There you have it, the crux of my inner confusion. See, when you aren’t sure of the basic premise, reasoning further only leads to suspect conclusions.
Frequently I find myself in the most unusual circumstances, given the actual effort expended and likelihood of of such things. They tend to be horizon broadening and fun, and way beyond my pay grade, yet somehow quite natural. It baffles me.
Another possibility is the alien theory; either that I’m an alien who just landed here, or that they abduct me whenever the want which is plenty.
Maybe it is just a matter of contrasts. Extreme contrasts in life can make the new seem suspect, like it was just a figment of imagination. Maybe that is why I had the unpleasant cop adventure when my car was trashed–just to demonstrate how positive most interactions actually have been since I launched the Tour. Whatever the case, it is a mindblowing adventure. The styles of life, people, places and thinking I’ve stumbled into here in CA do tend to amaze me. All that serves to make me wonder how I could have ever been so darkly secluded in Memphis.
It has to be the contrast at work. I start to think that I’m not used to the socializing and respect, but given the course of the last year, it is becoming more the rule than exception. That doesn’t stop it from being surprising every time a new and unusual, horizon broadening twist of fate presents itself.
No matter how it is viewed, I still don’t get it. Although, much of it is what I consciously asked for on some level. Only I did not know exactly what it would be like in reality. How can you know what you don’t know but hope to experience?
So, it was another one of those weekends. Extraordinary. Maybe it is good I don’t have the pattern and stability I sometimes crave, or lament. It allows for enough flexibility to experience things that broaden my view of life and its possibilities. Whatever the truth, it appears that my outlook on a lot has definitely undergone some changes. I’m glad of that.
At least I was able to keep my word, which involved a frying pan. The details are unimportant, except that some non stick pans look like plain metal, but they aren’t. That can lead one to damage the coating, resulting in God only knows what.
Another area of living, I did not do as well with, but that will work out. Still, there is a degree of honor involved, and that’s what needs to be considered. Health, and nervousness, and any number of other factors could play a role, but the part about maintaining the integrity, keeping the word, that is most important.
It would take very little to convince me I’ve landed on a new planet. I hope this doesn’t mean I’m merely nuts.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Thursday, August 20, 2009
snap out of it
All things good going on and I'm wanting to fight ghosts. That is no good.
Can't say something reasonable and positive then don't say anything. I caught myself feeding the wrong things and that is not smart. I cannot afford that luxury.
So another hour and half sleep and then I'll make an early early day of it. This has been a peculiar day.
Maybe she's right about the influence of sunspots. Something is amiss and I'll be glad to put this day behind me. It was too peculiar and nothing went as planned.
Can't say something reasonable and positive then don't say anything. I caught myself feeding the wrong things and that is not smart. I cannot afford that luxury.
So another hour and half sleep and then I'll make an early early day of it. This has been a peculiar day.
Maybe she's right about the influence of sunspots. Something is amiss and I'll be glad to put this day behind me. It was too peculiar and nothing went as planned.
The Age of Defectors
I'm not really that old, but I do realize there are huge numbers of people in this country who aren't old enough to recall the days when athletes, entertainers and pilots would seek political asylum in the USA. There were many from the USSR, and from Cuba. Just about all the communist regimes which had people locked in were greatly annoyed when citizens would escape, seeking freedom.
It has come full circle. This is no longer a place sought out on principle. It is becoming more difficult for us to leave the country now. We are slowly being locked in ourselves. In the name of security, if you want to travel abroad you are opening yourself up to a type of scrutiny which has nothing to do with whether you are a spy or a plane wrecker.
Immigrants don't stream across the border seeking freedom, dignity or because they believe in the sanctity of the individual. They come because they can get paid. They get more stuff for less work here. It is all money and often public services. How they get it does not matter. If the taxpayer covers it, fine, if it just means good jobs, fine. That is not political asylum. The main people who'd be after that are people like me, and there is nowhere that has the same guarantees against a heavy handed government we were supposed to have. It is not there.
How hard can it really be to trace almost every major problem back to government involvement, corruption, or program? It has never made sense as we watched one thing after another go from problem created by over reaching government to solution offered by even further over reaching.
If I knew of a place in the world that wasn't some insane feudal state, I'd go there. I have not found any place that sounds any freer over all. Some are free in ways we aren't but then they make up for it some other way. The least oppressive are impossible as far as relocating. Probably be a disappointment.
It just struck me that political asylum is probably a dead concept. We've got a lot of rather dim people in this country who would not know the difference if we suddenly found ourselves officially under a dictator. That leaves it wide open to any group in power who has the finesse to pull it off. All they have to do is grease the right skids. And they are.
It has come full circle. This is no longer a place sought out on principle. It is becoming more difficult for us to leave the country now. We are slowly being locked in ourselves. In the name of security, if you want to travel abroad you are opening yourself up to a type of scrutiny which has nothing to do with whether you are a spy or a plane wrecker.
Immigrants don't stream across the border seeking freedom, dignity or because they believe in the sanctity of the individual. They come because they can get paid. They get more stuff for less work here. It is all money and often public services. How they get it does not matter. If the taxpayer covers it, fine, if it just means good jobs, fine. That is not political asylum. The main people who'd be after that are people like me, and there is nowhere that has the same guarantees against a heavy handed government we were supposed to have. It is not there.
How hard can it really be to trace almost every major problem back to government involvement, corruption, or program? It has never made sense as we watched one thing after another go from problem created by over reaching government to solution offered by even further over reaching.
If I knew of a place in the world that wasn't some insane feudal state, I'd go there. I have not found any place that sounds any freer over all. Some are free in ways we aren't but then they make up for it some other way. The least oppressive are impossible as far as relocating. Probably be a disappointment.
