This Story Will Probably Continue to "Dog" Her...

Sorry. I spend lots of time with dogs. Every kind of breed & disposition. It boggles my mind that someone would brag about shooting a dog, as if it was some kind of positive quality...

This story just doesn't sit well with me.

What brings Red & Blue state America together? 

Well... maybe not so surprisingly... 

Proudly declaring to be a puppy-killer, telling the story in your upcoming book, adding it to your resume, is not exactly a career-enhancing quality. You wonder who encouraged her to include it in her book. Not exactly a courageous, laudable, inspiring act.  Ha.  Not sure how the Governor of South Dakota plans to spin this into winning political gold... I guess we shall see... ha...

What's the Narrative Thru-Line?

Tuned into National Public Radio early this morning. Seems all of the news is a bit corrosive and disconcerting. Trying to be up to date and well-informed has it's downsides. On the one hand, one thinks: "It's good to be aware of what's happening in the world," On the other hand, one thinks: "It's all a bit depressing; the many ways, Human Beings fuck over other Human Beings." There seems to be a narrative thru-line. The follies, the foibles, the flaws, the bad acts, the bad faith, the basic fucked-up-ness of being Human. What to do? I grab another cup of coffee, and put a CD on the music box. This morning it is King Crimson's "Islands," (1971), a strange, uncommon, gorgeous beast of a recording. It ranges across moods and modes. Is it rock, is it Jazz, is it Symphonic, is it Avant Garde? Yes. All of the above. I am reminded of and carried away by melody, harmony, the stubborn beauty, the prodigious creativity of Humans Beings exploring musical vibrations. Already, I'm feeling a bit better, sort of fortified with a renewed focus & energy to engage with a new day.*

*Post-Post-Note: After I wrote the above post, I finished my coffee, finished listening to the recording, took a short walk with a faithful companion in a light rain, had nice breakfast, took a long shower, and thought about the "Consolations" of a Life. I mean, it may be that a well-written and well-sung line, a smartly-composed, well-played collection of songs is a very thin, paltry and inadequate reed of consolation in oppostition to the mad & sad hurly-burly, that fills our days, and often totally consumes us. A brilliantly-conceived work of creativity doesn't erase the long narrative of human fuck-up-ness. Still, it is what we have, maybe all we have, a tiny string of small consolations that helps us get thru a day. A new dawn, a good brew, a nice meal, a warm bed, a hot shower, an engaging book, an inspiring collection of music from around the world, a new rabbit-hole to fall into, a crazy creative obsession to play with, a long day of dreaming and distraction. That's the other side, the sunny-side, the ligh side vs the dark side of that fuck-up-ness. That's it. A tiny thread to keep our heads in the game.

The Really, Really Stupid Part...

Ha. Well. Maybe the stupidest Govenor in America is a Woman,  Kristi Noem, Governor of South Dakota, who bragged about killing her hunting dog, 14 months old, because it was "untrainable." She shot the dog in a gravel pit. A pretty cruel, nasty & dastardly thing to do. I kid you not.

The really stupid part? 

She wrote about the killing in her new book, thinking it was a great example of her being a MAGA, can-do politician, someone who will take on the hard, politically-incorrect, non-woke things necessary for America. Of course, she is vying to be VP for Fat Boy Slime. Supposedly he hates dogs, so who knows, maybe it will appeal to that hollow cretin?

For the rest of us, coldly executing a young dog? Probably one of the of stupidest, most depraved things anyone has ever floated as an honorable and admirable act. Just mind-boggling & pathetic. Should this crazed-admission be a career-killer? Maybe so. Talk about self-sabotage. 

As one who spends lots of time with dogs, it is safe to say that usually, if there are "dog problems," there is a direct line to "owner/people problems."  And, though it seems like it should go without saying, say it I will, if you have a problem with your young dog, maybe think of putting it up for adoption? Let someone else give it a go?

Just a thought.  Yikes. I mean, maybe let's make America a bit kinder and gentler, and a safe, nurturing place for young dogs, and the rest of us too?

Sing, Laugh, Love, Play...

"Who is gonna save us?"

Ha. No one. We are on our own. We have always been on our own. We have to muddle thru our own way. It's a bit disconcerting. You may think that maybe there is a higher power that will guide us, lend us a hand, pull us up on our feet, dust us off, wish us well.  

Nope. Not gonna happen. 

I mean, maybe there is a Higher Power, but it is not concerned with us. Think of the Universe. It's big, it's got other stuff to do. We are just a tiny energy in a vast ocean of energy.

That could be a total buzz-kill. Waiting for a Saviour to swoop down, and make everything right. A fairy tale. Why isn't the Universe about me? Well it just isn't. You are about you.

That's the "reality," of the situation. Let's call it the Human Condition. We are all just Human Beings, stuck on a planet of other Human Beings. None of us have fucking clue, really. We are all pretty much making it up as we go. 

