- Published on
'Decivility' is what you get when you remove the curbs which demand so-called normalcy.
In Bowling (when the gutter is sealed off), you can roll the ball down the alley any way you wish, and hit some pins. On the highway the rumble strip reminds drivers to put the phone down, just before rolling a half ton of sheet-metal into a ditch. In restaurants and libraries, other citizens used to police civility, tranquility, manners, and decorum.
We No Longer Do That.
In the 1984 film "Ghost Busters", the surface streets move selfish and angry hustle & bustle atop the crust of terrestrial "normalcy" -- Beneath it..., an underworld of suppressed slimy evil. A subterranean soup of mean, and nasty ghosts. Born from the sewers of this comedy, we'd learn about a 'Gatekeeper' of evil, (Sigourney Weaver) a 'Key-Master' (Rick Moranis) and some sodom-like underworld called Gozer, where a battery of evil seeps into our Laissez-faire life. Sigourney Weaver (sexy and demonic counterpoint to stereotypical red-devil evil), gyrates seductively above feeble humanity, poised to usher through a portal, humanity's ruin. Why? because of humanity's mismanaged hubris.
Anyway, Don't bother with the plotless sequels, because they are embarrassing and stupid. This Original and campy talisman is an accurate prognostication of our modern decay. It is important to credit science-fiction for some, if not all of our most inventive plots, and modern creations, from the flip-phone, (Star Trek) to the personal watercraft & Jetpack, (James Bond) and from the iPad, A.I., & face-time, (2001 a Space Odyssey) -- Alas robots, Laser-beams, and vaccinations. It is also possible that quantum leaps in thinking, such as theories on relativity, and black holes, shape the path of many subsequent movements and revelations, and stagnate other processes ...Meaning that once we invent a magnificent thing... [Kurusawa] everyone jumps on that, to knock it off. [Thanks Quentin Tarantino]. Down this path we get newer and better versions, of the same old thing; but also dead-ends, and writers block. In the aura of refining something super cool, we often stop inventing new shit.
In Film, we stop writing new screenplays, preferring to make shitty sequels. We become complacently, smugly content with our surety that we have done it all, occluded by just how cool that one gadget/film was. It is likely that people's path (if linear) makes huge strides on the heels of momentous seemingly creative explosions, and then gets stumped a bit by glow of hubris.
If Idle Hands are The Devil's Workshop, then why not print a ghost gun.
Beware of boredom, because: [boredom + the internet = bad outcomes] A bad outfit, or wrong size shoe is the least of your concerns, especially when you can order a 3D printed firearm, a bump-stock, or Bomb kit online.
As a system of thought, laissez-faire rests on the following axioms: "the individual is the basic unit in society, i.e., the standard of measurement in the social calculus; the individual has a natural right to freedom, if constant contentment; and the physical order of nature is a harmonious and self-regulating system, ad infinitum. If this sounds like the southern confederacy, well...White privilege was their thang. I would argue that our chaotic timeline, which seems to ignore the present (as if the past will never exist) without us special individuals, is similar smugness. Hubris blinds us to consideration of how we may be regarded by the paths we choose, and just how we are steering history off the roadway.
As all great fictions go, by the time the present catches up with the characters, its too fucking late.
Historians make terrible prophets, while some sporadic inventors may change our evolutionary path. As that goes -- With the exception of dictators, and criminals... People are fondly regarded in death, but barely (often badly) regarded in life. Throughout history, people at large simply didn't regard themselves quite as highly as they do today. Presently, (certainly Americans) regard themselves as "Trust-Funders" ...sovereign inheritors of the earth. Laissez-faire: "The standard of measurement in the social calculus; the individual has a natural right to freedom, if constant contentment"
In Ghost Busters, once the evil was un-sealed, it's own rage, and grotesque machinations bred more and more of the same slimy fuckers. That is..., the lesson here shows how leaving something to fester breeds broader infection, even a darker colored ooze. And of course as all great fictions go, by the time the present catches up with the characters, its too fucking late. Individualism, unchecked by social mores becomes a hot mess rather rapidly.
Nothing occurs for a sleepy century, and then a century devolves in days. Ghosts and ghouls come out of the wood-work, and they become normalized whilst we descend into darkness. The Nazi's have their scape-goats, and American's have theirs. Despicable, Dark, and Orange.
In Bowling (when the gutter is sealed off), you can roll the ball down the alley any way you wish, and hit some pins. On the highway the rumble strip reminds drivers to put the phone down, just before rolling a half ton of sheet-metal into a ditch. In restaurants and libraries, other citizens used to police civility, tranquility, manners, and decorum.
We No Longer Do That.
In the 1984 film "Ghost Busters", the surface streets move selfish and angry hustle & bustle atop the crust of terrestrial "normalcy" -- Beneath it..., an underworld of suppressed slimy evil. A subterranean soup of mean, and nasty ghosts. Born from the sewers of this comedy, we'd learn about a 'Gatekeeper' of evil, (Sigourney Weaver) a 'Key-Master' (Rick Moranis) and some sodom-like underworld called Gozer, where a battery of evil seeps into our Laissez-faire life. Sigourney Weaver (sexy and demonic counterpoint to stereotypical red-devil evil), gyrates seductively above feeble humanity, poised to usher through a portal, humanity's ruin. Why? because of humanity's mismanaged hubris.
Anyway, Don't bother with the plotless sequels, because they are embarrassing and stupid. This Original and campy talisman is an accurate prognostication of our modern decay. It is important to credit science-fiction for some, if not all of our most inventive plots, and modern creations, from the flip-phone, (Star Trek) to the personal watercraft & Jetpack, (James Bond) and from the iPad, A.I., & face-time, (2001 a Space Odyssey) -- Alas robots, Laser-beams, and vaccinations. It is also possible that quantum leaps in thinking, such as theories on relativity, and black holes, shape the path of many subsequent movements and revelations, and stagnate other processes ...Meaning that once we invent a magnificent thing... [Kurusawa] everyone jumps on that, to knock it off. [Thanks Quentin Tarantino]. Down this path we get newer and better versions, of the same old thing; but also dead-ends, and writers block. In the aura of refining something super cool, we often stop inventing new shit.
In Film, we stop writing new screenplays, preferring to make shitty sequels. We become complacently, smugly content with our surety that we have done it all, occluded by just how cool that one gadget/film was. It is likely that people's path (if linear) makes huge strides on the heels of momentous seemingly creative explosions, and then gets stumped a bit by glow of hubris.
If Idle Hands are The Devil's Workshop, then why not print a ghost gun.
Beware of boredom, because: [boredom + the internet = bad outcomes] A bad outfit, or wrong size shoe is the least of your concerns, especially when you can order a 3D printed firearm, a bump-stock, or Bomb kit online.
As a system of thought, laissez-faire rests on the following axioms: "the individual is the basic unit in society, i.e., the standard of measurement in the social calculus; the individual has a natural right to freedom, if constant contentment; and the physical order of nature is a harmonious and self-regulating system, ad infinitum. If this sounds like the southern confederacy, well...White privilege was their thang. I would argue that our chaotic timeline, which seems to ignore the present (as if the past will never exist) without us special individuals, is similar smugness. Hubris blinds us to consideration of how we may be regarded by the paths we choose, and just how we are steering history off the roadway.
As all great fictions go, by the time the present catches up with the characters, its too fucking late.
Historians make terrible prophets, while some sporadic inventors may change our evolutionary path. As that goes -- With the exception of dictators, and criminals... People are fondly regarded in death, but barely (often badly) regarded in life. Throughout history, people at large simply didn't regard themselves quite as highly as they do today. Presently, (certainly Americans) regard themselves as "Trust-Funders" ...sovereign inheritors of the earth. Laissez-faire: "The standard of measurement in the social calculus; the individual has a natural right to freedom, if constant contentment"
In Ghost Busters, once the evil was un-sealed, it's own rage, and grotesque machinations bred more and more of the same slimy fuckers. That is..., the lesson here shows how leaving something to fester breeds broader infection, even a darker colored ooze. And of course as all great fictions go, by the time the present catches up with the characters, its too fucking late. Individualism, unchecked by social mores becomes a hot mess rather rapidly.
Nothing occurs for a sleepy century, and then a century devolves in days. Ghosts and ghouls come out of the wood-work, and they become normalized whilst we descend into darkness. The Nazi's have their scape-goats, and American's have theirs. Despicable, Dark, and Orange.
By this measure it would seem that just as sci-fi, invents all sorts of creative gadgets, and tools which become the tapestry of modern convenience, from the Microwave to Airconditioning to a 3-D Printer... Catalyzing events like the death of an Arch Duke, a Temple bombing, or the Death of a healthcare Exec., can and do change people, and thereby change our history. A dark-age set-back, in spite of our brilliant inventions often begins with clever boredom, feeling stuck, and bad news. Action, good or bad feels progressive. Curiously, during war-time lavish war inventions spike creativity -- Sadly most of these are destructive, with little pause afforded as antidote to our unwinding creative surge. Sounds like chaos? Or, simply because we are so wrapped up in moving our SUV's through time, we don't consider it all occurring. The train we ride goes unnoticed beneath us as it passes through the smoldering landscape, churning relative to the self merely as a lesson in quantum mechanics. Historically, a singular event which breaks the seal on congenial human social order such as a knee on a neck, school shootings, assassinations, plagues, wars, invasions, and mass exile, had been few and far enough between as to be digestible. Now these rush at us like a fourth season, 3-D, dumb-shit cop show. Sequel after sequel of numbing horror. And when that's beaten to death, we birth a prequel. Tragedy, and disasters bend space-time of social order, so we get numb and dumb, rather than outraged. In fact, so fucking many of these shitty events occur nowadays that we always under-react, when the next catastrophe hits. Meanwhile beneath the surface of America's buildings & roads, a bubbling ooze warms the earth's crust, slime pressing upwards through grates to infect everyone. This is the tipping point -- Our inflection point; and throughout history, fascinating writers and orators have told the same story while it unfolded. While religions double down in orthodoxy. Not sage, nor seer, but practical theological observers, and social scientists, flag what is happening today as if skirting the back-side of some sleazy strip club... on the way to temple. Past this slippery slope, bumping down the back steps, sexy awfulness gains allegiants, without a way back. On the backside, taking any action feels good. The ride feels faster, freer, and easier, because we are unbound by anxiety, obligation, and peer pressure to conform. Everything is going to be just fine, right?
It used to be that removing the stones from parks and roads in and around the Gaza border, suppressed the temptation to toss one, escalating putative retaliation. Yet, ever inventive, and unbridled -- (we clever monkeys), can simply order some more rocks online.
Or perhaps 3D print some... Now Gaza is a wasteland.
Or perhaps 3D print some... Now Gaza is a wasteland.
- Published on
Today's mail delivered pause to more than one CEO, or power broker for imminent policy changes, and egregious profit taking. And so it comes to this.
There is no fiscal calculus which forgives Trump voters from voting for him. (Although they may claim messianic surety, The Dolt as protector from the "Deep State") The actual singular enrichment one can receive from a vulgar Narcissist nit-wit is to wallow in their shade, like a supplicant dog. Regardless of what has been said of revenge politics, here will come the imminent pile-on of regretful voters. ("Don't blame me I voted for X") They've only picked Mr. Despicable to normalize the privilege of behaving badly. Soon these clever supplicants will lose their Healthcare, Disability, V.A. hospitals, Mental health care, Medicare, Medicaid, Vitamin Fortified Sugared cereal, Vaccinations, Hot-Pockets, Insulin, Baby Formula, Safe Drugs, Organics, Clean water, Breathable air, and Cheap Gas... All in exchange for being able to treat each-other like shit without civilized people holding them to account. The ONLY reason anyone really voted for Trump is to grant themselves impunity -- The license to be base without someone 'Woke' calling them out.
What then happens when the wimpy ones seek revenge against their bully? A fundamental part of that script is writ where bad guys look like bad guys, adorned with all sorts of belligerent affect, the smell, the chewed fingernails, and even the hardened gizz of a serial 'criminal'. ... But what to make of the quiet ones; The clean-cut killers?
At Thanksgiving, my smug-fuck legal clerk nephew murmured under his paralytic bourbon stupor that, "Trump Only won because (stupid) Democrats persecuted him..." "...They should have left him alone; He'd have gone away", he mumbled. This trope resuscitated since (well) forever about and by every single privileged angry white-man-baby, every school shooter, every Capital Storm-trooper, every Rifle-toting Militia member, every racist temple shooter, every lunatic bomber, wannabe gubernatorial kidnapper, and every secessionist back & before Harrison left office -- is bogus. Media does this fictive gift wrap to invent understanding of american sociopaths, and lunatics who act very very badly, because we need to fit some Hollywood mold, while some (nay most) secretly envy their freedom.
America's 'construct' packages 'crazy' as if everything had some educated if reasonable cause. The nature of psychotherapy seeks to "understand" by packaging every behavioral outcome. And... as David Brooks would have you understand Insecure LAME-ASS threatened white privilege has been crowded out by happy free-love confident 'woke' young people, without body shame, or shame whatsoever... who conveniently don't vote en-masse. Most angry white males, and nearly as many bitter females super-duper resent those without an axe to grind. Today, if you cannot name someone ("fucking Obama") who'd prevented you from stardom, then you are definitely one of "them Liberals".
Two Months ago, at the Denver airport, a clutch of Confederates from Charlotte were awaiting their oversized golf clubs at the Carousel. One of them in boisterous oratory, blaming Obama for how long they'd have to wait for their bags. For real..., and two more golfers chimed in with assertions about how he was (still) running the current administration. Yeesh!
Swimming upstream against inebriated rosy Man-taliation, comes the wimpy kid, in a sea of apathetic blue dots. In a fair-wage liberalism where everyone who wants a job has one, and everyone gets a medal for showing up; Where slackers get a 25% tip whether they perform or not; because their bosses want them off the books. We have squandered social mores (s'mores) and broken our shameless republic by outsourcing it to authoritarians'. When the expectation to behave is gone -- Beware the silent minority who get fed up.
There is no fiscal calculus which forgives Trump voters from voting for him. (Although they may claim messianic surety, The Dolt as protector from the "Deep State") The actual singular enrichment one can receive from a vulgar Narcissist nit-wit is to wallow in their shade, like a supplicant dog. Regardless of what has been said of revenge politics, here will come the imminent pile-on of regretful voters. ("Don't blame me I voted for X") They've only picked Mr. Despicable to normalize the privilege of behaving badly. Soon these clever supplicants will lose their Healthcare, Disability, V.A. hospitals, Mental health care, Medicare, Medicaid, Vitamin Fortified Sugared cereal, Vaccinations, Hot-Pockets, Insulin, Baby Formula, Safe Drugs, Organics, Clean water, Breathable air, and Cheap Gas... All in exchange for being able to treat each-other like shit without civilized people holding them to account. The ONLY reason anyone really voted for Trump is to grant themselves impunity -- The license to be base without someone 'Woke' calling them out.
What then happens when the wimpy ones seek revenge against their bully? A fundamental part of that script is writ where bad guys look like bad guys, adorned with all sorts of belligerent affect, the smell, the chewed fingernails, and even the hardened gizz of a serial 'criminal'. ... But what to make of the quiet ones; The clean-cut killers?
At Thanksgiving, my smug-fuck legal clerk nephew murmured under his paralytic bourbon stupor that, "Trump Only won because (stupid) Democrats persecuted him..." "...They should have left him alone; He'd have gone away", he mumbled. This trope resuscitated since (well) forever about and by every single privileged angry white-man-baby, every school shooter, every Capital Storm-trooper, every Rifle-toting Militia member, every racist temple shooter, every lunatic bomber, wannabe gubernatorial kidnapper, and every secessionist back & before Harrison left office -- is bogus. Media does this fictive gift wrap to invent understanding of american sociopaths, and lunatics who act very very badly, because we need to fit some Hollywood mold, while some (nay most) secretly envy their freedom.
America's 'construct' packages 'crazy' as if everything had some educated if reasonable cause. The nature of psychotherapy seeks to "understand" by packaging every behavioral outcome. And... as David Brooks would have you understand Insecure LAME-ASS threatened white privilege has been crowded out by happy free-love confident 'woke' young people, without body shame, or shame whatsoever... who conveniently don't vote en-masse. Most angry white males, and nearly as many bitter females super-duper resent those without an axe to grind. Today, if you cannot name someone ("fucking Obama") who'd prevented you from stardom, then you are definitely one of "them Liberals".
Two Months ago, at the Denver airport, a clutch of Confederates from Charlotte were awaiting their oversized golf clubs at the Carousel. One of them in boisterous oratory, blaming Obama for how long they'd have to wait for their bags. For real..., and two more golfers chimed in with assertions about how he was (still) running the current administration. Yeesh!
Swimming upstream against inebriated rosy Man-taliation, comes the wimpy kid, in a sea of apathetic blue dots. In a fair-wage liberalism where everyone who wants a job has one, and everyone gets a medal for showing up; Where slackers get a 25% tip whether they perform or not; because their bosses want them off the books. We have squandered social mores (s'mores) and broken our shameless republic by outsourcing it to authoritarians'. When the expectation to behave is gone -- Beware the silent minority who get fed up.
Because they don't always look like the criminal from your legal procedural.
Shame on those sniveling Democrats for wanting justice, and to preserve the so-called rule of law. Those timid losers were too scared of their AK-totting neighbor to put a Blue Sign on their front lawn. Shame on the so called influencers and the pussy-pod-casters who didn't take a side from fear of losing far right subscribers. Shame on the Joe Rogan's for plainly being a douche-bag. Shame on the wishy-washy fuck-wits who did far too little, way too late.
Shame on Obama for being way too well spoken, educated, cultivated, and reasonable, and for being a gorgeous black man.
Yep, it's still "[fucking] Obama's" fault, and half the privileged male electorate are still loathing with envy for whatever fictional [Obama era] construct had prevented them from being a baller. And why not still blame Obama for higher fuel prices, Inflation, and the 23.5% increase in the cost of Hot Pockets, Pizza-Rolls, and Frosted Flakes. The real truth is they feel threatened by smart, well spoken, and honest adults, who'd studied, worked hard, and smiled a bit. It's a game, and you have to play it well, or you can yell, and scream, and throw the game-board and all the pieces acrost the room, because you aren't winning. Watch and Wait motherfuckers, because you did this, and not the Ivy League. (Thank you David Brooks). If you think that a vacuum of Democratic Hate Speech is peacefully conspicuous, and that so-called Democrats picked a legal fight with the wrong tyrant. That Trump only seeks vengeance for having been picked on... Well you are wrong. Social media trains people to envy, and cultivate rage against the happy ones. Blue Pill, or Red Pill?
Trump does NOT want vengeance, he wants nothing more than attention... And chaos and cheeseburgers fuel him. Surely if the media hadn't made him a martyr, he'd have fallen silently like a tree in the wind. There is no doubt a full chapter in the D.S.M. is dedicated specifically to Trump. But there is no tidy box with a bow which contains the chaos bringing more mild-mannered sociopaths out of the woodwork. They bide their time, & sporadically arrive to square accounts for themselves or for others. A talisman perhaps of balance.
America's new assassins aren't all awkward loners, who were rejected by women for being sloppy, uncouth, and even barbaric... Apparently, (as the media will have you believe) killers also arrive clean cut, even Handsome. And when the bad guys have not yet been demonized, demeaned, re-cast as animals by the media -- Attractive assassins (Robin-Hood-lums) are strangely effective to redraw public attention to just what is wrong with america's misogynistic, greedy, CEO-crotch-grabbing economy. Rest assured whether this is the guy, or just a scape-goat... Law enforcement will soon file charges or kill someone, (death by cop) and then call their dogs off. And the images to follow will be dark.
