Why are We So Anxious & Depressed?!

Why are Human Beings so Anxious & Depressed? "The connections in the regions of the brain that contribute to whether we develop anxiety disorders may be something we inherit, according to a study.

Scientists believe the connectivity between two regions, the central nucleus of the amygdala and the bed nucleus of the stria terminalis, could be passed on in families, according to research in monkeys.

A team at the University of Wisconsin School of Medicine and Public Health studied 378 preadolescent rhesus macaques. Young ones were chosen, as extreme anxiety in childhood carries a risk factor for anxiety and depression in humans."

May I suggest an alternate theory? 

We are all temporary. None of us are the center of the Universe. We will all die. Everyone we know, and love, will die. We are born into a world we didn't make, and can check out at any time. We have to make choices without knowing the consequences. We make choices all the time without adequate information. These choices can define our lives forever. 

We live with people we barely know (our families), we are forced to go to school, to wear shoes, to behave. We are forced to learn the history of our kind. It isn't pretty. We find out that people are selfish, mean, cruel, capable of repulsive and despicable behavior.

People get murdered every day. Sometimes World Wars destroy generations of Human Beings. We have invented Weapons of Mass Destruction which we use to intimidate each other. We discover that Human Beings have invented things like Racism, Slavery, Genocide.

We are walking around this spinning ball in a great, infinitely vast Universe of spinning balls. We search for Love and Meaning, but for some of us these things are like Chimeras. We find out that much of our lives are spent in Jobs. Some of these Jobs are exciting, but for most of us, they are drudgery; unfulfilling, low-paid, time-wasters. We spend lots of our time watching clocks, stuck on freeways, riding public transportation. Everything smells funny.

We have to feed ourselves. We spend lots of time on toilets. It's weird, creepy, all the things we have to do as a Human Being.

We wonder if there's a Hell, or a Heaven, I think, we've given up on Purgatory. We like to think that if we live a good life we are rewarded, or if someone lives a bad life they are punished, but this is probably just a fairy tale we tell ourselves. We see injustice succeed all the time. We see good acts punished all the time.

Good things happen to bad people. Bad things happen to good people. All the time. We regret the Past and Fear the Future.  We hate change, change is happening every minute. We are changing, morphing, just like Jeff Goldblum in "The Fly." It's not pretty.

So yes, anxious and depressed? Let's blame the Monkeys!

A Copy of a Copy of a Copy of Myself.

I know I've written this before, because I know I have had this thought before. So I'm just probably repeating myself, but then, maybe I'm just a copy of a copy of a copy of myself. That's what happens when you age.

I think we are living in a modern version of the Dark Ages. Stupidity reigns. Stupidity is celebrated and rewarded. People hate intelligence and intelligent people. Intelligence tells us our lifestyles are unsustainable, we are destroying the planet, and the habitat, that keeps us alive. Everyone we know is going to die, and there is nothing we can do to change that reality. We are descended from monkeys, and we are no different than anything else that's living. That's why people hate Scientists, and Intellectuals.

Everything looks like a rigged game. Everyone is conning everyone else to get ahead. There are a few honest folks out there, but everyone else is ignoring them, or cheating them, or laughing at them. Honesty is greatly undervalued around here. Grace & kindness too.

Everybody wants more. More toys, more $, and we are all pretty much committed to doing anything to get this more. We want it all, all the time. It's a kind of sickness, an addiction. Capitalism is the perfect system for this grand addictive way of life. It now permeates all of humanity.

What drives this madness? Fear. Of death. Of irreleance. Of lonliness. Of meaninglessness. We try to fill ourselves up with stuff, with action, with noise, with craziness, drugs, booze, gambling, sex.

We are lost. Our only faith is in the Buck, and it is paper-thin. It can buy shit, but it can't buy us youth, health, love, friendship, good feeling, wisdom.

What is the counter-play? Breathing deeply. Meditation. Mentally withdrawing from the madness for short stretches of time. Believing in something bigger than ourselves, and our bank accounts. Accepting that life is good, but life is fleeting. We are like the leaves on a tree, here for a season, then gone. Part of a grand cycle. It's a bit humbling. Yes, a lesson in humility.

Nurturing Lens. Yes.

Lazy. Days. Of Summer. Not really, I mean, Shite, I am always moving. Which, I think, is a good rule, (if you are the type who goes in for rules):  "Always Be Moving!" Except when I am sitting in meditation, which I do religiously, or diligently, at least once a day. I was trying my best to channel my "gentle, nurturing lens," (see previous post), I think it kind of worked. I let the day wash over and thru me yesterday. Some days you just meet the day on it's own terms and everything just seems right. It was that kind of day. Lots of running around, a lot of back and forth, rolling and tumbling, adding up to what? But you know, everything seemed fine, in it's right place. I was never stressed or defeated. I seized the day. Another day. Alive. Last night I found myself on stage in a little neighborhood bar. Our band whitewolfsonicprincess played a groove-filled set, and the audience took to the dance floor and enacted some full-moon, voodoo, snakey kind of maximum boogaloo. That was new. A full dance floor. We conjured the sound of a bizarre runaway train and the audience jumped on for the ride, damn the torpedoes. I burst into flame mid-set. My whole body vibrated. Sweat poured like rain. It was pretty damn satisfying. Nurturing! Indeed.

Why is the Easiest Stuff the Hardest?!

The easiest stuff. Why is it so hard for us?

Simple things. Love. Kindness. Empathy. Compassion. Why do we get caught up in all this other crap?

How about "Mindfulness?" - "Mindfulness means maintaining a moment-by-moment awareness of our thoughts, feelings, bodily sensations, and surrounding environment, through a gentle, nurturing lens.

Mindfulness also involves acceptance, meaning that we pay attention to our thoughts and feelings without judging them—without believing, for instance, that there’s a “right” or “wrong” way to think or feel in a given moment. When we practice mindfulness, our thoughts tune into what we’re sensing in the present moment rather than rehashing the past or imagining the future."

On the one hand all that sounds easy. Like falling off a log. On the other hand... impossible... like we have to unlearn everything we've ever learned. Hah! Maybe that's the idea...

Awareness? Gentle nurturing lens? Acceptance? Live in the Present Moment? Who woulda thunk it?!

We are Left with the Odiferous Stink!

Yikes. I think we have reached an "inflection point,"  on the multiple, head-spinning, Helsinki Trump scandals, or you know, as Peter Gabriel sings, "Boy, Here Comes the Flood..."

What happens when one dirty, lying, rat turns on another dirty, lying, rat? Fun times!

I have never been a fan of Helsinki Trump, or his grand con-game: "Make America Great Again." But even I feel like I've been bamboozled. This onslaught of lies is pretty goddamn numbing. Are you tired of being lied to yet? America, when have you had enough? When do you say, "Uncle?!"

I do know that Helsinki Trump's true believers don't care. They are those kind of people, "the I Don't Cares." They will just shrug their shoulders and tell us everything is hunky dory. The rest of us? Watching this implosion is sort of perversely entertaining, but this kind of entertainment has it's limits. I think we have entered the Zombie Phase of the Presidency. The Prez is Dead Man Walking. His supporters too are just Zombie Hordes, they don't realize that they are brain-dead. Still walking around like they are with the living. Wonder how low and how long this will go. 

