Superior Knowledge & Diligence!

I'm not just voting against the bloated, despicable, multi-bankrupted excuse for a human being. I am voting for Hillary Clinton. She really does know the issues, she really does understand the system. She is working under the premise that "superior knowledge and diligence can be a tool of power."

Her guiding philosophy moving forward...

 "We want people to be idealistic. We want them to set big goals. But to take what we can achieve now and try to present them as bigger goals.”

Funny Math!

There is a strange new math in the land...

Be a loser of epic, colossal proportions. I mean, lose so much money, in such a short time, lose so much money from your own mis-management, incompetence, and ridiculous, overblown hubris, and then ipso facto, switcho-chango - you become a winner!

Boggles the mind. Right? And like a bloated, bankrupt, combed-over Phoenix, (too enormously gargantuan to fail), you rise from the ashes and you and your rabid, frothing at the mouth henchmen, declare that inexplicably, miraculously, you are brilliant, smart, nothing less than a goddamn genius!

Too funny. Let's call it Really, Really Funny Math!

Pure, Beautiful, Evocative Sound!

I have probably listened to Sigur Ros more than any other band I can think of since I discovered them around 2003. It was the "grey one" that I discovered. Put me in the camp with those who consider it one of the "great albums of all time."  A knockout. Unlike anything else.

We also own the "white one" and the "yellowish one."

What is the sound of Sigur Ros? Elemental. Transcendental. Symphonic. Enveloping. Spiritual. Powerful. Gorgeous. Intense. Harmonic. Seismic.

No choruses. No groove. No swing. No words. Or the words are all a "made up language," (Hopelandic), based on sound. Pure, beautiful, evocative sound.

Stately. Crystalline. Think of a thousand oceans crashing against a thousand shores. Think of a volcano singing. Think of the tectonic plates harmonizing.

We saw them perform at the beautiful, stately Chicago Theater on Friday. To say it was one of the best concerts I ever saw is probably an understatement. And doesn't really say anything. Life-changing, life-affirming, exhilarating, cathartic, inspiring.

Sound. Light. Image. Perfectly realized.

The Beast and the Beauty!

Sometimes I do think the Universe works by "poetic" principals - "having a beautiful or graceful quality."

And once in awhile, not often enough, events conspire to achieve some kind of supremely sweet poetic justice. Almost makes you think that God is not only possible but absolutely essential and knitted into the fabric of our lives.

Hah!

And there is something so funny and gratifying when a loud, petulant, childish, churlish bully has a complete unhinged meltdown triggered by a "Latina Beauty Queen." What an incredible display! And yes, the bully was artfully baited into an elaborate trap, and he took it all "hook line & sinker," and he is a total laughingstock now.

What a perfect way to destroy the big man. With unbridled laughter. What a fool. You can conjure a picture - a large, disheveled man, dressed in a ratty bathrobe, sitting propped up in bed at 3 a.m. typing into his smart phone. Twittering in a rabid, sputtering rage. 

This is the man some have rallied around. A pitiful, despicable monster. A narcissistic Id unmoored by his own aggrieved madness. The man has the ability to suck the oxygen out of a room, and to fill it with his own bloated, puffed up mummery.  Entertaining in a train wreck sort of way.

I do think this is the beginning of the end of this fool's errand. And not a moment too soon. All thanks to the Latina Beauty Queen. Poetic!

Perfect, On Point, Positive JuJu!

Satire. The power of well-directed, on-point humor. Puncturing the false, the over-blown, the mean. Knocking down the brazenly powerful, those who would belittle and bully those who happen to be weaker, less wealthy, less fortunate than themselves. 

There is something to be said for taking down the worst amongst us with intelligence, grace and a deft touch. There are some of among us who really should be hooted off the national stage. The power & joy of the belly laugh. Sometimes it just feels so good. And it's all we really need. Good medicine. Positive JuJu!

Sounds Familiar... "Impulsive, out-of-control sociopaths."

The Power Paradox... this seems "of the moment," for sure...

The power paradox is this: we rise in power and make a difference in the world due to what is best about human nature, but we fall from power due to what is worst. We gain a capacity to make a difference in the world by enhancing the lives of others, but the very experience of having power and privilege leads us to behave, in our worst moments, like impulsive, out-of-control sociopaths.

What to See, What to Believe

We see what we want to see. And believe what we want to believe. We are biased. If there are facts out there in the world, sometimes they are elusive. Sometimes not. Sometimes you trip over a fact. Or run into one. And then you must adjust. But many of us have no problem riding along with our biases. We all can live a life in a bubble of our own making.

Many of us realize if you repeat a lie often, and with conviction and volume, there are many folks who will go right along with you, who will want to believe, even if it's a poorly made thing. 

Something simple like a fact, isn't really all that simple. Right? What if we can't agree on the truth, on what really exists? There are perceptions, biases, opinions, hopes, dreams, delusions, bad faith, bad blood. Mix it all together and well, who knows what kind of cocktail you come up with.

A society, a country, a culture that has a slippery grasp on what is... yeah, more of a fun house, a hall of mirrors. No wonder we are all so confused, unhappy, in conflict. We can't agree on what to agree on.

Not Normal!

Can it be? Can it fly? Can a man, a big, blustery man, get up on the national stage, and blatantly, brazenly lie over and over? And get away with it?

I am impressed by the over-the-top audacity of guy lying thru his teeth in front of millions of people. He knows, that we know, that he knows that he is lying. And he does it with no shame or embarrassment. That is pretty amazing, sort of impressive, and probably some kind of pathology.

Not normal! That quality, that ability has probably worked pretty well for him in the real estate biz. Bully the contractors, bully the debtors, bully the naysayers, bully everyone long and hard enough and you win.

This is a controlled experiment. Will we let the bullshit float? Will we elevate the bullshit artist? There seem to be some folks who have no problem with this guy. Either they actually believe all the lies this man tells, (and then they are fools), or they just don't care (then they are knaves), and/or they give the guy points for being so over the top brazen (then they are fools and knaves).

Funny. The rest of us? We should hoot this man off the stage into some kind of rehab or long-term seclusion.

Blame it on the Mirror Neurons!

Blame it on the "mirror neurons."  Some of us are very susceptible to the feelings, thoughts, and vibes of others. We are big, walking, talking, thinking mirrors. So the world we see, the environment we live in, the people and things we interact with, help define what we think, see, feel.

And we are either adapting to, encompassing, embracing, or recoiling from, pulling back, welcoming in, or beating a hasty retreat.