Shame on those sniveling Democrats for wanting justice, and to preserve the so-called rule of law. Those timid losers were too scared of their AK-totting neighbor to put a Blue Sign on their front lawn. Shame on the so called influencers and the pussy-pod-casters who didn't take a side from fear of losing far right subscribers. Shame on the Joe Rogan's for plainly being a douche-bag. Shame on the wishy-washy fuck-wits who did far too little, way too late.
Shame on Obama for being way too well spoken, educated, cultivated, and reasonable, and for being a gorgeous black man.
Yep, it's still "[fucking] Obama's" fault, and half the privileged male electorate are still loathing with envy for whatever fictional [Obama era] construct had prevented them from being a baller. And why not still blame Obama for higher fuel prices, Inflation, and the 23.5% increase in the cost of Hot Pockets, Pizza-Rolls, and Frosted Flakes. The real truth is they feel threatened by smart, well spoken, and honest adults, who'd studied, worked hard, and smiled a bit. It's a game, and you have to play it well, or you can yell, and scream, and throw the game-board and all the pieces acrost the room, because you aren't winning. Watch and Wait motherfuckers, because you did this, and not the Ivy League. (Thank you David Brooks). If you think that a vacuum of Democratic Hate Speech is peacefully conspicuous, and that so-called Democrats picked a legal fight with the wrong tyrant. That Trump only seeks vengeance for having been picked on... Well you are wrong. Social media trains people to envy, and cultivate rage against the happy ones. Blue Pill, or Red Pill?
Trump does NOT want vengeance, he wants nothing more than attention... And chaos and cheeseburgers fuel him. Surely if the media hadn't made him a martyr, he'd have fallen silently like a tree in the wind. There is no doubt a full chapter in the D.S.M. is dedicated specifically to Trump. But there is no tidy box with a bow which contains the chaos bringing more mild-mannered sociopaths out of the woodwork. They bide their time, & sporadically arrive to square accounts for themselves or for others. A talisman perhaps of balance.
America's new assassins aren't all awkward loners, who were rejected by women for being sloppy, uncouth, and even barbaric... Apparently, (as the media will have you believe) killers also arrive clean cut, even Handsome. And when the bad guys have not yet been demonized, demeaned, re-cast as animals by the media -- Attractive assassins (Robin-Hood-lums) are strangely effective to redraw public attention to just what is wrong with america's misogynistic, greedy, CEO-crotch-grabbing economy. Rest assured whether this is the guy, or just a scape-goat... Law enforcement will soon file charges or kill someone, (death by cop) and then call their dogs off. And the images to follow will be dark.
"This week, all the innerwebs were ablaze with women celebrating just, "... how handsome that one new shooter guy is." "I know right?" ...Well, it's not your grandfather's postal shooter -- If the Post office even survives government cuts. The archetype of going postal these days is the same despicable act, but (well) also handsome? (and buff). A cyclist with a strong jawline who'd exacted vengeance upon yet another greedy twat tyrant.
If "Going Postal" now means handsome young liberal cyclists, exacting revenge against the One percenters... then we have piqued. This too is what they voted for. The revolution began with the first blundered shot, and Trump won just because someone missed his head, then hold steady liberal america. If today the Kids rollin' around on e-bikes are practiced shots out for blood, Then we are going to truly take the gloves off well through 2030. Whoever the unremarkable suspect to take the rap for this and whatever boring manner they are apprehended -- there will be far stranger (if telling) remarks which frame him as noteworthy; "He ruined his whole life", "He Fulfilled his destiny", "He got his man", "Thank you", "He's Awful", "Despicable", "He is my hero", "This is what he wanted to do." The shooter simply wanted him dead, and likely regrets "having to take care of that", for everyone else, "...Your welcome".
To die for something, or in the least to spend one's natural life in prison, for such a cause is noteworthy in the vacuum of social apathy today. Everyone piles on after the event occurs, but very few work to change it's trajectory. Anyway, with or without internet fans, the die is now struck for many more so called handsome assassin's to skulk out of the shadows, and settle a grievance with a corrupt collapsing system -- And this one, is also not Obama's fault.
If "Going Postal" now means handsome young liberal cyclists, exacting revenge against the One percenters... then we have piqued. This too is what they voted for. The revolution began with the first blundered shot, and Trump won just because someone missed his head, then hold steady liberal america. If today the Kids rollin' around on e-bikes are practiced shots out for blood, Then we are going to truly take the gloves off well through 2030. Whoever the unremarkable suspect to take the rap for this and whatever boring manner they are apprehended -- there will be far stranger (if telling) remarks which frame him as noteworthy; "He ruined his whole life", "He Fulfilled his destiny", "He got his man", "Thank you", "He's Awful", "Despicable", "He is my hero", "This is what he wanted to do." The shooter simply wanted him dead, and likely regrets "having to take care of that", for everyone else, "...Your welcome".
To die for something, or in the least to spend one's natural life in prison, for such a cause is noteworthy in the vacuum of social apathy today. Everyone piles on after the event occurs, but very few work to change it's trajectory. Anyway, with or without internet fans, the die is now struck for many more so called handsome assassin's to skulk out of the shadows, and settle a grievance with a corrupt collapsing system -- And this one, is also not Obama's fault.
- Published on
“While the photo stands for a moment in time in and of itself, it is also a starting point for deep conversations on how we as ethical people can better share the resources that we’re able to develop through our talents, connections and hard work,” -Ted Landsmark, (The man being attacked in this Pulitzer prize winning photo) Landsmark is a Northeastern Distinguished Professor of Public Policy and Urban Affairs and Director of the Dukakis Center for Urban and Regional Policy. Realizing how cold it will soon be, and how darkness falls earlier these days, I thought it appropriate to praise everyone who steeled themselves to brace against far more challenging times. It is also fair to mention those who have betrayed their party lately, and perhaps those who've out-stayed their welcome.
One big take-away as we barrel toward Trumpian Armageddon is voter's brutal hindsight of a huge mistake, and my smug rebuke of them, "I told you so".
The Loudest Sound Which We Can't Silence Today is Silence Itself.
How is it; That this photo caused so much outrage, empathy, and corrective action, while there is nothing today but complicit silence? Are all of these events out of our control, and not worth toiling over. Perhaps we should work only on our self improvement? Is silence the problem, or a stoic sanctuary from madness? Megadonors wanted a toddler who they could bend to their will, while the Trumps bought access to a system which has always excluded them? Their job now is to tear that edifice down.
Is the 'deep state' a chaos engine or just the internet? When Hillary ran, many knew the reality and pitfalls of feminine political opportunity. That Women out-vote men by a few percentage points and also for democratic candidates seemed (if not an assurance) a great lever to bring a woman into Office. ...So, What Happened? Well, women seem to face their worst opponent in their fellow women. Women will not only NOT vote for a female president, but that they'd apparently prefer a racist narcissistic sexual predator seemed ludicrous. ...Or so it (had) seemed that way -- But truth is stranger than fiction. When the votes were counted last week, the truth revealed that yet again "A Woman cannot win", because Women indeed hate them. Would a celebrity woman have won? Here we'd witnessed the second chance for a woman to lead, and for a second time, those hopes were dashed by the (majority) electorate, made up of fellow women. In fact Pew research historical data on The female electorate implicate men as the minority voter. This "minority report" underscores a sea change to those historical statistics -- nee the talisman of imminent collapse of said democracy. Pandering to so called "Undecided Latinos" was not only oxymoronic, but a waste of time, because apparently Latinos love a lunatic. Electing an elderly criminal mad boy-king with a blind vendetta, and a blatant hatred for smart women and Latinos just happened. Electing an influencer over any other reasonable human, will bear it's own wreckage. Lawless cartels inked votes for tyrants on their arms and necks while incarcerated. Liberals may trade racists for immigrants, while immigrants trade El Chapo for Trump. But, if we are now going backwards to a time where Women were not allowed to vote, because this is how they behave -- Then they get to watch once again while the maniac boys club take more of their rights away. Then THIS certainly is NOT America.
Please enjoy this American Bandstand interlude before we toss America out the window and speed away.
One big take-away as we barrel toward Trumpian Armageddon is voter's brutal hindsight of a huge mistake, and my smug rebuke of them, "I told you so".
The Loudest Sound Which We Can't Silence Today is Silence Itself.
How is it; That this photo caused so much outrage, empathy, and corrective action, while there is nothing today but complicit silence? Are all of these events out of our control, and not worth toiling over. Perhaps we should work only on our self improvement? Is silence the problem, or a stoic sanctuary from madness? Megadonors wanted a toddler who they could bend to their will, while the Trumps bought access to a system which has always excluded them? Their job now is to tear that edifice down.
Is the 'deep state' a chaos engine or just the internet? When Hillary ran, many knew the reality and pitfalls of feminine political opportunity. That Women out-vote men by a few percentage points and also for democratic candidates seemed (if not an assurance) a great lever to bring a woman into Office. ...So, What Happened? Well, women seem to face their worst opponent in their fellow women. Women will not only NOT vote for a female president, but that they'd apparently prefer a racist narcissistic sexual predator seemed ludicrous. ...Or so it (had) seemed that way -- But truth is stranger than fiction. When the votes were counted last week, the truth revealed that yet again "A Woman cannot win", because Women indeed hate them. Would a celebrity woman have won? Here we'd witnessed the second chance for a woman to lead, and for a second time, those hopes were dashed by the (majority) electorate, made up of fellow women. In fact Pew research historical data on The female electorate implicate men as the minority voter. This "minority report" underscores a sea change to those historical statistics -- nee the talisman of imminent collapse of said democracy. Pandering to so called "Undecided Latinos" was not only oxymoronic, but a waste of time, because apparently Latinos love a lunatic. Electing an elderly criminal mad boy-king with a blind vendetta, and a blatant hatred for smart women and Latinos just happened. Electing an influencer over any other reasonable human, will bear it's own wreckage. Lawless cartels inked votes for tyrants on their arms and necks while incarcerated. Liberals may trade racists for immigrants, while immigrants trade El Chapo for Trump. But, if we are now going backwards to a time where Women were not allowed to vote, because this is how they behave -- Then they get to watch once again while the maniac boys club take more of their rights away. Then THIS certainly is NOT America.
Please enjoy this American Bandstand interlude before we toss America out the window and speed away.
Of course a few individuals are not the cause of Trumpism, rather the credibility of elite meritocracy has collapsed public confidence in "The System".
We are the Minority and Not At All Sexy
"Today, 59 percent of Americans believe that our country is in decline, 69 percent believe that the “political and economic elite don’t care about hard-working people,” 63 percent think experts don’t understand their lives, and 66 percent believe that America “needs a strong leader to take the country back from the rich and powerful.” In short, under the leadership of our current meritocratic class, trust in institutions has plummeted to the point where, three times since 2016, a large mass of voters has shoved a big middle finger in the elites’ faces by voting for Donald Trump." (How the Ivy League Broke America) by David Brooks
We've passed an elephant through the eye
of a needle, Now what?
Epictetus was Born into slavery at Hierapolis, present-day Pamukkale, in western Turkey) Epictetus lived in Rome until his banishment. He travelled to Nicopolis in northwestern Greece, where he spent the rest of his life. To Epictetus, all external events are beyond our control; he argued that people should accept whatever happens calmly and dispassionately. But that, all individuals are responsible for their own actions. I'm ready to give up and accept what I have neither the power, nor the agency to change, but this Stoic approach does leave the lunatics to run the asylum. So is stoicism quite irresponsible, Knowing that Trumpists intend to tear down our fragile republic? What can I do, and who should I blame? Well, I have no axe to grind, and no dog in this fight -- But I'll blame the internet.
We'd have to give a special nod to a very powerful woman who was strained through the elite pachinko machine. RBG. A Lovely, inspirational intellectual, who broke the glass ceiling out-lived her own usefulness, all but guaranteeing that the Mad Men in charge would remain there. She could have, afforded democrats the opportunity to appoint her replacement, and we'd have stood a fighting chance to keep things in check. But how long until RBG version 2 will be ready? How long until Obama v2? The new system gives birth to and it raises celebrity replacements far faster than merit-based matriculants. Losing in the new economy is all but guaranteed when credentials need only be pretty, popular, or outlandish. And Democratic candidates take time, and education to cultivate.
The Internet is a factory farm, which makes celebrities far faster than qualified Democrats. Alas Biden also stuck it out far too long, and without a viable "Popular" candidate he all but guaranteed Trump's ascendence. Merrick Garland should of course have indicted Trump, rather than pushing an 'Adult in the Room' eloquence. But all of the missteps matter nada. Regardless of how the balls drop, we wont have have the opportunity to pick them back up, as we spiral down, and backwards into darkness. When a neighbor mentions that AI will replace you... as if vacation is imminent -- they've missed the mark. The internet has already replaced you. You are irrelevant in the new economy. Your virtual self is winning, sexy, and absurd, but the tangible you is now irrelevant. You are a Minority now, and they are keeping a list. Certainly all of those nameless "undecided's" didn't just decide to make up the electoral difference. And... Certainly it's not RBG, or Garland's fault that Trump is choosing to destroy America with his Boy-Toy Elon. The Women, and the Minorities decided to bankrupt our country, by sorting for popularity rather than for skill. But before we pull our rust-bucket motorhome into the out-lot of a Mod Dark Age --We should think not about how, but why? Why do women not want a women leader? Why do minorities want a self avowed racist? Why Do the majority of the disadvantaged electorate want a criminally insane morally bankrupt monster to raise their children, taxes, and to demolish social welfare programs? Why do Americans want to go backwards to an era with less freedom, less opportunity, and less social security? Because Americans want easy access to the system which has traditionally excluded them.
Because the internet said so.
We are the Minority and Not At All Sexy
"Today, 59 percent of Americans believe that our country is in decline, 69 percent believe that the “political and economic elite don’t care about hard-working people,” 63 percent think experts don’t understand their lives, and 66 percent believe that America “needs a strong leader to take the country back from the rich and powerful.” In short, under the leadership of our current meritocratic class, trust in institutions has plummeted to the point where, three times since 2016, a large mass of voters has shoved a big middle finger in the elites’ faces by voting for Donald Trump." (How the Ivy League Broke America) by David Brooks
We've passed an elephant through the eye
of a needle, Now what?
Epictetus was Born into slavery at Hierapolis, present-day Pamukkale, in western Turkey) Epictetus lived in Rome until his banishment. He travelled to Nicopolis in northwestern Greece, where he spent the rest of his life. To Epictetus, all external events are beyond our control; he argued that people should accept whatever happens calmly and dispassionately. But that, all individuals are responsible for their own actions. I'm ready to give up and accept what I have neither the power, nor the agency to change, but this Stoic approach does leave the lunatics to run the asylum. So is stoicism quite irresponsible, Knowing that Trumpists intend to tear down our fragile republic? What can I do, and who should I blame? Well, I have no axe to grind, and no dog in this fight -- But I'll blame the internet.
We'd have to give a special nod to a very powerful woman who was strained through the elite pachinko machine. RBG. A Lovely, inspirational intellectual, who broke the glass ceiling out-lived her own usefulness, all but guaranteeing that the Mad Men in charge would remain there. She could have, afforded democrats the opportunity to appoint her replacement, and we'd have stood a fighting chance to keep things in check. But how long until RBG version 2 will be ready? How long until Obama v2? The new system gives birth to and it raises celebrity replacements far faster than merit-based matriculants. Losing in the new economy is all but guaranteed when credentials need only be pretty, popular, or outlandish. And Democratic candidates take time, and education to cultivate.
The Internet is a factory farm, which makes celebrities far faster than qualified Democrats. Alas Biden also stuck it out far too long, and without a viable "Popular" candidate he all but guaranteed Trump's ascendence. Merrick Garland should of course have indicted Trump, rather than pushing an 'Adult in the Room' eloquence. But all of the missteps matter nada. Regardless of how the balls drop, we wont have have the opportunity to pick them back up, as we spiral down, and backwards into darkness. When a neighbor mentions that AI will replace you... as if vacation is imminent -- they've missed the mark. The internet has already replaced you. You are irrelevant in the new economy. Your virtual self is winning, sexy, and absurd, but the tangible you is now irrelevant. You are a Minority now, and they are keeping a list. Certainly all of those nameless "undecided's" didn't just decide to make up the electoral difference. And... Certainly it's not RBG, or Garland's fault that Trump is choosing to destroy America with his Boy-Toy Elon. The Women, and the Minorities decided to bankrupt our country, by sorting for popularity rather than for skill. But before we pull our rust-bucket motorhome into the out-lot of a Mod Dark Age --We should think not about how, but why? Why do women not want a women leader? Why do minorities want a self avowed racist? Why Do the majority of the disadvantaged electorate want a criminally insane morally bankrupt monster to raise their children, taxes, and to demolish social welfare programs? Why do Americans want to go backwards to an era with less freedom, less opportunity, and less social security? Because Americans want easy access to the system which has traditionally excluded them.
Because the internet said so.
The internet which connects us lightening fast, just prior to segregating us, and silo'ing us, is to blame. In fact if you'd lived without it, you wouldn't even know to be sickened with anxiety, and rage. In this virtual world we can reinvent ourselves on a whim. We can get rich in our pajamas by exploiting obese charm, while wearing face-cream. We can gain status by pretending to matter, rather than passing any test. When someone says something hurtful, we merely bump from one pretend social circle to the next, while trolls do them in. Filtering for and promoting the popular kids by charisma, over the ashes of a destroyed meritocracy. Incoming freshmen game the old system, reshaping the way meritocracy once operated into 'LIKES'. By paying for and getting paid to be popular, or beautiful we shed the skin of performative advancement. NOT for substantive intelligence or performance, but promotion by popularity. This is the new way. And thinkers are reportedly the minority. Your degree became far less valuable even a week ago. Your social currency cancels debts toward web ascendency. Distrust in the old system runs parallel to an express lane promise of get rich quick. This scheme seems accessible on the innerwebs. Why struggle to make it into that AP program, when you can bask in the glow of your web-cam, eating cereal for a living. Bloggers replace Pundits. Podcasters replace a Media empire. This kinetic gravity game allows meteoric ascendency, which falls just as quickly like pachinko balls through a series of apparently random filters to settle and rust. The odds are still astronomical to win the lottery, but the investment is appallingly cheap. The choice is simple... Spend a few bucks on a Ring-light, WiFi, and Makeup... or try to squeeze through a convoluted racist ivy league bendy straw. Those who choose neither, should have voted Democratic, as they will soon discover. We have successfully passed an elephant through the eye of a needle, Now what? We have all settled along the bottom, doing nothing to better our chances, not because we are stoics, but because we are beaten. Trump merely wants to break the same system which long excluded him, and the scorched earth he leaves behind won't require repair, because he will be dead by then. The government exodus has begun, because qualified people can't swim up this filthy stream. In fairness, even Epictetus moved twice from his home and lived in peace in exile. Stoic Exile, is a sort of a cop-out, or perhaps a natural coping mechanism against defeatism.
Or perhaps Stoicism is Defeatism.
Were a tree to fall in the forest and a webcam not witness it's falling, Then it would remain standing. Were the internet not to host offensive idiots, they would cease to exist. Every Bully would be mute without social media, because the balance bends toward awful.