The Life You Save, Will Be Saved By You. But don't let it go to your head. Start with the idea that you know nothing. Be humble, inquisitive, improvisational. And, well, reach out to your fellow Humans, not looking for saving, but looking for fellow travellers, collaborators, lovers & friends.

It really should be liberating, right?! You make Life, you make your  own Life, your own? There are a few guiding principles, they are open-ended, and partial, but they are useful:

Lean to the Light.

Keep your feet on the ground.

Fuck Fear.

Damn the Torpedoes.

Keep your head.

Keep calm, carry on.

Experience Life, don't try to Solve it.

Do the best you can. 

Be kind, gentle, humble.

Listen to Nature. 

Be fucking real.

Sing, Laugh, Love, Play.

WTF?! Skinny Immunity?!?!?

I am sure there will be lots of expert opinions floating in the air after the Supreme Court's "Presidential Immunity" hearing yesterday. 

Here are my very un-expert reflections...

Human Beings. We are damn tricky. We can use logic, reason, rationality and intellectual persuasion to pretty much argue for any position. We all have biases, we all have blind spots, we are all driven by ideologies. Often we start with an idea, an opinion, and then beat the shit of out reality to fit our world-view within a nice, neat, brightly-wrapped, bundle.

Clarity, and common sense can easily be ravaged & swamped. Being "Supreme" doesn't mean excellent. Maybe a bit of an over-reach and misnomer?

Very, very learned, articulate and persuasive Human Beings often sling total unmitigated B.S. They can make a shit-sandwich sound very fine and good.  There are some (at least 3?), real idealogical, radical-right-wing, black-hole assholes on the Supreme Court, no doubt. Getting a peek inside Samuel Alito's brain immediately gave me vertigo, a major headache, a sinking feeling of being trapped inside a hideous hall of mirrors of bad-faith and right-wing B.S. Holy Shite! The word that popped into my head: claptrap = pretentious nonsense.

The hearing was pretty annoying, disconcerting, filled with hurly-burly, legelese, nonsense & head-scratchingly bad faith lawyering. One is reminded that having law degrees, wearing black robes, flaunting gaudy titles, slinging fancy words, holding positions of ultimate legal power does not mean that there is wisdom or good outcomes to be expected.

Just like anything else there is the Human touch: a scrambled omelet of uncertain provenance. Arbitrary, biased, limited, often off-target too. Higher Authorities? Not what they are cracked up to be. Coming to a decision and a ruling will be a nasty wrangling of votes, coming to some kind of  ugly consensus, an unseemly, stinky, compromise. It will for sure be a kluge, a learned clusterfuck, probably a deformed little baby of law that no one is happy with. Yikes.  

What does it all add up to? Delay for the January 6 trial. Uncertainty. And a new concept that may be floated, one that I hadn't heard before: Skinny Immunity (?!?)... what a world... oh so Human. It is amazing we can make it thru day to day... good Lord, we know not what we do...

The Malefactor Vs. The USA...

Funny. 

The first thing I hear on the radio this morning that the Supreme Court they will be hearing the "Presidential Immunity Case," later today.  You know it's the "Donald Trump VS. the United States," case.

What is the first thought that pops up in this concerned citizen's head?

Donald Trump Vs. The United States? Yes. Exactly. 

These Days...

These are our days...

We own them, we live them, we navigate them. We learn that you only get so many of them. The number of days is not unlimited. That is important to know.

We should treasure them. The days in which we live. 

Sometimes the days fly, sometimes they seem to plod along. Some days you count your blessings, some days you catalog your curses.

Living your days to the fullest. Seems the way.

Even if you look upon a day that has just passed and you think: "That was hard. That was a deep slog. Shite. I am exhausted."

Lately, I have had a few of those. Too much "toing and froing." At the end of the day, I know that I just had a day, unlike any of the others, even if in so many ways it resembles so many others.  You know, in one light a slight, paltry, mundane kind of day, filled with simple, repetitive, menial tasks, and, at the same time, in another light, an amazing, wonder-filled day of uncommon sights and sounds.  One of my precious days. Weird dichotomy at work there.

Days of wine and roses, and days of slogs, and curses... 

That's life. Well-lived to the max. The power, the glory, and the just getting thru in one piece.

2 Rules for Good Living...

We live in affluent neighborhood. We aren't affluent ourselves, we are basically "hangers on," folks, living on the margins, living "above our station."  You know, we are hanging on, and hanging in. It's a great neighborhood, near a massive midwestern lake, with lots of beautiful trees, parks, beaches, and magnificent old homes, located near a big, sprawling University campus. Pretty nice. Our town. Diverse. Prosperous.  Well-educated.

Turns out living in an affluent neighborhood, around lots of well-educated people,  is good for our health. 

Why would this be so? Kind of simple and logical, really...

 "It turns out nearly the entire effect is due to two things: less smoking and less obesity. Of these, smoking has by far the biggest impact."

