Crossing the Rubicon

Crossing the Rubicon

Whatever moral ascendancy

the Presidency once held was lost today.

The 2/3 of white men

and 54% of white women

who voted this charlatan in;

must now allow reason to overrule passion

and admit that this is cancer –

and vow to neither cringe or retreat

until we the people excise its poison.

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Noise

“For the most sensitive among us, sometimes the noise can just be too much.” – Jim Carrey – upon hearing of the death of Phillip Seymour Hoffman.

The cross city bus clamors out a murderous seasick solo backed by an orchestral scrum of whizzing internal combustion engines in uproarious brawl spewing invisible air and ear pollution death while begging for second gear; both instruments of audio-olfactory destruction, an offense to the ear and nose from landlocked personal space-ships bumper to bumper on the narrow streets of San Francisco’s North Beach neighborhood; all, along with the antique streetcars sing out a cacophony of noise so disturbing I had to hold the phone, physically 1,500 miles away from the action, six inches from my ear.

Our story’s hero Jeff is laboring, careening up and down intensely inclined ski sloop streets chasing said bus while he screams into his cell phone at me “Man, the first thing you’d notice if you came back is the noise”. I tell him he’s preaching to the choir. The air in my environs of northern Wisconsin is so calm I can hear the sound of autumn leaves rustling along the well-kept lawns and iridescent blue birds singing their daily arias.

Writers flood into big cities, whether they know it or not, to be uncomfortable; since like the late, great Charles Bukowski opined “no one comfortable ever wrote anything worth a damn”. The city is life on steroids; it’s intensity keeping us all tense. The boulevard is a raging river of humanity and sometimes inhumanity. There is rarely a shortage of stimuli upon which to opine. Here the writers cup runneth over.

Our hero confides he’s been reaching back into his past to make that connection that sooner or later, sooner I think for some of us given recent societal developments, we all eventually make; that DNA linked memory to our roots. Jeff is currently covered by a warm blanket; surrounded by like-minded west coast social justice warriors – yet when looking back over his shoulder in contemplation of revisiting comrades from his mid-western past; he is floored, repulsed and catatonic over the addiction he sees in his childhood pals adherence to the new ersatz fascism; the redneck noise that is Trumpism.

In the same way it’s nearly impossible to escape the noise coming at us all like a Chinese parade, from eight different directions all at once; it’s the same for our natural inclination to decipher the content and arrange it in some assemblage of bite-size order. Is it as it seems? Is the new avalanche of information overwhelming our capacity to upload, sort-out and categorize it’s meaning and importance so we might get a handle on our collective future?

It can’t only be me and our hero who, overwhelmed by the noise, wish solace in heeding the wise voices from our past. Timothy Leary’s advise was “tune-in, turn-on and drop out.” Or the angelic voices of groovy guru of the day who suggest wandering in an open field for mindfulness training. Or the Birkenstocks environmentalist who insist we head back to nature and hug a tree; or the mental spiritualist that whisper meditation is the key. Maybe the best of them are the Tantra yogi’s who claim sexual pleasure is the way in and out; that the answer is a bit more of the old in and out. Being a hedonist myself I tend to flow in this direction.

Yet, with escape valves in place in case of overload and prayers to the universe for guidance, I can’t help myself wanting to sort through the noise and discover, like a pathfinder, which direction to point; for myself and others. The Stoics posited that the philosopher left the cave, examined the outside world and returned to tell the others of the joys and dangers outside the cave.

Now they’re be a noble and heroic cause; to be a fearless scout in the face of unknown dangers; to be a trailblazer for the greater good in a quest to report, interpret and transmit the findings. The conundrum seems to be we can’t translate through the noise to know what’s coming if we disengage from it.

In the end I’m left perplexed. Shall we try to make a path through the noise though we fear not knowing the answers and fear worse not even understanding the questions? Are we all just like our hero; wishing to be heroes; but succumbing to the dictates of surviving the day and reach for the safety and sanity of just catching that bus? #rednecknoise #Stoics #Trumpism #CharlesBukowski

Trump Trumps Reagan

And how trivial the things we want so passionately are.”Marcus Aurelius

A dog chases a bus; the bus stops – the dog catches it; what now?

