The Human Mind-Fuck

My father used to quote Vince Lombardi (I think, as he got older, it was with more and more irony), that "when the going gets tough, the tough get going." Yeah well, just when it looks like it's really getting dark, there's a little shaft of light to give you a fleeting hope. At least that's how it's always been for me. If things get bad, you start thinking how it could be so much worse. Sometimes the converse is true too, things are good, you start thinking how things could be so much better, or no, I mean worse, I mean, when things are good, they're just good, but you know it won't last, and you think how everything could turn bad in a blink. So no matter what, good or bad, it could always be worse. I guess there's some kind of comfort in that idea. Cold comfort.

Lombardi also said, "run to daylight." This seems like a good idea. Running in daylight is a good idea too. Running in the darkness...well, that seems like a good metaphor or something, right?

So yesterday, I'm thinking about being tortured, and I'm wondering how quickly I'd be shouting: "I'll say anything you want me to say...just make it STOP!" Does this mean that I'm weak? If under torture I agreed that 2+2 = 5, that yes, up really is down, that really I think President Bush is a courageous leader, that I really do love Big Brother, would I be less of a "good person"? If I was willing to denounce my loved ones to make the torture stop, would I be unprincipled? A coward? A raving bowl of jello?

In my heart of hearts would I still be me? Am "I" defined what I say? Under duress? What if what "I" say is contrary to what I believe - but really only I know what I believe - and just how did I start believing in what I believe? Is that what we call education or indoctrination, or brain-washing? How much pain would make me believe whatever the torturer wants me to believe? Would I be broken, a tortured husk, that even I couldn't trust? And how about the torturer? Would he really be a monster? Or just a guy with a job, a kind of shitty job, that well, when he gets home, after a couple beers and a session with the boob tube, and maybe he can just forget about it all and go to sleep just like a little baby.

Being a human is just such a mind-fuck...

The Dim Sense

Wikpedia: "Fascism is a radical political ideology that combines elements of corporatism, authoritarianism, nationalism, militarism, anti-anarchism, anti-communism and anti-liberalism."

Sounds familiar?

"Nothing could be less American than a government that can indefinitely hold people in secret torture cells, take away their protections against horrific and cruel abuse, put them on trial based on evidence they cannot see, sentence them to death based on testimony literally beaten out of witnesses, and then slam shut the courthouse door for any habeas petition," said Christopher Anders, an ACLU Legislative Counsel. "But that's exactly what Congress just approved."

Ah yes, well, I call it the Torture Bill, it's being called the Detainee Interrogation Bill by others. Whatever. It truly is a disgusting piece of shit. I do believe this is a threshold issue. Our country has been degraded again, by those who claim to love it. I do think our country is run by very, very corrupt people. They are using the fear of terror to pass really bad, authoritarian legislation. They can't even stand up for some basic human decency. I know some Democrats voted against. I saw Hilary Clinton ("when we torture, we lose" - s.j. - WE HAVE LOST!) and Barack Obama give strong speeches against parts of the bill. There are voices of dissent. I'm disappointed someone didn't go to the mat (filibuster?!) on this one.

Maybe those who voted for the bill would be willing to visit a secret CIA interrogation facility for a weekend and sample some of the techniques first-hand for themselves. We'd call it "participatory democracy."

Anyway, the deed is done...maybe the Supreme Court will review down the line. Maybe a future legislature can fix it. Maybe monkeys will fly out my ass...

Anyway, shifting gears, here's Helen Mirren speaking of playing Shakespeare's Caliban: "I just got into it, of living in this wonderful, exotic world, of a creature locked in this awful physical prison but with a dim sense that there was something else out there."

Yes, well, some of us base our lives on this "dim sense."