It's funny. Taking hot smoke into one's lungs never seemed like a good idea, or made much sense. And being around folks who smoke has always been annoying and uncomfortable. Such a nasty habit. And well, being smart about what you eat, and how much you eat, always seemed like a good bet too. Picky, choosy, eating sensibly, leaning to healthy, organic, primarily plant-based, sustenance, sure. Eat less, move more.

Simple, common-sense, easy to follow rules for better living. I mean, like, right?! Who knew?! So yeah, where we live, there are very few smokers to be found. They stick out like a particularly retrograde tribe. Furtively puffing away in isolation. 

And, well, in our hood there are an uncountable number of runners, yoga practitioners, tai chi folks, bicylists, roller bladers, skate-boarders, wind surfers, swimmers, power-walkers, etc. And there is an infinite variety of excellent, healty-fare, restaurants dotted & dashed around town. So yeah, an active populace with excellent food choices around every corner. An abundance of abundance.

I think of that Herman Melville idea from one of his merchant sailing books: Be careful who you choose to hang out with. If you live up the in crow's nest, or down the in the hold, you will be defined by what you choose to do and who you choose to hang with. Our pocketbook and bank account may say, "down in the hold," but our hearts, heads & spirits declare: "Crow's nest, baby!" 

Clarity in simplicity.

The Way of the Way...

"It's only going one way."

That's a line my friend and I often kick around in conversation. Funny. We marvel at the twists and turns of our lives. Decisions made. Pivot points. Roads taken, and roads not taken. We are sort of surprised at how we ended up together, and  find ourselves living in the right now. It didn't seem like a plan, it seemed like we sort of stumbled along into a life. Life is long, life is short. Life is life. Still, weirdly, at the same time, it all sort of seems like fate. Maybe an arbitrary fate? You can imagine other scenarios. Other decisions. Other roads. But you are left with what happened, and what is. Could it really have gone any other way? Were we always fated to do what we did? Is there a long chain of causality, that is certain and in a way fixed?  Or is life and the choices we made just certain takes on a vast sea of possibilities? Do we roll  the dice every moment? Is everything luck & chance, and our present condition just one of an infinite number of possible outcomes?  Is everything always up for grabs? Moment to moment? Or was there only, inevitably one way forward? I mean, fuck, that's a heady topic for a morning post. I mean who knows?! Welcome to another day in paradise...

"Hello Wig!"

Up early. Rough night. Wrestling with demons. Flick the radio on as I fire up the coffee-maker. The BBC radio program asks me: "What would you do if you had to shave your head?" That's a good one. Seems like the least of our worries, but, well, actually, every day is bound by: "Is it a good haird-day or a bad hair-day?" So, yeah, well, I guess in the face of mandatory "head-shaving,"  the plain, conscise and clear answer would be,"Hello wig!" Improvise. Maintain. Deal with the deal. That's life...

As Real As You Possibly Can Be...

If there is Hope it resides in reality, in the real, in the day to day, the common folk, the simple moments, moments of clarity, the smiles of a friend, the sparks from a friendly eye, the kind, genuine laughter escaping from the lips of those you love.

The small gestures, the tiny kindnesses. 

Hope, it is there, alive in our hearts and heads. It doesn't need to be grand, in fact, that's a fool's game, better to keep your Hopes close to the vest, close to the ground. And for god's sake: Damn the  Fear.  You know, Fuck Fear. That is "Dead Man Walking."  No way to live a life.

Hope. It's okay to Hope. Sure there is the chance Hope gets crushed, but that's just the way the cookie crumbles. It's best to be real. As real as you possibly can be, and damn the torpedoes. That is the way to a certain glory.

Counter-Programming, Not So Counter...

Counter-programming. 

So yeah, there is the historical/cultural/social/political zeitgeist we all swim in every day. Can't stop the swirl of news & madness. We are all captives of a certain time and place. Some of us just want to "get along," but it's clear that in the Human realm that just isn't the way. It's a war out there. There are real, deadly, bloody, totally tragic shooting-wars unfolding across the planet. In my life-time, there has always been a war, or multiple wars, usually raging somewhere across the globe. The death and destruction affects us all. We are definitely all connected. Human, and a bit fucked up, at war with each other by any means.

War is war. 

Politics is war. 

Culture is war. 

Love is war. 

The legal system is war. 

There are always adversaries, competing interests, good actors vs bad actors. Those who want to pull us together, those who want to pull us apart. "Why can't we all just get along?" Who knows? We just can't. We don't see eye to eye. We want different things. We have competing visions and beliefs. As it was once said in a famous black & white movie about war: "Everyone has their reasons." Right. Even if they aren't reasonable reasons.