It just struck me that political asylum is probably a dead concept. We've got a lot of rather dim people in this country who would not know the difference if we suddenly found ourselves officially under a dictator. That leaves it wide open to any group in power who has the finesse to pull it off. All they have to do is grease the right skids. And they are.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Reactively Nuts
This would be a good description if I wasn't me but I was my shrink making notes. That is because it is easy to react as if a certain scenario is in action, even though it may or may not be. If strong evidence to the contrary is not present then visions of how repulsed others must be by my general way of being fill my mind.
At that point the decision to shut down, avoid, hide, and shroud myself in various forms of incommunicado is made. I'll leave the phone at home, the computer off, and generally be hard to find should anyone try. Most of the time no one even knows I've done that because they have something else to do besides track me down or call. So, when I return to no messages, notes, letters, etc., the foolishness and probable immaturity of my thought patterns become evident.
From there I reverse the plan, decide to be man and not mouse, be strong and get over it. What is it, I wonder. The old, "screw it" philosophy enters in. Back to the drawing board. Start with what I can control. Other people are not in that group of things. My own thoughts and attitudes for the most part are.
How could anyone be repulsed, anyway? I'm not that pushy, dirty, or otherwise difficult, I don't think. Maybe my aversion to, and distrust of, authority troubles some people. Or my desire to avoid people who lie, cheat, and/or steal. Of course, I could see how my weak frontal lobe activity would be a bit problematic at times. It has certainly plagued me and become tiring at times. I have to really make effort in order to filter what comes forth. Usually I can manage that.
When I compare myself to successful guys my age who are well integrated into the culture and our civilization, the contrast feels a bit stark. I'm not sure most of them are any more fun and I know that there are things I wouldn't change in order to be more like them, even if I could. However, there are things that separate us which I wistfully envy, for want of a better word. Good for them, they did it right. The only cure is to think in terms of now on, even though what the best path is now remains a mystery. The template is not so clear after a point. Maybe it never was.
The last year or so was predicated upon a single goal which may have been part of a larger goal; change everything and go search for home. I don't know if I am home but it is much closer than it was. Only so much dreariness is possible now. The acceptable level of isolation and self loathing has reduced dramatically.
Therefore, the level of half baked reaction based on what I imagine, but do not know, has necessarily reduced in intensity and duration as well. The entire key in my case is to have nerve and belief, and refuse to fall into overwhelming self doubt. That has been a lesson I've found hard to learn and put to work most of my life. It comes and goes. That is where the knowledge that thoughts can be controlled and directed is an essential tool of survival.
-----
Off the subject: shame on Switzerland for agreeing to provide the IRS with any private banking info. The real crime is the IRS itself. People around the world used to admire freedom, and now we are leading the way on the road to viewing it as somehow evil. That sucks.
Back to life. It was a temptation to discuss the many initiatives which influence private lives that are elementally wrong. I've heard some very elitist analysis of people who aren't on the bandwagon lately and it is born of as much ignorance as they attribute to the other.
-------
House cleaning has proceeded at light speed. Go faster than light and time goes backwards. Clearly, my description is stated in the most optimistic sounding terms.
I found my lost glasses again while on my way to a job many miles away to look for them. That saved a bit of travel.
At that point the decision to shut down, avoid, hide, and shroud myself in various forms of incommunicado is made. I'll leave the phone at home, the computer off, and generally be hard to find should anyone try. Most of the time no one even knows I've done that because they have something else to do besides track me down or call. So, when I return to no messages, notes, letters, etc., the foolishness and probable immaturity of my thought patterns become evident.
From there I reverse the plan, decide to be man and not mouse, be strong and get over it. What is it, I wonder. The old, "screw it" philosophy enters in. Back to the drawing board. Start with what I can control. Other people are not in that group of things. My own thoughts and attitudes for the most part are.
How could anyone be repulsed, anyway? I'm not that pushy, dirty, or otherwise difficult, I don't think. Maybe my aversion to, and distrust of, authority troubles some people. Or my desire to avoid people who lie, cheat, and/or steal. Of course, I could see how my weak frontal lobe activity would be a bit problematic at times. It has certainly plagued me and become tiring at times. I have to really make effort in order to filter what comes forth. Usually I can manage that.
When I compare myself to successful guys my age who are well integrated into the culture and our civilization, the contrast feels a bit stark. I'm not sure most of them are any more fun and I know that there are things I wouldn't change in order to be more like them, even if I could. However, there are things that separate us which I wistfully envy, for want of a better word. Good for them, they did it right. The only cure is to think in terms of now on, even though what the best path is now remains a mystery. The template is not so clear after a point. Maybe it never was.
The last year or so was predicated upon a single goal which may have been part of a larger goal; change everything and go search for home. I don't know if I am home but it is much closer than it was. Only so much dreariness is possible now. The acceptable level of isolation and self loathing has reduced dramatically.
Therefore, the level of half baked reaction based on what I imagine, but do not know, has necessarily reduced in intensity and duration as well. The entire key in my case is to have nerve and belief, and refuse to fall into overwhelming self doubt. That has been a lesson I've found hard to learn and put to work most of my life. It comes and goes. That is where the knowledge that thoughts can be controlled and directed is an essential tool of survival.
-----
Off the subject: shame on Switzerland for agreeing to provide the IRS with any private banking info. The real crime is the IRS itself. People around the world used to admire freedom, and now we are leading the way on the road to viewing it as somehow evil. That sucks.
