on Manhattan when it really was the big apple, we will buy anything - in our case as long as it can be found on amazon; never mind that what used to be the Amazon is now reduced to a few acres bordering the rice fields that are being transplanted from South East Asia because they are such wonderful draws for HNWI and the latest rage in their bloated portfolios - portable villas.

I understand from good sources that instead of houseboats, the smart money is building floating villas that can be towed anywhere in the world and set in place where estuaries require constant dredging due to torrential rainfall and lack of vegetation sufficient to support marsh lands; From a googol model for optimum Real Estate value, the excess funds from defaulted mortgages now create faux reed skirts around the innovative floating villas which gives them the added esthetic appeal of an organic tutu - very popular with the Russian Oligarchs, especially during the festive Noel Season. Rather than big box shopping center "anchors," to accommodate consumer demand for the caretakers of these flotillas of the Uber-rich, Floating consumer circuses like feeder fish for whales have developed their own maritime communities, each one tailored to an appropriate region with floating tent cities to accommodate, for example, Hanukkah which can then easily be transformed into prayer tents appropriate for Ramadan. The magic of these synergistic niche market enterprises, is like the armies of old they require an in-place support entourage that by their very nature are multicultural and like most “wage slaves economies” are fat with disposable income. IPSO facto - sustainable capitalism.

These floating leviathans are no longer yoked to the temporal effects of pollution, war or political unrest and simply up-anchor with their portable encampments and move from quiet patch of earth to quiet patch of earth heedless of the wrack and ruin anarchistic capitalism has left in its wake; de-coupled from any responsibility to those whose lives their excavation of clean water, and disturbance of the delicate conditions which foster attractive temperate climates, they all the while gorge on capital infusions of gold, potable water, and the universal resource which 22 caliber shells provide. However, after the collapse of the NWO, googol's chief scientist Herr Kurzwell found it necessary to program a buffer into AI for the complexities of uploading of the “.01%” mental deficiencies which required an unforeseen additional 15 minutes he hadn’t calculated into the Singularity Countdown. Rest assured world, things are moving along according to the googol post-post-pandemic human-intellect-upload scenario with just a few minor glitches. Due to a spike in deaths at googol campuses from an unexpected resistance to masks related to rogue units within the white supremacist cells of the middle manager cohort, unexpected revenue streams from betting pools on the number of deaths from the custodial pool had to be diverted to refrigeration units for the “essential essentials” vaccinations of higher level managers in line for cerebral upload to the mother ship - Mama Singularity ·

Storm Troopers disguised as homeless intruders are now in place at staging areas of the “ain’t never gonna happen” Inauguration of Joseph the “Thief” Biden; the elite shock troops of Erik Prince’s Blackstone Army, all seasoned, and rested from their successful campaigns in the Portlandia Wars have created alternate channels for internet traffic of real news from @TheRealD_rump Channel can be found @ “1 Kremlin Place, Moscow, Russia.” If you are still reading this i suggest you immediately download your entire hard disc and toss your xptr platform out the window because you have 17 seconds before your motherboard melts and melds with gasses from your delaminating monitor to create a 6th generation Zylon-z gas courtesy of Bayer, nee Monsanto. The bad news is you will never have to worry about retirement, you are now wheezing to your doom; the good news is your grandchildren will never have to worry about apocalypse because all life is scheduled to cease 3 days after the singularity, scheduled for 13 March 2021 - i am paraphrasing all of the foregoing from purloined galleys of Kurzwell’s next book, “How to fuck an entire species without ever pulling out your dick.” found under the pseudonym I. Dont Haveone

jts 08/12/2020 

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071220 - Extinction Chronicles ·

7 December 2020 - another day in infamy · Not to take anything away from Kateryna Bilokur, googol’s “i’m feeling lucky” pushed content. Do you think it is the corporate overlord’s quiet normalization of fascism in general to not include the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor 7 December 1941 and the ostensible reason that ‘merica no longer dithered about aiding with its European allies who had been battling the _rump prototype Adolph since he invaded France 10 May 1940 - a full 19 months earlier. That same slimy telescoping of commitment seems to be transpiring as we speak in the nation of my birth - with the Nazi front man Mitch McConnell brokering the sale of the good ole’ U.S. of A. to the highest bidder like some chicken shit chop shop in the back alleys of East L.A. ese.