Enemies of the State

Hey isn't it interesting to think that maybe we're seeing the beginning of the end of the Empire? A ten year war in Afghanistan, (plus the machinations of that man with the mark of the beast on his head), helped bring down the old USSR. Could our little excursions into the baffling lands of Afghanistan and Iraq, be the precursor to our own demise as a hegemon? Although, when the house of cards starts to tumble, I suppose it could get even uglier for a lot of us. Tomorrow's "enemy combatant" could turn out to be today's angry, anti-torture, left-wing blogger. What happens when the beast turns inward? Or maybe we are already using foreign lands as a stand-in for the homeland fight. There really is an entrenched authoritarian strain that runs right through the land of mega-malls and fast food franchises. Freedom ain't what it used to be - freedom now is the ability to shop where we want, when we want. There's a war against people who look and think different than us. Oh yeah, they are here among us right now. We talk of bombing countries, building walls, re-making the world in our own image. Anything to be more secure. Too much security is called prison. But whose image are we re-making and what are we re-making it into? Freedom and democracy have been turned up side down. There are some who are raising their voices...although it looks like anyone pitching for the rights of a "detainee" is by definition giving comfort to the enemy. This seems to be a zero-sum game, where ulitmately we all can be judged "enemies of the state." Yes, any "free-thinkers" are already on thin ice. Throw global warming into the mix and that ice is getting thinner by the day...

Fuck Torture!

Yes, dammit, I've "lost my space," to the torture debate. Sometimes a song gets in your head, and you just can't get it out. Or a co-worker pisses you off, and you rack your brain trying to figure out how to respond, or...well, you put yourself in the place of some poor dude stuck in a prison cell somewhere, with a cattle prod up his ass, or stuck to a "waterboard" to simulate drowning, or well, whatever horror you'd probably call "torture" if your mother or father, or brother or sister were subjected to it. What is it that Walt Kelly's Pogo said: "We have met the enemy, and he is us." I think it's not so much what the terrorists will do to us that we should worry about, instead, what will we do to ourselves in the face of the fear of terror? And how is it that Evangelical Christians can endorse torture? What the fuck? No more more lectures from those scum-sucking pricks! And then there's this from our noble-fucking political class, as so eloquently put by another blogger: "If the Republicans are now the Party of Torture, the Democrats are now the Party of Torture? Yeah, I guess so." No, I am not proud to be an American...I'd rather be considered a Citizen of the World...this is Authoritarian Bullshit of the worst kind. We are all Winston Smith now.

Expansiveness

I guess I'm always running to, or runnning from something. Maybe both at the same time. This morning, it was bright sunshine, shimmering water. I run on a path that snakes through the Northwestern campus. I can't really convey the beauty, the incredible expansiveness that opens out at certain points on the path. It's amazing what a less than pristine body of water, a bold, brilliant sun (hello, old friend), a big blue sky with little cloud wisps, and an open horizon can do for the soul. I could feel the expansiveness, the clarity, the smallness of being a human being overtake me. It was something folks. I actually thought, "everything is in it's place." Now that is not the usual sentiment when I'm back in the land of buildings and storm clouds. How did all of this come together? How is it that we find ourselves here on this little spinning rock? I have no answers. I just keep running.

Do the Right Thing...

Quotes from Dave Von Ronk, the Mayor of McDougal Street:

"Music is punctuated silence."

AND

"Sometimes you have to drop your principles and just do the right thing."

The Good Guys

As an aspiring "Dog Philosopher," (or maybe it should be Philosopher Dog), every day brings another confirmation of the degradation of our state. This must be what it was like in the early stages of the Stalin era, or dare I say it, Herr Hitler? You know something is seriously wrong, it's in the papers every day, another outrage, another counter-intuitive piece of information jumps out and smacks you upside the head. Do we pray for guidance? What big dog do we bow down to? Rin Tin Tin, Lassie, Snoopy?

Today we find that the National Intelligence Estimate has concluded that the Iraq war has made us less (not more) safe from terrorism. No Fucking Shit, Sherlock! And the torture bill looks like a cinch to pass through the hands of the nodded out drones in the House and Senate...I guess, at least we can't say that the leadership isn't being honest with us. We torture, we kill, (and dammit, we're proud of it, don't you know), because...well...because we are the good guys.

"Dogs Run Free...Why Can't We?" - B. Dylan

Is there one Democratic Senator willing to stand up against torture? Is this Republic so terror-crazed that we've decided terror really is the only answer?

"Cynicism was an ancient Greek philosophy, primarily concerned with virtue, whose followers were known as "The Dog Philosophers." They believed that virtue was the only necessity for happiness and that it was wholly sufficient for attaining happiness. They followed this philosophy to the extent of neglecting everything that did not further their perfection of virtue and their attainment of happiness. Thus the title cynics, from the Greek word for dog, kuon , was assigned to them because they lived like dogs; neglecting society, hygiene, family, money, etc. in order to lead wholly virtuous and happy lives."

They say every dog has it's day...maybe the only road to virtue and happiness is to emulate the Canine? Sometimes it's hard to admit to being a human being...we degrade ourselves, our planet every damn day...