Helsinki Trump is like a big, stinky onion. Peel one layer of lies away, and there is another layer of lies beneath it. This goes on ad infinitum to the vanishing point. Finally all you are left with is the odiferous stink. 

Dreaming of Robert Mueller III, Bobby Three Sticks...

Dreaming of Robert Mueller III, Bobby Three Sticks...

It is was a long, tossing & turning kind of sleep. I fell into a deep zone of unconsciousness, but when I hit bottom, it was all murkiness and a series of dark, tantalizing images.

I was called into a big meeting at HQ. A dark, forbidding monolith of a structure. Winding hallways. Endless line of conference rooms. A faceless kind of dead zone of a building. Very Kafka-esque.

Robert Mueller, the head of the Russian Investigation was there. He was shepherding me through the maze. I was part of a contingent of important-looking people. Stoic, silent, men and women, stone-faced, serious. Everyone in business suits.

I, of course, was not wearing a shirt. I was bare-chested. No one seemed to notice or care, but I was a bit uncomfortable. I realized I was not like the others. A fish out of water.

There were two dead bodies laying on a conference table. They looked so small and sad. Middle-aged, bearded, but they looked like children pretending to be older when they died.  Innocent victims. Like little lambs who have lost their way. Victims of this grand conspiracy that Mueller and his team were working on.

Someone killed these people. Someone committed grave crimes.

I started to cry. Robert Mueller grabbed me by the hand. He held my hand. He looked me in the eye and smiled. No words. I looked up a the ceiling of the conference room and the ceiling just completely disintegrated before my eyes. A big, fat, glowing sun bathed the room with light. A healing, wonderful, powerful, blinding, light.

I woke with a start. My hand was dead, paralyzed, I guess I had been laying on it awkwardly, my hand had fallen asleep. I shook it to get the blood flowing once again. It was early morning, but I thought "I'll get up and make the coffee..."

And so, that is what I did...

"Helsinki Trump is the Real Trump." - Matthew Miller, MSNBC

Poor little Helsinki Trump. He thinks it's the "Liberals," and/or the "Liberal Media," that are his enemies, when actually it is "Reality" and "the Truth" that are his staunch enemies. Also, he thinks Vladimir Putin is his friend, when really, Pootie-Poot is just a friendly, overly-demanding, Black-Mailer.

Our Dear Leader was in Missouri yesterday talking to his devoted cult. He is asking them all to follow him over the cliff.

"Don't believe the crap you hear from these people -- the fake news," Trump told the crowd of veterans. "What you're seeing and what you're reading is not what's happening."

Yes. That's a good one. Is George Orwell writing his lines now? Don't believe your eyes and ears. Only believe the Con-Man, the Bankrupt, Reality-TV Clown. Sure, you can take this man at his word. His word is his bond. Of course, his word will change, morph and split into a million bits. This man can't keep his story straight from one speech, one line, one word, from another.

A mind is a terrible thing to waste... our Dear Leader's mind is a nasty bowl of mush... Poor Helsinki Trump... the truth is hard, real, unrelenting; it's a runaway train barreling down the tracks. Actually there are multiple trains, multiple tracks all pointing to Helsinki Trump. The day of reckoning is coming. Karma, Baby!

Helsinki Trump's America is the Bloated, Dope-Sick Vegas Elvis!

Once in awhile it pays to be friends with movie critics. I know two harmonizing movie critics who sing together in an acoustic duo band called The Dark Room Men. Nick Allen who writes movie reviews for RogerEbert.com and Pat McDonald who writes movie reviews for HollywoodChicago.com. I was at a recent r&r show and they both told me I MUST see "The King."

Maybe I'd ignore one or the other, but I just couldn't ignore both of them. So yesterday afternoon my friend and I sat in the great, vintage, Chicago movie palace, The Music Box Theater and watched Eugene Jarecki's astonishing, inspiring, and masterful film.

Chuck D. (Public Enemy): "Elvis was a hero to most, But he never meant shit to me you see, Straight up racist that sucker was Simple and plain, Mother fuck him and John Wayne, 'Cause I'm Black and I'm proud..."

Yes, Elvis, his rise and fall, kind of parallels the rise and fall of America. Elvis is the Great White Whale of American culture. Rise from dirt poor, humble roots, rocketing to unimaginable fame and fortune, the long years of $ and decadence, finally a big, blubbering addicted mess, dying on the throne at  forty two.

A young white man singing like a black man, taking the world by storm.

Tupelo to Memphis (home of the Three Kings - B.B. Martin Luther & Elvis), to New York to Hollywood to Vegas. Vegas the great, over-blown, totally hollow mecca to the buck. A slow-mo death in Vegas. Too much time, too many $$, too much attention. The great Elvis chronicler Peter Guralnick was a consultant on the film, so we get the full story, told brilliantly in all it's glory and horror. The film tracks nicely with his double-volume bio of the King: "Last Train to Memphis," & "Careless Love."

America itself is reflected in the Elvis story. The country started out like the young, extraordinary, uniquely gifted young Elvis, and now America finds itself in it's Trumpified, opiod-addicted, trash-culture, money-obssessed, bloated, sodden, sick Vegas Elvis.  What a story. Elvis was both Ahab and Moby Dick.  Highly recommended!

Everything is Very Orwellian...

This always happens. Focus on one subject intently, and you see illuminations everywhere.

So my focus on George Orwell (see previous post), changes everything around me. I mean, that focus changes my perception of other things, and guides me to notice, and choose, other things accordingly. Suddenly I find myself changing the soundtrack of my life, listening to the two great "dystopian bands," Pink Floyd and Radiohead almost exclusively.

"Orwellian" - "is an adjective describing a situation, idea, or societal condition that George Orwell identified as being destructive to the welfare of a free and open society. It denotes an attitude and a brutal policy of draconian control by propaganda, surveillance, misinformation, denial of truth(doublethink), and manipulation of the past, including the "unperson"—a person whose past existence is expunged from the public record and memory, practised by modern repressive governments. Often, this includes the circumstances depicted in his novels, particularly Nineteen Eighty-Four[2] but political doublespeak is criticized throughout his work, such as in Politics and the English Language.[3]"

Both Roger Waters and Thom Yorke have obviously been influenced by Orwell's writing. Think especially Pink Floyd's "Animals," "The Dark Side of the Moon," "Wish You Were Here," "The Final Cut," and Radiohead's complete catalog of records (one long dystopian nightmare).

And Water's late great "Is this the Life We Really Want?" seems to carry Orwell's critical eye, and laser-light intellect into the present time.

I have also been lately binge-watching episodes of the late Anthony Bourdain's "Parts Unknown."  Of course, I learned after his suicide that Bourdain was a great admirer of George Orwell.  I finally put two and two together. Bourdain in "Parts Unknown" is like an American Orwell traveling around the world. Bourdain and Orwell, so different in many ways, have so much in common; a trust and love for "common" people. A trust in the simple things. A trust in simple observation. What do people eat? How do they dress? What do they do day to day? What is on their minds? How do they explain themselves?

