Papa Johnny come lately...
Papa Johnny come lately, (a married grammarian, and rectitudinarian, sexagenarian, solitudinarian Unitarian) to the pizza party at Little Caesars of social media after nothing but lovely pizza bones left, but hoop fully can coax (seal) a mutually beneficial reciprocity.
Where no amount of collusion can Lyft my natural tentative Uber Vudu wired yik yak zen based deep fried Googly eyed Hulu (indeed) jibber jabber ring kickstarting livingsocial Myspace! Thus, this circumspect, dapper, electronically fitbit groupon heretic individualist jangles kickstarter linkedin motive narrating outlook pertaining to various technological innovations suddenly become good and plenti during the latter half of his three score plus five orbitz, while travelocity on this oblate spheroid.
Unlike deux daughters, (the youngest merely twenty five anniversaries removed from her birth February 4th 2024 and the eldest approximately twenty six months), who both got weaned on the ABC's of computer accouterments during kindergarten, this dada Dinosaur quaintly recalls the old fashioned desks with inkwells meant for dunking ponytails. As an obedient quite quiet lad, no shenanigans, (asper dipping hair into unnatural shade of black or blue, and subsequently receiving the same hue SMACK a roo right in the kisser deftly delivered courtesy of strongest girl in class) attests his memories tend to be rather unexciting. Hence fast forward to this moment (just for an interim before revisiting days of bashful boyhood), and allow me to elucidate my affinity for prevarication, especially to entice the eyes of an unknown reader.
Thus let me return to sitting with perfect posture. The one classroom per grade little red brick schoolhouse (constructed by bachelor non E. Grieg guess Norwegian farmers) devoid of any electronic paraphernalia. Wick head looking candles illuminated each alcove. The general electric fan perhaps the only non manually operated contraption. Hardwood benumbed bumstead now replaced with comfortable faux leather easy chairs with upteen gizmos for the average student to remain self occupied, while the teacher absent mindedly fiddles with her/his handy dandy palm size sophisticated snapping, crackling, and popping wireless fidelity. No spoiler alerts during those primitive modes of learning preceding by decades before the advent of ergonomic, NON GMO gluten free global positioning satellite, posturepedic, hydraulic operated, humanized, mechanized individual hermetically sealed pods!
No doubt this old geezer would be like a fish out of water if brought into the modern twenty first century educational facility.
Every last kid would be tethered with gadgets, and attuned into a customized impromptu lecture accessing, allocated, assigned (for keeps) alien looking equipment to this Luddite. Blackboards (really unfractallated slate - now worth a mint), and chalk sufficed to teach all the then known knowledge to man/woman kind. Most pupils (enforced to address the head master or mistress, - no married women permitted) as Benevolent Sir or Your Highness (frequently corrupted to heiney accompanied with a twitter of titters). Strict adherence to formal attire naturally mandated insync with politesse toward figurative line with obligation to manners. Thus street clothes (pre torn jeans that cost a small fortune), beachwear, et cetera unacceptable.
Strict adherence to couture rules and regulations, would also count when report cards (milled paper) got issued for each one of four quartered nine month state compliance punishment . Upon reflecting the now every day (once radical, not far long ago within a nearby solar system of the Milky Way) Earthlinked digital contrivances adorning every Hotmail wannabe, those antiquated parochial teaching/learning environments did hold an avast advantageous candle box advantage versus the entire methodology inculcating young people how to function with an extremely webbed wide world, which paradigm an absolute necessity to become gainfully employed.
A touch of nostalgia necessitates yours truly to blink back tears. He found comfort holding and/or cracking the binding of bound printed material, though I must confess a strong dislike to the Dewey Decimal System, which appeared as Egyptian hieroglyphics. Aside from manually turning tangible pages (unlike Ebooks, which do not interest me in the la east), each well thumbed required suitably deemed reading topical writer , (which paled compared to discovering lesser known authors) also exuded an faint aroma, and hinted at a much simpler way of life compared to the highly charged (amped up) frenzy, where the transmitting and/or receiving bits and bytes a twenty four seven, three hundred sixty five day a year constant barrage of data packets.