Back to life. It was a temptation to discuss the many initiatives which influence private lives that are elementally wrong. I've heard some very elitist analysis of people who aren't on the bandwagon lately and it is born of as much ignorance as they attribute to the other.
-------
House cleaning has proceeded at light speed. Go faster than light and time goes backwards. Clearly, my description is stated in the most optimistic sounding terms.
I found my lost glasses again while on my way to a job many miles away to look for them. That saved a bit of travel.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Dumb as a Post
That could have many meanings in this venue.
I'm not sure if it is dimwittedness or uncertainty generated fear that causes some of my better moments; those semi catatonic instances when I am totally blank and dull, yet odd word combos are sent into the world from my vocal cords anyway.
For example--forget it, I won't detail the latest. Suffice to say a discussion of lawn mowers and weather stripping was about the last thing that made any sense in the context.
I have to write to get it out of my system. I'm timing the work day so that I have time to do what I need to do and don't get home until dark. That's the way of it. Why I am so clouded over, I am not sure. Apparently it is how this organism is wired.
I'm testing the pros and cons of a 3 day beard. Pros---it is simpler than shaving. Cons---being mostly gray, I look like the corner wino. Pro--looking like the corner wino, it wouldn't seem out of place to hit people up for a dollar outside the convenience store, or at intersections.
Conclusion---I better shave it off. Besides, when I had a non gray beard, as much fun as it can be, I missed being able to feel my face.
Pulling myself out of the fog, especially in search of enthusiasm and love of life, is an imperative, even if it is not easy. Why being fogged over and half asleep for no reason brings the spirits down, I'm not sure. It does, and it can lead to depression if I don't actively push through it. I downed a bunch of vitamins and some OJ, as well as some java. That seems to be helping.
This damned fog thing has haunted me on and off most of my adult life. There was even a time when people were seriously studying the thing. It goes a bit beyond the normal fatigue and muddiness of normal existence. Don't tell that to the arm chair neurologists I've known through the years. "Everyone feels like that". Good thing I didn't consult them that time I woke up with pneumonia. I wonder at people who are sure how everyone feels and thinks when it comes to matters which seriously impair the lives of others. They don't know.
Every time this comes over me, I notice my resentment of those I've stupidly tried to advise of the condition seems to surface. There is no simple way to frame it and I guess I only do it so they don't think it is a matter of like or dislike or an affront to be taken personally. I've discovered it is better to avoid people or just let them take things personally because the alternative always results in me thinking they think I am weak, which I probably am not.
I want to somehow not have those resentments any more. For one thing, it does nothing toward dissolving the fog, and for another, resentments are bad for your health; physical, mental, and spiritual. Better to seek to understand than to be understood. That is absolutely a key toward not being bummed out all the time. I don't even understand myself, how can I want or expect it from others? Accepted may be a different story. I'd like acceptance, even though I probably accept myself less than is prudent.
That almost covers things enough that I can clearly move forward with the day. The main thing that I think is rolling through my subconscious is the idea that I get tired of being alone but fear not being alone, even though that is really stupid. It is only when I am alone that such forces are at play. Not something to even consider purposely. Let it roll through, observe, and resist forming an opinion or fueling it one way or the other.
Where am I going to put all this stuff? There is too much to put under the bed and much of it won't fit anyway.
I've got to find a way to rent the movie Cadillac Records. I saw the beginning and it is killer. All about Chess Records, Muddy Waters and Little Walter. LW is often considered the best blues harp player ever, and he was only 17 when he got hooked up with Muddy. Just from what I saw, I could tell the music in the flick is stellar, and the cast superb.
Another time I may relay the events which led me to the discovery of the flick. It was one of those peculiar days in my life which lead me to cross paths with people in unexpected ways.
I'm not sure if it is dimwittedness or uncertainty generated fear that causes some of my better moments; those semi catatonic instances when I am totally blank and dull, yet odd word combos are sent into the world from my vocal cords anyway.
For example--forget it, I won't detail the latest. Suffice to say a discussion of lawn mowers and weather stripping was about the last thing that made any sense in the context.
I have to write to get it out of my system. I'm timing the work day so that I have time to do what I need to do and don't get home until dark. That's the way of it. Why I am so clouded over, I am not sure. Apparently it is how this organism is wired.
I'm testing the pros and cons of a 3 day beard. Pros---it is simpler than shaving. Cons---being mostly gray, I look like the corner wino. Pro--looking like the corner wino, it wouldn't seem out of place to hit people up for a dollar outside the convenience store, or at intersections.
Conclusion---I better shave it off. Besides, when I had a non gray beard, as much fun as it can be, I missed being able to feel my face.
Pulling myself out of the fog, especially in search of enthusiasm and love of life, is an imperative, even if it is not easy. Why being fogged over and half asleep for no reason brings the spirits down, I'm not sure. It does, and it can lead to depression if I don't actively push through it. I downed a bunch of vitamins and some OJ, as well as some java. That seems to be helping.
This damned fog thing has haunted me on and off most of my adult life. There was even a time when people were seriously studying the thing. It goes a bit beyond the normal fatigue and muddiness of normal existence. Don't tell that to the arm chair neurologists I've known through the years. "Everyone feels like that". Good thing I didn't consult them that time I woke up with pneumonia. I wonder at people who are sure how everyone feels and thinks when it comes to matters which seriously impair the lives of others. They don't know.
Every time this comes over me, I notice my resentment of those I've stupidly tried to advise of the condition seems to surface. There is no simple way to frame it and I guess I only do it so they don't think it is a matter of like or dislike or an affront to be taken personally. I've discovered it is better to avoid people or just let them take things personally because the alternative always results in me thinking they think I am weak, which I probably am not.