Very smart people are his highness' sworn enemy, and they are leaving in droves. Trump cannot stand not being the smartest man in the room, or certainly the most annoying -- So his cabinet will be made up of marshmallows, and Wonder-Bread -- Soft & Tasty but devoid of substance.
I wonder what will happen when even Trump loyalists stop showing up for work. We are all settling to the bottom of a huge pachinko machine built from random chaos and silicon. We are puddling into some absurd fossil record of our disposable, single serving one-nighters. Today 12 hours in the socials feels like a lifetime, the historic record written over by the day.
As Assholes ascend the web, their shit settles in the fish bowl, cementing sedimentary histories of our own collapse.
Democrats are a Quiet Stoic Minority
Or perhaps Stoicism is Defeatism.
Were a tree to fall in the forest and a webcam not witness it's falling, Then it would remain standing. Were the internet not to host offensive idiots, they would cease to exist. Every Bully would be mute without social media, because the balance bends toward awful.
Very smart people are his highness' sworn enemy, and they are leaving in droves. Trump cannot stand not being the smartest man in the room, or certainly the most annoying -- So his cabinet will be made up of marshmallows, and Wonder-Bread -- Soft & Tasty but devoid of substance.
I wonder what will happen when even Trump loyalists stop showing up for work. We are all settling to the bottom of a huge pachinko machine built from random chaos and silicon. We are puddling into some absurd fossil record of our disposable, single serving one-nighters. Today 12 hours in the socials feels like a lifetime, the historic record written over by the day.
As Assholes ascend the web, their shit settles in the fish bowl, cementing sedimentary histories of our own collapse.
Democrats are a Quiet Stoic Minority
- Published on
ÉLISEZ UN CLOWN. ATTENDEZ-VOUS À UN CIRQUE
SHHH...! They are listening. They are amongst us. They've Betrayed you.
You'd thought that you were amongst friends, but they (your neighbors) were faking it. They kept quiet when you'd walked your dog -- and prayed with them for a merciful leader. You'd misjudged your girlfriends, and those from your Book-Club. But everyone loves the elephants, and everyone is heading to the circus. To be clear... what has occurred is NOT about Politics, this is "The Greatest Show On Earth", A Reality-Show way way down below deck of a ship which sank long ago. This is not a nightmare from which you will awaken. This is a prolonged collapse. For centuries, we've been scrubbing these decks and wringing a filthy rag, but the water in our bucket is gray. Relax, because the circus is coming and the elephants will keep busy. They will raise the tents, while the Asses weed the pasture, Clever Elephants will balance on a barrel, and enjoy the finest delicacies, and the softest beds. The country-folk will be entertained to death. Everyone (but you) will assemble beneath the BIG-Top. The quiet ones amongst us having rooted for the strong-man, civic leaders have taken their seats. But D.T. Barnum is having his trained monkeys bar the doors, and they will soon be dousing all of the tents with kerosene -- "It will be Brilliant!, beautifully bright, with big crowds, the biggest crowds ever!, I mean really big." "It will be the greatest Show Ever." We will all have a ring-side seat while it burns to the ground.
"...One nation under God, Indivisible..."
Shhh!, Stay home, and let them go. It's all for them. Your neighbors have already left. America has been radicalized. They are amongst us, they were the weak ones, but they've bought the farm. Oh, Come on man, how bad can it be? You felt assured that your world was full of reasonable adults - But the Age Of Reason was long gone before your ticked the box. That person who you've sene everyday at the doggie park, does not give a fuck. Your neighbor's political calculus tilted as you'd lamented another egregious slur in the media. Slander, and fast talk our ring-leader -- "Step Right Up" "Step Right UP". Apparently, they didn't see it that way, the shift, the slide. -- And you didn't see them change. But they have. Everything has changed, and it's going to be really bad.
America has changed fundamentally, and 'they' don't know the damage they've done.
The water in this bucket has always run red. They are of course wrong -- But it's far too late for blame. Unfortunately, it is simply not mathematically possible that these "reasonable" people among you, didn't have other plans. That those who you'd considered "smart" would check the other box. The math doesn't lie, and the waves are not blue.
Relax now, reflect today on all that you have taken for granted.
This is NOT a nightmare which you will awaken from. America is a faded, and tattered fantasy. A circus is coming to town, as it was foretold. The darkness enters earlier by the day. all the posters were painted and pasted to lure you in. Mornings will be darker, and the evenings under a cloud veil dampen the leaves, bringing chilly air. Bitter frost bites fingers and toes. It will be cold soon, but Hey!, it's OKAY because your favorite program is on every day, and they've signed for four more full seasons. The Circus has something for everyone. We will have clowns and strong-men, acrobats, and wild animals. They will build a Big-Top with space for every debaucherous layman, priest, craftsman and billionaire in town. Under the Big Top, they will saw the lady in half, and make the dollar disappear, but not bring them back. They will erect new statues of themselves, and remove veneration of a better time. The Ticket price was nothing. Everyone is welcome to the grand reopening of Mount Rushmore. Believe it.
The people have spoken.
The numbers prove a strange & poorly guarded secret:
The Rich wanted a handout, Our minorities chose a Racist, Attorneys selected lawlessness, The weak voted for a Dictator, Dictators are granted absolution, The poor want to have less, Rural America wants a cage match, The Working class want to be broken, Conservatives voted to raise taxes, The Elderly relish insecurity, Republicans adore chaos, And the ladies would prefer a rapist.
In the land of the free, nearly everyone got exactly what they'd asked for.
This is the day, your life will surely change. Relax now, reflect today on all that you have taken for granted. Enjoy a few short weeks while the train moves steadily toward your quiet comfort. If you survive the next four seasons, You may come to remember this quiet moment as one of your best. Time will slow, the edges will soften and filth will blur the lines that drew our free republic. How you come to remember today, will show only how ashamed you are of the country you thought you once knew. What seems like today's chaos, will fade focus upon just how long things seemed comfortable, normal, even peaceful, in the "before times". Just as in any dystopian Sci-Fi, the scene will open with laughing and playfulness, as joy and hope are ground slowly into sand. Verdant days amidst the solace of nature, birds discussing the changing season, while trees sway and shimmer by a warm breeze. Riparian respite along a river where trout shimmer beneath copper gold glittering flow. Dark filth, and pollutants will come for them. "America The Beautiful" will unravel. Lesson One: Many amongst you, even your friends are NOT on "our side", "our side" of history. They will later lie, because facts no longer matter. They will later change their vote, pretending their hands were clean. Today however, It is crucial that you keep these accusations to yourself, because these same people you'd trusted will expose you. Of course, You may not immediately be shipped off to interment camps, but you will be identified. You will see the change. You will be alone for a long while, and then slowly people will come to grips with their mistake.
You are squarely in the minority, and THAT! my plush friend, is the rub
You'd thought that you were amongst friends, but they (your neighbors) were faking it. They kept quiet when you'd walked your dog -- and prayed with them for a merciful leader. You'd misjudged your girlfriends, and those from your Book-Club. But everyone loves the elephants, and everyone is heading to the circus. To be clear... what has occurred is NOT about Politics, this is "The Greatest Show On Earth", A Reality-Show way way down below deck of a ship which sank long ago. This is not a nightmare from which you will awaken. This is a prolonged collapse. For centuries, we've been scrubbing these decks and wringing a filthy rag, but the water in our bucket is gray. Relax, because the circus is coming and the elephants will keep busy. They will raise the tents, while the Asses weed the pasture, Clever Elephants will balance on a barrel, and enjoy the finest delicacies, and the softest beds. The country-folk will be entertained to death. Everyone (but you) will assemble beneath the BIG-Top. The quiet ones amongst us having rooted for the strong-man, civic leaders have taken their seats. But D.T. Barnum is having his trained monkeys bar the doors, and they will soon be dousing all of the tents with kerosene -- "It will be Brilliant!, beautifully bright, with big crowds, the biggest crowds ever!, I mean really big." "It will be the greatest Show Ever." We will all have a ring-side seat while it burns to the ground.
"...One nation under God, Indivisible..."
Shhh!, Stay home, and let them go. It's all for them. Your neighbors have already left. America has been radicalized. They are amongst us, they were the weak ones, but they've bought the farm. Oh, Come on man, how bad can it be? You felt assured that your world was full of reasonable adults - But the Age Of Reason was long gone before your ticked the box. That person who you've sene everyday at the doggie park, does not give a fuck. Your neighbor's political calculus tilted as you'd lamented another egregious slur in the media. Slander, and fast talk our ring-leader -- "Step Right Up" "Step Right UP". Apparently, they didn't see it that way, the shift, the slide. -- And you didn't see them change. But they have. Everything has changed, and it's going to be really bad.
America has changed fundamentally, and 'they' don't know the damage they've done.
The water in this bucket has always run red. They are of course wrong -- But it's far too late for blame. Unfortunately, it is simply not mathematically possible that these "reasonable" people among you, didn't have other plans. That those who you'd considered "smart" would check the other box. The math doesn't lie, and the waves are not blue.
Relax now, reflect today on all that you have taken for granted.
This is NOT a nightmare which you will awaken from. America is a faded, and tattered fantasy. A circus is coming to town, as it was foretold. The darkness enters earlier by the day. all the posters were painted and pasted to lure you in. Mornings will be darker, and the evenings under a cloud veil dampen the leaves, bringing chilly air. Bitter frost bites fingers and toes. It will be cold soon, but Hey!, it's OKAY because your favorite program is on every day, and they've signed for four more full seasons. The Circus has something for everyone. We will have clowns and strong-men, acrobats, and wild animals. They will build a Big-Top with space for every debaucherous layman, priest, craftsman and billionaire in town. Under the Big Top, they will saw the lady in half, and make the dollar disappear, but not bring them back. They will erect new statues of themselves, and remove veneration of a better time. The Ticket price was nothing. Everyone is welcome to the grand reopening of Mount Rushmore. Believe it.
The people have spoken.
The numbers prove a strange & poorly guarded secret:
The Rich wanted a handout, Our minorities chose a Racist, Attorneys selected lawlessness, The weak voted for a Dictator, Dictators are granted absolution, The poor want to have less, Rural America wants a cage match, The Working class want to be broken, Conservatives voted to raise taxes, The Elderly relish insecurity, Republicans adore chaos, And the ladies would prefer a rapist.
In the land of the free, nearly everyone got exactly what they'd asked for.
This is the day, your life will surely change. Relax now, reflect today on all that you have taken for granted. Enjoy a few short weeks while the train moves steadily toward your quiet comfort. If you survive the next four seasons, You may come to remember this quiet moment as one of your best. Time will slow, the edges will soften and filth will blur the lines that drew our free republic. How you come to remember today, will show only how ashamed you are of the country you thought you once knew. What seems like today's chaos, will fade focus upon just how long things seemed comfortable, normal, even peaceful, in the "before times". Just as in any dystopian Sci-Fi, the scene will open with laughing and playfulness, as joy and hope are ground slowly into sand. Verdant days amidst the solace of nature, birds discussing the changing season, while trees sway and shimmer by a warm breeze. Riparian respite along a river where trout shimmer beneath copper gold glittering flow. Dark filth, and pollutants will come for them. "America The Beautiful" will unravel. Lesson One: Many amongst you, even your friends are NOT on "our side", "our side" of history. They will later lie, because facts no longer matter. They will later change their vote, pretending their hands were clean. Today however, It is crucial that you keep these accusations to yourself, because these same people you'd trusted will expose you. Of course, You may not immediately be shipped off to interment camps, but you will be identified. You will see the change. You will be alone for a long while, and then slowly people will come to grips with their mistake.
You are squarely in the minority, and THAT! my plush friend, is the rub
Hush!... Hushhh... Nothing you say today matters more than the practice of remembering how it once was --How you'd thought it was. Hold fast to your oral traditions, perhaps you can share them later. But the books will change, because history is written by those in power. Surviving record will reflect a gleaming tower of morality, and perfection. A perfect Historic correction will destroy everyone with a conscience. The times they are a changing, and this river will cut right through your town dislodging good homes, separating families from their possessions, and one-another. "Democracy" is drowning it's citizens beneath collapsing hedonism. What remains will be unrecognizable, because people will forget.
They have it coming to them, it's going to be really big.
A Greek Tragedy is in the works, and Caesar, A Boy King, is at last going to watch it all burn. The Flood will tumble survivors like shiny stones into a backwater -- Grey water, which once ran clear and clean, will breed new pestilence. And in the chaos will come subversion, unchecked crime, and reprisal. In the new world the wealth gap will broaden, and we will have to choose who we rescue, who to share meals with. There will NOT be enough to go around. The so called system will break down. We will again want for things,. essential things, and novelties like honesty, and integrity, fairness, and shame.
But you will NOT have to ask yourself, "What Have I done" You will have no survivor's guilt.
They have it coming to them, it's going to be really big.
A Greek Tragedy is in the works, and Caesar, A Boy King, is at last going to watch it all burn. The Flood will tumble survivors like shiny stones into a backwater -- Grey water, which once ran clear and clean, will breed new pestilence. And in the chaos will come subversion, unchecked crime, and reprisal. In the new world the wealth gap will broaden, and we will have to choose who we rescue, who to share meals with. There will NOT be enough to go around. The so called system will break down. We will again want for things,. essential things, and novelties like honesty, and integrity, fairness, and shame.
But you will NOT have to ask yourself, "What Have I done" You will have no survivor's guilt.
"Nobody ever lost a dime underestimating the American Public"
-H.L. Mencken
Learning how to game the system has always been the real American Grit. Did you forget that this scrappy nation was built upon resourcefulness, religion, and resentment for power? We are a diverse collection of DIY moving backwards through time. We will now be tested to provide much of what we once had once taken for granted. Clean water, air, food, justice... Something Wicked This Way Comes, and only last week they were putting up the posters. Tomorrow they will begin to set-up the tents, and the ring-side seats will be ablaze with suffering animals, and filth. It will be morality's biggest test to not slip beneath it's torrent. To not peek under the tent. You are an outlier, you are exposed, and you are losing. "Nobody ever lost a dime underestimating the American Public" -- But wealth is not measured in gold. America is broken. America is bankrupt. This is where being the 'only adult in the room' got you, democracy is dead, but you were lucky enough to see the train leave the station.
There is a sucker born every minute, and you just happened to be walking by the tent.
Your friends and relatives have already been radicalized. This is the momentum of a wicked wave which is coming for everyone. Even the idiots who'd asked for this will be ashamed. They too will live long enough to regret lifting the flap, and ticking that red box. We will all live long enough to regret peeking under the tent. Everyone, except america's showman D.T. Barnum.
America Is A Sucker.
-H.L. Mencken
Learning how to game the system has always been the real American Grit. Did you forget that this scrappy nation was built upon resourcefulness, religion, and resentment for power? We are a diverse collection of DIY moving backwards through time. We will now be tested to provide much of what we once had once taken for granted. Clean water, air, food, justice... Something Wicked This Way Comes, and only last week they were putting up the posters. Tomorrow they will begin to set-up the tents, and the ring-side seats will be ablaze with suffering animals, and filth. It will be morality's biggest test to not slip beneath it's torrent. To not peek under the tent. You are an outlier, you are exposed, and you are losing. "Nobody ever lost a dime underestimating the American Public" -- But wealth is not measured in gold. America is broken. America is bankrupt. This is where being the 'only adult in the room' got you, democracy is dead, but you were lucky enough to see the train leave the station.
There is a sucker born every minute, and you just happened to be walking by the tent.
Your friends and relatives have already been radicalized. This is the momentum of a wicked wave which is coming for everyone. Even the idiots who'd asked for this will be ashamed. They too will live long enough to regret lifting the flap, and ticking that red box. We will all live long enough to regret peeking under the tent. Everyone, except america's showman D.T. Barnum.
America Is A Sucker.
FANTASYLAND BY KURT ANDERSON check it out
- Published on
True or False ?
J: ..."Hey!, You Guys have any interest in doing this Italy group ride near Lake Como this year?, It's linked here."
M: "Oh, I'm totally down for that ride, Count me in."
P: "I only have Leadville on my Calendar, so except for that, I'm available."
M: "I'd like to make a stop in Bergamo, for a night or Two, a few Factory tours, also let's hit the Stelvio."
P: "OK, Cool I'm totally in for that trip."
C: "Stelvio, For Sure, I have nothing on my calendar. The Stelvio is probably the one climb I most want to ride in the whole world."
M: "I'm absolutely game to do it too, but bear in mind that cyclists have to contend with 911's and GP Bikes.
P: "OK, for sure, But they have a Stelvio "Bike-Day" , where it's closed except for bikes".
M: "Perfect, Although that ride would be a bit like the first climb on the Triple Bypass., A glut of crowded old cyclists, Peeling the wheat from the chafe."
J: "Yep, Maybe we do a sanctioned ride, like the Eroica, or the Santini Stelvio ride."
C: "I might rather take my chances with super cars, and motos, than a ton of cyclists. I hate cyclists.
P: "Agreed!, I think that would suck."
C: "Cyclists are assholes."
P: "Dickheads for sure"
M: W...Wa, Wait... I'm a cyclist, right?
J: "You are a cyclist?"
P: "Assholes"
M: "Oh, I'm totally down for that ride, Count me in."
P: "I only have Leadville on my Calendar, so except for that, I'm available."
M: "I'd like to make a stop in Bergamo, for a night or Two, a few Factory tours, also let's hit the Stelvio."
P: "OK, Cool I'm totally in for that trip."
C: "Stelvio, For Sure, I have nothing on my calendar. The Stelvio is probably the one climb I most want to ride in the whole world."
M: "I'm absolutely game to do it too, but bear in mind that cyclists have to contend with 911's and GP Bikes.
P: "OK, for sure, But they have a Stelvio "Bike-Day" , where it's closed except for bikes".
M: "Perfect, Although that ride would be a bit like the first climb on the Triple Bypass., A glut of crowded old cyclists, Peeling the wheat from the chafe."
J: "Yep, Maybe we do a sanctioned ride, like the Eroica, or the Santini Stelvio ride."
C: "I might rather take my chances with super cars, and motos, than a ton of cyclists. I hate cyclists.
P: "Agreed!, I think that would suck."
C: "Cyclists are assholes."
P: "Dickheads for sure"
M: W...Wa, Wait... I'm a cyclist, right?
J: "You are a cyclist?"
P: "Assholes"
Relax! this is not a quiz where any opinion rendered would shake the tenet that in fact Cyclists fit perfectly into the skin-suit of "Asshole" So, why has that skinny dude jacked on Scratch, Testosterone, and Retro-Grouch kit-opinions become the high-school sporto you'd most feared back when? Mean wheelmen have seemingly joined some Kavanaugh Frat, and now police your bike lane, spouting unyielding "Rules" to the lay public.
What is it about Lycra, which transforms ordinary humble men into
"The Boys"?
(A fictive dark anti-super hero series where bad motive runs deep)
The beauty of a group text among friends which can bring real cyclists together for a vacation trip to Lake Como, is that there are literally NO ASSHOLES on bikes in Italy, (...unless mr. underpants decides to leave his basement hole that week).
Are cyclists really Assholes?
Are all anti-hero cycling Assholes part of the new normal; shaming the sanctuary of our Beautiful Sport with middle fingers, and expletives? Why are cyclists so easily type-cast as dickheads?, Jag-offs?, & Assholes? Is "Asshole" the end game of a life-long passion for the bicycle? We will have a look at all of this.
This crappy blog holds a shallow dive into the ethos of what you may have inadvertently become, when you get too snug into that padded jumper.
Here is to hoping that you and others can find a way out of your 'assholedom'.