You can't make everyone see it your way. That's just a reality. So yeah, counter-programming. I have been reading a 555 page poem by Lord Byron written between 1819-1824. It's quite entertaining. I thought it was going to be a bear to read, and a real slog, but actually it's quite a fun and witty read. The poem has just taken a major turn from Love to War. And it all rings so true, and familiar.

I suppose the real eye-opener. Humans are Humans. Same flaws, passions, madnesses across time and place. Consumed with Love and War. Always. That is the Human Story. Seems it has always been the theme. We have different clothes and new gadgets, but the Human Heart, the Human Story, Comedy & Tragedy, has a consistent and persistant thru-line. It turns out that my counter-programming, isn't so counter after all. Love & War and everything in between. Yep.

Lessons from Dog-Land...

I spend lots of time with dogs. Some days more time with dogs than people. I must admit, I'm getting a bit wild, unkempt & feral myself. A bit "doggie."

So what's the vibe? What are the lessons from dog-land? 

Attention. We all want attention. And treats. And a bit of rough-housing. Truth be told we want to be the center of the Universe, but maybe we know it's a foolish impulse? Too much going on. We are easily distracted by... well... pretty much everything...  passing cars, squirrels, rabbits, other dogs, humans on bikes and scooters, a heavy wind, a mild rain, a sunny day. We really, really, really want to get up-close and personal with a squirrel or a rabbit. It's the holy grail of dog-land.

Attention and distraction are big in our world.

Meals are party time. Treats rule. We will eat just about anything. Don't ask. Yikes. We are loyal, (feed me, give me treats, be nice to me, and I will follow you any & every where), and consistent. We like a varied routine. We love to walk. We live in the moment, from moment to moment. There is a bit of ZEN in every dog. We are easily satisfied. Tend to be happy, feisty, we might worry a bone, but really not worried about anything, except maybe being left out of the action. Home alone. Ruff.

All the dogs I hang with are "fixed," (ouch!), so sex is off the table. Wow. A big past-time off the menu. Opens up other possibilities. Digging holes. Getting dirty. Sniffing. Always be sniffing. Peeing on fire-hydrants. Yes. It's a thing. Marking a trail, one pee at a time: "Kilgore was here."

Enthusiastic for living. Sometimes we just want to roll around on the ground. Or wrestle with the leash. Or leap and bark at the world for no particular reason. Run. Play. Eat. Sleep. Scratch & yowl. A dog's life.

Wrestlemania for the Politcally Inept...

Yes. I am happy & gratified that a very large, toxic, loud, supremely annoying fat man, prone to lies both big and small, has to sit in a courtroom and face the music. There is a long list of very serious charges he must answer for in New York City. Karma, baby!

It seems it is only within the four walls of a courtroom, with a no-nonsense Judge and a process for sitting a jury, that toxic-fat boy and his unrelenting river of bullshit, finally meets common sense, decency & gravity. The rule of law. Of course, outside the courtroom chaos rules. Everywhere that man goes it's bullshit, lies, stupidity, meanness, racism, misogyny, a shit-show, a clusterfuck. Wrestlemania for the politically inept.

The TV (network & cable) is a stupid-making machine. No doubt. Do yourself a favor and turn that shite off! Everything becomes a TV show. A very stupid, corrosive TV show.

You know, if you wrestle with a toxic, muddy, pig, you too will be slimed. That has been a theme for what seems like forever. A rule for  a better life: Avoid the toxic-muddy pig at all costs. One hopes America will finally turn away from the madness, ignorance and chaos. Is that asking for too much?

The only hope for toxic fat boy? They somehow luck into seating a toxically-sociopathic cretin on the jury. Certainly the facts, the evidence, the truth of the matter resides on the prosecution side. No one seriously seems to be really entertaining the idea that the man is innocent. Even his attorneys aren't making that case. It's all about "how dare they" treat my client like a common criminal?

I mean, truth be told, my mind is made up. I could not be fair and impartial. Guilty as fuck bubbles up in my head.

You know, presumed innocent, until proven guilty. Right. It's the way it's supposed to work, but knowing what we know, you know, we know. Safe to say, there is not an innocent cell or bone in the that tubby body. No way. Karma is a rock. 

"The Lonliness of the Long Distance Runner" - Alan Sillitoe

"It's not politics, it's pathology."

I'm quoting myself this morning. Is that twisted?

Funny how a segment of our population has gone over the cliff: "A mind is a terrible thing to waste." 

I think one of the most significant and useful University classes I ever took was "Abonormal Psychology." My post-graduate studies of the abnormal in action seem be validated and roll out every damn day. It is easy to see the madness in others. Maybe less easy to see the madness in ourselves. But we can try.

Human Beings are a gnarly lot for sure: complicated, contradictory, disappointing, infuriating, You know, the tricky monkeys. Often we trick ourselves with the stupidest shite.

So yes, we end up with the Humanity of it all: Tragedy, Comedy, and Insanity. Some days you really want to extricate yourself from the fucking crazy herd. "In it, but not of it." But, of course, that is impossible. 