I want to somehow not have those resentments any more. For one thing, it does nothing toward dissolving the fog, and for another, resentments are bad for your health; physical, mental, and spiritual. Better to seek to understand than to be understood. That is absolutely a key toward not being bummed out all the time. I don't even understand myself, how can I want or expect it from others? Accepted may be a different story. I'd like acceptance, even though I probably accept myself less than is prudent.
That almost covers things enough that I can clearly move forward with the day. The main thing that I think is rolling through my subconscious is the idea that I get tired of being alone but fear not being alone, even though that is really stupid. It is only when I am alone that such forces are at play. Not something to even consider purposely. Let it roll through, observe, and resist forming an opinion or fueling it one way or the other.
Where am I going to put all this stuff? There is too much to put under the bed and much of it won't fit anyway.
I've got to find a way to rent the movie Cadillac Records. I saw the beginning and it is killer. All about Chess Records, Muddy Waters and Little Walter. LW is often considered the best blues harp player ever, and he was only 17 when he got hooked up with Muddy. Just from what I saw, I could tell the music in the flick is stellar, and the cast superb.
Another time I may relay the events which led me to the discovery of the flick. It was one of those peculiar days in my life which lead me to cross paths with people in unexpected ways.
You Think I'm Strange? What about FOOD?
That's right, I find the whole food thing stranger than anything. Before I go into in depth analysis, let me give you an example of how sneaky food can be.
OK. So, I left my friends' house in the perfect part of the city this morning, with a belly full of vegetable juice--too many different ones to name; lots of green ones--and a cup of my favorite coffee; Cafe Pajaro. Parrot coffee from Trader Joe's. (just one more aside here: I would understand completely if a person relocated simply to be in close proximity to Trader Joe's. There were none near Memphis)
Continuing now, I had to be at job O in order to tour the forensic construction guy through the kitchen and explain what happened and when--long story, but it takes a tech with lots of gadgets to detect what needs detecting because the worst of it is not visible any more.
I also had to let the sound guy in to deal with the fried receiver/amp. What were they doing? King O and his conc. manage to fry a perfectly good sound system, and twist off a fancy, English made door knob--on the entrance door. I saw no blood so that rules out one scenario.
Back on point. I was having a great time discussing infra red cameras and their use for determining things in the building. All the while I was thinking of sneakier more blatantly voyeuristic possibilities, but I kept that to myself. Just thinking such things may be a grievous offense punishable in some unpleasant way. Mostly I was not too hungry, however I was thinking I need breakfast food when I get home, but I had none on hand.
I get home in the nick of time to eat a few tortillas with cheese, then bounce up the dirt road to practice with the band. They always have the best snacks. I felt like a cretin but I ate most of the snacks by myself. Real hunger was setting in and I'm trying to encourage my appetite. People I know well have been calling me names and making fun of my thinisity.
After playing I headed out to get a few breakfast food items. I can eat breakfast more readily than anything else, no matter the time of day. My hunger center was calling for some hash browns, eggs and other things like that. The potato chips were unrelated. They were on sale and sometimes I get to jonesing for them.
By the time I made it home, I had no appetite or desire for food whatsoever. Logical thought told me I probably needed to put food in the body even if I had to force feed myself. No hunger at all. I figured a few relatively empty calories might be better than nothing. I can almost always eat a few chips. So I did.
Then I was hungry again. As I was writing this I had stuff cooking in the frying pan (where else?), with the big steel bowl inverted over it to form a high tech oven of some kind. It fits that frying pan just right. Now I am eating breakfast.
That shows how sneaky food can be. All these odd things that we get excited about, almost in the Biblical sense, and we just shove it in like it is better than dope. All it does is fuel the organism. Nothing more than what coal would be to a steam engine. You don't see the old locomotives oohing and ahhing and having orgasmic reactions at the thought of coal. People and food, now we do see some action there.
Mammals in particular, but animals in general, are suckers for food. You can train them using little morsels of this or that. Do not try it with crocodiles, alligators or bears, because they are all evil and associate you with the food so if they see you without it, all they know is to eat, then you become dinner.
For such docile innocent looking stuff food has an extraordinary amount of control over living things. I believe it thinks and conspires. We are its slaves.
Awareness of this may be increasing in the collective unconscious or somewhere. That is why chefs are more and more gaining the status of rock stars. We revere those who dare to go behind enemy lines and boldly manipulate with such abandon and style. Very gutsy people, and possibly our only hope.
OK. So, I left my friends' house in the perfect part of the city this morning, with a belly full of vegetable juice--too many different ones to name; lots of green ones--and a cup of my favorite coffee; Cafe Pajaro. Parrot coffee from Trader Joe's. (just one more aside here: I would understand completely if a person relocated simply to be in close proximity to Trader Joe's. There were none near Memphis)
Continuing now, I had to be at job O in order to tour the forensic construction guy through the kitchen and explain what happened and when--long story, but it takes a tech with lots of gadgets to detect what needs detecting because the worst of it is not visible any more.
I also had to let the sound guy in to deal with the fried receiver/amp. What were they doing? King O and his conc. manage to fry a perfectly good sound system, and twist off a fancy, English made door knob--on the entrance door. I saw no blood so that rules out one scenario.
Back on point. I was having a great time discussing infra red cameras and their use for determining things in the building. All the while I was thinking of sneakier more blatantly voyeuristic possibilities, but I kept that to myself. Just thinking such things may be a grievous offense punishable in some unpleasant way. Mostly I was not too hungry, however I was thinking I need breakfast food when I get home, but I had none on hand.