Maybe that's not so surprising. Some of us are more sensitive, more susceptible than others. Don't really know if this is some kind of advantage, a positive trait to have, or a distinct disadvantage, a handicap.

I do know it means down-time, quiet-time, time away from others, from the constant stream of chatter is essential. Some of us really need to be careful who we hang around with, where we live, where we go, the places we choose to frequent.

We must choose wisely. We are mirrors. Reflecting. 

Beatles - the Song Remains the Same!

We walked into the Music Box Theater in Chicago yesterday. Sat down in the room where Ron Howard's "new" Beatles movie was showing. What were we thinking? A little r&r band that broke up in 1970. We knew the story. Many of us know the story. It's our Pop Culture Origin Story. Elvis was the Old Testament, the Beatles the New Testament. Better than the "Greatest Story Ever Told," because really that was just an old recycled myth told again and again - a god born to a virgin, lives, performs miracles, dies, and then resurrects. Happened all the time in the old days - many times, many cultures, over and over again. 

This Beatles thing is the really amazing story. 4 young men from Liverpool England conquer the world playing little pop songs. Look at the hair, the suits, the boots! 4 young men merge into one charismatic ball of energy. Watch all the little girls screaming themselves into ecstatic exhaustion, look at all the little boys deciding it might be a good idea to buy an electric guitar and start a band.

So anyway, we sat and watched the film - everything looking all shiny, and new, and sounding pretty amazing, most probably sonically augmented and enhanced. The Beatles live as you really, really want to hear them. And it is pretty damn good. Still exuberant, still joyous, still fun. A tight little rock & roll band. 2 guitars, a bass & drum. Stunning voices, great harmonies, stellar melodies. The full 30 min Shea Stadium set included at the end of the film.

All those years ago. The Song Remains the Same. What's new this time for me? The joy is mixed with sadness, that time and place is a land far away, never to be seen & heard again. Lennon is gone, Harrison is gone. That little band broke up long ago. You realize many folks you see on screen are long gone. That's the way it goes.

And that old Beatlemania looks pretty crazy. Silly. Quaint. The reaction to those 4 young men seems totally mad. Unexplainable. A sort of mass hysteria. But still there is a kick. An energy bump. That energy bubble surrounding those 4 young men. Pretty extraordinary. And then, when they stopped touring? Their recorded output got even better, the songwriting deeper, more experimental, so creative, so exploratory. Major musical/social/cultural impact. For sure.  Extraordinary. Beatles!

One Big Family!

You would think maybe this would be big news... do we still listen to Scientists?

Scientists tell us that DNA shows that we are all brothers and sisters. We all evolved from the same tribe. We are all, essentially, Africans. The blackest of the black, the whitest of the white. Different branches of the same tree.

We have some minor cosmetic, cultural, religious differences, but as humans we are all from the same tribe. Our ancestors split from Africa about 50,000 to 80,000 years ago, probably looking for the next happy meal. Maybe all of us humans should start thinking like one big family? Not so different. Essentially the same.

I propose less blood, more hugs, less hate, more love. When you look in the eyes of another, think, remind yourself, you are looking in a mirror!

The Religion of Big Pharma!

A soul sickness. For many people, "God is dead." Most assuredly. Maybe a broader, deeper sense of spirituality is lost too? How to fill the void? Many of my fellow human beings have turned to pharmaceuticals. Mood-enhancers. Pain-killers.

So god, or a belief in a god-like goodness, or purpose, is replaced with a drug, a chemical cocktail. This is a different thing than taking a drug to find a way to god. There was that psychedelic movement that used the chemicals to find some kind of transcendence. This was primarily replaced with a movement towards drugs that led to a numbness, a search for a certain oblivion. "Let's party!"

No longer the search for god, a turn to an all-encompassing, medicated state.

Most folks taking pharmaceuticals today have given up a search for transcendence and replaced it with a deeply medicated existence, they are using the drugs to maintain; trying to make it day to day, trying to find a reason to live - battling depression, bi-polar disorder, etc. I mean, what else you got?!

This is not a lament. Just an observation. It is kind of amazing how pharmaceuticals have completely invaded our culture, and have instituted themselves as one of our major, mainstream religions. 

I've never turned to the pill, never have bowed down to Big Pharma. I do not believe in the meds. I mean, I don't doubt that putting chemicals in your body can change you. We all do it, in a way, with food & drink, and physical activity. We play with the chemistry of our bodies all the time. But this giving up to a day to day medicated state, as if living itself is a sort of illness that needs to be treated & overcome, seems like a hollow path.

I believe many of us are suffering a soul-sickness, a spiritual crisis. The meds are a sideshow.

I'm still on my own clunky, funky, personal spiritual quest. I say each to their own. We all must find our way, the way we find our way. God? Well, who knows? I do know I have experienced an all-encompassing connection to everything that lives. And everything lives. As far as I can see.

Is that enough? Probably. I'm still working it out. Clear-eyed, clear-headed, or at least as clear as I can be.

Smart to be Shallow!

Evan Osnos takes you where you really, really, really don't want to go. A super-scary thought-train. Trump's First Term!  Try it on for size. Your brain will want to seize up. You will want to take a shower afterwards, for sure, and maybe do some crack, or whatever it is you do to unwind and erase your memory banks.

It's sort of funny-scary. Some amazingly hilarious and frightening quotes from some really hilarious and frightening people...

Funny, but not so funny. Seriously deluded, brain-dead and actively, proudly malevolent folks. So many great quotes from the man himself. Here's a good one...

"The day I realized it can be smart to be shallow was, for me, a deep experience." - D. Trump in "Think Like a Billionaire" - 2004. 

A Handsome Family Tuesday!

My Lovely Companion and I ventured out to Rennie Sparks art opening last night. Rennie's first ever art show, hosted by Aron Packer. Rennie's art is kicky, cool, funky, lively, shimmering, colorful, lots of slithering, slippery beings: snakes, octopi, worms, frogs. Plus there was a vitrine featuring cat's whiskers, and there were some cool old dog food cans that formed an unlikely, improbable sculpture. And don't forget the custom Telecasters painted, and transformed, think: EelCaster!

It was all so cool and inspiring.

Plus we stood 3 feet way as the Rennie & Brett performed a short set as the Handsome Family. One of the all-time great shows. For sure. Afterwards we got to meet them and told them how much their music and art has inspired us too.

It was a pretty eventful Tuesday night...

White Riot: Count Me Out!

Zack Beauchamp's "White Riot" is a must-read. Might help give a bit of context to our disturbing political landscape.