Madness By Degrees

I've taken my lead from Buckethead. Sometimes madness comes gradually, by degrees, you can actually watch it unfold, and in it's step by step unfoldment, it actually makes some kind of sense.

So, I located my sock puppet (of course I have one, a relic from another show - it's an actual sock, with silver buttons for eyes, it's got a red flap for a tongue, it's got red lips, dark eyebrows, and blue and green string sprouting out like hair - it's kind of happy and friendly looking - the artistic type), and tried it on, just to see how it might feel. Fit like a glove. So, I have a conference call coming up, I'm expecting fireworks, I need to be calm, detached so I prepare myself, I get myself situated, something to drink, find a comfortable chair, have my phone at the ready, and well, maybe, oh hell, no one's looking, I'll just use the sock puppet just this once. During the call, when I speak, I make the sock puppet's mouth open and close like it's talking. I get off the phone - okay, that went well.

I have to make a trip to the dentist, getting a new tooth, don't you know, and well, maybe I'll just bring the sock puppet along for the ride. I put it in my pocket. On the El, every once in a while, I put my hand in my pocket to make sure the puppet is still there. On the trip back, (I've got a new tooth in my head!), I snake my hand into the sock puppet. I keep my hand in my pocket, but I'm wearing my sock puppet on the way home. My hand is warm, I feel just a little less lonely. I've got a friend.

I do take it off to prepare dinner. I leave it on the table. It looks up at me with those twinkling silver eyes. I know I might be projecting, I know this is sort of crazy, but it actually looks like those eyes are twinkling at me - it almost looks like love.

Drugs Don't Do What They Used To...

Word is Keith Richards has finally given up drugs. Just when the pharmacuetical industry has convinced the rest of the world that taking drugs is the answer. Keith says:

“I really think the quality’s gone down. All they do is try and take the high out of everything. I don’t like the way they’re working on the brain area instead of just through the blood system. That’s why I don’t take any of them any more. And you’re talking to a person who knows his drugs. I don’t take drugs unless I have to under great duress with my brain open. (Note: Keith fell out of a tree in Fiji and needed brain surgery.) I’ve had a couple of weeks on morphine. I did try to squeeze a little bit extra out of the night nurse. She was very accommodating."

So there you have it...from an expert. "My coat is torn and frayed...it's seen much better days." - Jagger & Richards

The Inspirers

Sometimes the Inspirers come from very unlikely places. Lately I've been listening to two dudes who have really opened my eyes. One is Wayne Coyne of the Flaming Lips. He's one of the Fearless Freaks of Oklahoma. Who would of thunk that a guy who worked for 12 years at Long John Silvers as a cook, would be one of the most charismatic rock and roll singers on the planet? Well it's true. The Lips are a long-running post-punk-psychedelic-rock outfit that combines a self-made, do it yourself work ethic, with a dreamy, questioning, space age consciousness. Backed by a Bonhamesque backbeat. Superb.

Next up is a guy who plays guitar like a crazed wizard. He wears a KFC bucket on his head, he's been known to speak only through a sock puppet. I don't know his back-story, but he plays guitar like a dream...I've been listening to his instrumental disc "Colma," and it contains quiet beauty, exquisite fretwork - soulful, austere...not exactly what you'd expect from a guy known only as Buckethead. I don't plan on emulating Buckethead's guitar playing, but I'm thinking a sock puppet could be just what I need in my work situation.

It's amazing where you might find inspiration...it's all out there, sometimes all you have to do is open your eyes and drop the veil...

Nice Try

James Lovelock, he of the Gaia Hypothesis (the earth is a self-regulating ecosystem), the man who predicted a hole in the ozone layer, now tells us that we're cooked. Global warming is here, it will accelerate, it's unstoppable, it's inevitable and we will begin to see cataclysmic effects within 10 years. Our ice caps will melt, our Amazonian forests will burn up. It seems the end for us will be fire. Lovelock figures there will be a mass migration towards the artic, because the rest of the planet will be too hot for human beings. Maybe 200 million survive (?), to try to remake the world - got any ideas? It will then take 1,000 years for the planet to readjust. Now, I don't know if he's right in his projections or not. I suspect he may be. So, here's my song title for the day - Nice Try Uppity Monkeys...But, No Cigar!