I get home in the nick of time to eat a few tortillas with cheese, then bounce up the dirt road to practice with the band. They always have the best snacks. I felt like a cretin but I ate most of the snacks by myself. Real hunger was setting in and I'm trying to encourage my appetite. People I know well have been calling me names and making fun of my thinisity.
After playing I headed out to get a few breakfast food items. I can eat breakfast more readily than anything else, no matter the time of day. My hunger center was calling for some hash browns, eggs and other things like that. The potato chips were unrelated. They were on sale and sometimes I get to jonesing for them.
By the time I made it home, I had no appetite or desire for food whatsoever. Logical thought told me I probably needed to put food in the body even if I had to force feed myself. No hunger at all. I figured a few relatively empty calories might be better than nothing. I can almost always eat a few chips. So I did.
Then I was hungry again. As I was writing this I had stuff cooking in the frying pan (where else?), with the big steel bowl inverted over it to form a high tech oven of some kind. It fits that frying pan just right. Now I am eating breakfast.
That shows how sneaky food can be. All these odd things that we get excited about, almost in the Biblical sense, and we just shove it in like it is better than dope. All it does is fuel the organism. Nothing more than what coal would be to a steam engine. You don't see the old locomotives oohing and ahhing and having orgasmic reactions at the thought of coal. People and food, now we do see some action there.
Mammals in particular, but animals in general, are suckers for food. You can train them using little morsels of this or that. Do not try it with crocodiles, alligators or bears, because they are all evil and associate you with the food so if they see you without it, all they know is to eat, then you become dinner.
For such docile innocent looking stuff food has an extraordinary amount of control over living things. I believe it thinks and conspires. We are its slaves.
Awareness of this may be increasing in the collective unconscious or somewhere. That is why chefs are more and more gaining the status of rock stars. We revere those who dare to go behind enemy lines and boldly manipulate with such abandon and style. Very gutsy people, and possibly our only hope.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
The Big Crunch
Alright. Today is almost Monday and I am at an undisclosed location, spitting distance from the Pacific in one of the less hectic areas of the city. I do this a lot because, I don't know, it works out like that. Hospitable friends that are like family.
So, I have to be at rendezvous O in the resort type place where I can swim when the day is over. One of the perks of the job. I have to say, I very much like working there. I have no explanation for it except that it may involve something to do with beauty, freedom, and who knows what. It is not a status job, but who can even define my job? I can't. I be me and piddle around with things and make things better when I see the need and it is agreed. Usually, people agree.
OK. I have to be there tomorrow because there are other subs coming in to fix the broken thing that God only knows how the King and his concubine manage to break it. He is gone now and no telling when he or members of his court will return. Good thing about kings is that they often have enough money to keep people like me going, and they don't quibble. That is why I fear this talk coming from truly greedy rich people like Kennedy and Obama and others regarding "the rich" as if they are bad. Dammit, we are all better off if the rich stay rich or get richer. They spend that stuff like crazy.
The trouble is, I have only until Thursday to get my ballistic bachelor pad clean and sparkling. It is only one gigantic room, which is not that gigantic. Even so, you'd be surprised how many hours of thought meditation and despondency can go into a job like that, l;et alone the time it takes to actually perform the task. I'd say a month is barely adequate.
The problem was made a little worse when the blue car bit the dust. It was heavily loaded, I now realize, with tools, buckets full of secret teak techno things, and numerous heavy drop cloths and tarps. I heart heavy cotton canvas drop cloths.
Now my house is full of all those things, boxes, etc., plus dust dirt, blood stains I probably missed as I walked around bleeding on the floor and did not know it for awhile. A lot of it has glass bits from the wreck. Every time I move something I find bits of glass from my dearly departed car that was my favorite car of all time. Even more favorite than the '69 Datsun 1600 roadster which transported me from life in Florida to a new world in North Carolina. One should not love things. But a good car that suits you is a pleasure.
Oh boy, clean the stupid house and I have never cleaned the windows or blinds. I should do it because they may have accumulated some dust, considering that dust is the number one element in those hills. Then I have to think about washing clothes.
The lengths to which a crazy guy will go, just so a possible visitor doesn't think he is the slacker he is, well it is something. I'm just glad I actually give a damn. I'd shut off a part of myself for so long, I was almost worried. Not that worried. Not as worried as the thought of cleaning house makes me.
I'll probably get it done on Thursday, then Friday I will have a clear conscience. Due to the nature of things, no telling if the visiting dignitary will even get out there. I'll be the chauffeur so I guess kidnapping is an option. Another adventure.
When you think about it, things are good. I have a house to clean up, a visiting dignitary who just might want to go there and check out my didgeridoo, and I have no idea how the visit will unfold anyway due to all the myriad of factors. That is often the case with VIPs. Probably better, in my case, not to have advance notice of a set itinerary. That sort of structure would really make me nervous.
I'm almost official. All I'm waiting for is Ahnold to mail me my regular driver's license. In the mean time, I am driving on a paper that is temporary something or other. When it arrives I'll start calling everyone "Dude" and become very concerned about the earth and people smoking in public parks and such.
So, I have to be at rendezvous O in the resort type place where I can swim when the day is over. One of the perks of the job. I have to say, I very much like working there. I have no explanation for it except that it may involve something to do with beauty, freedom, and who knows what. It is not a status job, but who can even define my job? I can't. I be me and piddle around with things and make things better when I see the need and it is agreed. Usually, people agree.
OK. I have to be there tomorrow because there are other subs coming in to fix the broken thing that God only knows how the King and his concubine manage to break it. He is gone now and no telling when he or members of his court will return. Good thing about kings is that they often have enough money to keep people like me going, and they don't quibble. That is why I fear this talk coming from truly greedy rich people like Kennedy and Obama and others regarding "the rich" as if they are bad. Dammit, we are all better off if the rich stay rich or get richer. They spend that stuff like crazy.