It's funny. I'm white. The whitest of whiteys. A Heinz 57 of whiteness. I mean, I come from a long line of white folks. 

Of course, if you go back far enough, go all the way back to Mitochondrial Eve, well, the source, the fountain, our most recent common ancestor, was most likely dark-skinned, but in the intervening years, somewhere along the line, the melanin in the skin of my ancestral line pretty much faded to white.

Pasty-faced. Pale Faced. White. Dotted with a healthy group of freckles. 

My people came from Poland, Russia, Germany, France, Ireland, Romania. Pretty Euro-centric. Plus I live with a white girl. A white girl with a long line of whiteness behind her too. 

But despite all the whiteness, I harbor no anti-immigrant feelings. I do not have any strong racial animus. I do not judge people by their skin-color. I do my best not to stereotype or demonize whole groups of people. That is so counter to my mind-set. When I read about deep in the bone racism, I am always pretty much baffled.

This whole White Riot phenomenon has no appeal or pull on me. It's kind of a mystery. Right?! Why do some white folks think they are better or different, more entitled, than anyone else? Seems pretty stupid. Supreme ignorance. But, anyway, I am happy that I am the way that I am. I think it's a much more human and humane way to live. White, but trying my best to be an open-minded, welcoming human being. A being, a human being, on a planet filled with an incredible diversity of beings.

Unload the Head!

Events conspire...

"I need a dump-truck mama, to unload my head." - B. Dylan

Sometimes everything goes up in smoke. Time for a clearing. Clear your mind, clear your head, clear your space. I like to live in my little shining bubble of creativity. It's an invisible, little bubble. It seems fragile, but it's not. I've carried it with me for many years. I guard it. Feed it. Live inside it.

Still most of the world doesn't care, doesn't know it even exists. Some of my closest friends and colleagues are clueless about it. So I must care for it on my own. A sacred space. Best not to talk about it much. Just know it's there. Keep it with mine.

Every once in awhile, you must clear it, unload it. Give it a chance to breathe. Recharge. And wait to be filled again.

The Superstar of Assholes!

Josh Marshall isn't a psychiatrist, or psychologist. He's a political blogger, but you know, I love how he has been willing to dwell on the mind of Trump. A dangerous, scary place to dwell. This little post on the "Fever Within" is quite good. Marshall's explanation of Trump is that he lives in a "psychic economy of aggression and domination." Probably so. If I were to sum the man up, I would say Trump is just a major-league asshole.

Hilary Clinton is running a campaign for President. Trump is not. He is displaying his asshole-dom to America and daring us all to vote him in to office. Who knows, maybe it works? Hard to believe, but stranger things have happened.  Maybe lots of people have given up on politics? And the hard work of working together. Seems there are plenty of folks who live in a post-truth, post-hope, post-fact, post-reason world.

There are lots of ill-informed, pissed off people in our country. And maybe the dominating male is a default go-to? The Reality TV guy puts on a pretty good show. He is loud & proud. I can't stand the man. Really, really despise this guy. Do not want to spend the next 4 years with him on the national scene. Cannot imagine it.

How far can the asshole go? We shall find out!

The Bloated, Orange-Faced, Short-Fingered, Hair-Challenged Gas Bag Can't Help Himself!

The Bloated, Orange-Faced, Short-Fingered, Hair-Challenged Gas-Bag can't help himself. He has spent a life-time being an open-faced asshole. And now that he is on the big stage, he must push into a deeper zone of asshole-dom just to command attention.

Maybe, just maybe the National Media Machine has finally had enough of being played for total saps? Maybe, maybe not. And I guess we will find out if anyone listens to the media anymore. 

Obviously, there is a good percentage of the population that just doesn't care. They want the Orange-Faced Asshole to shake things up. Doesn't matter what he says, what he does. Being a big asshole is the whole point of the campaign.

He has taken asshole-dom to an epic level:  "Guns, gun, guns, right? I think what we should do is -- she goes around with armed guards like you have never seen before. I think that her armed bodyguards should drop all weapons. They should disarm, right? Immediately -- what do you think? Yes? Yes? Take their guns away! She doesn't want guns. Let's see what happens to her."

Anyway, for the rest of us, we can only hope that he will be relentlessly hammered with "the truth," between now and election day. I still think this Gassy Bag of a human being will implode. I pray and count the days!

The Unthinkable is Thinkable!

And then one morning you wake up, you go to your Data Guru and you read the unthinkable. All your optimism sort of vanishes in an instant. You think the unthinkable for a few moments. Could it be? Could all your hopes and good feelings be dashed by your fears and bad blood? The data is the data. And the country is the country. And your little bubble isn't representative of the country as a whole. You like your little bubble. You are glad you don't live in the Red Country. And so much of your country is Red. Yikes!

Undeniable Basket!

Yes, a "basket of deplorables."  A nice turn of phrase. And oh so true. "The racist, sexist, homophobic, xenophobic, Islamophobic - you name it." Sometimes the truth comes out. It's a nice shiny thing. Undeniable.

Is that How it Happens?

Is that how it happens? 

Playing my electric guitar thru an old amp in our rehearsal studio. It's one of those old two-prong, tube amps. I guess, not grounded. I'm playing electric guitar, and I reach my hand out and adjust my microphone. And a little blast of electricity courses thru me. Not a big blast, just a little rippling stream of electricity. I don't freak out, don't feel pain, don't really react in any overt way, except, there is this little thought bubble in my head: "Wow, that's electricity!" 

I finish the session, make sure not to touch the microphone. Turn off the amp. Put my electric guitar in it's case. I tell my friend about the little event. They remark: "That's why they call those old-time amps, 'Widow-Makers.'"

And I think: Is that how it happens?

Numb to the Dumb!

This is probably true... we are numb to the dumb. Some ignoramus gets on TV and starts talking like an ignoramus. Ho hum. Oh yeah, the guy wants a pretty important job, a job he really knows nothing about, and he shows clearly that he shouldn't have the job, yeah, well, what else you got? Oh yeah, he's also a blatant, over the top racist, spewing nonsense and hate, but really, so what, what else is new? It's a bit mind-boggling, and at the same time, not surprising. Weirds-ville...

Someone Else and You!

Someone else faints, and your life passes before your eyes. Live long enough, and you know that people are resilient, but people are also fragile. And you realize how everything, and everyone, really is connected, and you think you know how things may roll out, but you also know you don't really know.  You do know that occasionally there are those Black Swan events. And you hope this isn't one of them. You hope. You don't know.

A Working Towards...