What is it about Lycra, which transforms ordinary humble men into
"The Boys"?
(A fictive dark anti-super hero series where bad motive runs deep)
The beauty of a group text among friends which can bring real cyclists together for a vacation trip to Lake Como, is that there are literally NO ASSHOLES on bikes in Italy, (...unless mr. underpants decides to leave his basement hole that week).
Are cyclists really Assholes?
Are all anti-hero cycling Assholes part of the new normal; shaming the sanctuary of our Beautiful Sport with middle fingers, and expletives? Why are cyclists so easily type-cast as dickheads?, Jag-offs?, & Assholes? Is "Asshole" the end game of a life-long passion for the bicycle? We will have a look at all of this.
This crappy blog holds a shallow dive into the ethos of what you may have inadvertently become, when you get too snug into that padded jumper.
Here is to hoping that you and others can find a way out of your 'assholedom'.
NOBODY IS COMING TO DIG YOU OUT, MR. LONESOME
Velominati Rule Number [42]:, (from "The Rules") A bike race shall never be preceded with a swim and/or followed by a run.
"...If it’s preceded with a swim and/or followed by a run, it is not called a bike race, it is called duathlon or a triathlon. Neither of which is a bike race. Also keep in mind that one should only swim in order to prevent drowning, and should only run if being chased. And even then, one should only run fast enough to prevent capture."
What we all know to be true, is that when most dudes fueled with carbohydrates, caffeine, & testosterone, straddle the wheel... then everyone up ahead or left behind is a "fucking asshole". That everyone who rides a bike is an asshole is certainly not true. But, the skeleton of an asshole tends to dress itself in lycra, and then the knit gloves come off. Asshole is to cyclists as grime to a chain. What then happens biologically turning mild-mannered accountants, and real-estate brokers into raging assholes upon bike. What photosynthesis bewitches lycra as it is exposed to daylight? Is it the fate of every cyclist to aspire to rage against the humble commuter, or to berate the fixie gangs? Does society assign special powers to Alpha-Male Cyclists to police their roads, and trails? Is it inevitable that the deeper you go -- the deeper you get? Will they even recognize their transformation from mere mortal to double-douche-bag?
Will they recognize the metabolic changes from Trainer milk-toast to Dark-Prince of Protein Powder?
Once indoctrinated, can anyone even leave the (asshole) cult? What can we learn from their metamorphosis from Nice Guy with a bike, into evil uber-mensch? Is there black magic in the Velominati Rules, which predict a snarky bad outcome... an end-game?
Are we all doomed?, or just some with a genetic marker for it?
"...If it’s preceded with a swim and/or followed by a run, it is not called a bike race, it is called duathlon or a triathlon. Neither of which is a bike race. Also keep in mind that one should only swim in order to prevent drowning, and should only run if being chased. And even then, one should only run fast enough to prevent capture."
What we all know to be true, is that when most dudes fueled with carbohydrates, caffeine, & testosterone, straddle the wheel... then everyone up ahead or left behind is a "fucking asshole". That everyone who rides a bike is an asshole is certainly not true. But, the skeleton of an asshole tends to dress itself in lycra, and then the knit gloves come off. Asshole is to cyclists as grime to a chain. What then happens biologically turning mild-mannered accountants, and real-estate brokers into raging assholes upon bike. What photosynthesis bewitches lycra as it is exposed to daylight? Is it the fate of every cyclist to aspire to rage against the humble commuter, or to berate the fixie gangs? Does society assign special powers to Alpha-Male Cyclists to police their roads, and trails? Is it inevitable that the deeper you go -- the deeper you get? Will they even recognize their transformation from mere mortal to double-douche-bag?
Will they recognize the metabolic changes from Trainer milk-toast to Dark-Prince of Protein Powder?
Once indoctrinated, can anyone even leave the (asshole) cult? What can we learn from their metamorphosis from Nice Guy with a bike, into evil uber-mensch? Is there black magic in the Velominati Rules, which predict a snarky bad outcome... an end-game?
Are we all doomed?, or just some with a genetic marker for it?
Back When It Was Fun.
"...And he used to be so sweet and kind", (Great Guy Really), "and then he started scorning everyone for Half-wheeling". "He just went mad with demands to pull longer", and to "Harden the Fuck Up". The venom is most assuredly born of these modern times. It is a step-child of our modern condition to blame everyone for dumb-shit beyond our control. It is because we feel out of control. It is a psychic break-down, to go from gleeful kid coasting down-hill on a glittery banana-seat to dark lord in a banana-hammock donning a lycra onesie. First, It is fair to mention that even if a cyclist were to hang-up the tire sealant and their Helmet -- And then ride only in one's pain-cave, that they will still be an asshole, and then perhaps even more people will become infected. This is because 'ass-holery' is a projection every bit as portable and hideous Indoors as it is Out in nature. In fact, it's likely that the word "Asshole-Cyclist" was forged and hardened in the crucible of internet cycling. ...And Internet cycling is (of course) NOT Cycling, but it still makes otherwise cool people, look rather bad. Behaving badly is now the job of some wasteful spin-off from the Velominati.
The hardened Asshole is likely within you, real, and inevitable, IF:
1. Cycling struck you at a later age, (let's say 31) and the Bicycle became your Mid-life convertible sport's car. (Now perhaps you own several).
2. One is an Only-Child who flamed-out at Team-sports like Soccer, and Lacrosse, (in-spite of your parents coaching), you warmed that bench for years.
3. You are the individual who used to swear by 26" Mavic CrossMax, White Industries, & Ringle' on your GT Zaskar.
4. You paid full price for any Troy-Lee jersey prior to 1998.
5. If Hydration Packs and Fannie Packs were both worn together, ever.
6. If You'd owned Green, Grey, or Orange Tioga Psycho Tires.
7. You wear Oakley's upside-down or backwards on the brim of your ball cap; Or even reversed protecting your Man-Mullet.
8. You have ever owned an Oldsmobile?
9. You get your protein from Durian, and Peas.
10. Your first bike came new with a gel saddle and 30-degree stem.
11. You Wear "100%" brand(ed) anything.
The hardened Asshole is likely within you, real, and inevitable, IF:
1. Cycling struck you at a later age, (let's say 31) and the Bicycle became your Mid-life convertible sport's car. (Now perhaps you own several).
2. One is an Only-Child who flamed-out at Team-sports like Soccer, and Lacrosse, (in-spite of your parents coaching), you warmed that bench for years.
3. You are the individual who used to swear by 26" Mavic CrossMax, White Industries, & Ringle' on your GT Zaskar.
4. You paid full price for any Troy-Lee jersey prior to 1998.
5. If Hydration Packs and Fannie Packs were both worn together, ever.
6. If You'd owned Green, Grey, or Orange Tioga Psycho Tires.
7. You wear Oakley's upside-down or backwards on the brim of your ball cap; Or even reversed protecting your Man-Mullet.
8. You have ever owned an Oldsmobile?
9. You get your protein from Durian, and Peas.
10. Your first bike came new with a gel saddle and 30-degree stem.
11. You Wear "100%" brand(ed) anything.
SUPER-CUSTOM 'TOOL' BIKE WITH THE VENERABLE MAVIC CROSSMAX
Relax! we can find you help with your affliction. But re-education will only work when you recognize that you've gone way too far. You can remain a cyclist, but perhaps you were actually meant to ride stationary and indoors on Zwift or Peloton, and NOT on the real tactile paved road. Afterall Zwift is where trolls go for exercise. You will still be a giant pain in everyone's ass there, but nobody will (literally) get hurt. There is help for you Online, and at your lame-o cafe or club-house.
BUT.., If your version of a "Gravel Bike is a Down-country Yeti or Stump-jumper -- Then you are hopeless, (just saying). Give up and go back to frisbee golf, or cut the mullet and wander down to pickleball, you can keep the Oakley's.
Most of the antics which cast the vote toward your being an actual (On-Bike) asshole come from your riding antics. You are a relentless jag-off on the road spouting expletives, riding like a petulant child. Your man-throttle in one hand, and the other on Jolt-Cola and Twizzlers. You are perpetually angry, and you yell a lot.
So, Perhaps try a bell.
Sure we all run the stop-signs and we all dis-obey signals, but at our own peril. We share the same roads and rules as huge steel coffins, and if you are inconvenienced by a car, or another cyclist, then that is likely on you. You are a 100% fuck-tard, because you believe that you are performing the lead role in some Mansplain Movie, where you are revealing "the rules" to the un-initiated. And, of course, you believe that most rules do not apply to you. The fact is that you will meet your match, and will soon simper like a babe, at the wreckage when it happens. You may either recover well, or you will damage someone else -- And neither is alright. So slow the fuck down and make good decisions, but above all, live an let live. Ride by yourself and leave other's un-corrupted by your testicular man-rage. The literal worst thing you can do, besides cause a crash, is to ruin the ride for another super amateur.
... AND OH, STOP INVENTING COOL GUY HAND SIGNALS
The road and the bike lane are not your private driveway, and they need to be respected, and shared for this whole "bike thing" thing to work-out. We all recall that one self-appointed 'King of Texas Cycling' and he came from that mystical skin-suit colonic-club called the Triathlon. Running from others, and Swimming in frothy pools of conceded manhood. He couldn't escape his own gravity, and had to Cheat to keep up his status. And, even that d-Bag has not been forgiven for his Ass-holiness". When I finish the definitive book on cycling genus, and need an illustration for "Asshole-Cyclist" it's either you or that guy filling that plate. They say that a Fraternity is forever, and anyway, you get to pick only one. If you are already in the "A-Hole" club, then climb-aboard your basement VR Rig, and remain there -- Lest you be outed, or worse... Ruin cycling for everyone.
Your crash will be your fault exclusively.
BUT.., If your version of a "Gravel Bike is a Down-country Yeti or Stump-jumper -- Then you are hopeless, (just saying). Give up and go back to frisbee golf, or cut the mullet and wander down to pickleball, you can keep the Oakley's.
Most of the antics which cast the vote toward your being an actual (On-Bike) asshole come from your riding antics. You are a relentless jag-off on the road spouting expletives, riding like a petulant child. Your man-throttle in one hand, and the other on Jolt-Cola and Twizzlers. You are perpetually angry, and you yell a lot.
So, Perhaps try a bell.
Sure we all run the stop-signs and we all dis-obey signals, but at our own peril. We share the same roads and rules as huge steel coffins, and if you are inconvenienced by a car, or another cyclist, then that is likely on you. You are a 100% fuck-tard, because you believe that you are performing the lead role in some Mansplain Movie, where you are revealing "the rules" to the un-initiated. And, of course, you believe that most rules do not apply to you. The fact is that you will meet your match, and will soon simper like a babe, at the wreckage when it happens. You may either recover well, or you will damage someone else -- And neither is alright. So slow the fuck down and make good decisions, but above all, live an let live. Ride by yourself and leave other's un-corrupted by your testicular man-rage. The literal worst thing you can do, besides cause a crash, is to ruin the ride for another super amateur.
... AND OH, STOP INVENTING COOL GUY HAND SIGNALS
The road and the bike lane are not your private driveway, and they need to be respected, and shared for this whole "bike thing" thing to work-out. We all recall that one self-appointed 'King of Texas Cycling' and he came from that mystical skin-suit colonic-club called the Triathlon. Running from others, and Swimming in frothy pools of conceded manhood. He couldn't escape his own gravity, and had to Cheat to keep up his status. And, even that d-Bag has not been forgiven for his Ass-holiness". When I finish the definitive book on cycling genus, and need an illustration for "Asshole-Cyclist" it's either you or that guy filling that plate. They say that a Fraternity is forever, and anyway, you get to pick only one. If you are already in the "A-Hole" club, then climb-aboard your basement VR Rig, and remain there -- Lest you be outed, or worse... Ruin cycling for everyone.
Your crash will be your fault exclusively.
"...Just Two More Minutes!, I'm Nearly Done With MY I.V. Drip"
- Published on
Is the angst killing you? Is the Thing you are worried about far worse than the actual Thing? Are you tired of feeling tension throughout your neck, shoulders, back, and even your feet? Are you killing yourself over the inevitable outcome of something you cannot control for? Are you getting physically ill with anxiety? Are you dying more quickly by the hour, because the news says this or that, and Polls may seem to indicate... Blah blah blah?
“I don’t believe in apocalypse — until the apocalypse comes."
"I think nothing is the end of the world until the end of the world.”
-Barack Obama
Yep. Me too. So is there a coping mechanism which you've found that seems to quash some of the most loathsome symptoms of the ("What in the actual fuck") world you live in? For me, it's often nature. Birds, Trees, Verdant Woodlands, and Rivers, and such. Although lovely sightings of Wild Turkeys, Red Fox, Hawks, Beaver, and even road-kill can take you briefly away from the abyss (for a moment) -- Alas, then it all comes flooding right back in. They are always in your rearview, or on your back, in the form of assholes like Musk and Rogan, and abstract Trial Judges. A good loud scream also helps a bit, or to pound on something. Smashing stuff is a good solid release, but that too is short-lived, and makes most of us look and feel sort of stupid in hindsight. So what can one do besides sedatives, and fictions?
MUST BE THE SEASON OF THE WITCH
"I think nothing is the end of the world until the end of the world.”
-Barack Obama
Yep. Me too. So is there a coping mechanism which you've found that seems to quash some of the most loathsome symptoms of the ("What in the actual fuck") world you live in? For me, it's often nature. Birds, Trees, Verdant Woodlands, and Rivers, and such. Although lovely sightings of Wild Turkeys, Red Fox, Hawks, Beaver, and even road-kill can take you briefly away from the abyss (for a moment) -- Alas, then it all comes flooding right back in. They are always in your rearview, or on your back, in the form of assholes like Musk and Rogan, and abstract Trial Judges. A good loud scream also helps a bit, or to pound on something. Smashing stuff is a good solid release, but that too is short-lived, and makes most of us look and feel sort of stupid in hindsight. So what can one do besides sedatives, and fictions?
MUST BE THE SEASON OF THE WITCH
Frankly I don't know, but when people talk about public speaking they relieve their stage-fright stress by imagining everyone naked. I'd love to say that that would work, but not here, and not today. This week even imagining your biggest enemies, being eviscerated, by a truck striking them at high-speed and then stretching their parts across a highway doesn't bring brief relief. But if it did actually happen, That day would become my favorite holiday, after Halloween.
It is at this solid blank wall of your countenance that you've come to face several more demons. Here we fear not just the thing, but the thing then grows new longer arms, larger claws, and sharper teeth, and it may soon devour you. The new fear has become larger, more fierce, and far worse than the actual thing ever was. Well, almost, because the Orange Monster is fucking awful, and now so are many of your ex friends.
It is at this solid blank wall of your countenance that you've come to face several more demons. Here we fear not just the thing, but the thing then grows new longer arms, larger claws, and sharper teeth, and it may soon devour you. The new fear has become larger, more fierce, and far worse than the actual thing ever was. Well, almost, because the Orange Monster is fucking awful, and now so are many of your ex friends.
As a kid, anyone watching Nightmare on Elm Street, brought home the real possibility that well after the film ended, a viewer would be visited by the (O.G. Scissor-hands), Freddie Kreuger. The new fear of the original "FEAR" becoming a portable specter, revisiting you at home. (in your dreams). The evil was bound to follow you everywhere, like a shameful guilt for having done a terrible thing. The tell-tale heart of a fictional portrayal would be bound to revisit your conscience as you slept, if you could actually sleep. "Don't Go To Sleep", became the tag-line. I don't know if it was even warranted, but back then, at a younger age I could see some people believing in the "Nightmare". The new nightmare is very real, but it cannot last forever, can it?
In lieu of "Don't fall asleep", "I think I can..." becomes a mantra for those who may wish to push back against a huge wave of fear, of what's to come. But can you?
James Madison in “Federalist No. 55” reminds us that the “degree of depravity in mankind … requires a certain degree of … distrust”
Certainly there were people throughout history who'd felt far more real fear, and lived through far more real pain in challenging times -- But as mental anguish is indiscriminate, what's about to happen next, can haunt a human hardcore. In particular if one doesn't have a "Plan B". Adjusting on the fly, when your former and fake friends remind you daily of imminent fright, is not a strategy. Certainly not a strategy which stems the tide of dread you may feel this season. At my polling place, I luckily don't have to see my monster's face, his signs, nor symbols. But this hideous monster does follow everyone, everywhere, via foot soldiers.
Do you have a solid "Plan B?"
Well nor do I.
In lieu of "Don't fall asleep", "I think I can..." becomes a mantra for those who may wish to push back against a huge wave of fear, of what's to come. But can you?
James Madison in “Federalist No. 55” reminds us that the “degree of depravity in mankind … requires a certain degree of … distrust”
Certainly there were people throughout history who'd felt far more real fear, and lived through far more real pain in challenging times -- But as mental anguish is indiscriminate, what's about to happen next, can haunt a human hardcore. In particular if one doesn't have a "Plan B". Adjusting on the fly, when your former and fake friends remind you daily of imminent fright, is not a strategy. Certainly not a strategy which stems the tide of dread you may feel this season. At my polling place, I luckily don't have to see my monster's face, his signs, nor symbols. But this hideous monster does follow everyone, everywhere, via foot soldiers.
Do you have a solid "Plan B?"
Well nor do I.
PARTY INVITES
This NOT having a Plan-B, is exactly why our fears are so tough to cope with, and to squelch out. It's like having a shit job, and no vacation planned. In most scenarios we have an exit -- A back door. We have a way through, which, even if daunting, like emigration, is a viable plan. Any plan, however difficult, brings some hope. So maybe the THING is that you cannot imagine doing this horror-show political hate-speak every day for the rest of your life. Perhaps you need a messiah. Or perhaps you need to just go dancing? Maybe you need to just move away. Maybe you are looking ahead toward some sunny beach, or a verdant pasture to wrap yourself in. Perhaps you need to have a plan that has nothing to do with news, or even leave the country. Perhaps you need sanctuary, and something to look forward to. The truth is that you have no control over these outcomes, Except for one... Death comes for everyone, and we cannot control for that. This notion could also free you. Your Monster may look like mine, All orange and creepy -- But mine is an elderly Man who will be dead soon, and I will live to see that happen.
The only exit is through the gift shop.
When the whole world becomes untenable, then we can either sit around fretting, waiting for a messianic sea-change, run away, switch sides, or change perspective. The fact is that death and politics are out of our fucking control, and the control which you exert, is something you simply have no control over anyway. When you come to accept this perspective, then you will free yourself from giving a fuck about outcomes you cannot control. Because it's only your own ego which made you believe that you could control for elections, chaos, and death. You cannot. Halloween is a grand day to reflect upon mortality -- After all, the monsters may want you dead, but if you are like me, You want only one single Monster to be hit by a truck, and spread across the roadway; Preferably in the middle of Time's Square. In my bad dreams, I can generally kill the monsters. The beauty of this linear life, is that things change rapidly, and even monsters expire. Like most of your dreadful fears, your worst monster has a finite shelf-life. I plan to live long enough to see my monster die. If you simply do not give a fuck, then the Monsters will disappear, and scary movies are just not that scary anymore.
...Don't get me started on "free will".
The only exit is through the gift shop.