The trouble is, I have only until Thursday to get my ballistic bachelor pad clean and sparkling. It is only one gigantic room, which is not that gigantic. Even so, you'd be surprised how many hours of thought meditation and despondency can go into a job like that, l;et alone the time it takes to actually perform the task. I'd say a month is barely adequate.
The problem was made a little worse when the blue car bit the dust. It was heavily loaded, I now realize, with tools, buckets full of secret teak techno things, and numerous heavy drop cloths and tarps. I heart heavy cotton canvas drop cloths.
Now my house is full of all those things, boxes, etc., plus dust dirt, blood stains I probably missed as I walked around bleeding on the floor and did not know it for awhile. A lot of it has glass bits from the wreck. Every time I move something I find bits of glass from my dearly departed car that was my favorite car of all time. Even more favorite than the '69 Datsun 1600 roadster which transported me from life in Florida to a new world in North Carolina. One should not love things. But a good car that suits you is a pleasure.
Oh boy, clean the stupid house and I have never cleaned the windows or blinds. I should do it because they may have accumulated some dust, considering that dust is the number one element in those hills. Then I have to think about washing clothes.
The lengths to which a crazy guy will go, just so a possible visitor doesn't think he is the slacker he is, well it is something. I'm just glad I actually give a damn. I'd shut off a part of myself for so long, I was almost worried. Not that worried. Not as worried as the thought of cleaning house makes me.
I'll probably get it done on Thursday, then Friday I will have a clear conscience. Due to the nature of things, no telling if the visiting dignitary will even get out there. I'll be the chauffeur so I guess kidnapping is an option. Another adventure.
When you think about it, things are good. I have a house to clean up, a visiting dignitary who just might want to go there and check out my didgeridoo, and I have no idea how the visit will unfold anyway due to all the myriad of factors. That is often the case with VIPs. Probably better, in my case, not to have advance notice of a set itinerary. That sort of structure would really make me nervous.
I'm almost official. All I'm waiting for is Ahnold to mail me my regular driver's license. In the mean time, I am driving on a paper that is temporary something or other. When it arrives I'll start calling everyone "Dude" and become very concerned about the earth and people smoking in public parks and such.
Change I can Believe In; at the Crossroads
Nothing any thug politician can promise, other than staying out of my life and everyone else's, could possibly qualify. Change I can believe in has to do with things internal as well as my attitude toward, and manifestation of, things external. It is not what others do but how I respond inside and out. That came to mind because some things that have happened lately would have consumed me more in the past. El Cajon Highway Patrol lying would be one of those. I'll go on with life, and simultaneously deal with the matter, rather than being eaten up by it night and day, as I dream of lightening striking them repeatedly. Or worse, much worse. I've got better stuff to fill my dreams.
Other things come to mind as well. I try to keep in mind that much younger people haven't had some of the experience and opportunity for repetitive trial and error, or just error and error, that I have. Forgetting the road along the way to the point that you can't empathize or comprehend the obsession with the stupid, self defeating, and unimportant which plagues most people from about age 10 to maybe 46.5, on average, is something I try not to do.
Since the truth of me is actually an expreme exaggeration of such misguidedness for a great many years, even beyond age 46.5, I feel it a matter of integrity and compassion to understand and appreciate others who have some shred of the idiocy I had at their age. Not to say I was an idiot in all ways, I was not. However that little disclaimer does bring me to the point that accepting the truth and allowing others to discover for themselves, somehow is tied to self esteem.
Highly controlling people have a curious insecurity I think; a tenuous hold, at best, on positive self image. Either that or they honestly think in ways only sociopaths, and government officials think.
Elitism, in that sense-- the sense we see unfolding in cities, states, the UN and in DC---actually could be argued as a form of sociopathy. If you believe you know best for the little unimportant masses, and that it is your job to control and dictate who sacrifices what and when, then you are obviously oblivious to the pain of those people, and have no remorse resulting from causing them harm.
That is because an elitist does not view all mankind as having equal right to make their own decisions within the framework of not screwing up the rights of others. Therefore, the masses aren't real people like, say Nancy Pelosi, but useful idiots whose existence is best described as a privilege granted by their betters.
You may think this has nothing to do with compassionate understanding when observing young punk kids trying to find life after public school, destructive TV, and the stupid wrong opinions and theories of their friends. I think it has everything to do with it.
To recognize the natural evolution life allows one if he is lucky is one thing. But to also have the gift of being aware of the larger forces at play and the changes they have brought in our lives, as well as the extreme influence they've had on the world view of younger people, paints a rather clearer picture. It s hard to fault someone for not knowing things when they've been lied to about those things or had no exposure at all.
Whether crimes against children have really gone up exponentially since the fifties and sixties, I do not know. I do know the actual freedom and autonomy of children has decreased exponentially since then. Of course, in some areas, young kids do drugs, so what the hell. I would still argue that the laws, programs and police priorities tend to promote that sort of thing when it could have and should have been squashed early on.
No, it was (and is) easier to just scream "DRUGS", and spend the seventies arresting potheads who didn't bother with kids or guns or anything else. Another case of left and right working hand in hand.
The left promoted demeaning programs to create lifelong dependence and ignore reality, and insisted a slimeball's actions were everyone else's fault, and the right went gung ho, happy for an arrest, even if the real problems were being ignored, and the real bad elements left to grow.