When documents, finished processing instructions, knowledge leveraged courtesy various and sundry modes to assess comprehension, et cetera uploaded, the remaining leisure time undifferentiated as young people manipulate a cache of similarly wrought information (immense) applied to Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, Reddit, Snapchat,Twitter, the ever growing array of miniaturized bajillion lobbed bots, whose processing capacity mind boggling. No longer exceptional simply boasting every stipulated historical date, state capitol, sporting statistic, et cetera.
NO!
Now a grown kid with coding cachet, (even if just a hack rate programmer), self taught open source application contributor, entrepreneur billionaire fresh out of preschool, et cetera garners devotees as if he/she mystically endowed with inherently instinctual intelligence to rattle and hum off an algorithm touted as the next boy/girl genius!
Essentially das dada = codified bonafide anachronism
me thoughts infused
with thom hankering for yesteryear
circa antebellum i.e.
American Civil War era veer
rilly, teetering, smoldering, rumbling
upon iniquitous tier
United States greenacres crossroads
with petticoat junction spear
ritually hexed courtesy anti abolitionists
pitted against unfair
slavery, yours truly spellbound
gravitating, fixating, entrancing,
an invisible sonneteer
disembodied spirit transported
back in time,
qua closing first decade
of twenty century aware
how historical events will unfold,
yet lacking means
to affect alternate outcome,
though yearning to spare
fledgling democracy deaf to blare
ring coming fury me unseen
relishing preponderant naiveté
and childlike innocence
before internecine warfare
many stripling young lads,
yet to sprout facial hair
trumpeting, scampering, rejoicing
after favored lass with no care
gathering rosebuds while they may
before their brave hearts got
touched, torched, taxed...
with fire, ah... so cavalier
wondering, speculating, nursing
curiously piqued how adaware
those who frolicked
within Autumn mist did revere
observing what didst appear
oblivious laughter and attitude
analogous to good cheer
omnipresent at Renaissance Faire,
no doubt trials and tribulations
compromised welfare
envious countless scores generations
past knew not global threats,
nonetheless societal fabric circa
early/mid nineteenth century
severely wrenched when
Emancipation Proclamation didst declare
manumision, though sadly
blatant anti semitism, bigotry, racism...,
trumpeted within rank putrid odor
doth still fill the air!
And ignoble faux prize trumpeting hubris awarded to...
Bourgeoisie donning ersatz
overstuffed ego freezer bewigged pate
"FAKE" grotesque humanitarian
bribed corrupt judges will vindicate
jimmied cracked corn
land of "milk and honey"
red hot button he spoils to activate
countdown to Armageddon
leaving nation prostrate,
all the more reason to axe electoral college,
now holds electorate
hostage to bully tactics grate
for dead souls – zombie thriller, viz
Putin on the ritz,
whereby Pavlov's dog will salivate
on cue and pony show will titillate,
and worse case scenario, a far more terrible fate
than death by a thousand cuts
equals his refusal not to abdicate
presidency, should voters
get smart to administrate
White House with progressive commander
in chief he/she will adjudicate
decency, honesty, integrity... and acclimate
government toward amity, comity, equality...
oh,... and most importantly advocate
salutary measures affecting biosphere,
where industrialization didst devastate
contaminate by bajillion beings birth rate,
every square inch of Earth
Homo sapiens succeeded to abominate...,
prima facie global warming doth correlate,
hence primary requisite mandate
to reorient modus operandi no time to wait,
where carbon footprint negligible
still preserving technological paradigm
fixing low cussed electricity to generate
courtesy renewable resources
else man/womankind will become footnote
atrophied trappings agglomerate
twenty first century civilization
damned, inundated, ossified bridgegate
checkmated, choked, chucked... wag gone wheels
das spare - tread fully tires fuming primate
jammed fruits of loins going bananas
infuriating, exhausting accelerating
no exit (sorry Sartre) to circumnavigate
hardy lee any recourse to extricate
oneself from madding crowd
self resignation minimally doth alleviate,
whereby impatient broods frustrate
inaccessible jackknifed mobility,
thence spark ignites spontaneous eruption
impossible mission to plug
crowdsource mob frenzy translate
pent up fury once loosed doth degenerate
into atavistic pandemonium cutthroat rage
snarling human logjam foaming at mouth
poised to strike ready to decapitate
any remaining shred of salvation barren feeble
slow vac hoovering, milking, and sucking
every last vestige of bondage peoples extirpate.