You didn't realize it for a long time...

You work. You play. You rehearse. You practice. You spend a lot of time in focused and intense sessions with other folks who also, play, rehearse, and practice.

You "try to master your instrument." But you realize "mastery" is a mystery. You will never master anything. There is only the "working towards." You play. You do your best. You look for happy accidents. You create moments. You live inside those moments.

What you didn't realize -  the journey has not been about complexity, it has not really been about technique, technique is good, technique is a given, you need to know the fundamentals, you need to develop a "good practice," and always be committed to that practice - but you have always been working towards a casual simplicity, a confident ease. 

Saying less, or only the essential, but saying it with a pure, crystalline intelligence. Every gesture, pose, word, note, chord - every little thing - is everything in a nutshell. The silences around the gesture, pose, word, note, chord are just as important as the essential thing.

And sometimes you luck into this casual simplicity. And "the luck" is a byproduct of the approach. If you pay attention, you can prepare and make yourself more open to those moments of luck. That's what you are doing. That's why you are doing what you are doing.

Yes, There Really Was a Golden Era!

A lost "Golden Era." Is there anything to it? Is it just nostalgia - a pining desire for another time & place? Is it all bound up with a lost innocence? An adult's vain & pointless wish to be young once again?

I am always a bit suspicious when someone says that things (whatever things), "were better so much better then." But I was doing a bit of research on guitars and came across this little essay on Martin guitars and "The Golden Era Instruments." It asks the sad and wistful question: "Will there be anymore?"

And the answer? Probably not! 

"Consequently, I would narrow Martin's Golden Era to only a five-year span, from 1934-39.

Obviously, what human hands did once, they should be able to do again, but today's makers are having increasing difficulty getting the materials that were available to the Golden Era makers. The Golden Era makers were able to get old growth lumber that was air-dried for at least a decade. Today almost all the wood available is second growth and not well-seasoned, so virtually all manufacturers use kiln-dried wood, which is not nearly as stable, nor does it sound the same as the old style air-dried well-seasoned wood. In addition, few makers today use hide glue, and the lacquer formulas available today are quite different from those of the 1920s through the 1960s."

A Conjuring, A Spell.

I am re-reading Robert Graves' "The White Goddess." I found a train ticket in the book, must have used it as a book mark, it's from 1996, so I figure that's about the time I first read it. It is a "head-scratcher." It is a poetic flight. It is a secret history, a confabulation. It is vexing. It is weird. It is beautiful.

I have no clue if it's based in any kind of reality. Probably there's a bit of reality in there, but it's an amazing book, with wild insights, and strange things on just about every page. It's an argument. A revelation. A treatise. A riddle. A fantastical text. Names, dates, tribes, peoples, gods, trees, languages, rituals, sacrifices, wars, battles, religious feasts and all things human conspire together.

It is a conjuring. It is madness. I like it very much. Often my eyes cloud over and it's puts me to sleep, but I always pick it back up. I am determined to finish it. Again. I think it's a spell. I have fallen under it. I am living in a cloud. And I like it.

Jupiter is in the House!

Do I believe in Astrology? I think: "Why Not?" I mean, I have a good friend who pretty much runs their life by the stars, and this person is cool and beautiful and inspiring, and I do like all the imagery, and the mythology, and I do like to imagine there is a higher purpose, and that the stars are not just "twinkles in the nothingness."

I take Astrology as one grand metaphor. A poetic way to view the Universe. Not a science, but well, what the hell. I do like all that hocus-pocus. 

Someone did a Astrological Chart for me awhile back. I am Libra with Libra Rising. Lots of Libra there. Air of Air. Which if you know me sounds about right. Too much air makes the baby go blind! So Jupiter is entering my house... look for beauty, balance and bounty! I am ready, baby!

To Flow!

There is a lesson in the flow. Maybe that's an insight? The long flow of events, images, names, dates, peoples, ideas, stories.

An unrelenting onslaught. Never hesitates, never stops, always, always flowing. And just seeing the flow, experiencing the flow, going with the flow. That alone is a choice, a journey, a lesson. To flow.

The Wheel!

The Wheel. The Grand Cycle of Life/Death/Rebirth. Is it all just a grind? A churn? Is it like an amusement park ride? Do we cling to the wheel? Do we let go? Do we do our best to ride it?

Are we here to enjoy the ups, downs, and endless turnings of the wheel? Do we just endure, burn up, wear out?

The cycle - Life to Death to Rebirth to Life to Death to Rebirth, etc. 

How to think about the wheel? One of the weighty subjects. Maybe the weightiest of weighty subjects? 

Where do we turn for answers? To Journey?  "Wheel in the Sky keeps on turning..."

Yikes!

Try this...

Try this...

Walk, don't talk. Look, don't buy. Listen, don't speak. 

Don't think. Don't worry. Don't fret. Don't complain.

Eat. Breathe. Sleep. 

Three Snakes at the Door!

As it is said, "walk the mystical path on practical feet." We live in a world of signs and wonders. Be aware, alive, eyes open wide.

So we both noticed the three rubber snakes, (I saw three black snakes, my companion saw three dark green snakes), artfully arranged on the chair, just to the left of the door where we were working; doing good, important work. Two snakes curled and facing in downward direction, the middle snake curled and facing in an upward direction. 

Cheap theatrics? Child's play? A little art installation? Neither of us said a word to the other. Neither of us asked our host, "What's with the snakes?!"

On the way home, we both acknowledged seeing the little serpent display, we concluded it was some kind of conjuring, a spell, a ritualistic act, meant to set the tone, to direct or change the energy.

My companion revealed that she did stand before the little altar of snakes and drew a circle in the air. As for me, I just looked at those little rubber beasts in wonder.  This morning I do a little research on "Serpent symbolism,"  "Now the serpent was more subtle than any beast of the field which the Lord God had made" (Genesis 3:1). 

Think: fertility, regeneration, guardian of the mysteries of birth and rebirth. I suppose we will take it all as a helping hand to our work.

The Herd is Getting Larger & Wider!

It is noticeable. I mean, if you have been around for a decade or two, or more, you notice that your fellow Americans are getting big. Really big. Super-sized.

They super-sized the fast food, and the folks eating that super-sized fast food super-sized too. And some times being super-sized isn't all that good for you. My fellow Americans are fat. Or if that sounds harsh, my fellow Americans are obese.

I mean, you can still go to places in this land where everyone seems slim, happy, beautiful - go to Manhattan, or Silverlake, or the Magnificent Mile, Nashville, Austin and you will see folks who "watch what they eat," and "work on their abs." But go to the heartland, hang out at the mall, drive through the streets of strip malls and franchises, and well, it's pretty obvious, the herd is getting large, and wide.