Just like now. Everyone is told who to view as the enemy, and the dumbasses are buying it. And the 20 year olds and even 30 year olds have no concept what it was like before free speech became the extremely dangerous exercise it is becoming. Unless they had a rare teacher along the way, they probably have no clue what it really means, or what the term "rights" actually means. Hell most of the people of all ages are clueless about that, but the baby boomers on up have no excuse but their own weak integrity.
Whatever goes on in that realm, I do have sympathy for kids who worry that their choice of the moment is somehow forever, or who wonder what it is they should be doing. The lucky ones see the path and just stick to it. Maybe it takes both types for the world to turn. The less certain probably have wilder dreams and when they are lucky, their nerve and faith are up to the task of chasing the dream in earnest. That situation is not confined to any age bracket.
That's the good thing about dreams, time is nothing, and no one, yet, can say you are not allowed to dream if you are a certain age. Never too young, and never too old. Most dreamers don't dream of health care, I'm betting. They just don't, unless they are in need or need a cure as yet undiscovered. It takes a dreamer to find the cure, and most cures are found by people who never had the disease.
Something about that which I don't think most people get. That's why I bring these things up.
And because I want to keep saying this country has undergone a coup while I can still do so without being arrested. It has and it started long ago, but no question about it, Obama has taken it to a new level; he and his gang behind the scenes. The man is as owned as anyone prior. Just the way it is.
It takes a special kind of person to so happily fill that role. It is one of the enduring themes of literature; the deal with the devil, selling one's soul, or personal integrity, for glory, vanity, riches, etc. Happens every day. Only time it worked out well for the rest of us was when Robert Johnson got his musical mojo at the Crossroads. I've been to that very spot, and not so far from midnight, either. Since the specific spot is mildly debated, I tried to find all the possible ones. I think I was at the exact one--got my reasons for thinking so...
You just never know, do you?
Other things come to mind as well. I try to keep in mind that much younger people haven't had some of the experience and opportunity for repetitive trial and error, or just error and error, that I have. Forgetting the road along the way to the point that you can't empathize or comprehend the obsession with the stupid, self defeating, and unimportant which plagues most people from about age 10 to maybe 46.5, on average, is something I try not to do.
Since the truth of me is actually an expreme exaggeration of such misguidedness for a great many years, even beyond age 46.5, I feel it a matter of integrity and compassion to understand and appreciate others who have some shred of the idiocy I had at their age. Not to say I was an idiot in all ways, I was not. However that little disclaimer does bring me to the point that accepting the truth and allowing others to discover for themselves, somehow is tied to self esteem.
Highly controlling people have a curious insecurity I think; a tenuous hold, at best, on positive self image. Either that or they honestly think in ways only sociopaths, and government officials think.
Elitism, in that sense-- the sense we see unfolding in cities, states, the UN and in DC---actually could be argued as a form of sociopathy. If you believe you know best for the little unimportant masses, and that it is your job to control and dictate who sacrifices what and when, then you are obviously oblivious to the pain of those people, and have no remorse resulting from causing them harm.
That is because an elitist does not view all mankind as having equal right to make their own decisions within the framework of not screwing up the rights of others. Therefore, the masses aren't real people like, say Nancy Pelosi, but useful idiots whose existence is best described as a privilege granted by their betters.
You may think this has nothing to do with compassionate understanding when observing young punk kids trying to find life after public school, destructive TV, and the stupid wrong opinions and theories of their friends. I think it has everything to do with it.
To recognize the natural evolution life allows one if he is lucky is one thing. But to also have the gift of being aware of the larger forces at play and the changes they have brought in our lives, as well as the extreme influence they've had on the world view of younger people, paints a rather clearer picture. It s hard to fault someone for not knowing things when they've been lied to about those things or had no exposure at all.
Whether crimes against children have really gone up exponentially since the fifties and sixties, I do not know. I do know the actual freedom and autonomy of children has decreased exponentially since then. Of course, in some areas, young kids do drugs, so what the hell. I would still argue that the laws, programs and police priorities tend to promote that sort of thing when it could have and should have been squashed early on.
No, it was (and is) easier to just scream "DRUGS", and spend the seventies arresting potheads who didn't bother with kids or guns or anything else. Another case of left and right working hand in hand.
The left promoted demeaning programs to create lifelong dependence and ignore reality, and insisted a slimeball's actions were everyone else's fault, and the right went gung ho, happy for an arrest, even if the real problems were being ignored, and the real bad elements left to grow.
Just like now. Everyone is told who to view as the enemy, and the dumbasses are buying it. And the 20 year olds and even 30 year olds have no concept what it was like before free speech became the extremely dangerous exercise it is becoming. Unless they had a rare teacher along the way, they probably have no clue what it really means, or what the term "rights" actually means. Hell most of the people of all ages are clueless about that, but the baby boomers on up have no excuse but their own weak integrity.
Whatever goes on in that realm, I do have sympathy for kids who worry that their choice of the moment is somehow forever, or who wonder what it is they should be doing. The lucky ones see the path and just stick to it. Maybe it takes both types for the world to turn. The less certain probably have wilder dreams and when they are lucky, their nerve and faith are up to the task of chasing the dream in earnest. That situation is not confined to any age bracket.
That's the good thing about dreams, time is nothing, and no one, yet, can say you are not allowed to dream if you are a certain age. Never too young, and never too old. Most dreamers don't dream of health care, I'm betting. They just don't, unless they are in need or need a cure as yet undiscovered. It takes a dreamer to find the cure, and most cures are found by people who never had the disease.
Something about that which I don't think most people get. That's why I bring these things up.
And because I want to keep saying this country has undergone a coup while I can still do so without being arrested. It has and it started long ago, but no question about it, Obama has taken it to a new level; he and his gang behind the scenes. The man is as owned as anyone prior. Just the way it is.