When the whole world becomes untenable, then we can either sit around fretting, waiting for a messianic sea-change, run away, switch sides, or change perspective. The fact is that death and politics are out of our fucking control, and the control which you exert, is something you simply have no control over anyway. When you come to accept this perspective, then you will free yourself from giving a fuck about outcomes you cannot control. Because it's only your own ego which made you believe that you could control for elections, chaos, and death. You cannot. Halloween is a grand day to reflect upon mortality -- After all, the monsters may want you dead, but if you are like me, You want only one single Monster to be hit by a truck, and spread across the roadway; Preferably in the middle of Time's Square. In my bad dreams, I can generally kill the monsters. The beauty of this linear life, is that things change rapidly, and even monsters expire. Like most of your dreadful fears, your worst monster has a finite shelf-life. I plan to live long enough to see my monster die. If you simply do not give a fuck, then the Monsters will disappear, and scary movies are just not that scary anymore.
...Don't get me started on "free will".
- Published on
We grew up saying things which now make us seem way way stupid to today's youth.
AND THATS JUST FINE, BECAUSE ANALOG IS ACTUALLY DEAD, and who really gives a fuck about the future, or it's kids...
The most iconic phrases to show how stupid we experienced persons are being are:
"I should tape that", "Did you tape that", "They left you a message, did you listen to the tape?" "Did they get his confession on tape"" I'm listening to a great Book on tape..."BUT "TAPE" is so much more than a pejorative to point and stare while scorning elders. There is so much more to it than (just) "OLD Fucker" Nostalgic language. 'Tape' is a Verb true, and it is a whole fuck-ton of Nouns... literally a bizarre carnival of other far more whacky & complex inventions. And "TAPE" beats the fuck out of basically all other inventions.
"I know you didn't listen to my Mix-Tape, because if you had, you wouldn't be breaking up with me."
AND THATS JUST FINE, BECAUSE ANALOG IS ACTUALLY DEAD, and who really gives a fuck about the future, or it's kids...
The most iconic phrases to show how stupid we experienced persons are being are:
"I should tape that", "Did you tape that", "They left you a message, did you listen to the tape?" "Did they get his confession on tape"" I'm listening to a great Book on tape..."BUT "TAPE" is so much more than a pejorative to point and stare while scorning elders. There is so much more to it than (just) "OLD Fucker" Nostalgic language. 'Tape' is a Verb true, and it is a whole fuck-ton of Nouns... literally a bizarre carnival of other far more whacky & complex inventions. And "TAPE" beats the fuck out of basically all other inventions.
"I know you didn't listen to my Mix-Tape, because if you had, you wouldn't be breaking up with me."
Sure there is that shit you use to poorly wrap that one last minute, (OH SHIT, are they here already) Gift. There's nearly a gazillion uses for plain ordinary scotch tape, but before you think too hard about those... I give you: "BUBBLE TAPE" which is nearly impossible to imagine as named, (if you are over 11 years old). This is because most first imagine Bubble Wrap (the kind some people pop when nervous), attached to some sort of long adhesive strip, When (Bubble Tape) [it] is actually a long flat strip of chemicals which produce a Pink strip that kids actually eat, and chew like gum. Thank you WM Wrigley. It is no surprise that the inventor of a Floor Wax brand would promo his wax products with a free pack of gum, and later birth an un-cut pink gum that kids would find ever clever, and cool. It's mostly cool because of it's way cool pink package promising gum by the linear foot... Go ahead and pull with your mouth as much as you can fit, and still chew.
Tape: a linear strip coated with an adhesive, magnetic material, or even bubble gum flavor -- Is (perhaps) the most respected invention of all human endeavor. Veneration for a popular version has reached celebrity or even royal notoriety even in it's humblest of forms. Just where would this fractured fucked up world be without being able to stick shit together easily. We literally fix shit with tape. Duct Tape made not only sealing ducts simpler, but it allowed hacks to work with sheet metal (or any materials) and compensate for their poor workmanship, By covering their mistakes, or even constructing sections with good tape, nearly any idiot could "fix" something. One time (True Story) sailing across the Atlantic in dead wind, we pulled out our Spinnaker. But, when we raised it, we'd quickly discovered a torn seam, which with a puff, began to run the length of its leading edge. (the important part) We applied Sail Tape at the seam, and soon realized the tear had run out. Expired Emergency sail tape was not up to this repair. Later we pulled the whole spinnaker through the port-hole. Wiping it clean on the nav-table, we applied overheated duct-tape for four hours. Our Duct-Tape Hack to get this sail back up and running downwind, was a huge success. The sail held together for four full days and nights, pulling us out of our doldrum with 6-8 knots, bridging our dead dead gap to the next puffy trade-wind, when we no longer needed it.
To give too much credit to Tape as Noun or as Verb, as a Medium for Repair, or as Chewing-Gum, is literally impossible. There is no child in America who has not used tape since infancy. In fact the tape tabs on disposable diapers literally held your shit together well before you knew what you were doing down there. Smile now, it's true you rely upon tape... But we adults are now at a crossroads, and we may be all out of the good stuff.
Gift giving is completely swaddled in tape for every single holiday and celebration. It is also true that every single carton delivered by beleaguered delivery drivers are held together by tape.
While the list of what can be fixed with "Magic Tape", (a 3M brand) may be longer than that which we cannot repair. Tape Cannot hold the universe together when Half of it's people want it to come apart. Vendetta politics is why people no longer enjoy each-other's company, Because it is not what Trump has accomplished that his supporters expect, but the vengeance he exacts upon their so called enemies which they applaud. It is a Daily "Pro Wrestling" Match where make-believe tough-guys exact revenge against imaginary clowns. His narrative first invents the enemy, and then sends them into the ring to spar. It is a Circus. And what is a circus without clowns?
As Juvenal said, "Give them bread and Circuses and they will not revolt.
Tape cannot fix stupid, so you had better Vote.
Watergate became a favorite for those eager do-gooders to record our criminal president doing naughty things... But while naughty tapes still exist, the truths they reveal about ex-Presidents certainly don't matter any longer. For what it's worth, TAPE was once used to destroy bad politicians and celebs with unseemly recordings of crimes caught (well) "ON TAPE". Remember the Access Hollywood 'TAPES'...? They no longer matter. Whereas justice used to be held by TAPE -- Justice is just another fabrication -- Like a craft project.
But while naughty tapes still exist, the truth tapes reveal about ex-Presidents certainly don't matter any longer, Because the people want vengeance, and they want circuses, not facts and smart vegans.
Gift giving is completely swaddled in tape for every single holiday and celebration. It is also true that every single carton delivered by beleaguered delivery drivers are held together by tape.
While the list of what can be fixed with "Magic Tape", (a 3M brand) may be longer than that which we cannot repair. Tape Cannot hold the universe together when Half of it's people want it to come apart. Vendetta politics is why people no longer enjoy each-other's company, Because it is not what Trump has accomplished that his supporters expect, but the vengeance he exacts upon their so called enemies which they applaud. It is a Daily "Pro Wrestling" Match where make-believe tough-guys exact revenge against imaginary clowns. His narrative first invents the enemy, and then sends them into the ring to spar. It is a Circus. And what is a circus without clowns?
As Juvenal said, "Give them bread and Circuses and they will not revolt.
Tape cannot fix stupid, so you had better Vote.
Watergate became a favorite for those eager do-gooders to record our criminal president doing naughty things... But while naughty tapes still exist, the truths they reveal about ex-Presidents certainly don't matter any longer. For what it's worth, TAPE was once used to destroy bad politicians and celebs with unseemly recordings of crimes caught (well) "ON TAPE". Remember the Access Hollywood 'TAPES'...? They no longer matter. Whereas justice used to be held by TAPE -- Justice is just another fabrication -- Like a craft project.
But while naughty tapes still exist, the truth tapes reveal about ex-Presidents certainly don't matter any longer, Because the people want vengeance, and they want circuses, not facts and smart vegans.
As far as history goes, TAPE accounts for so much of it, that the super fuck'd internet is still playing catch-up with this Analog O.G. Unlike the original which was real, tangible, and honest... The Internet is fake, and vacuous. Unlike the posters in your bedroom which you can touch -- The internet is featureless.
It's 'Fucking TAPE Man', and it's so fucking awesome that Nobody even matriculated pubescence without being birthed through a bedroom wall of taped up posters boasting a favorite celebrity crush, a swimsuit shot, or some Seriously cool hair. INXS, STYX, The FIXX & Tupac (???), and even The Jam, lined the walls which have now been plastered-over to seal the historic record of one's teen edifice. What is the super cool NET benefit of every single roll of cellophane tape and the Posters they mounted? It is the instancy. Immediate satisfaction in "posting" who you support, and idolize.
We used to post signs to "keep Out" for a yard sale, and for tow zones. In fact one could argue that the term "POST" legitimately came into being because of TAPE.
"You wont really have to pack that Internet return with twine any longer"
Well.., Perhaps that began with Martin Luther and a nail, or thumb-tack... But the very term "POST" was post-modern, and born by tape for the past century. Don't get me started with Post-it notes. When you young fuckers were still 65 years away tape was solving the worlds problems. Now it's all... "Be Patient Lady" "You wont really have to pack that Internet return with twine any longer". (whew! what a chore)
You could simply grab some tape. But tape cant fix that, Can It?
It's 'Fucking TAPE Man', and it's so fucking awesome that Nobody even matriculated pubescence without being birthed through a bedroom wall of taped up posters boasting a favorite celebrity crush, a swimsuit shot, or some Seriously cool hair. INXS, STYX, The FIXX & Tupac (???), and even The Jam, lined the walls which have now been plastered-over to seal the historic record of one's teen edifice. What is the super cool NET benefit of every single roll of cellophane tape and the Posters they mounted? It is the instancy. Immediate satisfaction in "posting" who you support, and idolize.
We used to post signs to "keep Out" for a yard sale, and for tow zones. In fact one could argue that the term "POST" legitimately came into being because of TAPE.
"You wont really have to pack that Internet return with twine any longer"
Well.., Perhaps that began with Martin Luther and a nail, or thumb-tack... But the very term "POST" was post-modern, and born by tape for the past century. Don't get me started with Post-it notes. When you young fuckers were still 65 years away tape was solving the worlds problems. Now it's all... "Be Patient Lady" "You wont really have to pack that Internet return with twine any longer". (whew! what a chore)
You could simply grab some tape. But tape cant fix that, Can It?
"On the One". "On the One"., Hit the snare on the One, roll vocals on the second track... In fact, 2-track, 4-Track, Bass Track, 8-Track, and nearly every great track that built our online music archive began it's life on magnetic TAPE. Not to mention every important Demo Film, Movie Pilot, and way cool Demo cassette, from The Smiths, The Cure, & U2, to The Replacements, & Prince. Cassette TAPE made that magic happen.
What about the endless accolades owed to TAPE is humble. House Painting is humble, but even this and Murder investigations, are guided by tape. Whereas Caution tape, and that K-stuff you put on your leg because you shouldn't be running like that anyway -- Are cautionary. The kind of tape needed for nearly any task is readily available, reasonably priced, and soo convenient. Keeping some handy, Blue Tape to paint, Package tape to return those ugly shoes, and duct tape to patch your space capsule, makes TAPE one of human endeavors most useful tools. Plain variety in the household means that at any given time the average family stocks more Tape than aging hot sauces in their fridge. We have 3M to thank for most of these variations on the same theme.
Here is a short list of miracles:
Aluminum tape
Thin aluminum foil, coated on one side with a heat-resistant adhesive. The side coated with adhesive is prevented from sticking together with wax paper.
Autoclave tape
Adhesive tape used in autoclaving.
Bondage tape Adheres to itself without using sticky adhesives; this tape is used in bondage.
Box-sealing tape
Pressure-sensitive, used for sealing corrugated boxes. Adhesive is usually coated on a polypropylene or polyester film. Commonly 48 mm (1.9 in) or 72 mm (2.8 in) wide.
Carbon Tape
Repairing defective conductor on printed circuit boards
Fixing glitch rear windscreen heater
Alternative to soldering, if heat can damage electrical component
Making ‘Faraday Cage’ to protect sensitive electrical instruments from electromagnetic radiation
SEM (scanning electron microscopy) applications to prevent electrostatic charge developing in the surface
Double-sided tape
This tape has adhesive on both sides, and is used to stick two surfaces together.
Duct tape
Usually gray in color, this tape is backed with scrim, often coated with rubber or plastic.
Elastic therapeutic tape
Also known as "K tape" and "kinesiology tape", it is an elastic-cotton strip backed with acrylic adhesive. It is used for treating athletic injuries and various physical disorders.
Electrical tape
Used to insulate electrical wires. Commonly made of black PVC (polyvinyl chloride, "vinyl"), but available in a variety of colors.
Filament tape
High-strength packaging tape made of polypropylene or polyester film, with fiberglass filaments embedded along the length.
Floor marking tape
Heavy duty floor tape used for marking areas on a floor such as in industrial warehouses.
Friction tape
Tape made of cloth which has been impregnated with a rubber-based adhesive, used mostly to increase grip or friction.
Gaffer tape
Used in the theater, film and television industry, this tape is used to secure cables to keep them out of the way, or to hide them from view.
Gorilla Tape
A trademarked brand of heavy duty duct tape.
Hockey tape
Used for cushioning and grip on polo mallets, ice hockey, roller hockey, and lacrosse equipment.
Hook-and-loop tape A hook-and-loop fastener with adhesive backing.
Kapton
Used in electronic manufacturing as an insulation and protection layer on electrostatic sensitive and fragile components.
Lingerie tape
Also called "cleavage tape", "fashion tape", or "tit tape", this double-sided adhesive tape is used to keep clothing in place.
Masking tape
Used in homes and industry, this paper tape is used for masking areas. It is also used to smooth seams that will be painted over on temporary pieces.
Nano tape
Also called "gecko tape", this tape is composed of arrays of carbon nanotubes and has directional adhesion properties. It can grip a load in one direction and release its grip when the direction of force is reversed.
Road surface marking tape
Preformed polymer tapes that can be applied permanently or temporarily to the pavements to create road surface markings.
Scotch Tape
A 3M brand name for a wide variety of office and industrial tapes.
Security tape
A tape with special tamper indicating features.
Self fusing silicone tape
A non-tacky tape which when stretched and wrapped around cables, electrical joints, hoses and pipes will amalgamate itself into a strong seamless rubbery, waterproof, and electrically insulating layer.
Sellotape
A British brand name, a general-purpose clear home and office tape. The name is often used as a generic term for similar tapes in the UK.
Speed tape
Used on aircraft, this aluminized tape is designed to remain in place in high winds.
Spike tape
This is a marking tape used in the theater, film and television industry to mark areas on a stage for actors.
Wound closure strip
A medical tape (3M trademark).
Surgical tape
A medical tape.
Stretch-release adhesive Adhesive type manufactured by 3M.
Tear tape
Allows for easy opening of fast-moving consumer goods. May also carry brand messaging, anti-tampering, and authentication technologies.
Toupee tape
Invisible double-sided tape used to attach hair pieces or to hold delicate fabrics against the skin.
Reflective tape High-visibility adhesive tape with retroreflective sheeting.
Thread seal tape
Polytetrafluoroethylene (PTFE) film tape commonly used in plumbing for sealing pipe threads.
Ultra-high-molecular-weight polyethylene tape This is the strongest and lightest dope ass tape for repairing some seriously broken shit, stopping squeaks, and protecting surfaces from wear and friction.
Would you believe there is such a thing as "Bondage Tape" but still no tape for Stupid?
Here is a short list of miracles:
Aluminum tape
Thin aluminum foil, coated on one side with a heat-resistant adhesive. The side coated with adhesive is prevented from sticking together with wax paper.
Autoclave tape
Adhesive tape used in autoclaving.
Bondage tape Adheres to itself without using sticky adhesives; this tape is used in bondage.
Box-sealing tape
Pressure-sensitive, used for sealing corrugated boxes. Adhesive is usually coated on a polypropylene or polyester film. Commonly 48 mm (1.9 in) or 72 mm (2.8 in) wide.
Carbon Tape
Repairing defective conductor on printed circuit boards
Fixing glitch rear windscreen heater
Alternative to soldering, if heat can damage electrical component
Making ‘Faraday Cage’ to protect sensitive electrical instruments from electromagnetic radiation
SEM (scanning electron microscopy) applications to prevent electrostatic charge developing in the surface
Double-sided tape
This tape has adhesive on both sides, and is used to stick two surfaces together.
Duct tape
Usually gray in color, this tape is backed with scrim, often coated with rubber or plastic.
Elastic therapeutic tape
Also known as "K tape" and "kinesiology tape", it is an elastic-cotton strip backed with acrylic adhesive. It is used for treating athletic injuries and various physical disorders.
Electrical tape
Used to insulate electrical wires. Commonly made of black PVC (polyvinyl chloride, "vinyl"), but available in a variety of colors.
Filament tape
High-strength packaging tape made of polypropylene or polyester film, with fiberglass filaments embedded along the length.
Floor marking tape
Heavy duty floor tape used for marking areas on a floor such as in industrial warehouses.
Friction tape
Tape made of cloth which has been impregnated with a rubber-based adhesive, used mostly to increase grip or friction.
Gaffer tape
Used in the theater, film and television industry, this tape is used to secure cables to keep them out of the way, or to hide them from view.
Gorilla Tape
A trademarked brand of heavy duty duct tape.
Hockey tape
Used for cushioning and grip on polo mallets, ice hockey, roller hockey, and lacrosse equipment.
Hook-and-loop tape A hook-and-loop fastener with adhesive backing.
Kapton
Used in electronic manufacturing as an insulation and protection layer on electrostatic sensitive and fragile components.
Lingerie tape
Also called "cleavage tape", "fashion tape", or "tit tape", this double-sided adhesive tape is used to keep clothing in place.
Masking tape
Used in homes and industry, this paper tape is used for masking areas. It is also used to smooth seams that will be painted over on temporary pieces.
Nano tape
Also called "gecko tape", this tape is composed of arrays of carbon nanotubes and has directional adhesion properties. It can grip a load in one direction and release its grip when the direction of force is reversed.
Road surface marking tape
Preformed polymer tapes that can be applied permanently or temporarily to the pavements to create road surface markings.
Scotch Tape
A 3M brand name for a wide variety of office and industrial tapes.
Security tape
A tape with special tamper indicating features.
Self fusing silicone tape
A non-tacky tape which when stretched and wrapped around cables, electrical joints, hoses and pipes will amalgamate itself into a strong seamless rubbery, waterproof, and electrically insulating layer.
Sellotape
A British brand name, a general-purpose clear home and office tape. The name is often used as a generic term for similar tapes in the UK.
Speed tape
Used on aircraft, this aluminized tape is designed to remain in place in high winds.
Spike tape
This is a marking tape used in the theater, film and television industry to mark areas on a stage for actors.
Wound closure strip
A medical tape (3M trademark).
Surgical tape
A medical tape.
Stretch-release adhesive Adhesive type manufactured by 3M.
Tear tape
Allows for easy opening of fast-moving consumer goods. May also carry brand messaging, anti-tampering, and authentication technologies.
Toupee tape
Invisible double-sided tape used to attach hair pieces or to hold delicate fabrics against the skin.
Reflective tape High-visibility adhesive tape with retroreflective sheeting.
Thread seal tape
Polytetrafluoroethylene (PTFE) film tape commonly used in plumbing for sealing pipe threads.
Ultra-high-molecular-weight polyethylene tape This is the strongest and lightest dope ass tape for repairing some seriously broken shit, stopping squeaks, and protecting surfaces from wear and friction.
Would you believe there is such a thing as "Bondage Tape" but still no tape for Stupid?