Rotund.

More food, more calories, less activity. More intake, less burning. You will get fat. For sure. That late, great writer Jim Harrison, once said that the heartland is really the only place where over-eating is considered a heroic act. Almost an Olympic sport. You don't get a medal, but you get pounds, lots and lots of pounds!

"The Light of Consciousness Will Permeate All Aspects of Our Being."

I always have considered myself one of the "Children of the Sun." I always saw myself, on a California beach, with my surfboard, long hair flowing, tanned, happy, carefree, waiting for the next big wave.

I have been to the beach, actually don't like all that sand. I have never surfed, I am sort of a klutz and I'm pretty sure I'd probably damage myself. I do have long hair, but it really doesn't flow. I don't tan. I burn, blister, stroke. Too much sun for me is courting skin cancer. Lately the sun seems so intense, so bright, so hot. I always wear hats, long-sleeved shirts, sunglasses, and lots of sunblock. I'm sometimes happy, once in a while care free. If the next big wave comes, I will watch it from my post in the shade.

Still, I do identify with the "Children of the Sun" - "the person represented by the Sun has become a source of light, embodying the qualities of wisdom and spirituality. S/He is no longer just a mirror, like the Moon which reflects the Sun's light without being able to radiate light or warmth itself. S/He has found the ultimate source of inner light. S/He radiates divine wisdom and love upon the whole world, infusing it with the light of transformation.

Something new and transformational is being ripened in all of human- kind, just as fruit is ripened through a chemical process caused by the Sun's warm rays. The birth of a »New Humanity« requires the completion of a process described in the old alchemical texts. The Phoenix burns, only to arise from the ashes a new, magnificent bird, and fly into the open sky. The light of consciousness will permeate all aspects of our being."

Wrong Gods!

I don't think I will explain the circuitous route my thought-train took to get me to this point. Safe to say, a life of ups and downs, roundabouts, false starts, dead-ends, up in smoke dreams, unexpected losses, dashed hopes. You know, a normal life, well-lived. But anyway, back to the thought-train. Yesterday, this sentence came to me, and I believe it is true. A bred in the bone truth: I have been praying to the wrong Gods!

Yes. Most Definitely!

I love reading Josh Marshall. This morning he asks, "Can Trump be this stupid?"  I'm pretty sure we all know the answer. Wonder how this meeting in Mexico will go. Maybe Mexico decides they really will pay for that wall?! Some days you are horrified, and some days greatly entertained. 

Am I a Partisan Hack?!

I think of myself as Liberal, open-minded, but I've never voted for a Republican, ever, in my life. I've always voted. I figure I can't complain about anything if I don't vote, so I vote, I vote to feel I have a right to complain, a right to care.

So liberal, yes, open-minded, maybe not.

I come from a long line of dead people. I come from a long line of Democrats. My father, my father's father, my father's father's father were all Democrats. A long line of blue collar, working folks. Pretty much "have-nots," struggling to make ends meet.

My father once told me he did vote for Eisenhower in 1956. He was a soldier in Korea, and Eisenhower promised to end the war and bring the boys home. So that year, he voted, and told everyone back home to vote for Eisenhower, the decorated General, but that was an outlier.

I've voted for some pretty poor candidates in my life; Walter Mondale, Michael Dukakis & Rod Blagojevich come to mind, but the alternative GOP candidate always, always seemed worse. 

I wonder this morning, "Am I a partisan hack?" Maybe. I do think that, for me, the GOP has always been the party of the wealthy white establishment. They have never been for "the little guy." They have always used race to divide us, although usually they talk in code, using words like "small government," "balanced budgets," and "welfare reform." They always promote a big military at the expense of social welfare programs. I am all in for well-funded social welfare programs. If I am to pay taxes, I'd like my tax money to be used for the social well-being of us all.

The GOP usually (always?) wants to promote policies that keep the wealthy, privileged, white establishment wealthy, privileged, white and in power. At least that's how it all looks from my little perch. Maybe it's a skewed vision, maybe not. 

But I suppose it's sort of "bred in the bone." A lived political consciousness. Partisan for sure.

Thank God We Out-Number Them!

We had a long, rambling conversation here yesterday (see previous post).  Maybe trying to understand the non-understandable: Trump Land and all those crazy, confused, incomprehensible Trumpsters. 

We concluded that they are at the core Bigots, Racists, White Nationalists. Otherwise no coherence, no guiding philosophy. A Politics of Hate and Resentment.

Or as David Plouffe puts it, "We have a psychopath running for President." And a racist. And there is a devoted core of folks who will gladly vote for the psychopath & racist. And maybe this Trump thing is just a good reminder that Politics in America has always, always been about race.

And what do you do with those folks? Can't talk or reason with them. And once you call someone a Racist the conversation is basically over.

Our conclusion: Ignore them, Work around them, Move them out of the way, Out-Vote Them.

We out-number them. Thank Heavens! Just write them off! We own the big metropolitan cities. We own the territory of multiculturalism, tolerance, liberalism. That is the America we  love and want to live in...

Those red Trump states are just a toxic cultural & political wasteland. Let's just leave them behind!

The Bat-Shit Crazy Ones!

Making sense of the "Bat-Shit Crazy." Maybe this profile of Trump supporters helps? Lately, every morning, when I listen to National Public Radio, reporters seem to search out some seriously twisted folks, folks who have twisted themselves into pretzels, explaining why they are voting Trump.

My companion thinks that this is a real disservice, giving voice to the seriously twisted, and maybe by giving them a voice, a soapbox, they are actually empowering others like them. And maybe there  are more people out there like them than we know?

I suppose that's the fear of this election. That there is a "silent majority" that can't wait to vote for the bat-shit crazy guy: the bigot, the racist, the lazy, no-nothing billionaire that promises to magically fix everything for white folks.

I don't buy it. Just don't think there are enough of those seriously twisted folks. I take heart that there really is no coherence. That this fealty to the "Bat-Shit Crazy" has no staying power, no real philosophy, except maybe a disenchantment with progressive government, a deep in the bone resentment of the poor and people of color, and fear that someone else is getting a better deal.

So I listen to these voices and believe that our country is better than that. Maybe the Democrat, the Woman, isn't the perfect candidate, but she is a smart, competent politician - and that's good enough.  More than good enough. And she doesn't need to, and won't, win everyone over - our country is too deeply divided - but I do think she will prevail.