It's like that song: "Stuck in the Middle with you..." Yikes.

Perfectly Human...

"Trying for Zen Perfection."

Let's dissect this sentence. 

1. There is no trying. There is doing, or not doing. Also doing well, doing badly, doing middiling. 

2. Zen. It descends upon us. Like the rain, or like sun & moon beams. You can't conjure it up on demand.

3. Perfection? Ah, well, maybe a bit of a fool's paradise, a mythical chimera flashing just out of reach? Especailly in the human realm.

Being perfectly human would contain multitudes of contradiction, flaw, foible, nonsense. 

Is the Universe perfect? Maybe. Since it contains everything.  I mean who is big enough to  challenge that idea or quibble?

A flower, a mosquito, a river, a star. Sure, glimpses of perfection, reflected in the human eye. That's as close as you can get.

Sisyphus: Guitar on Shoulder, Pushing a Boulder...

Played a r&r show last night in a dive bar. Big chaos guitar jam at the end, four electric guitars cranked to the limit, and one electric bass holding down the low-end, playing up a storm on Neil Young's  "Down by the River," & "Rocking in the Free World." Two great guitar-based songs, epic chords and changes. Total raunchy, gory, greasy, r&r glory. It was incredibly exhilarating to play, not sure how great it was to listen to. Oh well. So it goes. 

Came across this quote from Roger Daltry about playing a live show with The Who back in the late sixties, early 70's, The Who in peak form, (prime example #1: "Live at Leeds" - 1970), probably one of the greatest live acts (I  am talking about when Entwistle & Moon were still alive), ever to grace a stage...

"A bum note and a bead of sweat."

Yes. After all the noise, hurly-burly, epic glory, razor sharps riffs, overwhelmingly powerful major & minor chords, next morning you wake up in a bit of a haze. Hey, how was the gig? Well, basically "a bum note and a bead of sweat." 

Think Sisyphus with a guitar on his shoulder, pushing a boulder...

Reality? Yes. Certainly.

"However, this view does not align with reality."

Short line. Big type. 

I came across this sentence this morning. It is in reference to an upcoming trial in NY. It's not necessary to get into the details. Rest assured, it will be a circus and a freak-show, but also a reckoning. At least, that's how it appears to me, if evidence, facts & reality still hold. You know, sort like gravity & common sense.

I suppose it's a big IF, but I throw my lot in with that certain reality.

Funny. That sentence could be a judgement of so much of our Social/Political/Cultural zeitgeist at the fricking moment. The Relentlessly annoying BABEL of rabble-rousing voices floating views on pretty much every issue and event.  Views that do "not align with reality."

It a noisy Terrordome of Shite.  We can tune it out. Keep our heads, keep our feet on the ground, keep our eyes on the prize, lean to the light and damn the torpedoes. "Give me something real."

The Street/The Mansions of the Mind...

Dichotomies. Life: filled with them. 

Up/down, Good/Evil, Love/Hate, Light/Dark, Hope/Despair, you know, the list goes on forever. That is the Universe we live in. We are always traversing, juggling, maneuvering and wrestling with dicotomies.

My days: I live with dogs, I live like a dog. A bit feisty, feral, unkempt, wild, feet firmly knocking down the dirty boulevard. Turns out I'm best hanging with the animal kingdom: dogs, cats, birds. Domesticated & wild. They rise to greet me, I kneel down to greet them.

At the same time, living in the lap of luxury. The finest places money can buy. Living in other people's homes for extended stays. Just a guest, a visitor, a caretaker, a hanger-on.  But also the lucky gent who gets  to spend lots of time at perfectly appointed, tricked-out, exotically-gorgeous estates. A prime place of pride & priviledge, for sure.

Yes. The street/the mansion.  Two opposed realms. Alive in both. Super-weird, and well, really, kind of cool. 

"You have to lose..." - J. Tweedy

Yes. You must still your warring mind. How to do it? Plunge into life, elbows flying, legs and arms akimbo, blood, sweat, tears, and laughter sparking off you like microscopic galaxies. 

Leave the judging, the fretting, the worrying behind. 

Jeff Tweedy once sang: 

"It's a war on war

It's a war on war

It's a war on war

There's a war on

You're gonna lose

You have to lose

You have to learn how to die"

Right. A warring mind is a losing path. "Learning how to die?" Well, you know, maybe in the metaphorical sense. We used to call those warring, gnarly episodes a growth period.  Something dies, so something new can emerge and live. Maybe even a new you? You let something go, maybe let everything go, hit bottom, and start again. Drop one mask, one snake-skin, and put on a new one. Maybe you end up not totally renewed & refreshed, but at least, sort of, leaning that way...

Existential Crisis One Day at a Time...