It takes a special kind of person to so happily fill that role. It is one of the enduring themes of literature; the deal with the devil, selling one's soul, or personal integrity, for glory, vanity, riches, etc. Happens every day. Only time it worked out well for the rest of us was when Robert Johnson got his musical mojo at the Crossroads. I've been to that very spot, and not so far from midnight, either. Since the specific spot is mildly debated, I tried to find all the possible ones. I think I was at the exact one--got my reasons for thinking so...
You just never know, do you?
Friday, August 14, 2009
Not Just A good Idea--It's the LAW
The first time I saw that catchy totalitarian sentiment in black and white was on a large poster in the NC DMV office when I was getting my first NC driver's license. They were referring to the ridiculous 55 speed limit the reactionary idiots had placed on the whole country at the time. The resulting impact to the economy was not good because it slowed the flow of goods.
The thought that good idea or no, It's The LAW is someone's idea of a reasonable argument, and that they have power, makes me shudder.
So, today I did what I had to do--I went in to the CA dmv to become an official resident with CA driver's license. What a zoo, and I went to Poway due to my ever growing aversion to all things official in El Cajon, where the nearest office seethes and bubbles.
Since there is a wait of a few hours, I thought I'd pick up one of the books off the shelf to review. There were hundreds of California driving license books on multiple shelves. Not a single one was in English. They had plenty in Spanish and in some Arabic language, and Asian languages. I'm guessing at all but Spanish. That is what the writing appeared to be. I didn't even see German or French. Very weird.
As it turns out, I passed the eye test without my glasses which is a good thing since I lose them from time to time, and forget them regularly. I scored 100% on the quiz which was a surprise. The wording of the questions and answers often seems awkward and peculiarly stated. I concluded as I was deciphering the jargon that the test had been written by someone whose first language was not English. The phrasing sounded like that of someone whose original tongue was Spanish or maybe French. One of those european jobs.
Possibly to be sure I live where I live, they mail the final thing and give me a temporary paper in the mean time. I kept the TN license but they punched a hole in it.
As much as I despise the ways of the state and the 1984 (the book) tone of the their offices, especially dmv, I did not grind my teeth or get angry. I'm getting better.
The thought that good idea or no, It's The LAW is someone's idea of a reasonable argument, and that they have power, makes me shudder.
So, today I did what I had to do--I went in to the CA dmv to become an official resident with CA driver's license. What a zoo, and I went to Poway due to my ever growing aversion to all things official in El Cajon, where the nearest office seethes and bubbles.
Since there is a wait of a few hours, I thought I'd pick up one of the books off the shelf to review. There were hundreds of California driving license books on multiple shelves. Not a single one was in English. They had plenty in Spanish and in some Arabic language, and Asian languages. I'm guessing at all but Spanish. That is what the writing appeared to be. I didn't even see German or French. Very weird.
As it turns out, I passed the eye test without my glasses which is a good thing since I lose them from time to time, and forget them regularly. I scored 100% on the quiz which was a surprise. The wording of the questions and answers often seems awkward and peculiarly stated. I concluded as I was deciphering the jargon that the test had been written by someone whose first language was not English. The phrasing sounded like that of someone whose original tongue was Spanish or maybe French. One of those european jobs.
Possibly to be sure I live where I live, they mail the final thing and give me a temporary paper in the mean time. I kept the TN license but they punched a hole in it.
As much as I despise the ways of the state and the 1984 (the book) tone of the their offices, especially dmv, I did not grind my teeth or get angry. I'm getting better.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Look, I Really Played into a Microphone
Just for the sake of vanity, I guess, I thought I'd post a picture from that gig in the canyon a few weeks ago. (And to prove I actually was in front of a mic) It is the one that only groups and solo musicians attended. So many people played that only 2 tunes per act were permitted, except us. They had us play four. Partly because we played relatively early in the line up, but also because they asked us for more. There were some later groups that sounded really good. We just happened to play better than ever before that day.
So, someone took pictures and among them was this one. I look like I'm in disguise so it is OK.
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So many things to address, I don't know where to start. It is hard not to address the big picture and the rapid move toward fascism but I'll wait until more strata of the population begin to feel the pinch. As it is, too many are not affected so it only sounds like rebellious nonsense to them.
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There are times when I still yearn for a roadtrip, but I promised myself not to go it alone unless I gave it more time and had given up ever traveling other than solo. I made that inward vow while at the Grand Canyon on last year's big adventure. It was a Big Adventure, too, but I wasn't looking for my bike and I did not dance on the bar to Tequila. Pee Wee Herman really got a bad deal. I think it was a shame and I have far more contempt for the cop involved and the people who probably set the whole thing up.
But I was crying for Martha to be acquitted and, later, freed. Kennedy, I had less sympathy for. After all he lied and his first instinct was to cover his ass, not worry about drowning a girl.
What happens when these people visit the places where I work, is that I can't work until they leave. I miss it. They aren't there that much and when certain people visit, they break things you would never guess, and no one knows how they do it. That is good because it often means work=$ for me. And the setting is idyllic.
Please remind me not to get complacent because I have to push some other independent efforts forward and make more money so I can spend it all on those who might enjoy it. Besides, any cushion against bad times is quite useful to have. Got to keep the roof over head and such. Few places are around for this kind of rent, and certainly not as nice or with such a view.
I need reminding that this is not a typical monthly income requirement I live.
That's OK. Not to stress, but don't let me forget.
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About Me
- John0 Juanderlust
- Ballistic Mountain, CA, United States
- Like spring on a summer's day