The last time the money changers and the Army guys took over our government was during the Alfred E. Newman What Me Worry presidency of W; and you don’t need me to tell you how that turned out. The two sensational wars and the brilliance of the snouts-in-the-trough types like Dick-less Chaney and the top Wall Street-walkers detritus still lay smoldering at our feet.

This new Trump pseudo-populist phenomenon looks to be a replay of the 1980’s Reagan revolution when it became fashionable among the elite money fetishistic to popularize the bumper-sticker ethos “maximizing share-holder value’. This greed for its own sake origination created an accepted ethos of the T-Boone Pickens Green Mail artists of that era, set free by Reagan’s firing of Air traffic Controllers, signaling labor unions would be crushed.

That message was received by the twisted Orwellian named “job creators” and along with it came the export of manufacturing jobs sent overseas where peasants fresh from their countryside’s pure agrarian economy, paid $1.20 an hour for assembly-line factory jobs, would later land in suicide nets, as in China’s Apple works, after experiencing the sweat-shop working conditions, or as we like to call it, (absence of) regulation; the new drumbeat of the well-heeled mouth-pieces like Mitch McConnell. Americas middle-class lunch-pail voters who put both Reagan and Trump in the catbird seat where left abandoned; dazed and confused. The fat cat scoundrels disguised themselves wrapped in the American flag while secretly masturbating to their money porn financial fantasies under it.

The current zeitgeist buzz-phrase “economic growth” harkens back to the Ronnie-the ray gun Reagan era asleep at the wheel administration touting the maximizing of shareholder value and explains the diversions of Nicaragua, Grenada and soon thereafter Panama and explains why the old man left office in disgrace; a doddering, confused inept; not that dissimilar, save the aggression and vulgarity, to Trump’s persona; Americas’ Eddie Haskell president. The maladroitness of Reagan had him dismiss the Gorbachev plea at Reykjavik to ban all nuclear weapons because he’d seen some reality in the fiction movie that was Star Wars. Trump sees the future of nations as nuclear armed; locked and loaded on hair triggers; saving the USA from the cost of defending them.

Trumps picks for cabinet posts, like Reagan, signals, also well received, that agencies meant to foster our health and welfare will be headed by terroristic bomb-throwers set on blowing them up and killing them off. The Republicans long fantasized wet dream of shrinking government small enough to drown it in a bathtub seems to them closer to fruition than ever before. Their giddiness at the prospect of privatizing everything worth a buck has them caring less that the boss is a no-nothing gasbag shill. Someone might tell these diamond encrusted turds that America is not a business and they should not attempt to run it like one but the dazzling shine off their Gold Rolex watches blinds their cerebral cortex.

The Reagan period of selfishness, like Trumps soon to be phantasy, also laid waste to where we started; when capitalism was first envisioned; the idea that the corporation was a guest in the community. Now we’ll no longer be so crass as to subscribe motives to maximizing shareholder value; no. Now it’s the smoke screen of hire America and buy American “corporate responsibility” for the greater good of us all as cudgel to make their actions sympathetic to “America First” and their motives to lift ourselves up as pure as the driven slush.

There are a whole lot of literati out in the hustings angst filled over current affairs and rightly so. We seem to have elected a jackass bully with self-esteem issues to pull the levers of power and he’s handing those levers off to billionaires and x-generals. Is there another war for profit in our offing? Well; since no one, most of all the King himself, knows his next move; stay tuned.