It is funny. I can be propelled into an existential crisis at the drop of a hat. I put on a sunny face most of the time, but deep down inside my of being are earthquakes, hurricanes, tornados, tsunamis. It is quite the interesting life-style. So yes, even seemingly fun, amazing, entertaining and entrancing events like the solar eclipse (see previous post), can, at the same time, send me into a spin, a deeply confounding spin. I can be prompted to massive out-pourings of emotion and I pose to myself a long string of unanswerable questions. Yes. There are the mysteries and complexties of a life. I can be sort of self-crucified on that cross. I find myself wrestling with my own mind.  "It's a draw!" I don't know, I suppose I just chalk it all up to being Human. It's just me being me. Gnarly, knotty, always questioning. Never completely answering.

Confronted by the Monolith...

Yes. The solar eclipse (see previous post), was pretty amazing. We lucked out, we sat in long, comfortable, lounger-type chairs, in a sunny, blue-sky sanctuary, with a litle furry critter, surrounded by trees, chattering birds, gorgeous sunshine. Armed with our funny little glasses we could look up and see the progress of the moon across the face of the sun. We were both exhausted for various reasons, my companion was more excited than I about the event, but there was no denying we were both watching an extraordinary happening. Beyond the confines of our sanctuary, the lakefront was alive with all variety of pilgrams, armed with their own glasses, looking up. 

As it all unfolded the birds went silent. There was a hush in the air. At one point it was like that Dylan line: "Darkness at the break of noon..." At the 90 percentile phase, it got sort of suddenly cold. There were eerie shadows alive in the light. Definitely not a normal afternoon.

Just like anything else, probably best to just experience it, not judge or analyse, or god forbid, ask: "Why?"As per that Van Morrison song, "There ain't no why, it just is..." 

Right. There are the explanations, the logistics, the mechanics, the physics, the science; all the rotations and positionings, and etc. Still, I had this sense in the back of my mind, "Shouldn't we all be falling to the ground, in stunned wonder & awe?" You know, sort of like those early ancestors  of ours depicted in Stanely Kubricks' "2001 a Space Oddessey."  (1968), confronted with the inconcievable strangeness of the Monolith? Godsmackingly amazing, confounding, weird, uncommon, otherworldy. I suppose at the least this eclipse reminds us of the ungodly, overwhemling, confounding, inhuman power of Nature & the Universe. We are children of the Universe. We come from "star-stuff" ourselves. So very strange. I chalked it up to another unlikely example of our general human thing: "Don't know Jack-shit."

So, yes, just like many of the other humans, we took in the event, we consumed it moment to moment. Cheap thrills, amazing show. The deeper implications of it all? A yawning, wonderous, head-exploding mystery. We kept our heads together. We experienced it. That's life. Lived experiences. One glorious, mysterious, unexplainable moment at a time.

Off the Wheel...

Monday morning. Hands off the wheel. Let's see what happens. Later this afternoon our plan is to put on those funny-looking glasses and check out the Total Solar Eclipse. Big-time nature show. Don't need no ticket, just get on-board.

A Salty, Crusty, Gnarly Duo...

I happily go the alternative path. The road less travelled.

You know, I don't care about the latest trend, or worry about fitting in with my fellow humans. Happy to be myself. I am always marching to my own inner drum circle; I find myself madly spinning in wavering circles. 

Lately, I am obsessed with two dead, white men: Lou Reed & Lord Byron. A salty, crusty, gnarly duo for sure. They were two very different, and distinctive artists, both poets, both controversial, non-conformist, both pushing against the currents of their social circles. Both known for pursuing the road of excess, and systematically engaging in a decidedly professional debauchery. 

They both became famous or infamous for doing their own things their own ways. Both had a brilliant, fiery, uncommon, inspiring talent for slinging words in a provocative, enlightening, comical & musical fashion. They both lived wild, sometimes hard, always eventful lives. They both pissed off lots of folks. They had their enemies, their critics, their axes to grind. They both wielded those axes with verve and gusto.

I have been living in their worlds. Especially sinking into their last works. Lou's fabulously wordless, "Hudson River Wind Meditations," (2007), and Byron's  abundantly wordy poem "Don Juan," (1819- 1824).

What a great combo. I am totally blown away by both works. 

Lou's music was created just for his own purposes. The purest kind of artistic expression. He created a musical accompaniment to his long-time Tai Chi, Yoga and Meditation practice. Deeply soothing & totally mesmerizing & entrancing, looping, pulsing, drones. The sound waves immediately work to synchronize your heartbeat and brainwaves. So fabulous, healing, inspiring, deeply rewarding. Yesterday, I spent most of the morning with our little 3 bird flock in meditation in our sun-room, with Lou's album as the soundtrack. All of us immediately found an inner peace & zoned out together into a deep, enriching mindfulness. Birds of a feather flock together. 