Aforementioned conundrum hopefully satisfactorily explains basic damn irreverent donnybrook...
Hmm...before tapping into reservoir
marsh hill deep water
aye delta myself
if pond durable
stream of consciousness
possible mission freeze able...,
how shoal aye say...
je ne sais quois
carefully laying pontoon bridge
paddling, treading, wave ving...,
yet sound lee get straight to the point
boot ask cape ping drowning reader,
and/or my waterlogged
creek key noggin
into esse chew weary sea ping bog...
oar body eel 'lectric
grounded on sandbar
plain and simple, aye lake wordplay,
though this buoy doth struggle
floundering within metaphorical ocean
to channel meander ring
puddling, seeping, yet
getting firth hoar along
harboring kettle o' worms
that engulfs me
aware you well judge,
and let me know,
nonetheless herring ye ask
"wet n tarn nation
iz this lick spittle a boat"
yup...merrily to
causeway more'n a row
initially wake kind to trumpet
how current fishy cons pier a sea
the president touts
regarding the late Jeffrey Epstein suicide
changing figurative electorate channel,
which haint ni tide dee
Bill Clinton imbroglio
"apprentice" scathing
scurrilous distractions
so gull hub bull voters slough
off get complacent and risk
armageddon courtesy...
the Swamp thing
versus truth to Democratic power!
Clear Sky, Clouded Thoughts
Is something wrong sir.
Yes, I often like to stand here and watch the people. I wonder what they think of me. Then I wonder what I truly think of them. Funny I can't find the answer to either one. Getting in their heads is impossible so it's understandable I don't know what they think of me. But I'm in control of my own mind at least most of the time. Yet I still don't know.
Well I'm sure they think fondly of you sir. You do your upmost for them.
Yes, yes, yes, thanks for the pointless flattering . I don't want you to stroke my ego. I wanted input. I mean look at them l, they don't know what I do for them. At least not really. When prices go down I'm praised. When they're increase I'm ridiculed. I mean a 10 - 20% increase and they’re damn near ready to revolt. Regardless of good I've done it only takes a couple bad things for them to completely turn. Makes sense most of them live a busy life. No time to think of the broader things. Why it seems as if they have more money lately, why things have been moving more smoothly in their life. They just think it's been a good couple of years. The most they hear from me is from their news networks and they hardly explain anything properly. If they explain it at all. Half of the news is meant to kiss my ass. The other is meant to try and cut my head.
Has the job gotten too stressful sir, perhaps a break would do some good.
No it's not that I just need to think things through. It's unfair is what I'm getting at. Leader of a country in any form. President, Emperor, Councilman, Congress. The benefits are just as great, but unfair still. At least when your someone who tries. But I can't deny I often make bad decisions. I make them purposely knowing they are bad decisions. The people don't know what you need to go through to keep them satiated. Invasion of country, international turmoil or pressure that needs to be aided or ignored. All to keep the peace. The peace here of course I could care less of others. Sometimes I think dictators have it right. But I can't shake the uneasiness of dead smiles. Could I explain why I started that war. Could I explain why I'm allowing it. When it all gotten so complicated that even I am starting to forget the reason.
Then people question my morals. I stopped making decisions on my morals a long time ago. Morals don't feed people, protect people. Everyone and again I get to make the moral decision, but because it's a savvy move. Not because of some stupid moral compass. I came into the game too late there are too many systems already in play. I feel as though my decisions are premade before I even get a chance to think.