This is a method that gets to the truths of life and living. Check out Bourdain's episodes about Jerusalem or Grenada, or Houston. Your mind will be illuminated, expanded. Stereotypes bloom and fall away. Bloom and fall at the same time. What you thought you knew about a place and it's people may no longer be operative. It's the same working method that's alive in Orwell's "Down and Out in Paris & London." We learn how poor people, street people live. What they eat, what they wear, how they treat each other, how they curse, how they see the world.

There is something life-affirming about this method of living. Digging for the obvious truths. Tuning out the noise, not accepting the stereotype, not being distracted by ideologies, or political programs. Using our two eyes, our two feet, our brains, our hearts to look, to see, to be surprised. Oh yeah, and also to take in the pain, the suffering, the dislocation, and alienation, that we swim in too.

No one promised us a rose garden. But see the flowers? Smell the bouquet? Don't forget the thorns and the worms, the shit and the dirt.  We get it all. It's very Orwellian.

The Trick is to See. Clearly. Always.

Orwell by Ralph Steadman

I have been reading George Orwell lately. Recently, seeing the great film "Icarus," about bike racing, doping, the Olympics and Putin's murderous, lying regime sent me back to Orwell.

Of course, I read "Animal Farm," and "1984" back in high school. "1984," was an especially mind-blowing experience. I would say both of those books were "foundational" for me. Opened my eyes. Changed the way I saw the world, politics, nation-states, propaganda, the human story, forever.

We are all a little bit like Winston Smith...

I recently finished Christopher Hitchens' superb "Why Orwell Matters," a clear-eyed, concise overview of Orwell; his thought, his character, and the reasons why he is such a relevant figure today. This led me to the original sources. I wanted to delve a bit into Orwell directly.

The two books I just recently finished were "Down and Out in Paris and London," and "Homage to Catalonia." The first one is about being poor on the streets of Paris and London during the early 1930's. Orwell lived on the streets. You really get a vivid picture of a life of as street person. Orwell didn't just do an anthropological study, he actually, really, lived the life. It is such a vivid, human picture. Powerful. Clear-eyed.

Same with "Homage.." Orwell volunteered to fight in the Spanish Civil War. He was a fierce anti-fascist (as well as being suspicious of Stalin's brand of Communism, rampant, kleptocratic capitalism, and authoritarian governments of all stripes). This is "journalism" of the highest order. But in this case, the journalist is in the trenches, dodging bullets, picking sides, but, at the same time, clearly depicting all sides of the conflict, telling us what he saw first-hand in exacting detail, trying to parse the daily events, signs and wonders.

What have I learned? Orwell really was a great writer. He is so human. You really come to appreciate a man striving to always see clearly. Not an easy thing to do. But Orwell does it with humility and grace. He was someone with great empathy for human beings in all their complexity. Orwell depicts some difficult human conditions, but he does it with such common sense, such clarity, such deep empathy. It can't help but deepen the reader's heart and head. Great human being, great books, totally enriching.

Orwell doesn't make anything easy, he shows us the complexity, the multiplicity of the human condition, but he does leave the reader with a deep glimmer of light, and an abiding faith in the common decency of human beings. The trick is to see. Clearly. Always. Something to keep in mind in the roiling madness of the day.

A Very Gruesome and Painful Proctological Exam!

Ha. Ha. Ha. 

After my few days of utter horror at the thought that our President would secretly meet with Putin (for over 2 hours), the two emerge from the meeting,  and suddenly, outrage, & surprisingly, a week of hilarity ensues.

I suppose I am now quite pleased that these two men met. The post-meeting Press Conference in Helsinki was an amazing display of treason and submission. We got to see our Little Baby Man President grovel to the round-headed, tin-pot, Despot.

There is NO DOUBT that our Little Baby Man President is compromised. To the max. Just take a look at the photo.

Body language - "is a type of nonverbal communication in which physical behavior, as opposed to words, are used to express or convey information. Such behavior includes facial expressions, body posture, gestures, eye movement, touch and the use of space. Body language exists in both animals and humans, but this article focuses on interpretations of human body language. It is also known as kinesics."

Yeah. Funny. Check out the body language. Hilarious.

One guy looks like he just got out of a very gruesome and painful proctological exam; red-faced, downcast, his big lumbering body a sack of dumb rocks. Our Little Baby Man Prez realizes that the little autocrat has a firm grip on his gonads and he isn't going to let go anytime soon.

The other guy?

The cat who ate the canary. A happy little popinjay, a murderous, autocratic, round-headed strongman; smirking, grinning, bursting with energy and brio. Sitting on top of the world.

So funny. So conclusive. The photo says it all... yes, horror and hilarity. Welcome to the terror-dome.

Bucephalus Bikes - A Gem of a Bicycle Shop!

And now for something completely different...

You may think I'm obsessed with our Political Clusterfuck, and well, of course, I am. But at the same time life goes on. I try to fill my life with Love and Laughter, and anything besides the meltdown of our Democratic Dream.

In the 1930’s, Fred Birchmore, a man from Athens, Georgia, traveled around the world on a bicycle. He named his “two-wheeled companion” Bucephalus.

I found an amazing Bicycle shop, Bucephalus Bikes in Evanston, IL. It is a gem of bicycle shop. I own an old DBS cruiser-type bicycle, which I bought a few years ago off a deaf and dumb kid in the neighborhood who fixes old bikes and sells them cheap. This is the 3rd bike I've purchased from the kid.

The DBS is a classic. Sort of clunky, heavy, but it's perfect for getting around town. Over time it has sort of fallen into disrepair: a broken seat, a broken chain, pedals disintegrating and falling off.

I have taken it to a couple other bikes shops in the neighborhood and I have always gotten that 1000 yard stare, it's like I'm bringing an ancient Ford Model T into a car dealership. I have been told I should just ditch my crappy old bike and buy something new, get in the modern era.

Almost by accident I discovered Bucephalus, which happens to be the name of Alexander the Great's famous horse: "A massive creature with a massive head, Bucephalus is described as having a black coat with a large white star on his brow. He is also supposed to have had a "wall eye" (blue eye), and his breeding was that of the "best Thessalian strain." Plutarch tells the story of how, in 344 BC, at twelve or thirteen years of age, Alexander won the horse by making a wager with his father:[4] A horse dealer named Philonicus the Thessalian offered Bucephalus to King Philip II for the remarkably high sum of 13 talents, but because no one could tame the animal, Philip was not interested. However, Alexander was, and he offered to pay himself should he fail to tame it."

I brought my old clunker into Bucephalus and it was like coming home. I was welcomed in by Alejandro Anon and his wife Cecelia. Of course they could fix my bike, of course they could replace the pedals and the saddle, of course, they completely understood why I'd want to restore this old classic instead of giving up on it. As their website tells us: "Bucephalus Bikes is known for its excellent and conscientious service and repair. And we welcome the opportunity to service older bikes, giving them new life. At Bucephalus Bikes, we believe that repairing and rebuilding bicycles revitalizes, not only the “machines”, but also the people riding them."