Yet everywhere i look i see resourceful, however, frightened humans taking steps to circumvent the lock on “Public Opinion goes-down-on Conventional Wisdom”. I’m no porn addict, but have no trouble with keeping my libido handy (no pun intended). I once lived in the home of a Oaxacan Don - a loving family with all the graces of Mexican formality and courtesy, as well as the same cultural and class confusion that halted the Spanish invasion of Mexico on the slopes of Monte Alban. That dear friend, and i say that honestly full with love and regard, expressed his admiration for the current outgoing Chief Executive of the U.S. of A. d_rump, expressing a stated belief in the need for a “strong leader” in any position of power. What astonished me at the time and to this day, is what he conceived of as “power.” I came to learn it meant anything that correlated to his and his family’s advantage. For example, a great show would be made of weighing the laundry such that all was in accordance with justice, but when a t-shirt of mine went missing and eventually turned back up in his possession - that confusion was made to sound as though it was my fault for having asked "where is my shirt?"

Bob Dylan sings well about the rolls we are assigned; “you dance with who they tell you to, or you don’t dance at all.” Where he and i, my Oaxacan friend ran afoul was his concept of enrichment based on strength - he did not conceive of a “strongman" rendering us both powerful, but that schema which provided him whatever he desired - not much different than 45’s seizing the commonweal, not to enrich his followers but to make wealthier those who could enrich him. That is high schoolish organizing - “be my friend, and together we can exclude him.” I have yet to meet my tribe who revels in my success, who finds excitement in our mutual enlargement. I struggle to not be animated by personal aggrandizement, but strongly resist those that would diminish me for their enrichment - that behavior is tired and obtuse self-seeking, so i veer away.

Besides, it is way more fun to discover paths that make people around you stronger and happier - especially in this target rich environment of selfish narrow spectrum gain - be it attention, food, love or money. Each of these it is clear can be cornered and extracted from like all the markets in our world, including information, surveillance or deceit. There are many masters with whom to study, from ad managers, to time managers, to health managers to spiritual managers, but so very few stating out of the gate - “i suffer, please help me.” Thich Nhat Hanh said openly that this is the most difficult of some 4 dharma tasks - “I see you, I feel your suffering, I am here for you; I suffer, please help me.” I believe him, only because it remains one the most difficult things in my journey - to admit to another i need help.

That is a defect in normal behavior i believe worthy of rectifying, and while i am perfectly okay interjecting myself between a bully and anyone under assault, it remains horribly complicated for me to admit to another - “i need you.”· Why is that¿ Lord knows i’ve faced some unwarranted misfortune, as though there is any ‘warranted misfortune’. Nor am i certain there is a formula for helping those in need which doesn’t further complicate the matter - again with Bob Dylan, “sometimes you try and help someone and end up making it a 1,000 times worse.” It would seem the careful listening to of someone’s plaintive cries has to be key to knowing how to help, even if that help is nothing more than cheering on someone in labor to “breathe, dammit, breathe;" i guess the question remains how many of us are in the throes of birthing some existential baby of our very own?

jts 07/12/2020 

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051220/061220 - Extinction Chronicles ·

One can only marvel when conceit slaps itself across one’s own forehead, like a gift from god minus the interpretation. I am alone and lost - sort of · I know enough to conjure a bowl of noodles and vegetables to my own specifications, share an apple with a toddler, father and grandfather while pitching a fundraising notion of cash per bicycle lap around the "big circuit" and quietly question my own motivation without imposing sanctions; .  .. 061220 ··· i had to stretch yesterday’s 5 paragraphs across 2 days; sometimes the spirit is willing but not the flesh - i expect what i am feeling is a sloughing off of existential dead skin from some sort of internal sea change i do not understand, and the tension is taxing my get-a-long. Yet this morning when the opportunity to once again bicycle my circuit after a week of rain, there was juice enough left over to cook a pot of chicken soup a la Belgiqué in an effort to demonstrate my appreciation for the generosity of my neighbor friends - The Farmers · i feel good.