Band-Aids (Yep that's TAPE)
Basically every injury recorded from birth to death was commemorated with a Band-Aid whether for a serious injury, burn, scrape, or simply as a symbol to ward off the psychological trauma.
We are at a sad inflection point in history, where everything we thought was solid, and permanent begins to crumble and fall apart, and we have not invented a tape for that.
Those who'll arrive with a tape gun, just after America's back-slide into chaos, will be remembered as having done too little, far too late.
Tape as Remedy is discussed through History books, and in Graduate level Psychology Text Books, where learn'ed professors posit that what cannot be prevented, repaired, fixed, restored, posted, placated, protected, and improved using tape is likely not worth saving. In spite of how much tape we stock-pile, the awesome mix-tapes we record, and the demands we tape up on the door -- These are outmoded methods. Sociologists agree that Tape is merely a clever tool of human expression, and of repair. That Tape is both humble and audacious, venerated as a "do-All" It is a healer, and a remedy. Tape is a modern miracle, but it cant fix this Republic. They say that you wont know what you've got, until it's gone. Let's not pretend that we didn't see it coming.
In a "Post-Tape Universe", where invented fictions, and pretend gripes will to wipe out our quiet comfort -- The loud fascist will always win.
(It's just so much more entertaining.)
Promises of vengeance, and retaliation on the Internet are the new Gladiator Battle. And anyone who can deliver a daily circus (Thank you Twitter) is delivering what the people want. Exacting revenge upon astute, educated, and comfortable nobodies, is so much fun to watch, and to talk about. Re-posting absurdity, makes the modern world spin. Making those college educated, liberals pay, is way entertaining. That half the universe has already forgotten what the grievance even was, matters little because we always have minorities, and toxic masculinity as a smoke screen, and immigrants as a scapegoat. Until the "adults in the room" can present a way-cooler story with daily guns, revenge killing, riots, and empire-building conquest-fantasies, (as compelling as Trumpism), then the clowns will continue to entertain our masses.
Tape can fix just about anything, but not idiotic ideology.
And, I would totally TAPE that if I could but ...alas TAPE cannot fix Stupid.
Basically every injury recorded from birth to death was commemorated with a Band-Aid whether for a serious injury, burn, scrape, or simply as a symbol to ward off the psychological trauma.
We are at a sad inflection point in history, where everything we thought was solid, and permanent begins to crumble and fall apart, and we have not invented a tape for that.
Those who'll arrive with a tape gun, just after America's back-slide into chaos, will be remembered as having done too little, far too late.
Tape as Remedy is discussed through History books, and in Graduate level Psychology Text Books, where learn'ed professors posit that what cannot be prevented, repaired, fixed, restored, posted, placated, protected, and improved using tape is likely not worth saving. In spite of how much tape we stock-pile, the awesome mix-tapes we record, and the demands we tape up on the door -- These are outmoded methods. Sociologists agree that Tape is merely a clever tool of human expression, and of repair. That Tape is both humble and audacious, venerated as a "do-All" It is a healer, and a remedy. Tape is a modern miracle, but it cant fix this Republic. They say that you wont know what you've got, until it's gone. Let's not pretend that we didn't see it coming.
In a "Post-Tape Universe", where invented fictions, and pretend gripes will to wipe out our quiet comfort -- The loud fascist will always win.
(It's just so much more entertaining.)
Promises of vengeance, and retaliation on the Internet are the new Gladiator Battle. And anyone who can deliver a daily circus (Thank you Twitter) is delivering what the people want. Exacting revenge upon astute, educated, and comfortable nobodies, is so much fun to watch, and to talk about. Re-posting absurdity, makes the modern world spin. Making those college educated, liberals pay, is way entertaining. That half the universe has already forgotten what the grievance even was, matters little because we always have minorities, and toxic masculinity as a smoke screen, and immigrants as a scapegoat. Until the "adults in the room" can present a way-cooler story with daily guns, revenge killing, riots, and empire-building conquest-fantasies, (as compelling as Trumpism), then the clowns will continue to entertain our masses.
Tape can fix just about anything, but not idiotic ideology.
And, I would totally TAPE that if I could but ...alas TAPE cannot fix Stupid.
- Published on
Happy Halloween by the way..., sorry it's been a minute since your "big day" back in July, but I just wanted to say,
Thanks Sooo Much for inviting me to share in your 'super special' wedding weekend. I had a ton of "super special" weddings to attend this summer, and I have to say that yours was simply the best. Of course, at first, I was a bit miffed that your coworker got to stand up there with you, in-stead of me, but I'm sure since you started working remote at the new job, in December he has become so much closer than most of your old high school friends. What I can't figure out, is why wouldn't everyone want to come to your wedding?, I mean, they all seemed so excited when you posted that huge engagement spread, and that full movie, and then hosted that big pre-engagement party, and posted again at the Brunch, and from the four-star Family Dinner, and then at the actual engagement party with the band, and dancing, and the pool-side after-party, and all that. I mean, I guess friendships are one thing..., but paybacks may be the real thing, and the real reason so many would have showed up, excepting your real friends. I mean, what better things do any of your old friends have to do in July besides be there for you all six days? I mean... Wedding weekends are sooo much fun. And so fucking exhausting, I don't know how you survived. And besides, everyone gets to focus entirely on Y.O.U. and your new partner, and Wow!, the spectacle that you pulled off, it seemed like something straight off of some celebrity web-blog. And, really -- IF there are only like [+/-] Fifty or so of these super special weekends every year -- then where else would anyone rather be? Really!
So anyway, I just wanted to say thank you for your generous invitation to suffer at your super conceded coronation of ego, idol worship, and poorly choreographed pageantry? I mean... The Vows were so all about you and him, and your lovey-dovey garbage. "“I promise to encourage you to follow your dreams. I promise … to challenge you to be the best version of yourself..." I know you want the best for yourself, (I mean for sure) and of course that very special someone, (sorry I almost forgot "Austen-John-Robert-Chase III", but what about the rest of us who need to go along with this go-for-broke fairy-tale charade? Couples Stop Writing Your Own Wedding Vows. Are we supposed to um "Like" and re-post every nuance to rub someone's face in this? Or just the feelings of... What was the name of that 'soul-mate' you broke up with 7-months ago?, and why was he not there to see you off? I mean he did love you, but (you're right), he did read too much.
Thanks Sooo Much for inviting me to share in your 'super special' wedding weekend. I had a ton of "super special" weddings to attend this summer, and I have to say that yours was simply the best. Of course, at first, I was a bit miffed that your coworker got to stand up there with you, in-stead of me, but I'm sure since you started working remote at the new job, in December he has become so much closer than most of your old high school friends. What I can't figure out, is why wouldn't everyone want to come to your wedding?, I mean, they all seemed so excited when you posted that huge engagement spread, and that full movie, and then hosted that big pre-engagement party, and posted again at the Brunch, and from the four-star Family Dinner, and then at the actual engagement party with the band, and dancing, and the pool-side after-party, and all that. I mean, I guess friendships are one thing..., but paybacks may be the real thing, and the real reason so many would have showed up, excepting your real friends. I mean, what better things do any of your old friends have to do in July besides be there for you all six days? I mean... Wedding weekends are sooo much fun. And so fucking exhausting, I don't know how you survived. And besides, everyone gets to focus entirely on Y.O.U. and your new partner, and Wow!, the spectacle that you pulled off, it seemed like something straight off of some celebrity web-blog. And, really -- IF there are only like [+/-] Fifty or so of these super special weekends every year -- then where else would anyone rather be? Really!
So anyway, I just wanted to say thank you for your generous invitation to suffer at your super conceded coronation of ego, idol worship, and poorly choreographed pageantry? I mean... The Vows were so all about you and him, and your lovey-dovey garbage. "“I promise to encourage you to follow your dreams. I promise … to challenge you to be the best version of yourself..." I know you want the best for yourself, (I mean for sure) and of course that very special someone, (sorry I almost forgot "Austen-John-Robert-Chase III", but what about the rest of us who need to go along with this go-for-broke fairy-tale charade? Couples Stop Writing Your Own Wedding Vows. Are we supposed to um "Like" and re-post every nuance to rub someone's face in this? Or just the feelings of... What was the name of that 'soul-mate' you broke up with 7-months ago?, and why was he not there to see you off? I mean he did love you, but (you're right), he did read too much.
I'm not saying that the food was NECESSARILY BAD... I mean nobody looked really sick to me, except some of the golfers, and Bachelor-party bro's. But I couldn't really remark upon what was served for dinner, because dinner was again more or less a stand-up affair somewhere between the 75-deep four-row bar line, for "Signature Cocktails", and some crazy Kevin Bacon dance marathon. WAIT!, What were your two "signature cocktails"? Oh, Never-mind; Those were maybe sooo elaborate with that shrubbery, and the giant laser-etched ice-cubes, that everyone just skipped to the self-serve wine and beer from the galvanized farmer feed tub. (Nice touch!) The staff no sooner threw the opening pitch out there with airline dinner rolls, before they began collecting cutlery from North to South. The West facing faux vineyard back-drop where the sun seemed pleasing enough, was lovely -- But it really scorched the babies, and the elderly aunts, and uncles. I'm not so sure that wasn't just corn just behind a single trellis of concord grapes, but you can blur that in photo-shop.
We'll all call it a vineyard. Anyway the clever use of the same floor-plan in these "Vineyard Barns" sure helped with guest orientation. That they can make that same "wedding-barn-back-drop" in 46 states, makes the bathroom far simpler to locate. For Sure, And I loved not having to drive afterwards, but maybe I should have just taken the early shuttle, before the dirty line-dancing, and the embarrassing stuff started. Also, given the two hour bus ride back into town... It was a bit like being captive in a slasher-zombie film noir.
We'll all call it a vineyard. Anyway the clever use of the same floor-plan in these "Vineyard Barns" sure helped with guest orientation. That they can make that same "wedding-barn-back-drop" in 46 states, makes the bathroom far simpler to locate. For Sure, And I loved not having to drive afterwards, but maybe I should have just taken the early shuttle, before the dirty line-dancing, and the embarrassing stuff started. Also, given the two hour bus ride back into town... It was a bit like being captive in a slasher-zombie film noir.
What was the name of that band, again...?, Oh never-mind, it wasn't a band at all, but a loathsome DJ who [didn't spin any actual records], but made the motions with some round electric gizmo, while (I think) he just played a Spotify wedding playlist start to finish? He also told me that Depeche Mode was lame, and to fuck off. Was maybe a funny coincidence..., (perhaps) but I think that same "Special Sunset Wedding" play-list was in heavy rotation for the last five weddings we "got to enjoy" this year. But, of course Bon-Jovi, and Sweet Caroline should come well after dessert... Right? (Anyway) I'm just saying..., Maybe not during dinner on the South end of the barn, while the North End is still waiting for salad plates. So many things in the queue to work with... I'm sure it's tough to coordinate the outfit changes too, when soo many haven't even eaten yet.
Anyway, when was dessert? Not sure I saw that super memorable main cake cutting -- And the cake shmearing party, where you so cutely dabbed noses with frosting. I'm sure I'd missed the secondary cake sacrament also, was that one gluten free? Sorry I missed it. I was still trying to butter my bun -- But I'm sure the drones got good footage for later. Everything on the socials is sooo fucking perfect! You look amaze-balls by the way. Hope it's forever. Yes? Just think what the next one could be like. Right?
Anyway, when was dessert? Not sure I saw that super memorable main cake cutting -- And the cake shmearing party, where you so cutely dabbed noses with frosting. I'm sure I'd missed the secondary cake sacrament also, was that one gluten free? Sorry I missed it. I was still trying to butter my bun -- But I'm sure the drones got good footage for later. Everything on the socials is sooo fucking perfect! You look amaze-balls by the way. Hope it's forever. Yes? Just think what the next one could be like. Right?
Lucky me, I still have a whole stack of your super cool custom monogrammed plastic cups which I will certainly cherish forever, and ever, and ever -- So thank you for those. I saw so many in the trash along with stemware, plates, and such that I wasn't sure about your whole Ecology Baccalaureate.
I Sure am glad he is loaded though.
Sorry I'd missed the golf game two days prior, at his swank country-club -- But that was Thursday, and I had to work. The rest of the guys seemed happy, although nobody really remembers where they went after., So I don't really think it was (well) "m-e-m-o-r-a-b-l-e" -- They said they had fun, I mean... between discussion's of their fantasy teams and blow jobs they'd believed they were owed... That said, I would watch out for that Matt guy though, because even a few days after the so called "Golf Outing" his color was not so good. Compared with the rest of the other 'Sigma-Something' guy's with ruby-red sunburn. I just thought he looked a bit pale and weak. John did mention that he wasn't one of the "Original Pledges"; So there is that. ANYWAYS, Hoping he is feeling able to walk much better now.
For the cost of my new "wedding" outfit, I could likely have had dinner at the French Laundry, then flown business-class to have my dry-cleaning done in actual Paris France.
I do think that overall everyone got 'good and wasted' though, or even perhaps made a fool of themselves on the dance floor which is well, Good & Bad, Maybe though if those last 8 tables had gotten something more to eat than the amuse bouche, (sorbet) and a dinner roll, they would have danced a bit more appropriately. Perhaps you can just edit that dirty part out.
I Sure am glad he is loaded though.
Sorry I'd missed the golf game two days prior, at his swank country-club -- But that was Thursday, and I had to work. The rest of the guys seemed happy, although nobody really remembers where they went after., So I don't really think it was (well) "m-e-m-o-r-a-b-l-e" -- They said they had fun, I mean... between discussion's of their fantasy teams and blow jobs they'd believed they were owed... That said, I would watch out for that Matt guy though, because even a few days after the so called "Golf Outing" his color was not so good. Compared with the rest of the other 'Sigma-Something' guy's with ruby-red sunburn. I just thought he looked a bit pale and weak. John did mention that he wasn't one of the "Original Pledges"; So there is that. ANYWAYS, Hoping he is feeling able to walk much better now.
For the cost of my new "wedding" outfit, I could likely have had dinner at the French Laundry, then flown business-class to have my dry-cleaning done in actual Paris France.
I do think that overall everyone got 'good and wasted' though, or even perhaps made a fool of themselves on the dance floor which is well, Good & Bad, Maybe though if those last 8 tables had gotten something more to eat than the amuse bouche, (sorbet) and a dinner roll, they would have danced a bit more appropriately. Perhaps you can just edit that dirty part out.
I would say though that for the cost of a new outfit, air-fare, & Hotel, a gift off your registry at Neiman's, Brunch, Dinner, Taco-Bell, and a round of golf I couldn't make it to... I could likely have flown to dinner at the French Laundry, then flown business-class to have my dry-cleaning done in actual Paris, with something to spare to enjoy your "signature cocktail" pool-side in Tulum. I could even bring my own special cups.
Just the same, I think it was a huuuge success, and you and he will be really great together when you recover.
Anyways, Happy Halloween.
Just the same, I think it was a huuuge success, and you and he will be really great together when you recover.
Anyways, Happy Halloween.
- Published on
Crashing is a full-time job. This is a quick 'crash-course' on being a cool human... People often discuss the moment just before the pain sets-in, as a sort of disassociated bliss -- Wherefor we briefly believe that (perhaps) we may actually (luckily) come out of this event un-scathed. Alas, then... that pink-white scrape oozes and we know immediately that recovery may take days or even weeks.
Break out the peroxide little bunny because we have some brave work ahead.
Bunny-hopping a trash-can, jumping a home-made ramp over a few kids laying like logs below; Taking a sip from the bidon right before striking a pot-hole, or doing a no-hander over crooked pavement... this is that moment. Congratulations! Your commitment is real. You are a bad-ass. And... Really what could go wrong?
What comes next is that "Out-Of-Body" reflection inward at one's whereabouts, taking quick inventory as to the direction of one's limbs, their placement & their attachment, or not.
Pain comes in many forms; The first being that wholly unmanageable style.
Break out the peroxide little bunny because we have some brave work ahead.
Bunny-hopping a trash-can, jumping a home-made ramp over a few kids laying like logs below; Taking a sip from the bidon right before striking a pot-hole, or doing a no-hander over crooked pavement... this is that moment. Congratulations! Your commitment is real. You are a bad-ass. And... Really what could go wrong?
What comes next is that "Out-Of-Body" reflection inward at one's whereabouts, taking quick inventory as to the direction of one's limbs, their placement & their attachment, or not.
Pain comes in many forms; The first being that wholly unmanageable style.
Kip and Napoleon Are Ruling The World Today And Every Day, Because They Do Dumb Shit.
Pain comes in many forms; The first being that wholly unmanageable style which cuts consciousness to black as veiled protection buffers us from trauma. The Next is a buzzing dimmer ramping up the brightness steadily -- Normally, this is when we wish for a Do-Over, and discover the slow dread of not being quite right.
The basic 'Skinned-Knee' or 'Ankle sprain', is a casual reminder to practice more; Whereas a deeper cut and inevitable "stitches" emphasize one's need for real improvement -- [Whispering to himself], "Just as soon as this one heals up, we golden ones will be back at it!" Because you may be a swiper, But you are also a fucking do'er -- The envy every fuck-tard.
Remember that Tattoos are for posers without the scars of a life well lived, and you are not 'that guy'..., are you?
Youth is full of spooky moments, but crashing is just barely below that knife's edge of a life well lived.
Falling from ones bike is merely self-coaching through a process as primal as any other scary mystery. Where we work though an unfamiliar haze. Here we generally cannot recall the moment where it all went sideways. Assuming the crash was the sovereign cause of only the person crashing -- then physical and mental improvement is imminent. Glancing around for scape-goats is the devils hand, which most often guides a far darker path. This also delays recovery. Failing at any new mysterious thing is enough to discourage humans from even trying again. Fumbling darkly with someone else's zipper for example is just as frightening for the un-initiated, but perhaps a bit less hazardous, than dropping into a Half-Pipe. Youth is full of spooky moments, but crashing is just barely below that knife's edge of a life well lived. Good stories almost never blossom from a puritanical path. Whereas bad outcomes strike everyone regularly our risk is actually The Thing. Fear of failure for any Skater, BMX'er, Cyclist, or Parcourse is one thing, but fear of injury is what keeps other amateurs safely sidelined spectating. This goes a long way to explaining that safe-space called golf. Even for someone who is totally into that game, a fucking great story in a golf cart will only happen where a gator was involved. So it goes that pulling off a back-side-ollie-rail-slide is NOT for side-lined pussy's. Resolve is one's desire to prove only to one-self that one is capable. And of course it's OK to give-up, give-in, cave, flame-out, and fail... But only you, can grant that permission. If, However you give up without a re-try, then you have blown it twice.
The basic 'Skinned-Knee' or 'Ankle sprain', is a casual reminder to practice more; Whereas a deeper cut and inevitable "stitches" emphasize one's need for real improvement -- [Whispering to himself], "Just as soon as this one heals up, we golden ones will be back at it!" Because you may be a swiper, But you are also a fucking do'er -- The envy every fuck-tard.
Remember that Tattoos are for posers without the scars of a life well lived, and you are not 'that guy'..., are you?
Youth is full of spooky moments, but crashing is just barely below that knife's edge of a life well lived.