If I could suggest something sir, you are the one in power now. Why not simply break the system.
Breaking the system would take a lot longer than I will be here. Even if I make a couple cracks in the road. The one after me, will find it easier to simply fill the cracks in than pave a new road. I would have to become something we vowed not to have. At least temporarily. Then I'd have to trust myself that I'm able to give it up when the time comes. But still that's more likely than someone similar to me coming in and continuing my work. Sigh, maybe it's better being a puppet, at least I know the decisions aren't mine. It's like customer service worker, it's easy to deny someone in need when you know the decision isn't yours. But the CEO of said company wouldn't be able to say no as easily if they were in that position.
How did they do it in the past. It was so much easier then. Less people, less money, less things to care about. You could generalize more things and more people. But now there's too many of everything, to many different ingredients to try and throw them all in the same pot. It'll just end up tasting like shit.
If I could interject here Sir. You say things were much easier. Do you mean easirer to manipulate. There was indeed less of everything and less education as well. The people could get manipulated into believing almost anything. Now there’s more information avenues, more education, more individuality. The people now need clear reasons for actions, unlike those of the past. Such reasons such as, they hate us because we’re free would not work anymore.
There’s never a clear reason in this world. To try and give it a generalized reason will make it sound worse than what it is. Simple answers always sound heartless and while they are the core of the reason ball. The outer layer of the ball is the reasons that will be tangible for the everyday person. But explaining those reasons are more difficult. To say we are invading another nation, because it will decrease the price of certain products, bring in jobs, bring in money, and ease a mountain of other things. Would need further explanation, which would lead to the simple answer. At the same time beginning with the simple answer and expanding it to the outer layer would need more explanation inbetween. Which is why we need the trust of our people. But those before me been lying for too long and peeling back all those lies will make the government look worse and lose more trust. I have to keep the secrets for the good of the nation. Once their trust completely collapse, what would we be? I don’t know the answer and don’t want to know the answer.
There’s a distrust that’s been created between the government and people. Clearing the air to ease that distrust, would cause more distrust. So, you choose to keep the secret. Keeping the secrets, doesn’t allow you to give clear reasons, and so you must manipulate the people causing more distrust. You seem to be in quite the paradox sir. When did it all start you think?
Probably once we gained real power. Once you are the top of the food chain, you reasons become unnecessary. But you must have them for the people to follow you. Nietzsche said morality is for the weak. The strong has no reason for it. We simply started imposing our will onto others. Gained control and now that we are weakening a bit, we are adverse to releasing even a fraction of the control that we have. Spreading ourself too thin. Our country is Young, by the world standards. Maybe we feel we cannot make a comeback from a defeat. Or don’t want to find out if we can.
So what will you do Sir?
I have a meeting at 3, a press conference at 6, and briefing at 9pm. I quick nightly workout, shower, and sleep. Wake up in the morning, I’ll still feel the same as now, and I’ll carry on. Because I’ve already gotten the job that’s all I can do. Maybe I can make a few minor changes that they will keep, but if not I’ve already given up. It won’t matter much to me.
The Philosophy Of Religion
Theres often a time in Life,
When we have to choose -
between what is right:
and what to lose.
There’s often a time in Life,
When choices have to be made-
You can’t have both;
its just a part of life’s trade...
And Sometimes if you chose right
And not take too many risks
You might find that
The safety’s shore is not too far from sight
There’s often a time in Life
When one seeks The One,
And these hard choices:
seem a lot more Fun...
why fol low the rULES?
Why fol low the rULES? of anything. Why write on a midnight breeze? Why sing songs of glory when we cannot justify peace?
Why do we sit here writing? when there s so much more we can do? Why do wi pass the time like'a sil-o-ette on da blues.
Why follow constructions! They'er just'a rule anyway. Why do anything? when it can be done a different way'
(everything I pounder in life-
A Boy by Any Other Name is Always a Warrior Toy
In contrast to the woman who is protected and rescued, held within the arms of those whom she trusts and loves-- whom she is compelled to love-- this boy, newly born is forced to fight.
