Break & Fix!

It turns out I am easy to break, and easy to fix too. 

I would not survive more than a minute or two of torture. Really. I know this about myself. I would crack, break like an egg. Immediately. Does that make me a "bad" person? Probably not. I am just super-sensitive.  

So it's a good thing I don't know any state secrets or codes, the fate of the nation doesn't hinge on my sensitivity. I don't know nothing. What do you want to know?

Breaking me is easy. Deprive me of a good night's sleep, or waggle a dog-hair under my nose, dagger me with a cutting remark, make me feel bad, and I will feel bad.

I'm easy to fix too. I am resilient in that way. A good night's sleep, a full pot of freshly-brewed coffee, and great music playing on the box, and in my head, all is right with world. I can conjure up ideas, dreams, songs, blog posts, I can amuse myself by observing everything around me. This morning I am fixed!

The a.m. soundtrack - Neil Young's "Le Noise" (2010) Neil with his electric and acoustic guitars and a batch of new songs singing alone in a big old mansion in L.A. with Daniel Lanois behind the recording console. Lanois brings a little "ear candy" to some of the songs, but basically it's all Neil, stripped to the essential. Brilliant, unique, quirky, totally Neil. Inspiring. It will for sure fix what's wrong with you!

It's an Art...

Time to reflect and time to act. It's a balance, an art, just about like everything else. That's the thing, when it comes to the most important things in a life, we are pretty much on our own, just like everyone else is on their own too. There are no hard and fast rules. We live moment to moment and make decisions and move accordingly. Living life isn't a science, or a business, or a puzzle, or a journey even. Life is life. And we are swimming in an ocean of possibilities. We can ask questions, like, "What's the right thing to do?" But the "answer my friend is blowing in the wind," and really we are just making it up, improvising and seeing what happens. It's messy, complicated, and probably not the best way forward, but there you go... 

Head in the Game...

Ah… Monday morning…

Kind of not ready.  I mean, I have to get on with it. But there is a little island of not wanting to, kicking around inside of me.

I mean, shite, it's my life. I better get my head in the game...

People, Who Needs Them?

"I'm not good with people."

Ha. Let's call it the Bane of the Misanthrope.  OK. If you read the definition, "Hate Humankind," seems overly-strong. Dislike is more like it. So maybe a "Mild Misanthrope." Human Beings are so often, so disappointing. Much of the distress and dislike comes from miscommunication and misunderstanding. It's difficult to be always putting yourself in someone else's shoes, especially when you are busy filling your own shoes.

And then our culture, society, social network amplifies the loudest, most aggressive, biggest assholes amongst us. We give undue attention and all the accolades to the wealthy, greedy ones. It's a flaw in the whole she-bang. Think of it as the Big Monkey Man syndrome. These Big Monkey Men usually like to attack the weaker ones, or the folks who are a bit different from the dominant ones. It's so ugly. A trait that seems to have been with us since the Dawn of Man. Man's Inhumanity to Man is a long, ugly saga.

Being a Human Being is a complicated thing. A Mild Misanthrope would also, of course, sort of dislike or maybe even sometimes despise, themselves. Maybe that's a good thing? Although the Swamis and the Experts tell us we need to love more, to love ourselves and others, although, maybe not too much unqualified love, but maybe hard-earned love with a deep layer of dislike? Maybe a bit more humble and clear-eyed?

Maybe the trick is to love the weak ones, those picked on and harassed? Those without power? I don't know, love and hate, it's tricky too. Humans. Yikes.

The a.m. soundtrack - Daft Punk's "Random Access Memories." (2013) Disappointed in Humanity this morning, I turn to the French Robots. But, you know, really, these French Robots are really two creative French music-makers pretending to be Robots. So, anyway a bit of artifice. This is a truly great record. Lots of computer assisted sounds mixed with great live drumming and guitar. A magnum opus about love & loneliness, UFOs, the future, creativity, and yes, "getting lucky." Niles Rodgers shines on guitar. Fabulous. The album cost a shit-load of $ to make. But it's some weird kind of masterpiece. You can dance to it, but there is also a very human sadness and wistfulness suffusing the grooves; love and the failure, or absence of love. The little gnome Paul Williams makes an indelible impression. Highly recommended.

Marching On...

 "Marching to your own drum:" To do something, act, or behave in a manner that does not conform to the standard, prevalent, or popular societal norm.

That's pretty much me in a nutshell. It becomes clear that I am not leading any pack. I am pretty much on my own. Leading by example. But, really my example isn't compelling or attractive to anyone else. Charisma, if it really exists, only goes so far. I don't really think I can convince anyone of anything. I do my own thing and see what happens. Trying to make things happen seems a bit foolish. Maybe things just happen, or they don't, or, you know, I mean, who knows?

The best way forward, if you are trying to accomplish anything is to find allies, co-conspirators, others who are all marching to their own drum too. Hoping that sometimes, maybe, at least for a brief time, we are all going in the same direction. But I don't hold my breath on that kind of thing. You know, tune into the drum, march on, damn the torpedos.

Simplicities...

Back to simplicities…

Hah. I discovered a stash of frozen bagels in the big, overstuffed freezer. Food here is fair-game for the "caretaker." It wasn't anything like a traditional thanksgiving over here. Isolation, lockdown and social-distancing was the theme. I'm still on "no-covid island," but it's getting to be a smaller, and smaller place.