Yes, well, they fixed my DBS up, it really does feel like it's restored, recharged, "good as new." I highly recommend  Bucephalus Bikes! So good to know there are folks out there doing excellent work. Folks who know what they are doing. Folks who care.

"Additionally, Bucephalus Bikes’ practice of refurbishing bikes and selling them at reasonable prices reflects the shop’s commitment to sustainability. As in other industries, many new bicycles are poorly designed and manufactured cheaply. Therefore, they cannot be repaired effectively, are “thrown away”, and a new one is purchased. Bucephalus Bikes aims to break this vicious cycle that disregards our resources and our environment.

Shop owner, Alejandro (Alex) Añón, who is an architect by profession, has a passion for bicycles and a commitment to getting more people out riding them. He and his wife with their four sons, have been living car-free for over 20 years. Bucephalus Bikes grew out of his desire to promote the bicycle as a valid method of transportation. He believes in supporting the individuals and the families who see bike riding as a means to greatly improve the quality of life in our communities."

Holy Shite... Let It Come Down!

The Motherfucker has been lying all along...  

NY Times - WASHINGTON — "Two weeks before his inauguration, Donald J. Trump was shown highly classified intelligence indicating that President Vladimir V. Putin of Russia had personally ordered complex cyberattacks to sway the 2016 American election.

The evidence included texts and emails from Russian military officers and information gleaned from a top-secret source close to Mr. Putin, who had described to the C.I.A. how the Kremlin decided to execute its campaign of hacking and disinformation.

Mr. Trump sounded grudgingly convinced, according to several people who attended the intelligence briefing. But ever since, Mr. Trump has tried to cloud the very clear findings that he received on Jan. 6, 2017, which his own intelligence leaders have unanimously endorsed."

No Shit Sherlock...

"In the run-up to this week’s ducking and weaving, Mr. Trump has done all he can to suggest other possible explanations for the hacks into the American political system. His fear, according to one of his closest aides who spoke on the condition of anonymity, is that any admission of even an unsuccessful Russian attempt to influence the 2016 vote raises questions about the legitimacy of his presidency."

U.S. Intelligence has always had the goods, they have known all along that Putin ordered the "hack of our election..."

Our President has known all along too. He has been scrambling his words. Using word-salad to try to confuse us all. He is lying. Plain & simple. He is colluding, collaborating, & conspiring with a hostile foreign power...  Holy Shite. Let it come down! Dare I say, this is "treasonous-type behavior." Countries don't take kindly to traitors!

The Dim Bulb Is Short-Circuiting!

The lights go out on Little Baby Man...

The aftermath of his lame-ass press conference with Putin? A lame-ass walk-back. How did the walk-back go? It was lame-ass squared. This is quite the photo, and metaphor. This Little Baby Man Dim-Bulb is living under an extremely dim-bulb.

We don't know what our Russian Dupe in the White House President promised to Putin. Kind of scary. It would be helpful to hear from the translator in the room, but I doubt that will happen.

The Toxic Clown's supporters are spinning madly post treason-conference. I call B.S. It is actually all quite simple. Don't let anyone fool you...

Note: I should post this on this blog every single day until this Little Baby Man resigns in disgrace or is removed from office, but I won't because that's a bit obsessive, and would really be  boring... but make no mistake, there is NO DOUBT, this President is compromised, he is being Blackmailed by Vladimir Putin.

I "know" this by Little Baby Man's words, his demeanor, his actions, his history.  What will be his ultimate downfall? Will it be his long history of laundering $ for the Russian Mob? Will it be his willfully conspiring with a hostile foreign power to hack and steal our election? Will it be the hush money deals to Porn stars? Will it be his wild and crazy nights in Moscow? Preserved on tape and held closely by Putin's KGB? Will it be all those bad and dirty business deals around the globe? Will it be some sick, dark, secret that only he and Putin know? I'm actually thinking all of the above! 

Little Baby Man always want to be the one Alpha-Male Bully in the room. Next to Putin you could see Little Baby Man's abject fear, it was palpable, but, also, there was the desperation to please. He played an obsequious toady to a Murderous, Autocratic Strongman. It was a truly despicable display. How does one Autocratic Bully tame another bully? One sharp poke in the nose, or some well-researched kompromat!

Black-Mail:  "refers to a situation that arises when a person threatens another person with some form of punishment if they do not offer some form of concessions. Blackmail is usually the result of one person somehow obtaining embarassing information about another and threatening to disclose it unless some form of payment (money or favors) is offered. The term originates from the words "black" and "mail", which referred to the dark or threatening nature of the letters (mail) that were received detailing the threat. Although blackmail usually entails paying a price to obtain another person's silence about an embarassing situation, it need not involve an actual event before it can be conducted. The threat of embarassing someone for a contrived event can be enough to conduct blackmail effectively, provided the threat is believable." 

Kompromat: "n Russian politics, kompromat, short for "compromising material" (компрометирующий материал), is damaging information about a politician or other public figure used to create negative publicity, for blackmail, or for ensuring loyalty. Kompromat may be acquired from various security services, or outright forged, and then publicized by use of a public relations official.[1][2] Widespread use of kompromat has been one of the characteristic features of the politics of Russia[3] and other post-Soviet states.[4][5]"

Leverage:  "power to influence people and get the results you want."

Mancuhrian Candidate: "a candidate running for office who publicly supports one group to win election, but uses his executive or legislative powers to assist an opposing group; it should not be confused with a sleeper agent who has been brainwashed into working for a political party."

Little Baby Man is caught in a vise between his Blackmailer Putin and his Legal Nemesis Robert Mueller III. Expect more lame-ass moments - expect greater frequency, wilder gyrations.  This Dim-Bulb is short-circuiting. Sparks will fly, lots of sputtering and guttering and flaming-out to be expected.

Waves of Nausea!

Red Alert! Red Alert!! Red Alert!!!

"The US has a two-party political system, and one of those parties openly cooperates with foreign hostile powers that help the party win elections by committing criminal acts against US citizens. That's not a sustainable situation for a democracy." - Susan Simpson

Wow... I thought it was "Democracy dies in Darkness," it now looks like "Democracy dies at a press conference in Helsinki." Is there any doubt now? We are all Winston Smith now!!!

Yes, my uncanny feeling of uneasiness was spot-on (see previous post). It is kind of like watching a super-slo-motion car crash. You watch it. You watch yourself watching it. You wonder if anyone else sees what you see. Then you realize, yes, OMG, this is really, fucking happening!

There is no doubt about it now. Our Little Baby Man President is compromised, is being black-mailed by Vladimir Putin. There was a despicable display yesterday in Finland. An absolute abdication of responsibility. It is obvious that Little Baby Man fears Putin and whatever kompromat Putin has on him. Our President is working to please Putin, and to trying to save his own ass.

This was a total "Fuck You," to America.

Rick Wilson in the Daily Beast:  "Even Putin couldn’t have expected the meeting to turn out like this, with the American president capitulating passionately, obviously—and yes, it’s time to use the word—treasonously."