The past four months of rain have shoehorned a torpor into my already taxed genial nature. I find that on balance i have had very little in common with those expats i've met of the 1,000 on this capitalist beach head; i also have to accept that my own intransigent, altogether too exacting standards of what is "fair dinkum" has played a large a role in the standoff. I am engaged in personal discovery of one who resorted early on to kindness to foil the unasked for, now unacceptable role of “identified patient” in my family constellation. So when i encounter self-involved personalities who presume my sincere efforts to nurture what i perceive is a poor self image that often manifests as a need for attention - i hit a wall. My understanding about giving and nurturing is that it is extremely important there be no expectation attached, otherwise the whole exchange becomes a quid pro quo game of perpetual imbalance · The difficulty i am having is from an internal disconnect in which my internal harangue about “worthlessness” and otherwise unsavory self-talk is sapping the growth of healthy healing self-love necessary to emerge from this existential hibernation with a vocabulary of unconditional warm regard for all i meet.

For example a boyhood swain of my painfully attractive sister requested friendship on fb - he was an elder and the only thing we have in common is his interest in my sibling · i accept that. He had taken up painting stylized surfing scenes some long time ago, think Ed “Big Daddy” Roth does psychedelic waves. They are unique enough, but there is only so much you can do with a wave and a surfer. Here is where it gets dodgy - he is and always has been a charismatic sort and so his work sells, and garners much acclaim from the same high school clique we shared. I have many artist contacts from across the planet on fb and will often post kudos because i understand how important acknowledgement can be - when after a time it becomes clear there is no reciprocity, i will taper off my encouragement to a trickle; because after all, art is a business, or is it¿ am i sharing this now because i am envious, or is it because i do not want one more unequal relationship where i do the right thing and chafe when i find a lack of mutual respect?

I think it is because somewhere i have let the world take more than it gives - let me rephrase that · i have grown doubtful that what i want can be found outside of my own heart, and have resorted to blaming others for not providing what i do not give myself. Bob Dylan has issued a new channel - drawings for each of his songs with hand lettered lyrics; no doubt they are moving like hot cakes even if it’s a little too much like buying a painting from Sylvester Stallone. It’s the conflation with the art con, i take exception to. There was a story about Salvador Dalí and a truck load of signed blank sheets for sale; another about a young artist asking Pablo Picasso for his opinion - “your work is shit, you will never become an artist,” was his reply. The young fellow hung himself that afternoon. Creativity is important, i would not have lived my life under any other umbrella for no other reason than the richness it has given me in this drab world that capitalism and greed have wrought from stunning wild beauty. 

I realize sitting here just now my challenge is to see past the delusion of esthetic market value which will always be manipulated by egos rather than any real interest in beauty. To survive with a happy creative heart to my death, i must reach out to that competent fiercely unorthodox youth who burned his way through what Leonard Cohen described as “20 years of boredom” only to lose his visual acuity when he'd at last bought his soul back out of economic “hock.” Regardless of their selfish stupidity, i must maintain solidarity with all my creative comrades on this dying planet, however venal and corrupt their ambitions might be at the high alter of imagination. I choose to nurture the small clear flame of my own curiosity about all around me and not be dismayed by the narrow spectrum of thinking the corporate overlords are stuffing down the mental gullet of minds too preoccupied by fear and greed to see how delicate and yearning-for-care is the fabric of our astonishing biosphere. 

Well, that should about hold me to my last gasp · d’ya think .  ..

jts 05/12/2020 

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