Still, it's instructive and interesting and amazing to watch and listen to American voters who are willing to totally abandon themselves to the Bat-Shit Crazy. Democracy. Right?!

Believe in Stuff!

I believe in...

Mary Worth.
Transubstantiation.
Coffee.
Aliens.
Life after death.
Yoga. 
The Multiplicity of Gods.
Regret.
Vegetarianism.
The Little People.
Contradiction.
Nature.
Laughter.
Guilt.
Meditation.
Magic.
The Dark Side.
Reincarnation.
Unbelieving.
Myths.
The Virgin Birth.
Spirit.
The Black Swan.
Everything is Holy.
Pain.
Yoko.
Forgiveness.
Beatles.
Sorrow.
Good Lies.
Yes.
Improv.
Music.
No. 
Death.
Transcendence. 
Theater.
Maybe.
Resurrection.
Ritual.
Every Little Thing.
Believing.

Believe in Everything!

What to believe in? Maybe the default mode should be to believe in everything? Everything we can imagine. Kind of like in Improv. The default mode is to say "Yes."

So if we believe in everything, every door, every window, every possibility is alive. Of course, this will make us sort of gullible, and susceptible and open to all kinds of crazy ideas, and maybe we need to take some crazy ideas with a "grain of salt."

We can sift through the crazy. Pick and choose what we like.

So we believe, but we keep our eyes open, keep our eyes peeled, and hone a healthy skepticism too. Which of course, if you think of it, is pretty damn contradictory. So yes, why not - live with the contradiction. That's okay.

Crappy, Useless Mojo!

I think it is sort of funny to watch the Right Wing tear itself apart. Trump has trumped them all. And of course he will sell them out at the drop of a hat. That is his modus operandi. Always has been. Leave someone else holding the bag. Stick his name on shit and call it branding.

So the biggest media idiot in the cable world, Sean Hannity, shamelessly shills for the man, and just looks like a hopeless, shit-grin eating, lick-spittle fool. And Ann Coulter, the anti-immigrant harpy is left dangling in the wind on a book tour, parked on that wall that Trump really, really won't build.

Couldn't be happier to see these creeps spinning in the muck. And the Trumpster just carries on, marching to a historic loss in November. Godzilla of the Right Wing, feeding on the White Nationalists, gobbling up anyone dumb enough to believe in his crappy, useless mojo.

Degrees of Exhaustion!

Degrees of exhaustion. Tired. Extreme fatigue. Staying up late watching theatrical madness. One show after another show after another show.

If you performed the previous evening, and your own show went well, the state of exhaustion is mingled with a sense of euphoria.

If you performed the previous evening, and your own show didn't go well, the state of exhaustion is mingled with a sense of futility.

I have experienced both of these states. Let me propose the obvious: exhaustion mingled with euphoria is transformative. Much better for the head and soul. Take it from someone who has lived thru both states.

Luckily this weekend the exhaustion/euphoria combo was perfectly proportioned. Deep in the bone tiredness mixed with an all-pervasive sense of accomplishment. Whether it's all just a figment of my imagination or not doesn't seem all that relevant.

And then a day or two passes and the exhaustion is now just a dimly remembered cloud.

The Void - It's All OK for Now!

The day after the day after. That's when you feel the void in the pit of your stomach. Let's say you've performed at an event many years in a row (see previous post), and now that fest is no more. It's gone. A memory. Just another thing that now only really exists in your head.

So you carry it with you, which is cool, but not really adequate for the moment, the now, the plans going forward. And you don't really have any plans, or even ideas of plans going forward at the moment. There's just that void. That "empty void." 

And you are not even really ready to fill that void yet. Maybe you will just let it sit in the pit of your stomach for awhile. Let it brew, tenderize, percolate. And maybe you will figure something out, something new or different, because a void cannot hold. It's not acceptable in the long-term. In the short-term? Yes, okay. Let it be. The void - "Turn off your mind, relax and float downstream, it is not dying, it is not dying..." 

Yeah. It's all ok for now. But then, there will be a "Then What?!" moment and you will want to act on that... yes. 

Uncountable!

The Last Abbie Fest. It is done. Complete. Finished. Kaput. In the books. An amazing journey. A wild ride. 28 consecutive festivals. 28 editions x 72 hours of (pretty much) non-stop theatrical madness. How many acts? How many performers? Uncounted. Uncountable.

The power & the glory. The love. The compassion. The selflessness. 

A weird cult. A brother & sister hood. A crazy, creative community. A very odd, unique, strange brew. Everything on stage and off. Everything. Alive. Aware. Now. The constant now. Waves of humanity. Waves of creativity. Waves of experience.

There was total love flowing in the wee hours. Exhaustion. Exhilaration. Ecstasy. Sadness. We carry the dream, in our hearts, our heads... the last fest has come and gone, the dream, the myth carries on, will never die, instead the dream & the myth will grow larger, and more resonant, more powerful as it fades.

The Sloppy Roar of Human Experience!

Years past, I would write a day by day recap of the Abbie Fest, but this year's model is the last one and I feel sort of humbled by the whole "last" thing. I guess it's the finality of it all that is sinking in, and it makes me hesitant to try to sum up or contain my thoughts and feelings about the whole thing.

Safe to say, I will truly miss this festival. There is nothing quite like it. It is irreplaceable, irreducible, uncontainable.

What an exuberant, rollicking, unholy, over-stuffed, 3 day phenomenon. I feel so lucky to have played a small, very small part, in the whole thing. 

Energy. Life. The sloppy roar of human experience. Today is the last of the last. Then it will all be gone. Alive only in our heads, our hearts, our spirits. A fever dream. A hallucination. A prophecy. A promise.

It is a little microcosm of the macrocosm. Here and then gone. That's how it goes...

Play it Loud!

I get to the place. My "job" is to hang with a motley gang of characters. Chill for the afternoon. The place I am at has a classic stereo system: a phonograph, powerful amp, hefty, impressive looking speakers in the living room, and an array of speakers embedded in the ceiling in the kitchen. Let's just say the sound is massively superb.

And on the phonograph, already in place, waiting for a spin? John Lennon's Plastic Ono Band album. Maybe, probably, for sure, my favorite all-time record. Dark? Yes! Inspiring? Yes! Brilliant? Absolutely. Lennon stripped bare.

Anyway, a coincidence? Maybe. I don't think so. But who decides?

I followed that great, elemental, essential advice: "Play it loud!" Life-affirming, powerful, transporting. 

Losing Yourself in the Moment!