Ray of Light

Last week, I sat in a Starbucks just on the perimeter of Chinatown in Washington D.C. I was drinking an iced latte, and finishing up the Timothy Leary Bio by Robert Greenfield. I was on the page where Leary is close to giving up the ghost, and he's saying that we are "light-bearers." Now it just so happens that just as I was reading those words, a ray of light was breaking through the clouds, was refracted through the window of the shop, and a glimmer of light was magnified by my reading glasses. I looked down at the page I was reading and a tiny spot of light danced on the page in front of me. I had to be sitting just so or it would not be possible. My glasses had to be perched at that exact angle, the window had to be facing that exact side of the street, it had to be that exact moment at that particular time of day, etc. A million (?) factors all had to converge at once, for me to be illuminating the page with my glasses as I was reading the words "light-bearer." I did not fall to my knees. I did not praise the Lord. I did not rejoice. I noted all of this, I paused, lingered over the moment and wondered what it all meant. I remember I did say to myself..."I'm light too." I guess that is what we call an "epiphany" (a sudden comprehension, or realisation of something). Although in this case, I didn't just comprehend, I experienced, I manifested the thought. I finished the book, I walked back to my hotel. I went back to my day to day existence. But, I haven't forgotten this moment...I don't think I will...

Time of the Snakes

I don't mean to demonize the snake. Good God, Snakes on the Plane!?! It just seems like useful shorthand. All figures of authority, "the leaders" of the world (Church, State, Corporation) seem to be SNAKES. You know, powerful, slithery, primitive, brutal, single-minded, linear, without conscience (I'm projecting now), dedicated, reationary, deadly, cold-blooded, legless.

When the leaders of the "free world" are in the halls of power debating the merits and demerits of torture, you know the Snakes have dropped all semblence of pretense...

You can't go "head to head" with the snakes...I think you must "out-think" or out-manuever them. We must design a new reality. What are our weapons: amusement, meditation, creativity, love. I think we need to figure out how to be snake-charmers...there is no land, no island where the snakes don't reside. We need golden armour...impenetrable but permeable too...we've left the land of rocks and mud and entered the realm of magic.

A Struggle, Indeed

A couple of days ago this headline ran in the Chicago Tribune and the Washington Times: "A Struggle for Civilization." I didn't read the articles, I figured they reflected a recognition that our Torturer in Chief had finally overstepped the bounds of civility. What to do with the Texas Barbarian in the White House? Of course it was a phrase the Barbarian himself had used...the truth only oozes from his head inadvertantly...

"No, no, he's outside looking in..."

Back home. In my own little space capsule. Glad to be back from D.C. Not sure if I accomplished a damn thing. I schlepped my body from place to place, life is just so much schlepping...to the airport, to the hotel, to the taxi, to the subway, to the convention center, to the restuarant, to the coffee shop, back to the hotel, back to the subway, back to the airport, to the taxi, to...well finally home.

I finished the Timothy Leary bio...what can you say about a man? He lived. Timothy was a showman, a charlatan, a madman, a stoolie, a drug wreck, a poor father and husband, a visionary, a nation of one, an asshole, a fool, a celebrity, a "stand-up philosopher," etc.

In his last interview, a skeletal husk in a wheelchair, he said the following:

"We are the light. We are the light bearers. Our purpose is to shine the light on others. I have sought the light to use the light to be in space. Light is the language of the sun and the stars where we will meet again."

Timothy Leary's last word: "Beautiful."

Ring that Bell

At 8:00 a.m. at the Four Points Sheraton on K Street in Washington D.C. the church bells ring. Or no, maybe it's a digital tape of church bells. There's a nice little sequence of music, ringing bell tones, a chiming, mettalic sound clanging out some medieval-sounding ditty.

It's my third day here, another cloudy, rainy morning. So far my visit has been a sort of gloomy excurision. I'm armed with a load of business cards, a smile and an easy manner. It hasn't really gotten me very far. I'm looking to "make something happen," and the world seems a little cool to my plan. I'm mean, do we ever really "make" anything happen? Or does the world just happen, and we happen to be in it?

I had a long sleep, in contrast to the night before when I tossed and turned. Being on double-super-secret-probation has kind of gotten to me. I mean, I know it's ridiculous, but I guess I sort of dread it too, or as Eric Burdon once said, "Oh lord, don't let me be misunderstood."