This little boy designated already as a soldier, already commodified for product by his youthful, psychologically alluring neoteny of his face. The virtue and wonder inherent in the innocent want to protect. It is the soldier boys who protect out of love, compared to their compatriotic men, defending their right-- faded and slowly peeling at its yellowed edges-- to live and to survive, fighting to see blood, to see blood validating their lives to continue. Insisting, begging that their lives be deemed worthy to continue by the pierce of their bullet or the blood upon curved Army knives.
A boy must fight to live, must fight to love, must fight and fight and fight.
In contrast to the women, trapped within the lovelessness of gilded glass as the rosy promise of a fairytale. Which play upon slowly withering apple cheeks. But amidst the knights and the dragons with their hateful flame, among evil men and other domineering ugly women, who protects the man, who takes their chisled jaw and strong chest to feel the heart beating underneath? Who tells these soldier boys fed the idea of red strings and fawning young maidens that the danger has past? That they are safe. And when are they safe?
To a female past the archetype, to a female breaking from their mold, their opposite is the enemy. The man who so demands their love and their bodies.
However it is the elders in their silvery misted bogs and their wizened hands on cool glass crystal balls who so dictate those rules. Old authors, old male authors of a besotted, plague riddled time who placed these expectations on paper. Of the little girls to be wives, and of the little boys to be soldiers and to constantly battle and beat off the competition.
Separate yet somehow never equal, not within their spheres, or upon each other. When they are.
Borrowing from a more Asian belief, a shuddering notion to be sure, yin and yang. Representing the light and the dark, the good and the evil, as well as feminine and masculine. What we have denominated to equate as boy and girl.
From the youth and exuberance of a boy to the beauty and therefore vitality of a woman do we come to see life be made, new life a blessing in whatever binary form it takes. For a child is sacred in all spheres.
So says the matronly nature of a woman's archetype. But the question must be posed, where is the paternal? The Father is often off fighting war and in stories is often a non-entity or otherwise, a constant obstacle near exclusively to their daughters. In more recent years to the "daughters when asked for sons," of the boys who prefer the artistic, nurturing pursuits deemed gentler and woman-like. When if anything, the brutal punch of an emotional blow damages an individual in a way unreachable for the rite healing much similar to simple and shallow conceptions of human beings.
And better yet when both are in twilight, nearing the end of their lives here and to rise toward guiding lights in the night sky, we focus upon the wisdom gained from a lifetime of war and bloodshed. We call him the sage. While we call her the crone. What of the wisdom from watching a life grow and prosper? What of the wisdom within the peaceful, artisanal little village?
The wisdom of what made a child smile and where vice came to be born within every child making for the dysfunctional. Those all too-- almost too human-- to be included in the category so loftily described.
My Dear Friend Existentialism
Existentialism is my friend.
I try to keep in touch as best I can.
We talk a lot about why I decide
To just keep running the treadmill
When I'm not actually going anywhere.
One thing that's nice about him
Is that he reminds me of what's important.
The things that matter most.
When the TV of Reality is all heartache and pain,
And the writers never give that resolution I so desperately crave,
And it feels pointless to keep watching the show,
He asks me why I haven't decided
To pull the plug on the TV
And just sit in dead silence.
And so I always find a reason
To justify not doing so.
Like, maybe next season,
The show might take a turn for the better
And then watching it will be worth it.
And he asks me how I know that,
And I tell him I don't.
I just hope.
And I trust.
It's like the same reason I run the treadmill
When I'm not actually moving.
I just trust.
I trust that all my running in circles
Will eventually make my heart stronger,
So that maybe I can run marathons someday,
And maybe I can win.
How I met my friend,
I don't completely recall.
I think my house burnt down one day when I was young.
And then he saw me lying there years later
And thought he'd have a chat.
Keep me company.
He asked me why I still lay there amongst the ash and rubble,
Even though I don't have the strength nor the materials
To build it back up.
He asked why I didn't just bury myself along with it.
And to be honest, I didn't know at the time.