After meeting for over two hours in private, Little Baby Man emerges and totally submits himself to the murderous, former KGB, strongman Autocrat. Surrender! Wonder what's gonna happen next? Don't think we've seen anything quite like this before. I have a very uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Feeling waves of nausea... what happened America?!

My head was spinning all day yesterday. I turned to music. What was my soundtrack? "Fight the Power" - Public Enemy, "Animals" by Pink Floyd, "Is This the Life We Really Want," - Roger Waters, "The Harder They Come" - Jimmy Cliff, The Melodians, The Slickers, Desmond Dekker, Toots and the Maytals.

We are living in the dystopia... Babylon, Man!

Jack Shafer in Politico: "Trump's obeisance to Putin at Helsinki was easy to predict given his earlier refusals to call the Russians out and punish them. But were we ready to see him come this close to violating his oath of office to protect and defend the Constitution? Watching him grovel and defer to Putin revealed Trump as a coward and weakling, an excuse-maker and an apologizer, and as someone unfit to hold the office of president."

Idiocy x Mendacity x Desperateness + Kompromat = Submission in Helsinki

I have this uncanny feeling that something is seriously, seriously wrong...

Little Baby Man is doubling down on his idiocy. He is praising the little tin-pot, murderous dictating strongman Putin and knocking good old USA in preparation for his dastardly stupid meeting in Helsinki. Yikes!

I mean, I am no math major but there's probably an equation that encapsulates his complete useful idiot quotient: Idiocy x Mendacity x Desperateness + Kompromat = Submission in Helsinki 

OR -  (I x M x C + K = Bad Idea!).

I still think this meeting is madness (see previous post). I am kind of stunned that someone, anyone, on the US side is not doing something/anything to make sure that Little Baby Man is not alone in a room with Putin.

I also wonder, isn't every Intelligence Service on the planet trying to eavesdrop, surveil, bug this meeting? Wouldn't you want to be a fly on the wall? You have to think some enterprising Spooks are going to somehow, some way, listen in.

This is not normal, not cool, not right. The Con Man is going to meet his Black-Mailer... alone... the mind reels, the world shudders... WTF...

A Really, Really Bad Idea!

Are they really going to let our Little Baby Man President meet with Vladimir Putin? Really? WHY? What possible reason would these two men have to want to meet all alone? The incompetant Con-Man, meets with the ex-KGB operative alone in Helsinki with only translators present? That sounds like a really, really, bad idea. Like fucking insane.  No logical reason. Something smells really fishy.  It seems pretty obvious Putin already has compromising info on Little Baby Man, a private meeting seems like another step in a sophisticated black-mail operation. It dawned on me yesterday that Putin really is calling all the shots, and Little Baby Man is so afraid of being exposed that he is willing to submit under any and all conditions set by Putin.

There is no way anyone should want a one on one meeting with that puffed-up, killer, autocrat.
The only reason Little Baby Man makes the meeting? He has no alternative. The black-mailer is in the driver's seat, Little Baby Man is in so deep, there is no turning back, no escape. He must meet with his "handler" whether he wants to or not. Expect things to take some weird and terrible turn. What will a man do when all he holds dear is in grave peril? I almost feel sorry for Little Baby Man. Oh yeah, I feel bad for us too, I mean, you know, I feel bad for the rest of the world.

Who Will be Willing to Go Down with The Prophet of Hate?!

Yesterday's Indictments of 12 Russian Intelligence Officers lays out the who, what, when, how of the Hack of the 2016 Election. Friday the 13th 2018. A historic day for sure.

The "walls are closing in," on our Little Baby Man President and his team of malicious lackeys. We can expect the next round of indictments will lay out the case for those Americans who helped, assisted & cooridnated with the Russian Hack.

There must be folks across the land who are not sleeping well. Robert Mueller and his killer team of prosecutors seem to have the outlines of the crime well in hand. More bombshells are clearly coming down.

Interesting times. You wonder when some of the fervent supporters of Little Baby Man start jumping ship. Sure, some rats may be willing to go down with their Prophet of Hate, but there will be a time when staunch supporters will realize their fortunes clearly diverge from their Dear Leader. Self-preservation is the last act and refuge of the scoundrel.

I thought of Macbeth and Birnam Woods yesterday: "In Shakespeare's play Macbeth, Macbeth is told that he will only be defeated when Birnam Wood comes to Dunsinane. Later, his enemy's army comes through Birnam Wood and each soldier cuts a large branch to hide himself, so that when the army moves on it looks as if the wood is moving. Macbeth is defeated and killed."

The woods are moving... there is no escape... Little Baby man is caught in a vise between Mueller & Putin... things are getting dicey... yikes!

The GOP is a Broken Vessel!

Deep in the weeds on the Russian Investigation and the GOP's attempt to derail it. Yesterday I watched excerpts of FBI Agent Peter Strzok's testimony in Congress. Rick Wilson gives us a nice "blow by blow."

Let's just say if you thought the GOP was the last bastion of cretins, scumbags, dolts, lackeys, con-men, crazed dentists, clueless, mendacious ex-wrestling coaches, and barking, rabid, brainless partisans, well you would be underestimating their complete noxious & toxic deviancy. These representatives are the worst of the worst. Not representative at all. Just terrible people. Really. You think a guy (they are all men), with a fancy title and job in Washington D.C. might have a bit on the ball, no such luck. The absolute bottom of the barrel.

Maybe our Democracy really is sunk? What a complete ClusterFuck. There is no hope for the GOP. It is a broken vessel. These folks are flailing, falling, trying their best to destroy our Democracy, and the rule of law, in order to keep their grip on power. There is no excuse for this kind of mendacity. Holy Shite. If you thought things were bad listen to these Congressmen and shudder. Fucked Up Beyond Recognition...

I do believe the GOP is running scared. This Russian Investigation must probing into deep and dark acts much worse than we even imagine. The GOP fury against an FBI agent betrays their Fear of the Investigation. Easy read: If Trump and his minions are innocent, they should welcome being exonerated by Mueller and his prosecutors. Unless of course, they are guilty, and are afraid of being exposed and deposed. These are scalded, yelping, dogs, scrambling to hold onto their power in the face of a scandal of major proportions. Their only hope is to somehow derail and bury Mueller's investigation. I do not believe they will be successful. I do think the Karma-Train is coming down the track. Traitors, Treason-Weasels, they will meet their destinies.

Here's Wilson: "Strzok was supposed to be a key in the imaginary conspiracy that Trump's congressional lackeys and media fantasists have desperately tried to write as history. The idea that his text messages poison the entire Mueller investigation was a pillar of their defense of the president. This morning they were going for a quick kill. They needed Strzok to flail, and wilt. The Gowdy, Goodlatte, and Gaetz types needed their grandstanding, dick-waving mock outrage to leave Strozk shaking and begging for mercy. Strzok had none of it. In this morning’s round he left the Trumpists of the House staggered in their corner, cut and shaky, wondering where Strzok learned to hit back that hard."

Extremely Weird, Mildly Weird, But Always Weird.