I sometimes seems to really get in trouble when I "try" to do the right thing. I am also sometimes honest to a fault. This does not go down well with some of my business collegues. I've been told I need to be more "collegial." I find that mildly hilarious. I guess I feel I don't really belong here. I'm on a mission improbable...the bells remind me that things haven't always been like this...there are other times, other realities here with us always...

The Truth

Washington D.C. does have it's charm. It was a beautiful day in D.C. yesterday. Everything went smoothly into Ronald Reagan airport (oh how clean and efficient, Ronnie would be proud!), and I took the metro (very clean too) to my hotel on K street. The place smells like money. This is where all those lobbying firms who work so hard for their clients by helping Senators & Representatives write bills, taking into account the needs of big Pharma, and Big Oil and Big Insurance, making sure that their interests are considered. Who is lobbying for Grandma? And the trees, and the birds, and the little homeless man on the corner, and well, shit, who is looking out for you and me?

Anyway, I had time to just walk around the town, and it was kind of cool, somehow I found myself in Chinatown, and it was lively and funky and sort of fun. It's amazing to be in a city all alone, not knowing a soul, living on an expense account. It's kind of strange, and lonely, and well, I actually kind of like it too.

So anyway, later in the day, I find out that all my battles at my job have now led me to "super-secret-double-probation." Yikes! I am on thin ice. I'm not even sure I'm supposed to talk about it here. Obviously, I believe I'm the offended party, I have the facts, the truth on my side, but in my political battle this does not seem to be helping me. Oh well...what are they gonna do next, revoke my library card?!

There's a picture of Honest Abe in my room. I remember we say of George Washington, "he never told a lie." Somehow in our mythology of America, telling the truth is supposed to be important. Well, then, there's the myth and then there's the reality, and then somewhere in there there's supposed to be this thing we call the truth. It's supposed to set us free...hmmm...there's freedom and then there's freedom...and well, is anyone really free?

Maybe

A travel day today, I'm going to an energy show. Heading to our nation's capital. I don't really like the place, even with all the famous buildings and monuments. It's supposed to be a great town for tourists. I've never liked playing the role. I've always mistrusted power. I know our government is supposed to be a group of public servants serving the public, but I've always suspected that these public servants always seem to serve themselves first. I've always looked at even our own government as authoritarian. It's not supposed to work that way, but there's entrenched power that serves itself first, and democracy, and responsibility and accountability seem to come later, if ever. I do think I'm visiting the center of the empire, in another time it would be like visiting Rome, or Moscow, or Berlin, or London or Constantinople. I'm looking for someone interested in energy conservation...I'm heading to the great corporate feeding trough, looking for someone who wants to do LESS in this land of plenty... am I nuts? I always end up on these strange, hopeless-seeming crusades...but hope is my currency...maybe I will have some luck, maybe things will get better, maybe people will open their eyes and actually...do the right thing...maybe.

The Super-Stellar Range

It was a dark, rainy day yesterday...I went to visit my mom, we lunched at a local diner and then went back home and watched "The English Patient," a film made in 1996. I saw it when it orignally came out, I always wanted to revisit it, it seemed like a perfect time. It's an epic, it's a classic "weepie", it was perfect for the day. What can I say, I totally submerged myself in the beauty of the images, the doomed love story (is every true love ultimatley doomed?), the excellent acting, the strangely spiritual, uplifting nobility of a story about people living a life of passion. Does the horror of war, seperation, boredom, betrayal, death only stoke the fire? Well, yes, I think it does...as one of the characters says: "the heart is an organ of fire." I also thought I heard a character use the phrase - "super-stellar range." Now that's where my heart lies.

I read a book about the film editor, Walter Murch. I was looking for the little sublties he talked about in the book, how the sound of one scene would bleed into another. You might not notice it if he hadn't pointed it out. It helps bring some kind of mystical, or magical sense to the film. There's another through-line, tying one event to another. It leads me to the thought that that's what we must do too...find the through-lines of our lives...no matter what lies ahead, what lies behind us, there is some line, some continuity, some sense or spirit that we carry with us through each scene.

Drunk

Someone said to me yesterday..."you always look drunk." Now, do I take this as a compliment? Maybe I'm intoxicated with life?!