I used to think it as "Flow." I now think of it as "The Timeless Now of the Divine Spirit."  Losing yourself in the moment. Being so aware, so alive, so in the moment, that the self disappears, and the "what you are doing in the moment" is everything.

Time falls away. The rest of the world disappears.

I could sometimes get to that state by long-distance running, sometimes by deep meditation. I could often get there acting in a play or performance piece, and lately, rarely, (usually in rehearsal), I can get there playing music.

It's funny. Many years of performing, many years of losing myself in the flow. That is the kick. That is the secret. That is the glory. Better than accolades, better than awards, better than applause, better than money or fame.

Losing yourself in the moment...

History in the Making!

I think, in the past year, I was a bit frantic about the 2016 Presidential Election. There was a brief period of uncertainty. And I do know that in some sense any time, any day, "anything can happen."

But I am not frantic now. I am pretty damn certain I do know how it's all gonna shake out in November. We are watching "history in the making." Which, if you think about it is a ridiculous phrase. In one sense isn't every moment, "history in the making?" As soon as the moment passes, it is history.

But in another sense, yes, we all know what that phrase means, something is happening, or is about to happen that is extraordinary, unique, something that might actually make the history books. Do people still print and read history books?

We actually have two pretty unique, extraordinary events about to happen. A woman President, AND, "the worst Presidential Candidate of all time!" Kind of interesting, kind of entertaining.

Eventful Day!

Yesterday was an eventful day for my lovely companion and I...

1. Had a wonderful meal at P.S. Bangkok - fire spinach & long-life noodles.
2. Visited the Chicago Music Exchange, a vintage guitar mecca and bought some Martin Retro Acoustic Guitar Strings - "Tony's Choice!" (Who is Tony?)!
3. Ran thru the tech for our show at the Den Theatre - lights, action, sound!
4. Reversed the "Macbeth curse," (see previous post) - yes we went to the old theater building spun around, cursed, spit and knocked! It felt marvelous, I could feel & see that curse just lift off my shoulders!

Not a bad day.

The Curse of the Scottish Play!

Macbeth is my favorite of all of Shakespeare's plays. All that darkness, blood & revenge; I discovered it in high school and it was right up my alley, a little bit of  Sergio Leone, Sam Peckinpah and Martin Scorsese all mixed up together. 

In retrospect, now that I think of it, I do believe that I am a victim of the "curse of the Scottish play." I actually did speak the name "Macbeth" backstage during the run of our show "Free Henry Goodbar, Telepath," in 2006. I just blundered into the curse. And I didn't remedy the curse, ("he or she is required to leave the theatre building, spin around three times, spit, curse, and then knock to be allowed back in"). Instead, I just laughed it off.

And then, all hell broke out in my life. I lost a dear member of my family (almost exactly one year after I blindly uttered the forbidden name), I lost friends, I lost a job, I lost money, status, self-respect. I spiraled down into a black hole. Yep. It's true.

I hit bottom. I had to re-make my life. Get back to basics. 10 years later, I'm still in the process of rebuilding my life. Funny. I didn't put all of this together until yesterday morning, when I heard on the radio that August 15, 1057 was the anniversary of Macbeth's murder. 

And this morning I have resolved to go back to that old theater building and "reverse the curse." Yes, it's about time, 10 years living under this curse, a long time.  I am well over-due for a full reckoning! I dare say, better late, than never!

The Last Abbie Fest!

It actually sort of pains me to write these words, but write them I will... 

The Last Abbie Fest is this coming weekend. The 28th edition of this rollicking mess of a 3 day festival of plays.  Our group Black Forest has performed at something like 16 of these in a row, which is a significant chunk of time. We have lived, and grown, and changed, and aged, right along with the fest.

Let's say our work could be summed up by Sergio Leone - "The Good, The Bad, The Ugly." We have always tried to do our best, but really it's all just a journey, an effort, a "going to," "a searching for..." and that was/is the kick.

Highly, highly recommended.

Everything Falls, Everything Dies!

If things were "forever," everything would be static. It would be like living in some grand, unchanging prison. So, wishing for forever would be like wishing to live in an eternal prison.

Instead we live in a world of transitoriness, change, eternal change. Freedom. Everything falls, everything dies. We should celebrate!

"Timeless Now of the Divine Spirit!"

I am reading a sort of dry, weighty, musicological tome. And in the reading, I come across a quote from what I imagine is another dry, weighty musicological tome, written by a guy named John Blacking, "How Musical is Man?"

And then I come across this phrase, "Timeless Now of the Divine Spirit." And I see my life flash before my eyes. I realize this is where all my energy has been directed for many, many years. And whether this state is mythological, or very real; hard to find, or easy to get to; I realize that all of my work in theater and music, all of my creative activity, has been steeped in the search for this special state.

And I know I have glimpsed it. Yes, indeed. In rehearsals, in the working thru, in performance. Not often, but once in a great while all elements conspire and that special state is revealed.  I have experienced a state where "old age, death, grief, thirst, hunger and the other afflictions of this world are seen as transitory events."

This state, this quest for the "Timeless Now of the Divine Spirit," is my guiding light and experiential philosophy. It's very gratifying and enlightening to find answers once in awhile!

The Need for Solitude.

Solitude. It is essential. A way to find space. In the world. In yourself. We are always on the move. Sometimes it's essential to sit in one place. And let time roll over you. It will expand and deepen. It's a good thing. An oasis. A hideout. A soft place to land.

Kicked "Ass-Mar?!"

It is possible I've kicked asthma? Or as Piggy from "The Lord of the Flies" called it, "Ass-mar." Maybe so. This is a malady that I have suffered with since I was a wee lad of about 13. Many decades of wheezing,  of extreme drowning in my own bodily humors. 

Over the last year or so. Nothing. No wheezing, no coughing, no allergic reactions. No "can't breathe" episodes. In the past, all manner of things could trigger an attack - dogs, cats, extreme heat or cold, stress, pretty much whatever.

And now? Nothing. No problem. No malady. I breathe easy all the time. I was gluten-free for awhile, maybe that helped? I'm not gluten-free now, and still no attacks. Also, and this may have nothing to do with anything, about a year or so ago I started adding lots of cayenne pepper to my food/diet. Maybe that helped? Who knows? I really have no clue. Very weird. 

I have always been a healthy eater, I've always been active, and pretty fit. Nothing changed on that front. It's a mystery. A happy mystery.  But one that I can live with it for sure! Asthma free!

The Power of the "A" Hole...