Seems to me the best detergent against a stain is exposure. Once realized, once hung upon their own jaundiced cynicism; charlatans, most especially the narcissistic variety, fold under the weight of their own self-serving ideology. Shouting them down in the public square is thirst quenching but provides them with persecuted status; the very thing they claim; much like the long-suffering white nationalist Neo-Nazi shit bag fanatics. Let their actions speak I say; good citizens will recoil in disgust. In the interim we are left to hope the nincompoop don’t get us all killed from stupidity while they focus on coming after our social safety net. #TrumpTrumpsReagan # T-BoonPickens #wedon’tgetfooledagain #Newbosssameastheoldboss

Pivot Point

“Then join hand in hand, brave Americans all! By uniting we stand, by dividing we fall!”
John Dickinson; Founding Father

My girlfriends tears have turned to angry resolve. She yearns to tear apart the edifice of the fascist brute terrorizing her dreams and render his ascendency asunder. My best friend here, undoubtedly a Trump voter, seems a bit giddy. I want to tell him, like Trump. “I hear things”. Also like Trump, I don’t know if its true and since the outcome is settled I care less but I hear Trump won Wisconsin by 27,000 votes yet 300,000 voters were denied a ballot because they did not have a photo I.D. Therein, I suppose, lay the rigging.

Later today Trump will receive his first true comprehensive security briefing, wherein he is made aware of all our most highly guarded secrets. It is a rife of information Barack Obama was heard to have said when he received it, “I wanted to jump out of a window”. Perhaps this will level out our puffed-up braggart President elect.

I’ve found myself saying over the past several days when questioned about this rare phenomenon; “Well, he can’t be as bad as I think he is”. And though my stomach still churns every time I consider this sub-genius as our leader my nature steers me back to considering and acting out what will be my part in an outcome that represents the greater good.

Perhaps once we sweep away the lengthy litany of verbal transgressions from our normative societal behavior that the Trump himself has spewed and judge what comes next on what comes next from our confused and under qualified leader; those actions will lead us towards our next move. Meanwhile we have to hope that this man, positioned uniquely in history to do enormous good; does just that.

We are it seems clear stuck with him for now. And while I’m fully aware of all the apocalyptic predictions and fears and in my deepest heart of hearts share many of them, my higher self tells me no one man, even the first true populist ever elected, can throw a monkey wrench onto the gears of our lives and stop our forward progress; let alone render us crippled. And if I’m wrong and any one man can ruin our 240 year old experiment in self-government, the greatest idea in history; then I suppose we deserve it. #presidentelecttrump

Carnival in Purgatory

Baby here we stand again, like we’ve been so many times before. Even though you looked so sure; as I was watching you; walking out my door. But you always walk back in like you did today; acting like you never even; went away.” “Here Come Those Tears Again.” – Jackson Browne

I didn’t want to hurt her feelings so I went to the poetry reading. The roads snaked like a river, a main cable that plugged right into her. I knew as I hit the door it wouldn’t be anything. These academy kids had all the juice squeezed out of them years ago. In another ten years they’d be looking out office windows in high rise buildings on some Market street wondering why their lives were so meaningless.

The room was full of zombies, walking dead, fake people who never stared into a wound in their lives. They hid it, ran home and Mommy put a bandage on it. They would never find out who they were. Lonely, troubled, anxious women surveyed the room for their next victim.

The poets read, barely audible, terrified, like the words were precious, frail and fragile. The future chief of police shushed the crowd. It’s was pure Valium, plain oatmeal, no one laughed, no one cried, no one kissed, no fights broke out and no one bled, not even the poets. Burroughs, Bukowski, Kerouac and Ginsburg somewhere on the ethereal plain bent over retching, leaking blood from their eyes. I knew if they could hear such pabulum they’d never stop throwing up. It smelled like slow death in there; malaria, nightmares. I had to bounce.

I could feel her pulsating torment all the way up the stairs. I made my way to where the vibrations emanating. The room had those suicide windows. Shit man, somebody turn down the lights and put on some make out music. She was the only thing there that was alive. She buzzed all sadness and lonely eyes begging for relief. I headed for the door.

The cool night air slapped me awake. I started the engine and gave it some gas. I was covered in a patina of regret. I headed for the Bay where the fog cleansed me. By now Cassie was cleaning the spoons and closing the lights. A June bug flew from the warmth it once knew. I measured the distance between our hearts and caught the last train for the coast. #love # passion #poets #carnival #purgatory