The Man

Okay, so sometimes, or make that most of the time, or hell, maybe all the time, this blog is just me basically talking to myself. If I wasn't typing furiously on a keyboard, if I wasn't letting this out, I'd probably be walking down the street muttering this stuff to myself. Which is a great way to "get my space," but would probably make the rest of the world even more skittish around me. I hear these voices in my head, usually sounding like me, sometimes not, I guess I'm like arguing with myself, or testing out the words, or maybe I just like to hear the sounds, try to fill up the silence. So, stuff that resonates with me, ends up here, whether it's entertaining or not, enlightening or not, interesting or not, etc. I'm still reeling from a conversation I had a couple of days ago, some really cool things were passed onto me, that basically blew up some old ways I was thinking, and kind of opened up a new vista...I've always had a problem with "the man." It's been my rebel mode...fight the man, fuck the man, off the man, etc. Now this can be turned on myself, if you know what I mean. What if I am the man?! So anyway, all I really have to say today, with no adequate explanation (please bear with me): sunnyjimmy, be the man, trust the man, you da man!

The Disillusionist

Someone I know and admire told me I was like the "Disillusionist," always looking for the lie behind the smiley face. This seems oh so true to me. It's been my mode from early on in my life, (think Catholic grade school) when the big powerful adults were happy to shovel their line of shit to a group of little defenseless kids.

Add in the lies of the government (remember my political consciousness arose during the Nixon years), and the discrete white lies within the family pod (we all just wanted to be happy), and well, that's pretty much the trifecta: Church, State and Family...what else ya got?

Oh yeah, there's the corporate world...don't even need to start the catalog of lying there, let's just say, whatever it takes to make a buck...and well, it's a life-long quest to slog through the shit to try to get to some honesty and truth...

Now, the trick is to not get too cynical, or more cynical about it all...there's forgiveness, compassion and amusement...isn't all just so funny how we spend so much of our time walking around on this planet handing each other so much bullshit!? And we know it's just shit too...anyway...even the disillusionist has some illusions he can cling to...for instance...hey it's kind of fun seeing the lie over and over and over...we're such a silly bunch of knuckleheads...makes for comedy, tragedy -- hell it's all just theater...

Zen in a Package

I found a new coffee...Zen Blend...I guess it's just packaging, little coffee beans, I pour the water in the coffee maker, I put the beans in the grinder, I grind vigourously, pour the results in the filter, push a button, and about ten minutes later my dark, Zen, liquid is ready for drinking. I add in a healthy dose of soy milk, (no fat antibiotic cows sully this brew), and presto chango, the caffiene begins to course through my body...this is sometimes how dumps transforms into sunny...

I guess this probably isn't all that good for me...the evidence from the scientists is contradictory...certainly the quanities I'm ingesting, are not recommended...what is this stuff doing to my arteries? I know it's a way of kind of jogging my metabolism. My engine starts revving...getting ready for another day of something...I suppose it's better than heroin, or crack, or methamphetimine...you must pick your vices...there's probably some kind of bill due, later down the line...but, hell, no one said this ride was gonna be free...

No Labor

Labor day...there will be no laboring today. It's a rainy day, slept in late, made a second pot of coffee. Listening to John Coltrane on the radio...he left us so much wonderful music...he died at 40. Unbelievable. Just kind of floating in genial haze today...it's OK.

Illusion

Last night the Lovely Carla and I saw "The Illusionist" featuring Edward Norton. It was a quite enjoyable film. Very much a classic story. As we left the theater, I remarked, "sometimes you just have to fool them." We both agreed this was the right message, at the right time for so much of what's happening in our lives at the moment. Sometimes it just doesn't pay to go "head to head." There's something to be said for creating an illusion, which can be used as a ruse, a distraction, to create space for the real work.

The Possible

There's something to be said for "being onto the next thing." In fact, it may be the only way to be. There's the continual creating and destroying, filling the space, and emptying it out. It's the only way to stay fresh, alive, in the moment. The hard part is to always realize that no matter what you make, it can't be carried forward, in order to create something new, the old must be left behind. Why does it always feel like starting over? That's when the possible becomes possible...

A Lot of Stabbing Going On...

Is this sunnyjimmy or jimmydumps speaking?

"There are two kinds of friends. Those who stab you in the back, and those who stab you in the front."

John Lennon once sang: "No one knows you when you're down and out, no one knows you when you're on cloud nine..."

It can get lonely at the top, lonely at the bottom. We come into the world alone, exit alone too. Man, that's a whole lot of lonely...

I think only love and compassion can make us less lonely...but these are passions that descend on their whim, not ours...