The language we use is important. Words. They carry meaning. Meaning hangs around us like a cloak, a cloud, an aroma. Earlier in my life I was greatly influenced by Samuel Beckett and the Theater of the Absurd. So yes, when I got into deep philosophical conversations I would fall back on the "absurdity of life: the conflict between the human tendency to seek inherent value and meaning in life and the human inability to find any."

It was a way to sum up life. Which isn't a very useful or meaningful thing to do, and it always seemed like a "closed door." A way of ending a conversation. I now pretty much reject that idea/label. And I wonder if Beckett really thought of his work as the theater of the absurd. I review a list of quotes and find him gnomic, Sphinx-like.

Today I can say that, yes, Life has value and meaning, even if I can't put a finger on what that value and meaning entails. It just is. I don't seek meaning, I conjure meaning for myself.

I no longer think of my life as absurd, I think of it as "weird." You know:
"involving or suggesting the supernatural; unearthly or uncanny: a weird sound; weird lights. fantastic; bizarre: a weird getup. Archaic. concerned with or controlling fate or destiny." Very much an open door. Doesn't sum up, or give an answer, leaves room for more questions.

I experience the weirdness of my life every single day. I don't find life hard, or a chore, or a job, I find it weird. Sometimes extremely weird, sometimes mildly weird, but always, always, weirdly weird.

"Intellectual Darkness & Barbarity!"

Everything seems slightly wrong. Some things feel majorly wrong. Weird times. You are living your life, trying to get along, doing your thing, but there is this general drift of wrongness. You are carried along in a big stream, a larger trend, the planet is getting more and more crowded, people are getting crazier & needier. Maybe too much concentrated energy. Density.

You know, there must have been some happy folks, some wild parties, during the Dark Ages, but Darkness was the major theme. Maybe this is an echo of that earlier time? 500 AD - 1000 AD. "Intellectual darkness and Barbarity!" Hopefully it's a blip, a mistake, a slight detour. We can right the wrong. I'm sure. I mean, I think, I mean, I hope.

Symbols & Cultural Markers.

This morning I am thinking about symbols and cultural markers. "The Knight of Wands" (Lord of Flame and Lightening), from the Tarot Deck, and the phrase: "Black Sheep."

I have been burning up lately. This weather. I run hot anyway. Add in the heat of the day and I am just a burning cauldron most of the time. I pulled a Tarot Card yesterday morning, and it did set the tone for the day, and this description does fit me (for good and bad), in so many ways:

"The Knight of Wands is an ‘act first, think later’ type of guy. He is impatient and impulsive, with a love for action. The downside to the Knight of Wands is that while he is bursting with energy and enthusiasm, he has a tendency to rush into things without much consideration for the consequences of his actions. He sets off on his journey in haste and often fails to have a clear plan of attack and this may negatively impact his chances of longer-term success. He is so focused on being the best and of fame and glory that he almost forgets to plan ahead and to keep sight of reality. The Knight of Wands can also come across as aggressive and overly ambitious. He is highly insistent even if others stand in his way, criticise him or challenge him."

We were at a "gathering of the tribes" yesterday. Family. Extended family. My companion and I always feel like the "Black Sheep" in these kinds of gatherings. Some folks seem to live a more orderly, moderate, rational, common-sense existence. Married. Have kids. Good jobs. Seem to know who they are and how they fit in the world.

That was never for us. We never had a plan. Had very little common sense, were always flailing about, living day to day, making it up as we went along. Full of dreams, overly-ambitious, with no plan, or means, to realize our dreams. Never able to "grow up."

We have never fit in. Never have. Never will. There may have been a time when we tried our best to to be like others, but that time is dead and gone. We now wear the Black Sheep thing, if not with pride, at least without shame. Yes, we are different. We never grew up. We have no clue what we are doing. We still are flailing about trying to break out of the circumstances of our lives.

I think we both kind of wish we had embraced our Black Sheep nature much earlier in life. Yes, we are different, we get in trouble often, we are kind of an embarrassment. You have a problem with that?!

"Is That Stable State Going to Be One That's Suitable For Humanity?"

I think of myself as a hybrid - "a person or group of persons produced by the interaction or crossbreeding of two unlike cultures, traditions, etc."  You know I'm a person or group of persons.

A Beatles fan (reveling in melody, harmony and enthusiasm) & a Stones fan (reveling in decadence, hard-blues, shambolic r&r). A Buddhist with deep Catholic scars and tendencies. An Optimist with streaks of Pessimism running down my back.

Up early Monday morning and the pessimist is in charge... I am thinking about Temperatures in Siberia:

"2018 has unfortunately been a prime example of global warming’s effect on the jet stream. And northern Siberia has been getting blowtorched by heat that refuses to quit because of an ongoing blocked pattern favorable for intense heat."

Nick Humphrey: "Once you reach certain tipping points, the Earth takes over and amplifies what we’ve done to make things go faster. These increasing heat events, these extreme weather events, that’s all a process of the Earth trying to speed itself up to get to a new stable state. Is that stable state going to be one that’s suitable for humanity?"

Aye. There's the rub. We human beings are pushing the planet to the extremes with our stupid and relentless poisoning of the environment. Some of us know better, but most of us don't seem to give a shit. Will we come to our senses in time? Is our time up? The pessimist in me thinks we are fucking toast. The optimist thinks a change of consciousness can happen in the blink of an eye. Pessimist: Maybe that blink's time has passed. 

What happens to human beings when the planet adjusts? Are we just like a viral infection? A colony of bacteria? A dangerous, ignorant pest that the planet needs to shake?

"A Cesspool of Deviancy" - The Ohio State Wrestling Program!

Ex-members of the  Ohio State Wrestling Team reveal to Politico damning testimony about the brewing "sexual abuse scandal" at the University, which may engulf the mouth-breathing, knucklehead, Jim Jordan, GOP Rep from Ohio.

Yikes. What is wrong with Human Beings? Everywhere you turn people reveal themselves to be such shits. Makes you question the whole Human Experiment.

"A half-dozen ex-wrestlers told POLITICO they were regularly harassed in their training facility by sexually aggressive men who attended the university or worked there. The voyeurs would masturbate while watching the wrestlers shower or sit in the sauna, or engage in sexual acts in the areas where the athletes trained, the former wrestlers said."

Sounds like Jordan was just another one of those people who turned a blind eye to the debauch. Of course, he's a member of the party that has a prime sexual abuser at the top of the org. chart.

“I never knew about any type of abuse,” Jordan said in an interview this week. “If I did, I would have done something about it.”

"Though none of the wrestlers and coaches interviewed blamed Jordan for the inappropriate behavior they experienced in Larkins Hall, they said he would have had to know about it. One former wrestler told POLITICO he saw Jordan yell at male voyeurs to get out of the sauna, though Jordan’s office refuted this account. Even three wrestlers who defended Jordan said it would have been impossible for him not to notice the pervasive toxic atmosphere surrounding the team."

A former Wrestling Coach, quoted anonymously: “It was a cesspool of deviancy. And that’s a whole ’nother story that no one has addressed.” 

Who could of guessed that a "sport" where young boys and men roll around on a rubber mat groping and tossing each other around could attract a cesspool of deviancy?