And Lord Byron? What to say about his rollicking, overwhelming lyrical-narrative, adventurous and satirical poem? It is hilarious, rambunctious, surprisingly easy to read. Entertaining, subversive, provocative, (even today), the words seems to flow effortlessly from his pen. I was worried I wouldn't be able to track with it, but it's actually quite the easily-flowing, fabulously-engaging journey. Lord Byron was a man well out his time. He broke all the social rules of British Aristocracy. Loved & hated. He was a free-thinker, a free-spirit, a man on fire with passion, aflame with contradiction, armed with the saboteur-inside furiously spinning like an artful demon. 555 pages of lyrical rhyming poetry? Yikes. Seems impossible. So out of time and otherwordly. Nope. It is all quite brilliant. The humanity of it all is so familiar, it rings so true, loud and clear. Resonant. Throws off sparks every which way. Lord Byron definitely speaks to me from another time and place. And his wild-ass story is utterly convincing, because we know he lived the life he so vividly conjures up.

Anyway, yes. My own drum, my own drummers. Happy & rewarded by chasing after my own weird obessions. Safe to say, great art changes us, consumes us, reconstitutes us, enriches and expands us. It is an uncommonly rare & good thing. Fine art created by supremely complicated characters. The power of words and sounds, the power of an artistic heart. I happily roll down my own gnarly path with two extraordinary, inspiring co-consipirators & co-pilots.

Frailties & Uncertainties...

A follow-up to yesterday's post...

We don't know what we don't know, and, what we do know, or think we know, is partial, arbitrary, and up for revision. We float in a sea of possibilities, and an ocean of responsibilities, armed with our frailties, and our deep uncertainties.

It's a precarious position to be in, but it is where we live. Welcome to the Dollhouse and the Thunderdome.

Case in point. This morning, I come across an eye-opening, head-exploding article about Death. You'd think by now we'd know what death is,  I mean, that is what you'd think, but you'd be wrong. Turns out Death, more particularly, Brain-Death, is still a very fertile subject of inquiry. Maybe in it's early infancy of study? Scientists are still diligently doing their Scientific thing. The jury is out. It's all up for grabs.

Weird? Right? You mean even Death & Consciousness are murky, nebulous phenomena that we don't fully understand? Really? 

Yeah, well, how about this for a morning brain-twister, mind-teaser?

“I think in 50 or 100 years time we will have discovered the entity that is consciousness,” he told me. “It will be taken for granted that it wasn’t produced by the brain, and it doesn’t die when you die.”

"That is a key tenet of the parapsychologists’ arguments: if there is consciousness without brain activity, then consciousness must dwell somewhere beyond the brain. Some of the parapsychologists speculate that it is a “non-local” force that pervades the universe, like electromagnetism. This force is received by the brain, but is not generated by it, the way a television receives a broadcast."

Freaky-Deaky, right. Makes me think of that Firesign Theater line: "Everything You Know is Wrong." Put that in your pipe and smoke it. Good morning Campers!

Figure Things that Just Don't Figure...

"Making sense out of things that don't make sense."  It's a theme.

Yes. I seem to spend lots of my time doing the above. What a clusterfuck of a life.  The wheels are furiously spinning in my head as I try to figure out things that just don't figure.

Like they say, "Chasing shadows." 

Or watching shadows playing on a wall in a little hermetic cave, thinking that those wavering shadows are the freaking world in it's complete entirety.

The Universe doesn't have to "make sense." It doesn't have to be rational, or logical. It doesn't anwser to anything, it doesn't have to explain itself to Human Beings. All those games of logic and rationality and making sense are just the very Human games we Humans play.

And often, we Human Beings, Children of the Universe, are actually playing a different game, a game of irrationality, illogic, nonsensical, ridiculous, off-target, filled with crazy-ass ideas, weird dreams & delusions. We pretend to go thru the motions of logic and rationality, but often it's a bluff and a sideshow, or deep misunderstanding.

Funny. Ofen we are Lost Souls furiously wrestling with our own imagined demons. What a life.

"You Are Here..."

Where are we? If you are a reader you may have a clue. Funny how Science Fiction is just a little bit of forward-thinking, and future-casting. The best of it sees the present moment and scoots it forward a bit. Certainly of these books, Orwell's "1984" had the biggest, earliest influence on me. Even as a Wee Lad, I could see myself as an American born & bred, Winston Smith. Today? This little diagram seems very on-target. Unfortunately...

Into the Mystic...

Head in the clouds, feet on the ground, dog nipping at my heels, precariously close to a cliff. You know, a bit of that Holy Fool Vibe.

That's me. I'm one of those Humans who dream my dreams at the same time that I'm kicking down the cobblestones, navigating the obstacles of a day. Juggling dichotomies and paradoxes at every turn and corner.

I do believe we live in a Grand & Wonderful Universe, a place that is also crushing, deadly, and super-destructive to everything that lives. Although, now that I think of it, everything is energy, so all this living, dying, dreaming, crashing, creating & destroying is just energy at play.