Falling from ones bike is merely self-coaching through a process as primal as any other scary mystery. Where we work though an unfamiliar haze. Here we generally cannot recall the moment where it all went sideways. Assuming the crash was the sovereign cause of only the person crashing -- then physical and mental improvement is imminent. Glancing around for scape-goats is the devils hand, which most often guides a far darker path. This also delays recovery. Failing at any new mysterious thing is enough to discourage humans from even trying again. Fumbling darkly with someone else's zipper for example is just as frightening for the un-initiated, but perhaps a bit less hazardous, than dropping into a Half-Pipe. Youth is full of spooky moments, but crashing is just barely below that knife's edge of a life well lived. Good stories almost never blossom from a puritanical path. Whereas bad outcomes strike everyone regularly our risk is actually The Thing. Fear of failure for any Skater, BMX'er, Cyclist, or Parcourse is one thing, but fear of injury is what keeps other amateurs safely sidelined spectating. This goes a long way to explaining that safe-space called golf. Even for someone who is totally into that game, a fucking great story in a golf cart will only happen where a gator was involved. So it goes that pulling off a back-side-ollie-rail-slide is NOT for side-lined pussy's. Resolve is one's desire to prove only to one-self that one is capable. And of course it's OK to give-up, give-in, cave, flame-out, and fail... But only you, can grant that permission. If, However you give up without a re-try, then you have blown it twice.
Yours Fucking Truly Before the Jump.
Golf is bowling for wealthy strokes & environmental saboteurs.
By the time a person hits Twenty-five, they should already know that either:
[A] Their limits, (or)
[B] To concede they are a pussy.
In Bowling as in Golf (which is simply bowling for wealthy strokes & environmental saboteurs) The release of the ball is the last moment where one can effectively control or correct it's behavior... Yet one tends to lean, and contort their body to correct for angle, yaw, and trajectory, (which we all know is foolish). This squirmy feeling is remarkable, but seldom if ever has a treacherous side-effect. (except as distraction for scoring). The squirm only works on a skateboard (anyway).
I remember trying to hit a sweet jump at age 11 with far too much speed and too little confidence, and then launching ahead of my own landing gear, to crash epically upon warm alley pavement. I recall the smell of the trash-cans, and the taste of iron, and blood, and gravel. So it goes that after hopeful recovery, a kid needs to get the fuck back to work -- Get back to the business of sticking that landing. [If the Bike still works; My fork broke below the bottom headset race].
But you could say that commitment is the moment just before you either pull it off, or the pain sets in.
Well before there were deep pits filled with foam balls, doubled-up mattresses, or even trampolines -- The reward system, was a bit jacked, because on the other side of some quantum partition lay a negative operant where strong gravity and crash-landings, betray success. Finesse is the con-job in that film-noir called the Character-Builder. They say "Commit"! -- And commitment means different things to different kids. But you could say that commitment is the moment just before you either pull it off, or the pain sets in.
Bikes are basically pretty reliable in as much as, at velocity one can stay upright over some rather gnarly shit, just so long as a kid doesn't fucking panic. Panic literally always leads to bad outcomes. So what about Luck?
Symphorophiliac? Maybe, Skater?... NO!... OF COURSE NOT -- That Dweeb Golfs.
Luck is actually the amalgam of emotional precedent which can (like a force-field) counter the forces of both gravity, and of doubt.
This works because, on the other side of the equation are sheep and failure; And failing is bogus -- Not to mention super-duper un-sexy.
Luck (while certainly not a sound strategy), is a force which predetermines predictably positive outcomes because it carries a frequency which squelches out nagging doubt, or reluctant reticence, and nay-sayers. That Jagoff Elon Musk, Steve Jobs, and certainly Shawn White, wield luck as a force. They are NOT (necessarily) better at anything at all, but for convincing. They have convinced both themselves and others that they are expert at everything, which let's face it -- that shit works. Mostly, This works because, on the other side of the equation are sheep, and failure, and failing is bogus -- Not to mention super-duper un-sexy. Protecting against wholly inadequate doubtfulness is Luck pulling you up from the pavement to try again. Doubt and Luck are not opposites, but Doubt nearly never manifests in the soul of the lucky creatures. I once pulled a hand-stand at speed down the beach hill on my free-style deck, and inadvertently dragged a knuckle which acted like a roller-skate stopper removing some part of my nail, and finger, before I toppled to gouge my hip down the hill for a spell. There was that white removal of summer bronze, just before the trickle of warm red. The Crash taught me literally nothing, except that a Skate-board was intended to be operated with feet, safely inside shitty converse all-stars, and NOT with hands.
So in effect their LUCK is a bit of a "Con-Job"... After which point the money is ponied-up by onlookers.
Watching a squirl jump a 15 foot gap of trees over a highway, should prove the rule. But even that lucky fucker, and their unlucky friend flattened below, know the wisdom of taking baby steps before the big leap -- And or luck. The modern industrialist merely needs to convince onlookers, that they are quite lucky, and if nothing else confident. So in effect their LUCK is a bit of a "Con-Job". After that point the money is ponied-up by onlookers, so they have no tangible down-sides. What's important about sticking the landing, and of crashing (as proven by Thrasher Magazine), and any ass-wipe on the web, is that you only have to nail it a few more times than you crash to be venerated. Staying in the black column is: 50% Luck, 50% Confidence, and 50% Magic. Bad decisions sprinkled with luck, make for the best stories, and crashing is part of that education.
Crash with confidence, but try something new today. Here... Let me help you.
This works because, on the other side of the equation are sheep and failure; And failing is bogus -- Not to mention super-duper un-sexy.
Luck (while certainly not a sound strategy), is a force which predetermines predictably positive outcomes because it carries a frequency which squelches out nagging doubt, or reluctant reticence, and nay-sayers. That Jagoff Elon Musk, Steve Jobs, and certainly Shawn White, wield luck as a force. They are NOT (necessarily) better at anything at all, but for convincing. They have convinced both themselves and others that they are expert at everything, which let's face it -- that shit works. Mostly, This works because, on the other side of the equation are sheep, and failure, and failing is bogus -- Not to mention super-duper un-sexy. Protecting against wholly inadequate doubtfulness is Luck pulling you up from the pavement to try again. Doubt and Luck are not opposites, but Doubt nearly never manifests in the soul of the lucky creatures. I once pulled a hand-stand at speed down the beach hill on my free-style deck, and inadvertently dragged a knuckle which acted like a roller-skate stopper removing some part of my nail, and finger, before I toppled to gouge my hip down the hill for a spell. There was that white removal of summer bronze, just before the trickle of warm red. The Crash taught me literally nothing, except that a Skate-board was intended to be operated with feet, safely inside shitty converse all-stars, and NOT with hands.
So in effect their LUCK is a bit of a "Con-Job"... After which point the money is ponied-up by onlookers.
Watching a squirl jump a 15 foot gap of trees over a highway, should prove the rule. But even that lucky fucker, and their unlucky friend flattened below, know the wisdom of taking baby steps before the big leap -- And or luck. The modern industrialist merely needs to convince onlookers, that they are quite lucky, and if nothing else confident. So in effect their LUCK is a bit of a "Con-Job". After that point the money is ponied-up by onlookers, so they have no tangible down-sides. What's important about sticking the landing, and of crashing (as proven by Thrasher Magazine), and any ass-wipe on the web, is that you only have to nail it a few more times than you crash to be venerated. Staying in the black column is: 50% Luck, 50% Confidence, and 50% Magic. Bad decisions sprinkled with luck, make for the best stories, and crashing is part of that education.
Crash with confidence, but try something new today. Here... Let me help you.
- Published on
I would, -- But I'm watching the Season Finale of the United States that weekend...
Sometimes, all I can hear is this sustained hissing sound... An extended effects reel of some 80's soda ad.; where constant fizzy bubbles tinkle like champagne against the top of my scull. Foamy white-noise filling my consciousness, drowns my space-suit pajamas with a soothing hiss. Here I lay still, mute, noise-cancelled -- Beneath the covers, under the influence [of] CBD, synthetic melatonin, and Red Bordeaux. It would seem that every damn evening I tediously coax myself to sleep bewitched with terror, for the future. In this drugged space-time of my mute dread, I realize that when I was a kid, none of this shit mattered whatsoever. Yet, it's really tough to get back to that place. Nothingness is [was] Bliss.
Today, I feel nothing for our future, it will not, (does not), belong to me. My numb angst, panning the room by kindle-light, a cold glow casting shadows upon daily detritus, dirty dishes, or dead or dying plants. My glowing inanimate still-life lay about a shadowy room, exquisite corpses cutely curled, petrified chalky Pompeii figures asleep -- While I am awake. We are all waiting to fall asleep. We have all been waiting to fall asleep for some time now. We would fall asleep at the wheel far faster, and once we have trashed this place we'll vanish from our shitty baby-sitting jobs, leaving the next gen to clean up the mess and fend.
Maturity dreams of itself poolside... in some idyllic Conde' Nast construct. But your maturity has actually gone 'Golfing' on some public course, leaving the kids home alone. Those in charge DNGAF about the Future, because they will be dead soon. Golf Carts are re-fitted with ramps, wide-screens, Fox-News, A.C.. and Wi-Fi, while drivers re-write comfort into climate policy. Uninterested geezers have "Gone fishing"; or some equally slow-paced sport... whilst a half dozen Hot-Pockets thaw on the countertop, "the kids are alright", right? In this house salty packets of heart disease soften, because elderly adults run the country, and APPs run the microwave. Cooking, is a skill like cursive writing, or dancing, which is now as dead as the term Hip-Hop. Nobody needs a microwave, because like the stove, or the oven before it... making stuff is a dead craft, a relic, a thing for machines. Today the Kids order their lunches using the blue glow of Door-Dash, and only immigrants need to know where it comes from, or how to operate the radar-range. In the twilight of my dystopian dreamscape, A refugee gig-slave arrives by e-bike with someone's lunch, tapping an android phone to the deadbolt, kitchen cans illuminate, and they unload a poly plate of reheated Hot-Pockets onto a spartan countertop, along with a smoothie, and an iced-latte some-such. Kiddies push Daddy's card to "Make Lunch", but even the tap is gone, as numbers simply exchange transparently through the ether, incognito.
"What's the weather like?" "Here, let me check..." Again, perhaps a blue sky day -- is what my phone says. But there is no need to open the front door. Ancient technology such as the Mail-slot are being re-installed to facilitate meal delivery. The Tray slides through the bars and it's back to the screen we go.
An argument for how the slippery slope toward Autocracy in western democracies may begin may actually start with over-parenting. This seems ludicrous on the surface but when we cede not just our power and independence to our parents to control every outcome, and every calorie, and we want decisions made for us, which we later choose not to vote against -- We create a marriage of convenience. When Protests become campfire parties, and we are complicit in the face of rising fascism -- mostly out of laziness, and comfort -- then it is simple to connect the dots to a culture shift from democracy toward an autocracy.
Disbelievers have 'Gone to the Mega-Church' for redemption, re-education, a charity car wash, a marital affair, or whatever... Grown-ups are leaving the children alone by the pool secured with water wings, a tablet and a debit card. In these our diminished "united states" everyone is a baby now. (again)... The same adults who used to espouse maturity as a life-goal; (tutoring the maths, coaching cocky kids, and such) -- They are all fresh out of maturity. And so today, we coast..., We are all coasting, pretending to be children, [again.] An amphetamine symphony of self-care, malt-liquor disguised as diet seltzer, popping pills, poking syringes, a bit of filler here, and a tuck there. The hiss is a chorus of diet remedies, & injectables, easing pharma into a lazy bloodstream with a small prick. The pricks keep getting smaller, and the squeeze more unfeeling, while homeward-bound gen-Z babies fashion their celebrity status with an A.I. makeover. If one doesn't actually interact with other humans, they don't have to look good in-person. So we pour money into our profiles. We are "at play", in a constant state of mediocre mid-life melt-down. 'Linked-in' masquerades as an HR professional, Glass Door as the exit interview. Here, the adults fizzle... Hisssssss.... Slowly burning petulant fuel. Concerts become Rallies, drum beats use gun stocks, and the refrain repeats Marjorie's tantrums silo by silo. Media trades un-truth as currency. A newly possessed Veruca Salt, or whomever else may have lost their shit today, setting the expectation of another childish rant quite unconvincingly. But you 'follow' her.
A Few Truths:
I will not be revered nor well-remembered, despite what anyone may eulogize.
I will not leave a symphony behind.
I will not write the greatest novel of our our time.
I will not medal at the Olympics.
I will not medal at the Ozempics (either).
I will not be elected to public office.
I will not invent a brilliant new gadget.
I will not Sign Copies of my first album on record store day.
I will not drive a fancy fucking Tesla.
I will not bake the best Pot Brownies of all time.
I have always been mediocre.
I will die un-remarkably.
And everyone is far less remarkable than their Linked-In states.
I have zero desire to normalize the Gen-blah solution for aging gracefully, by ignoring the problem. Mid-rifts spilling over to celebrate a second muffin at the virtual work meeting. There are no kids splashing about in these fountains of Youth. Refusing to grow up wont avert an aging calamity. We paint over the wet spot until the ceiling caves-in. Ignoring our gentle slope will not change it's angle nor the creases it leaves. We are all sliding down together. The only tangible feeling left is that of gravity's pull. There is no Fountain, No lifeguard. The Pools have all closed, Hunch-backs sun themselves by the blue screen shimmer. Parents pop a few gummies and continue their medicated descent down life's "Wet Banana". Baptizing mediocrity into a splash pool shaped not unlike a giant solo cup. In my dream, The asylum has been breached like a levy -- a poetry of paper cups filled with potions, pills, and party-goers descend into dark water fully clothed, and we drown in the spout of mediocrity.
"Night Swimming" plays softly, but the guitar part is all wrong. A dobro perhaps? The vocal has a reverb tremelo effect from some space-age country pop-star. Dystopia is a misappropriated 90's anthem, plagiarized, and sung by someone unworthy with a twang. Country Music and Jeeps push the narrative nostalgia of a simpler time and place, where we connected with our emotions, and with nature... But that script is a lie.
I'm almost there, nearly sleeping, and then a phone flashes, offering me news of another shooting, or discordant Trumpian fugue. Then, something not so fresh surfaces, about appealing to Gen-Blah for Votes... "They love me", he says, and "The Blacks Too" Of course they do! -- So much so that they'll stay at home come election day.
51 percent of the electorate actively normalize fascism, or sits silently while petulant children run amok. Indulged kiddies will drown in their consumption, so long as daddie's NASDAQ hovers positively above them, and their elderly parents will keep them quiet with a green straw in their mouth and a Mastercard. Hisssss... It is an exhausted exhale -- a last breath before we fall sleep forever. My sister says she can't come for the funeral if it's during College Football season... The screen goes blank, and I leave no reply.
I awaken at a concert where I can't watch the band over a thousand glowing screens capturing peta-bytes of footage which nobody will ever watch again. Annoying adult children forced to a concert with Mommy and Daddy, and they don't know any of the songs. They can't even fake it, much as I'd done at Church years ago. They annoy people watching the show, but parents think they are lovely... and clever ...And you are so failing them. More likely until someone actually says something to you, you'd have thought that your kid was "adorbs!" but you now feel the laser-death-glare of everyone else, who'd seem to indicate otherwise. Yes, You, and your participation medals, and lattes, and your nine-year-old's loaded debit card, would seem to indicate a smidge of failure. Your pseudo-celebrity kid-smog sugar-coats a massive fail. Because they are ushering in Autocracy, You have failed, and so now you munch free-trade pistachios, slurp diet hard-seltzer, and deflect onerous glares by the slapped face glow of your facial peel. It's time... The Black Yukon is waiting. Climb aboard before the encore, and weave home, before bed-time, and you can struggle just like me. Baby Sitting is exhausting. Baby Sitting through the age of 23, 28, 31... Is a trade which used to be staffed by minors, but now is the perpetual chore of Mid-life Parents who'd indulged that "Gap Year', and their kid's "Beer Pong Patio Party", instead of kicking them out. and cutting them off at the right moment.
Don't bring them along, it's embarrassing, and harmful.
I'm tossing now in my covers now, eyes moving faster, heartrate up. I'm frightened for the future. The future is asleep.
"If you need a helping hand -- I'm totally happy to smack your kid for you", I say aloud. [did I say that out loud?]
In fact, I'll help with the kids for free, if you need a romantic evening out. But I can only help when you face the fact that you, and they are old enough to know better, and nobody can question my methods.
I wake up sweating with the urge to pee.
Faced with middle-class mid-life mediocrity, most make a choice to be numb, dumb, and boring, because being beige is simply easier. But... Saying dumb-shit like, "everything is fine", to normalize bad behavior, or turning a cheek to fascism is why nobody can sleep tonight. You are so exhaustingly lifeless that your fucking blood runs beige. Some even patch-up their sinking ships with tattoos. Sure thing sign up for Kick-boxing, and Jiu Jitsu, decorate a full sleeve with fantasies of your toughness, while the dough rises. Many of us sans le sexy fait accompli of relevance will rage against our own blase' machine. Today, many of our friends are behaving like coked teenagers, and we are complicit. The perfect "Con" is not to make everyone bend to one's will, nor to float within the bubble of one's invented self-care truths... But in convincing oneself and others day in and day out that one doesn't completely suck.
As we age, we have to settle into a few humbling "Adult Facts":
1. We are all pretty fucking average -- Yep, even you.
2. Past accomplishments (best left un-quoted), are tedious dinner party conversation.
3. If the cute neighbor seems to be hitting on you, Then you are plainly delusional.
4. If the cute neighbor's dog bites your hand, refer to "3".
5. You may never look as good or feel as well as you do today, so stop with the pity antics.
6. Yes you can rock that outfit, as long as (A). you totally own it, <and> (B). It fits your form.
7. Do NOT pretend to be a Sommelier, if you are serving cheddar and brie with that Cab.
8. Same with Cigars, Sports-Cars, Wrist-Watches & Tattoos.
[These are tacky, Always have been.]
9. Just stop with words like Cognoscente, and Touch-Base, that's fucking lame-splaining
10. Don't ask your server for ketchup; Find a decent restaurant or enjoy your McDonalds.
10.5. The long answer is almost always a lie.
11. Your Shrink is more fucked-up than you are, but just barely and was way more reluctant to show up today than you were, [Were it not for their student loans, they'd be seeing their shrink today too].
My news-feed sent me an article today, with a fetchy title like:
"Are young adults failing to launch today?" Hmm... I wonder?
They are the future, or so they were supposed to be, but they took a queue from you -- and you couldn't even medal at the '24 Ozempics. Instead you got a bronze in "worst role model ever". Now the battle royale for the future (not our future) but theirs seems to be between those "Kids" who are confident that they are always right, but who are completely checked-out of inheriting the earth -- and the "Adults" who know they were never really right about stuff, but gave-up trying long ago, and covered their trail with tattoos. Unfortunately Nobody has yet made the perfect ironic T-shirt to wear to this party.
The End of the World is here, and it's General Admission.
Limited Mobility predicted a post boomer gold rush for Berkshire-Hathaway to buy up all of the Hospice, and cremation facilities, and to later partition every tennis court, doubling real-estate into two equal halves. While reducing our effort, we've also increased our portion sizes, so a full Tennis Court and fast moving ball has been replaced by Slow Ping-Pong, and Corn-Hole. Basically sports that can be played with a beer in one hand. Pickle Ball is where good marriages go to die. The general trend toward making sure everyone medals, and so that things are just plain easier is taught today in dystopia 101. The smart money is now on venues with more chairs, because the General Admission standing space is just too much fucking work for both adults and kids alike. Dancing only occurs in barns.