It took me a couple years before I learned the answer.
It took me a couple years to learn to trust.
But existentialism helped me get there.
With all his questions, and all his nudging,
He helped teach me.
Don't ask me where I live today.
It's not a good place.
But there's still a roof over my head,
A cushion on which to sleep,
And food on my plate every day.
And you can guess who helped me find it.
He told me where to look,
And I went searching.
And now here I am,
Still holding on,
And still waiting to rebuild my house.
But at least I'm still waiting.
And at least I know why.
All because my dear friend
Walked up to my broken doorstep
And decided to say hello.
And for that, I will always owe him
The greatest of my thanks.
The Funnies
hell
it seems
at every
mid weekend
we've made
some choices
and wonder
about
"Choice"
like
Sans
Andreas
fault
lines
we've straddle,
as if these
were horses
and we were
green face
nightmare
jockeys
on whom
we've placed
bets upon,
and all
life's worth
is riding
on...
That is the
illustration of
Existential
Dread.
06.26.2024
God, The Universe, and You Part 7: Existential Dread
The Martyr
Very simply, from what is described, the Sin-Eater is a position that provides ample excuse to sacrifice the undesirables of any given village. Those who simply humans deem are unworthy of God in some way, and so very often do pay for it with their lives since one) they're eating off corpses, two) if they have that person's sins than are they now marked as sinful and deemed "acceptable" to further shun and even attack? People can be-- savage and stupid in so few words. And three) they aren't even paid well for the work, at best get a meal infested with maggots and flies for their troubles until they're back to starving by breakfast time and no one to give them the time of day.
The Sin-Eater supposedly such an important task, is not left to the "worthy," not those with souls deemed saintly or innocent. I doubt they think children should be spared for their imbibed purity as God's favorites, God's most precious creations and angels among humans. I doubt such thoughts of who may die or be ill crosses their minds in order to spare those people the strain. Rather, who "should," be ill or dead.
Much more likely is that the Sin Eater is thought of in the ways of virgins sacrificed to mountain gods in Edo Japan, perhaps beautiful but more likely little girls deemed unsuitable for marriage among the boys and demonized by the adults and only family to defend her if she's lucky. Or the unlucky child in 'The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas,' who were blind to a single child's constant misfortune since it forfeits their utopia, which is frankly a sickening principle. It should be that the collectives are safe, that a society is loyal and serves the many-- as many as it can-- and do good by its people.
In any fair world, in any one that supposedly reveres their God as much as they fear him the Sin-Eater should be exalted and do that duty willingly and for selfless purposes if they wish to preserve the meaning in the first place. Then otherwise what kind of fair is it if a person already sinful is tainted with the sin of greed and vanity? Or better yet, the entire ritual poisoned by prejudice, disdain, and apathy?
A Change
I was eight. It was the end of the day. My brother was crying, my parents were yelling, I was caught in the frey. I was curled in to a ball, between corner and a wall. Just like today, and yesterday and the day before, my soul longed for something more.
I wanted my parents to stop fighting. All I wanted a belly that was full. I was scared. My only comfort remembering that this isn’t my home. But it was. That was the thing. There was no where else to go. No escape for me. I remembered the dinner I had the night before. Then heard my dad say it couldn’t go on anymore. Everything I’d done, all the moping and crying, all it did was delay the inevitabl.
No matter how hard they tried, no matter how much time my parents spent it was never enough to win in the end. It never drove away the suffocating pain. The traffic, the head lights, they left me insane. They had helped me before, when I told them what was wrong, but it always went back to the way it was before. So this time, I did something new. I got up and asked myself what I needed to do. There was a mess in the kitchen and everything else besides, but I decided to start with a dish at a time. Slowly, slowly the pile grew. I couldn’t clean them faster than make them, can you? I tried to carry it all and never fall. I became a diplomat, carving peace on a wall. But the tower of dishes, one day, did fall. I guess it was bound to fail. I couldn’t fix it all. Now I sit, after the ashes are cleared. Wondering when it all disappeared.