I once came up with a line,  I used it in a song, I think it's my own invention: "Everything that Lives is Holy, AND, Life is Cheap."

That is how it all "feels" to me. And we have to live with it. I think Life is a Mystery. We are free to apply our minds, our logic, reason, Science, Philosophy, Religion, Pop Cultural Psychology to it all, but none of it is totally sastisfying. 

Nothing Explains Everything. All knowledge seems partial. As Wm Blake once put it, we are Prisoners of our Senses Five. Being Human means we are veiled. There is the Cloud of Knowing and the The Cloud of Unknowing. They contend with each other, answer each other, and reconstitute and sometimes vanish in the face of a healthy breeze.

The closer we examine things the more we know;  the more we know, the more we realize that what we know is limited, paltry, just an exploration of a deeper and greater unknowing. Humility helps to get your head around that.

Being a Mystic. Heading into the Mystic. That's the tune, the groove, the vibe. I say ride it, live it for all it's worth. It's up to us.

Cooler Heads, Calmer Nerves...

We are in weird cycle. As Teri Kanefield tells it, we are enraptured , engulfed, and held in the clutches of the Outrage Machine. Yes, there is an industry of Outrage. It is a chaos-agent, and a lucrative business model. Right, Left. The Outrage is ubiquitous and unavoidable.

Sure, there is plenty to be outraged about, but instead of going to the well to hype it up to the max, probably smarter and healthier, to take a breath, sit in silence, try to think, reason, and understand what the fuck is going down. The Outrage disables your higher thinking functions. Intelligence & your intellectual impulse vanishes. You become helpless and malleable to a fiery emotional palette. The Outrage is a tool for profit, and also a political weapon.  It is a weapon of mass destruction. I think many of us are now addicted to outrage. We fly to the outrage like moths to the flame.

 A mind is a terrible thing to waste.

There is so much B.S. floating in the air. Every damn day. What is a poor, humble Pilgrim to do? Maybe find a bit of amusement?  You don't have to go there. Really. 

So yeah, we are all pushing each others buttons, making each other crazy with the crazy.  So silly & stupid. I say fuck the Outrage. It is all too much. It's really too funny for words. We are intentionally making each other very stupid Human Beings. It's all quite ridiculous & stupefying.

The Purveryors of the Outrage and total B.S. count on us being lazy, docile, easily hyped up and swayed by nonsense. We don't have to play the game. Turn your B.S. Detector up on high, turn up your amusement, sit back and watch the show, or better yet, retreat to a sunny glade, a peaceful oasis, and marvel  & wonder at the madness, and willful ignorance of your fellow Humans who gladly & willlingly outrage themselves over the cliff. 

Hah... we need cooler heads, calmer nerves. Yes. Find that inner belly laugh. And let it out, Captain...

Directed Sleeping...

Sleeping. It should be easy. It is oh so necessary. For me it's used to be quite easy. I could sleep anywhere any time. I famously fell asleep in Las Vegas on a jaunt with a couple folks watching Sam Peckinpah's "Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Gargia," in a crowded, bustling hotel room. That's some epic sleeping right there.

Li'l Abner was a mattress tester. That's a job I could have done at the drop of an eyelid.

Over the years sleeping has become more of a rollicking adventure. Not so easy anymore. Everything needs to be just so. Soft pillow, not so hard mattress, soothing music, boring book, a bit of a ritual to get my head clear and down-shift the energy zapping thru my body.

Plus, I sleep around town. A cornucopia of beds all around town. Every variety imaginable. Some of those beds are comfy nests, some not so comfy.

I started taking inventory. I noticed I was sleeping better in certain directions. It got me thinking that the direction one slept in was important. Is that true? I asked the Great Google and came up with various answers and recommendations. I mean there is nothing clear-cut. Just lots of suggestions.

I settled on this: " According to Vastu Shastra one should avoid sleeping with their head towards North or West. A more preferred direction to sleep in should be with your Head towards South or East and your Feet towards North and West."

So, yesterday, my partner and I moved the bed. We flipped it around from a North/South direction to a East/West direction. Head in the East, Feet in the West.  We both took our shoes off and hopped on the bed. Suddenly it just seemed so much more comfortable. Really. Is there any Science to back up this idea?

"The Scientific explanation for this suggestion being that the Earth’s geographical North pole is a Positive pole and the geographic south pole is the negative pole. A human’s head being like the positive side of a magnet and feet being negative side of a magnet, should be aligned in the direction of the flow of the charge or magnetic field in this scenario of the Earth."

Yeah. Well. Who knows?! I'm gonna experiment. And see what happens. I took the tip and improvised based on the room and my mood. I want to sleep with my Head in the East, and my feet in the West. Makes sense to me. Last night was good. I slept soundly. "There's a feeling I get when I look to the West..." Hmmm, sleeping well, problem solved?! Well,who knows, we shall see, one can only dream & scheme...