So-what, if your beverage portions go up inverse to your output. Lazy old men run the country. Maintaining the "greatest generation" year over year is the big con. The Old Folks don't belong in this new world, but they are still running shit. Being Old is a status symbol like a well edged lawn, useless, but expected for some reason. Grass is the last vestige of wasteful 50's nostalgia. Mowers and blowers buzz, shadowed beneath bellies shrouded by an Ironic concert Tee.
So what!, you heard of them first..? [Did you now?] You own a record player, but never play it, because, "It is a lot of fucking effort, man.," Yes!... The Young adults display their beige bellies; curly love-handled quotations around their being wholly un-remarkable. Nothing new here. I have friends who, if it meant a sure-fire VIP ticket to heaven, and an afterlife of piney IPA's could not pass the final exam, TO ROLL A JOINT (properly). So who is the loser? WHO IS FAILING? Those who have truly lived, may be unremarkable, but they know it, and that set of aches and pains from doing stuff are totally different, than the ones we feign from desk chairs.
ANDWHOTHEFUCKCARES?
There is a mixed crowd at every Music-Fest, where trendy elders bump walkers with literal babes. Kids wear ironic concert T's prefaded in Pakistan for Target, accompanied with shredded cut-off's, MUFFIN TOPS DOUSED IN GLITTER... While the so-called Adults bid real dinero for pre-owned "authentic T-shirts" to prove that they (actually) heard of them first. I realize that the Plop-Plop and the Fizz-Fizz, tonight is perhaps the twilight of my sleepy discontentment ending. My hissing stupor fading into a drool-worthy dreamscape, where people still gave a fuck. Twin fizzy biscuits fractured & melting bed-side into a piss-warm cup of effervescent hiss. Everyone has their own sizzle... My personal sizzle sound, all but imperceptible, sounds a bit like the ringing of ancient lawn implements, or perhaps ringing damage from that '88 Husker Du show. Or perhaps simply the concentrated anguish of every defeated sob and cry ever uttered by under-developed adults reflecting off the stratosphere and returning to earth as soft pissing rain... In a sense you could say that at least their sobs have finally left the building. Launching the precipitation of my defeat as an adult. The collective inhale before an extended sigh of our entire planet's last gasp. "We the people", washing our hands of the scum of our forebears, and scraping their left-overs into the compost. The trouble with longevity is that the adults get to live long enough to witness that whatever they'd been taught and later espoused is for shit, and to see the wreckage. We linger far longer, than our expiry date, and the system is now stacked to favor the meek, and the autocrats who run shit.
Sometimes, all I can hear is this sustained hissing sound... An extended effects reel of some 80's soda ad.; where constant fizzy bubbles tinkle like champagne against the top of my scull. Foamy white-noise filling my consciousness, drowns my space-suit pajamas with a soothing hiss. Here I lay still, mute, noise-cancelled -- Beneath the covers, under the influence [of] CBD, synthetic melatonin, and Red Bordeaux. It would seem that every damn evening I tediously coax myself to sleep bewitched with terror, for the future. In this drugged space-time of my mute dread, I realize that when I was a kid, none of this shit mattered whatsoever. Yet, it's really tough to get back to that place. Nothingness is [was] Bliss.
Today, I feel nothing for our future, it will not, (does not), belong to me. My numb angst, panning the room by kindle-light, a cold glow casting shadows upon daily detritus, dirty dishes, or dead or dying plants. My glowing inanimate still-life lay about a shadowy room, exquisite corpses cutely curled, petrified chalky Pompeii figures asleep -- While I am awake. We are all waiting to fall asleep. We have all been waiting to fall asleep for some time now. We would fall asleep at the wheel far faster, and once we have trashed this place we'll vanish from our shitty baby-sitting jobs, leaving the next gen to clean up the mess and fend.
Maturity dreams of itself poolside... in some idyllic Conde' Nast construct. But your maturity has actually gone 'Golfing' on some public course, leaving the kids home alone. Those in charge DNGAF about the Future, because they will be dead soon. Golf Carts are re-fitted with ramps, wide-screens, Fox-News, A.C.. and Wi-Fi, while drivers re-write comfort into climate policy. Uninterested geezers have "Gone fishing"; or some equally slow-paced sport... whilst a half dozen Hot-Pockets thaw on the countertop, "the kids are alright", right? In this house salty packets of heart disease soften, because elderly adults run the country, and APPs run the microwave. Cooking, is a skill like cursive writing, or dancing, which is now as dead as the term Hip-Hop. Nobody needs a microwave, because like the stove, or the oven before it... making stuff is a dead craft, a relic, a thing for machines. Today the Kids order their lunches using the blue glow of Door-Dash, and only immigrants need to know where it comes from, or how to operate the radar-range. In the twilight of my dystopian dreamscape, A refugee gig-slave arrives by e-bike with someone's lunch, tapping an android phone to the deadbolt, kitchen cans illuminate, and they unload a poly plate of reheated Hot-Pockets onto a spartan countertop, along with a smoothie, and an iced-latte some-such. Kiddies push Daddy's card to "Make Lunch", but even the tap is gone, as numbers simply exchange transparently through the ether, incognito.
"What's the weather like?" "Here, let me check..." Again, perhaps a blue sky day -- is what my phone says. But there is no need to open the front door. Ancient technology such as the Mail-slot are being re-installed to facilitate meal delivery. The Tray slides through the bars and it's back to the screen we go.
An argument for how the slippery slope toward Autocracy in western democracies may begin may actually start with over-parenting. This seems ludicrous on the surface but when we cede not just our power and independence to our parents to control every outcome, and every calorie, and we want decisions made for us, which we later choose not to vote against -- We create a marriage of convenience. When Protests become campfire parties, and we are complicit in the face of rising fascism -- mostly out of laziness, and comfort -- then it is simple to connect the dots to a culture shift from democracy toward an autocracy.
Disbelievers have 'Gone to the Mega-Church' for redemption, re-education, a charity car wash, a marital affair, or whatever... Grown-ups are leaving the children alone by the pool secured with water wings, a tablet and a debit card. In these our diminished "united states" everyone is a baby now. (again)... The same adults who used to espouse maturity as a life-goal; (tutoring the maths, coaching cocky kids, and such) -- They are all fresh out of maturity. And so today, we coast..., We are all coasting, pretending to be children, [again.] An amphetamine symphony of self-care, malt-liquor disguised as diet seltzer, popping pills, poking syringes, a bit of filler here, and a tuck there. The hiss is a chorus of diet remedies, & injectables, easing pharma into a lazy bloodstream with a small prick. The pricks keep getting smaller, and the squeeze more unfeeling, while homeward-bound gen-Z babies fashion their celebrity status with an A.I. makeover. If one doesn't actually interact with other humans, they don't have to look good in-person. So we pour money into our profiles. We are "at play", in a constant state of mediocre mid-life melt-down. 'Linked-in' masquerades as an HR professional, Glass Door as the exit interview. Here, the adults fizzle... Hisssssss.... Slowly burning petulant fuel. Concerts become Rallies, drum beats use gun stocks, and the refrain repeats Marjorie's tantrums silo by silo. Media trades un-truth as currency. A newly possessed Veruca Salt, or whomever else may have lost their shit today, setting the expectation of another childish rant quite unconvincingly. But you 'follow' her.
A Few Truths:
I will not be revered nor well-remembered, despite what anyone may eulogize.
I will not leave a symphony behind.
I will not write the greatest novel of our our time.
I will not medal at the Olympics.
I will not medal at the Ozempics (either).
I will not be elected to public office.
I will not invent a brilliant new gadget.
I will not Sign Copies of my first album on record store day.
I will not drive a fancy fucking Tesla.
I will not bake the best Pot Brownies of all time.
I have always been mediocre.
I will die un-remarkably.
And everyone is far less remarkable than their Linked-In states.
I have zero desire to normalize the Gen-blah solution for aging gracefully, by ignoring the problem. Mid-rifts spilling over to celebrate a second muffin at the virtual work meeting. There are no kids splashing about in these fountains of Youth. Refusing to grow up wont avert an aging calamity. We paint over the wet spot until the ceiling caves-in. Ignoring our gentle slope will not change it's angle nor the creases it leaves. We are all sliding down together. The only tangible feeling left is that of gravity's pull. There is no Fountain, No lifeguard. The Pools have all closed, Hunch-backs sun themselves by the blue screen shimmer. Parents pop a few gummies and continue their medicated descent down life's "Wet Banana". Baptizing mediocrity into a splash pool shaped not unlike a giant solo cup. In my dream, The asylum has been breached like a levy -- a poetry of paper cups filled with potions, pills, and party-goers descend into dark water fully clothed, and we drown in the spout of mediocrity.
"Night Swimming" plays softly, but the guitar part is all wrong. A dobro perhaps? The vocal has a reverb tremelo effect from some space-age country pop-star. Dystopia is a misappropriated 90's anthem, plagiarized, and sung by someone unworthy with a twang. Country Music and Jeeps push the narrative nostalgia of a simpler time and place, where we connected with our emotions, and with nature... But that script is a lie.
I'm almost there, nearly sleeping, and then a phone flashes, offering me news of another shooting, or discordant Trumpian fugue. Then, something not so fresh surfaces, about appealing to Gen-Blah for Votes... "They love me", he says, and "The Blacks Too" Of course they do! -- So much so that they'll stay at home come election day.
51 percent of the electorate actively normalize fascism, or sits silently while petulant children run amok. Indulged kiddies will drown in their consumption, so long as daddie's NASDAQ hovers positively above them, and their elderly parents will keep them quiet with a green straw in their mouth and a Mastercard. Hisssss... It is an exhausted exhale -- a last breath before we fall sleep forever. My sister says she can't come for the funeral if it's during College Football season... The screen goes blank, and I leave no reply.
I awaken at a concert where I can't watch the band over a thousand glowing screens capturing peta-bytes of footage which nobody will ever watch again. Annoying adult children forced to a concert with Mommy and Daddy, and they don't know any of the songs. They can't even fake it, much as I'd done at Church years ago. They annoy people watching the show, but parents think they are lovely... and clever ...And you are so failing them. More likely until someone actually says something to you, you'd have thought that your kid was "adorbs!" but you now feel the laser-death-glare of everyone else, who'd seem to indicate otherwise. Yes, You, and your participation medals, and lattes, and your nine-year-old's loaded debit card, would seem to indicate a smidge of failure. Your pseudo-celebrity kid-smog sugar-coats a massive fail. Because they are ushering in Autocracy, You have failed, and so now you munch free-trade pistachios, slurp diet hard-seltzer, and deflect onerous glares by the slapped face glow of your facial peel. It's time... The Black Yukon is waiting. Climb aboard before the encore, and weave home, before bed-time, and you can struggle just like me. Baby Sitting is exhausting. Baby Sitting through the age of 23, 28, 31... Is a trade which used to be staffed by minors, but now is the perpetual chore of Mid-life Parents who'd indulged that "Gap Year', and their kid's "Beer Pong Patio Party", instead of kicking them out. and cutting them off at the right moment.
Don't bring them along, it's embarrassing, and harmful.
I'm tossing now in my covers now, eyes moving faster, heartrate up. I'm frightened for the future. The future is asleep.
"If you need a helping hand -- I'm totally happy to smack your kid for you", I say aloud. [did I say that out loud?]
In fact, I'll help with the kids for free, if you need a romantic evening out. But I can only help when you face the fact that you, and they are old enough to know better, and nobody can question my methods.
I wake up sweating with the urge to pee.
Faced with middle-class mid-life mediocrity, most make a choice to be numb, dumb, and boring, because being beige is simply easier. But... Saying dumb-shit like, "everything is fine", to normalize bad behavior, or turning a cheek to fascism is why nobody can sleep tonight. You are so exhaustingly lifeless that your fucking blood runs beige. Some even patch-up their sinking ships with tattoos. Sure thing sign up for Kick-boxing, and Jiu Jitsu, decorate a full sleeve with fantasies of your toughness, while the dough rises. Many of us sans le sexy fait accompli of relevance will rage against our own blase' machine. Today, many of our friends are behaving like coked teenagers, and we are complicit. The perfect "Con" is not to make everyone bend to one's will, nor to float within the bubble of one's invented self-care truths... But in convincing oneself and others day in and day out that one doesn't completely suck.
As we age, we have to settle into a few humbling "Adult Facts":
1. We are all pretty fucking average -- Yep, even you.
2. Past accomplishments (best left un-quoted), are tedious dinner party conversation.
3. If the cute neighbor seems to be hitting on you, Then you are plainly delusional.
4. If the cute neighbor's dog bites your hand, refer to "3".
5. You may never look as good or feel as well as you do today, so stop with the pity antics.
6. Yes you can rock that outfit, as long as (A). you totally own it, <and> (B). It fits your form.
7. Do NOT pretend to be a Sommelier, if you are serving cheddar and brie with that Cab.
8. Same with Cigars, Sports-Cars, Wrist-Watches & Tattoos.
[These are tacky, Always have been.]
9. Just stop with words like Cognoscente, and Touch-Base, that's fucking lame-splaining
10. Don't ask your server for ketchup; Find a decent restaurant or enjoy your McDonalds.
10.5. The long answer is almost always a lie.
11. Your Shrink is more fucked-up than you are, but just barely and was way more reluctant to show up today than you were, [Were it not for their student loans, they'd be seeing their shrink today too].
My news-feed sent me an article today, with a fetchy title like:
"Are young adults failing to launch today?" Hmm... I wonder?
They are the future, or so they were supposed to be, but they took a queue from you -- and you couldn't even medal at the '24 Ozempics. Instead you got a bronze in "worst role model ever". Now the battle royale for the future (not our future) but theirs seems to be between those "Kids" who are confident that they are always right, but who are completely checked-out of inheriting the earth -- and the "Adults" who know they were never really right about stuff, but gave-up trying long ago, and covered their trail with tattoos. Unfortunately Nobody has yet made the perfect ironic T-shirt to wear to this party.
The End of the World is here, and it's General Admission.
Limited Mobility predicted a post boomer gold rush for Berkshire-Hathaway to buy up all of the Hospice, and cremation facilities, and to later partition every tennis court, doubling real-estate into two equal halves. While reducing our effort, we've also increased our portion sizes, so a full Tennis Court and fast moving ball has been replaced by Slow Ping-Pong, and Corn-Hole. Basically sports that can be played with a beer in one hand. Pickle Ball is where good marriages go to die. The general trend toward making sure everyone medals, and so that things are just plain easier is taught today in dystopia 101. The smart money is now on venues with more chairs, because the General Admission standing space is just too much fucking work for both adults and kids alike. Dancing only occurs in barns.
So-what, if your beverage portions go up inverse to your output. Lazy old men run the country. Maintaining the "greatest generation" year over year is the big con. The Old Folks don't belong in this new world, but they are still running shit. Being Old is a status symbol like a well edged lawn, useless, but expected for some reason. Grass is the last vestige of wasteful 50's nostalgia. Mowers and blowers buzz, shadowed beneath bellies shrouded by an Ironic concert Tee.
So what!, you heard of them first..? [Did you now?] You own a record player, but never play it, because, "It is a lot of fucking effort, man.," Yes!... The Young adults display their beige bellies; curly love-handled quotations around their being wholly un-remarkable. Nothing new here. I have friends who, if it meant a sure-fire VIP ticket to heaven, and an afterlife of piney IPA's could not pass the final exam, TO ROLL A JOINT (properly). So who is the loser? WHO IS FAILING? Those who have truly lived, may be unremarkable, but they know it, and that set of aches and pains from doing stuff are totally different, than the ones we feign from desk chairs.
ANDWHOTHEFUCKCARES?
There is a mixed crowd at every Music-Fest, where trendy elders bump walkers with literal babes. Kids wear ironic concert T's prefaded in Pakistan for Target, accompanied with shredded cut-off's, MUFFIN TOPS DOUSED IN GLITTER... While the so-called Adults bid real dinero for pre-owned "authentic T-shirts" to prove that they (actually) heard of them first. I realize that the Plop-Plop and the Fizz-Fizz, tonight is perhaps the twilight of my sleepy discontentment ending. My hissing stupor fading into a drool-worthy dreamscape, where people still gave a fuck. Twin fizzy biscuits fractured & melting bed-side into a piss-warm cup of effervescent hiss. Everyone has their own sizzle... My personal sizzle sound, all but imperceptible, sounds a bit like the ringing of ancient lawn implements, or perhaps ringing damage from that '88 Husker Du show. Or perhaps simply the concentrated anguish of every defeated sob and cry ever uttered by under-developed adults reflecting off the stratosphere and returning to earth as soft pissing rain... In a sense you could say that at least their sobs have finally left the building. Launching the precipitation of my defeat as an adult. The collective inhale before an extended sigh of our entire planet's last gasp. "We the people", washing our hands of the scum of our forebears, and scraping their left-overs into the compost. The trouble with longevity is that the adults get to live long enough to witness that whatever they'd been taught and later espoused is for shit, and to see the wreckage. We linger far longer, than our expiry date, and the system is now stacked to favor the meek, and the autocrats who run shit.
Should old fuckers simply stay home in their jammies sitting on their hands? Perhaps go Golfing, fly-fishing..., and stay the fuck out of the fight they lost back in the 60's. Shall we call the game, the disco, and certainly that sexy beach club off-limits to anyone over 55-60? The thing that keeps me up tonight is NOT whether we'd be better off if the old fuck-wits went Golfing and left the kids to root through their closet... but if the same Kids found something dangerous there, would they even know how to use it? Will the kiddies (who won't vote) try at all to fly the plane. If good-ol'-grand-dad packed a chute, and pulled his rip-cord, who remains to show the kids how to operate that microwave drawer as the plane falls out of the sky.
Being an old fucker, affirms that the truth cuts deeply -- So, how does The West shift from, "Here, let me get that for you..." to "...Not giving a fuck what they get into tonight"? ...To total Autocracy? By ambivalence?
Baby-Sitting may not be a compound word, or even hyphenated, but it used to be a place where one was judged for one's confidence game. The Baby-sitter was basically an older kid, who hadn't been caught yet. Giving kids a fair chance, means letting them fuck up. Allowing some to fail, flame-out, and float is to educate. In a few years the worst Con-Man of all time will no longer be baby-sitting his constituents and it's impossible to imagine another one this bad being coronated within the next generation. But because everyone is basically a marshmallow now, a fitting finale may be to roast. What happens then when the confidence shifts to someone competent, or in the least, less reprehensible? A Woman, who would exude enough confidence, to bend the will of the people to move on. Like Obama, who exuded common sense, and has yet to be caught doing something really bad... A good baby-sitter for this menagerie of glass animals is any cogent adult who will smack your children for you if you lack the confidence.
Being an old fucker, affirms that the truth cuts deeply -- So, how does The West shift from, "Here, let me get that for you..." to "...Not giving a fuck what they get into tonight"? ...To total Autocracy? By ambivalence?
Baby-Sitting may not be a compound word, or even hyphenated, but it used to be a place where one was judged for one's confidence game. The Baby-sitter was basically an older kid, who hadn't been caught yet. Giving kids a fair chance, means letting them fuck up. Allowing some to fail, flame-out, and float is to educate. In a few years the worst Con-Man of all time will no longer be baby-sitting his constituents and it's impossible to imagine another one this bad being coronated within the next generation. But because everyone is basically a marshmallow now, a fitting finale may be to roast. What happens then when the confidence shifts to someone competent, or in the least, less reprehensible? A Woman, who would exude enough confidence, to bend the will of the people to move on. Like Obama, who exuded common sense, and has yet to be caught doing something really bad... A good baby-sitter for this menagerie of glass animals is any cogent adult who will smack your children for you if you lack the confidence.