Just another story of complete corruption. Folks looking the other way to protect the Powers that Be. To protect the University. To protect the program. You can't make this stuff up. Human Beings never fail to disappoint. You hope folks would "do the right thing." Act with dignity, grace, compassion, empathy. Often they only seem to do whatever they can get away with. The horror...

"This is the only musical: the mouth." - Little Baby Man

I was going to let this pass without comment, but, I just can't. Our Noxious, Toxic Sad & Sick Circus-Clown Prez (see previous post), often goes out into the hinterlands to speak to the rabid, raging hordes. They love that Sick Clown with all their hearts. They love to hear the words of hate and stupidity shooting out of his big fat, drooling mouth.

Does he employ speech-writers? We just don't know. If he does, they must a bunch of meth-drenched, LSD-dosed monkeys on rickety, old typewriters.  Fucking Gibberish.

A mind is a terrible thing to waste. We are watching a mind totally disintegrating on the national stage. Is it sad? No. Except this gibbering, idiot-madman gets to make decisions for all of us. This is an actual transcription from his speech in Montana on July 5... read it and... wonder... what the fuck?!

Conscious vs. Brain-Dead!

Sorry. Yes. I know it's ugly. Hideous. I just can't resist. A certain perfection.

The NY Daily News is one of Little Baby Man's hometown newspapers. They know this Toxic, Noxious, Sicko, Twisted, Evil, Zombie-fied, Circus-Clown as well as anyone. This is no longer about Politics. Or I mean, of course it is, but this particular Human Being is beyond the pale, an insult to any and all sentient beings. Forget Democrat vs. Republican, Liberal vs. Conservative, Think Conscious vs. Brain-Dead.

Little Baby Man is an insult to our intelligence; anyone who can read, or write, put two words together, construct a sentence, feed themselves, avoid peeing their pants. Anyone with feelings, empathy, any sense of shame or decency. Any moral compass. Any competence. Any (fill in the blank here)...

This man is a threat the our sanity. A threat to the US. A threat to the World. It is impressive just how all the most toxic, damaging qualities could gather in the fat carcass of one blathering, blithering, blowhard of a Human.

I recently finished reading George Orwell's "Down and Out in Paris & London," there is a chapter on "curse words" - a profane or obscene word, Orwell thought that curse words were kind of an incantation, a branch of magic. George Carlin had a bit on the "seven dirty words."  I'd like to find a way to combine the best curse words in one grand incantation. To conjure a spell of obscenity. A profane spell to help bring this abomination of a being to an appointment with his Karma.  But, to be polite, I think I will do it silently in my head. Maybe the worst fate we could imagine: Little Baby Man actually has to be Little Baby Man. The horror. The horror.

"Hating Popular Things Doesn't Make You a More Interesting Person."

Not sure I agree with the headline. I mean, I was never popular myself, so, for most of my existence, I have cultivated a personality and sensibility on liking unpopular things. I'm not convinced, I mean, hating popular things might make you more interesting. There are whole cults, and trends, and genres, and tastes, based on unpopularity. Think of all your friends who like bands or movies or people that no one else likes. How many Critics, (movies, music, food, etc) have made their mark by hating popular things? Either they are interesting people, or just contrary assholes. Maybe both.

Although, now that I think of it, I think it was Chuck Klosterman (American Author and Essayist),  who pointed out that just because something is popular doesn't make it bad, I mean, there must be some good reasons why something is popular, I think, if I remember correctly, it was Klosterman who made the case that popular culture might not be good, but it is never wrong. But then again, maybe Chuck was just trying to be an interesting character by being contrary.

Maybe if someone would have told me that I didn't need to hate popular things when I was a moody, pissed off, recalcitrant teenager I would have tried to like more popular things? Doubtful.

Anyway, yesterday, July 4th, 2018, we decided to only do "popular" things. It's a bit contrary to my nature, but I was in agreeable mood, so we went with the popular things...

1. Played Beatles and Led Zeppelin on the CD player. Surprisingly "Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band," and "Led Zeppelin IV (ZoZo),"  on random play makes for a pretty interesting soundscape. Don't let the critics tell you any different. Two popular records for many good reasons.

2. Pizza. We ate Pizza. It was good. How can you not like pizza? Pretty much all the main food groups in one big circle!

3. Watched "The Big Lebowski." Every scene is great. Lots of laughs, almost every scene is brilliant, fully realized, and when Townes Van Zandt starts singing "Dead Flowers" at the end, well, the tears just flowed like summer rain.

4. Went to the big fireworks display. I actually do hate this July 4th ritual, but I decided to pretend I didn't, just to be agreeable, or maybe not totally disagreeable. Almost fell asleep. My friend told me the long wait for the fading light to finally disappear was "building suspense."  I replied: "The suspense is killing me." So dramatic. I watched the twinkling lights and flashing colors, all the pretty people transfixed, and wondered what it was all about.

5.  Crashed out at the end of a long day with two pillows under my head. No dreams. Just a deep, restful sleep. Sleep - necessary and very, very popular!

Everything is Different. Everything is the Same.

Sometimes I find myself staying at other people's houses, watching other people's dogs. Where I live, the houses closer to the Lake are bigger, more palatial. You can actually see block by block how proximity to the Lake means wealth. Sometimes I find myself in beautiful, enormous, mansion-like homes. Homes I could never imagine owning. Usually, when I find myself in such a Citizen Kane like place, I am alone. I mean, it's always just me and the dog. I get paid to hang out with a furry creature buddy.

Everything is different. Different bed. Different sound system. Different coffee maker. Still, there are the constants. I always brew up a great pot of coffee to start the day. Today I'm drinking a pot brewed up from organic beans from Tanzania. I am listening to a bunch of cd's I brought with me, Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, Neil Young, Led Zeppelin. Sometimes it pays to like what everyone else likes, right?

I also have been listening to Television's "Marquee Moon." I just recently finished another 33 1/3 book, this one about Television's first record. It's written by Bryan Waterman. What a great little book. It's a well-researched, entertaining read. It reminded me that although I may have inherited a bunch of great artists: Beatles, Dylan, Stones, Who.  I actually discovered a bunch of cool bands too: Patti Smith Group, Talking Heads, Ramones & Television.They all happen to be New York bands. Birthed at CBGBs.

Television were the reigning Kings of CBGBs. They were there first. They were the ones who established that club to be the r&r dive you had to check out. It's kind of weird and maybe a bit sad that the other three bands had much more success than Television ever did. But also in some way Television and "Marquee Moon," seem even more extraordinary, more pure and unsullied than any of those other acts. I know they made a couple other records, but I only own the first one, and it's sits alone, in amber, preserved like a strange and beautiful beast.

Music. It's amazing how so much of my life is consumed with music. I am not alone in this either. It's sort of like a religion with some of my friends too. Music is something we have faith in, something we sink into every day. It can be meditative, transcending, or challenging.