Okay, I admit it, no deep political analysis here... the GOP Nominee for President is clearly, a USDA Choice, Grade A, First-Class Asshole i.e. arrogant, rude, obnoxious, or just a total dickhead.

Yes, no doubt. And even that crude description just doesn't seem to do the man justice.  This 2nd Amendment flap is just the latest example in a string of examples.

Of course, being a Total Asshole doesn't disqualify this man. In fact, many of his followers are following him because he is a loud, no-nothing Asshole. That's just why they intend to vote for him.

For these folks it's not a flaw, it's a feature!

I suppose this man is showing us that being a Total Asshole can actually work in your favor. Nothing ever shames the man. Nothing embarrasses the man. He is never, ever in the wrong. He clearly knows very little, and believes he knows everything.

It is laughable. Every morning you flip on the radio and expect to hear that finally the man has disintegrated, imploded, spontaneously combusted... but I guess, he's too much of a determined Asshole for that to happen.

The Real World

My long time companion turned to me and said: "We don't do the real world very well."  My response: "Tis true."

Someone Else's Thing!

I'm living in someone else's reality. It's a funny way to make a living. Sleeping in someone else's bed, drinking someone else's coffee, walking someone else's dog. All my usual routines are thrown up in the air and remade in a slightly different configuration.

It's sort of like vacationing in someone else's space. Sort of. I'm still me, doing all the typical "me" things, but the surroundings are all switched around. It's odd. A bit disorienting. And sort of agreeable too.

A Perfect Day!

I have to tell you about our great day, yesterday. If I don't, who will? whitewolfsonicprincess played at the Evanston Lakeshore Arts Fest, and it was one of our best outings for sure. Our leader singer, who is a very tough grader, no curve, gave us a B+. Perfect weather, lots of fans, and ducks. Happy ducks. We also watched & listened to Swing Gitan, incomparable Gyspy Jazz! We sat in the shade and ate vegetarian tamales and they truly hit the spot. And then, thanks to our a very good friend we got to sit at the feet of the great and inspiring Jon Langford performing at the The Wine Goddess. I must say, Jon is my musical hero. I don't know what it is, he just has "it" - the charisma, the passion, the guts, the glory. Totally knocked us out! Yesterday was quite the day, no doubt!

How Resilient We Can Be!

I think we will see how resilient our democracy in good ole USA can be. And even though it is somewhat horrifying to see how many common folks really can imagine the Short Fingered Vulgarian, fingering the nuclear button, the vast majority of us, are quite horrified by the thought, and well, I do think common sense and reason will win the day. And it's probably nothing to be complacent about, but it is sort of gratifying to see that a very stupid, horrible person can really unite, if not us all, at least very, very many of us!

Who Do You Let in the Room?

Who do you let in the room? I mean this "literally" and "metaphorically." This is of critical importance if you are working on a creative project. Who gets in the room?

We have been experimenting lately with some new players, musicians, for a project. Each individual brings their own world with them into the room. 

And it's all about trust, respect, the ability to listen, the ability to let go, and give it all, to the group. The collective group creates a unique energy. Can those walking into the room leave their egos, their day to day world behind them?

It's not just about musicianship. 

We are always looking for a purity of purpose and intent. The creative circle, I believe, is a sacred place. And one false move, one poor choice, can destroy a very delicate construction.

You know when it's right, and you know when it's wrong. It's always so obvious, although, sometimes it takes time to really understand where you went right, or where you went wrong.

And you have to be open, and giving, and understand a greater vision, bigger than the immediate thing. That's really what we are creating. An amazing entity, built from a collective energy, that transcends any one individual.

When the group is strong, when everyone can trust, respect, listen, when everyone is fully there, the true creative "magic" happens. And there really is nothing like that high.

And when it's right, the circle expands, and the group grows stronger, and can extend into new areas, new ways of being. And when it's wrong, you can't hesitate, you need to identify the problem, and extricate it - or else the circle will disintegrate. Extricating can be painful, but the creative space demands it.

Who do you let in the room? That's the all important question...

When Will the Horrible Idiot Slink into the Darkness?

I now realize that between now and election day in November, I will wake up, I will turn on the radio, log into the internet, and ask: "What has the GOP Presidential Nominee, that Horrible Idiot, said today?"

It is not the way I'd like to live my life. But there it is. And every time I ask that question, I will wonder if finally my fellow citizens have heard enough. 

And I will hope for, and count the days, before the Horrible Idiot slinks away into the darkness, never to sully our national consciousness ever again! 

Isn't Democracy wonderful?!

A Life of Coincidence...

You get your insights wherever  you can find them. It could be a great book, a good friend, or while you are binge-watching "Better Call Saul." 

Not sure which character said it, but these words have been kicking around in my head for days and days...

"Maybe all life is just coincidence?" 

Yes, indeed: "a situation in which events happen at the same time in a way that is not planned or expected..."

A Bad Actor, Acting Badly!

"Bad Actor." You know, not a clueless thespian, but an actual "unruly, turbulent, contentious individual."

A shit-stirrer. Sometimes you want to stir the shit, or maybe sometimes it's good for the shit to be stirred. But sometimes not.

Just like anything, it all depends on the time, the place, the circumstances. A bad actor can be a useful, necessary phenomenon, or a very negative, corrosive entity.

Right now we are being inundated with the thoughts and actions of a very, very bad actor. It's a sensitive time for our Democracy. And maybe it's all a lot more fragile than we think.

How bad can things get? I suppose we will find out...

"A Smart Terrible Person" vs. "A Dumb Terrible Person!"

Maybe a terrible man and his candidacy for President can be a national horror-show, and a necessary purgative. Think of the Short Fingered Vulgarian as a "moral enema." Gross. Right?!

Maybe we need a candidate for President to show us the dark underside of America? Maybe we need to see upfront and center all the ugliness, the ignorance, the bold racism, the sexism, the xenophobia?

Maybe we need this guy to help us expel the bad, gross stuff.

No matter how bad you think things could be, this person is much worse, this person embodies all the worst qualities you could imagine, and multiplies them and pumps them up to "11."

And he is shameless, and clueless. And he is so shameless & clueless he actually believes these are admirable qualities, necessary to being a "winner!"

So then, in response, we get lots of soul-searching, and redefining, and scrambling to come up with reasons, and diagnostic explanations for how this man, and his followers, could be so totally clueless and morally suspect. Lots of good writing coming from all corners.

You get think pieces like this one from Josh Marshall.  Drawing the subtle, nuanced, distinction between a "smart terrible person," vs. a "dumb terrible person."