Yesterday, we had an afternoon rehearsal with our band. Kind of a rare treat. Usually we get together in the evening, but it worked out that we could get together mid-day, which seemed like a bonus. There is something so consuming, satisfying and exhilarating about getting in a room and playing music. Running through songs, totally sinking into the vibe. We must have run through about 20 whitewolfsonicprincess' originals yesterday. There is a special communication going on. Beyond words. It's not a word thing, it's a sound thing, a vibe. One of those really cool things to do. Playing music with extraordinary people. Exhausting too. Renewing too.

Anyway. Another day in the mansion. Coffee in my mug. Music on the box. A million thoughts and feelings flying.

"What a Great Day to Be Alive!" - Sunnyjimmy

Yes. I actually said those words (to myself) yesterday: "What a great day to be alive." Considering our human ancestors have been around for around 6 million years, and the modern form of human beings have been on the planet for 200,000 years, you'd think I'd say those words every day of my lowly, humble, meager existence, but it's not true. I take a lot for granted. To be sure.

I found myself downtown in the big city yesterday. After two hellish days, super, blazing-hot, heat index in the 100's, the temps were much milder, nice breeze, blue sky, the day kind of friendly and welcoming. So yeah, went from basic survival mode in the days of hell, to sort of a happy, contented zone, meeting the day with a smile, happy to be conscious, all my major organs working, all my fingers and toes intact.

The day was pretty much perfect. That Radiohead song in my head: "Everything in it's right place." I made all my appointments, fulfilled all my duties of the day, easily, on-time, the day meeting me on my terms. Everything, everyone, looked beautiful. Even the not beautiful things, the not beautiful people.

People. They were everywhere. The city was so alive. Energy just rising off the streets. Hard to know how and why that feeling of euphoria wrapped me in a little bubble, but it happened. It was a good day. Yes, it was, a very good day, a day in the life, and I was glad to be alive.

We are in for a Bumpy Ride!

Remember that Lawyer and Business Partner of Little Baby Man Prez? No charges have been filed yet, but the FBI seized a ton of evidence. The Prosecutors are reviewing now.

Remember Cohen famously said he'd "take a bullet" for Little Baby Man. Of course, that was a time when no bullets, (metaphorical or otherwise),  of any consequence, were flying through the air. Now, well, looks like our tough guy lawyer has envisioned a future rotting in a prison cell, and has reached down into the depths of his soul and found a new loyalty: “To be crystal clear, my wife, my daughter and my son, and this country have my first loyalty.” - M. Cohen

Little Baby Man didn't make it in that sentence. Did M. Cohen just try on his John Dean mask for size? We are hurtling towards a constitutional crisis of epic proportions. Expect lots more bombshells, ridiculous and disturbing, and nation-shaking details. Please strap in: firmly attach your seat-belt, put on your crash-helmet. We are in for a bumpy ride.

"Quitters to Be Buried." - John Wayne as Thomas Dunston

I haven't seen Howard Hawk's "Red River" in a long time. I suppose, now, all these many years later, I consider it a foundational film. It was one of my Father's favorites. John Wayne actually acts. John Ford who had made a shit-load of movies with Wayne famously said after seeing Hawks movie: "I didn't know the son of a bitch could act." John Ford and Howard Hawks were two of America's great myth-makers; reimagining the American West, and the hale and hearty Men's Men who conquered it.

Wayne plays a "tyrannical" and "stubborn" man in Red River. Classic Western. A story of Men, Fathers and Sons. Montgomery Clift  plays Dunston's son. Later (in real life) we would learn that Clift was a closeted gay man with a serious drugs and drink problem. Not bad casting for the Prodigal Son.

Herding cattle across the land. That was the family biz. Now that's a man's job.

Not everyone was up to the job. "Quitters to be buried." First you shoot them down, then you bury them. Man's work. Yeah, that line was always sort of unintentionally funny, but at the same time, there was that serious message: You don't quit, you don't give up, you tough it out, you don't back out of your commitments. A Man toughs it out. A Man. What is a Man?

There were some mythic figures in my Father's world, icons who figured in the answer: John Wayne, Humphrey Bogart as Sam Spade, Philip Marlowe, Fred C. Dobbs in "The Treasure of Sierra Madre," Gary Cooper, John & Walter Huston, Steve McQueen, Ben Johnson, William Holden, (actors all, portraying, playing at being bigger than life men),  Vince Lombardi, (the ultimate, big-time coach, the real thing), Hemingway (two-fisted drinker, double-barreled writer, myth/man/mayhem). Men. Men's Men.


Of course, in my youthful rebellious years, I was assembling my own Pantheon of Icons and cultural heroes, the Soft Boys, the sensitive boy-men from what I then thought of as the "counter culture," you know, Men, with their Boy-like qualities front and center - long-haired, dope-smokers, promoting Peace,  Love and Understanding - Soft Boys - those propelling themselves into music, poetry, theater - John Lennon, Paul McCartney, Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, Pete Townshend, Gary Snyder, Bob Dylan, Sam Shepard.

There was that whole Vince Lombardi code: "When the going gets tough, the tough get going." The Sam Spade code: Do the hard thing. Stand up for your code. Live by your code. Be true to your word. Be true to your partner. As a young lad, as a sensitive and ornery teenager, I hated hearing that all shit. I pushed back against it. But now, all these years later, I realize, I have incorporated that "code" into my DNA, my biome too.

So, yeah, and remember, "No one promised you a Rose Garden." And the going always gets tough. Count on it. That's life. Tough shit. You need to adapt, adjust, endure. You must be willing to "bend don't break." How you deal with adversity defines us. If you fall, or get knocked down, you get right back up. No quitters around here. Fighters.

Lately things seem really fucked up: Politically, Socially, Personally. And still, I do believe in the power of positive thinking. I do think we need to buck up. We need to dust ourselves off. Stand strong. Toughen up a bit. Sure, it's okay to cry. Big boys can cry. It might even be a necessary cleansing. Sure, take a moment, let the tears flow. Then put your boots on, pull up your britches, and face the day! I am a holistic tough guy. You know tough and sensitive at the same time. Vince Lombardi/Alan Watts/Joseph Campbell. I am bit more Zen, more open to showing my vulnerabilities. But still, I hold to a certain toughness.

And I have another universe of role models now. Many more Women figure in my personal mythology, my Pantheon of Cool. I think of inspirers like Patti Smith, Mary Karr, Yoko Ono, Joan Didion, Lucinda Williams, Michelle Obama, Hilary Clinton and my latest new favorite: Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. Strong, creative, progressive Women. Tough and Sensitive too. Yeah, from John Wayne to Yoko Ono. There's a story there.

Hilary Clinton on Incivility... "Give me a break! What is more uncivil and cruel than taking children away? It should be met with resolve and strength. And if some of that comes across as a little uncivil, well, children’s lives are at stake."

Yes.

And from Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez: "Respect the hustle. Out-work the competition." Lombardi in action! "Run to daylight!"

A young, progressive woman goes out into the neighborhood and introduces herself to the people she hopes to represent. She walks the pavement, meets and greets, finds out what's on voter's minds, constructs a political agenda based on voter's needs. She plows forward. Damn the torpedoes.

We need more tough, resilient, fighters for the good cause. Men & Women. Fighting for a better day. A better vision. No quitters. Fighters. You know when the going gets tough....