It turns out a couple of nicely-turned, bagels, defrosted and piping hot from the micro-wave makes for a sumptuous feast. I had a few sides: soup and garbanzo beans. Note: no animals were harmed in the making of this meal. OK. Maybe it was sort of a "hobo" feast, but, really, think: a well-fed, very comfortable, happy, and truly luxuriating, hobo.

What else? Breathing easy. Another glorious sunrise. It's "Black Friday" which means absolutely nothing to me. The world is turning. I am hanging on.

The a.m. soundtrack - Damon Albarn's "Mali Music" (2002). It's kind of a "rare find." I hunted it down and purchased a pristine copy on Ebay about a year or so ago. Trippy, cool, an exotic vibe. Albarn collaborates with local Mali musicians. He doesn't dominate, he kind of melts into the vibe. World music. Bright, sunny, enchanting.

Powers...

The Power of Yes. You will go to a lot parties. People will like you because you always say "yes." You will become a professional "people pleaser." You will be busy. You will have adventures. You will be tired. You will find yourself in conversations and situations you wish you weren't. You will start to wonder who the fuck you really are. That smile pasted on your lips and that sparkle in your eyes will not be yours.

The Power of No. You will disappoint many. You will be alone often. You will have few adventures, go to fewer parties. Maybe no parties. You will be considered a bit surly and weird. You will have more time to explore your inner landscape. What you find there, might be interesting, but you won't really have anyone to share it with. If you sing a song it will be: "I Didn't Do it My Way, I Mean I just Didn't Do it."

The Power of Maybe. You try to keep all doors and options open. You never please anyone, rarely even yourself. You think about adventures, you waffle back and forth, "yes?" "No?" "Maybe so?" You think about going to parties, or not going to parties. You just sit and think. You punt. You put off. You decide, why decide? Maybe another day? The days run away like wild horses. You watch them run away. You are always conflicted. Maybe this, maybe that. Maybe, maybe not.

The a.m. soundtrack - Bob Dylan's "Slow Train Coming." (1979) When it came out I was thoroughly appalled. Dylan as a born-again, righteous, bible-thumper? Yikes. I wasn't having any of it. This morning the record sounds tremendous. Dylan as Fire & Brimstone Preacher. Another Dylan mask. A powerful, inspiring burst of creativity. Great songwriting. Great band. Mark Knopfler on snaky, slithery, electric guitar. Fabulous female backup singers. Recorded live, and beautifully, at Muscle Shoals in Alabama. Produced by the legendary Jerry Wexler. Supposedly, Dylan was at sea, grasping at straws, reeling from a divorce and substance abuse, and one day he found Jesus. He adopted a truly dark apocalyptic code. This was Old Testament, mysterious, Book of Revelations shite. A bleak and foreboding God of Judgment and Justice. Not much love and forgiveness in the mix. Think: plagues, rains of frogs, dogs walking backwards, flames of hell and damnation. Jesus coming back to sit on a throne. What cooky, fucking strange, madness. Still, Dylan sings with complete passion, and he brings it all off with style, panache, gusto. Pretty amazing shite.

Space & No Space...

I have all these tools, meditation, contemplation, concentrated focus, deep-breathing, creative visualization, which I use in order to "get my space."  I find that getting your space, expanding your inner landscape is essential. It's how you ground yourself, expand your soul, feed your spirit, cultivate the silence where you can basically get your shit together.  It doesn't come easy. It takes a bit of practice and discipline. But it's not something you should labor over. If you are using your tools correctly, getting your space becomes as easy as breathing. Sure, if you are a Swami sitting all alone on the mountaintop, it's easy to get your space, the trick is to be able to find that space when you are in the middle of the maelstrom, in the eye of the hurricane, in a roomful of chattering human beings. 

You can easily "lose your space." I mean, it's sort of amazing how easy you can lose your space, for instance, any of these little arbitrary things can send you reeling into a deep existential crisis:

A perfectly placed word.

A stray dog-hair.

A hard look.

A sad news story.

A stumble.

A disturbing memory.

A disorienting dream.

A foiled plan.

A simple misunderstanding.

Plus, you know, pretty much anything can throw you off. You will be made uncomfortable. You will get the heebie-jeebies. Instead of getting your shit together, you will lose your shit. All that focus, discipline and practice can go right out the window in the blink of an eye. It's true.

The a.m. soundtrack - Neil Young's "Rust Never Sleeps" (1979). Yes, well, another strategy for "getting your space," brew up a pot of kick-ass coffee and put this record on the stereo. Turn the volume up to "10." So good. It works. Every time.

Never Forget...

Draw a line in the sand...

That's a human thing to do. Make a mark knowing it will soon vanish. A big wave comes and washes it all away. Or a violent breeze. A line in the sand is a small, easily disappeared thing. Make a decision. Don't forget. Every choice we make is definitive. Every step we take is definitive too. We live like we have all the time in the world, but no one knows when, and for whom, the bell tolls. What is that ringing in your ears? The bell is always tolling. 

I made a decision today. Don't even want to write it down. The writing may take the sting out of it. I want to keep it in my head, front and center. Burn it into my consciousness. I remind myself, can't please everyone. Decisions, choices, resolutions must be made and kept. Remember this moment, this feeling, this decision, this raging decisiveness. I know it can fade, and it will fade, in the light of another day. My determination will seem arbitrary, emotional, flighty, I may forget. This time, this morning, I vow to myself, never forget.

Sorry Kid, It's Chinatown...

I don't have kids. I never raised kids. I was a kid. So my experience of "kid-ness" is only really from the inside. I think I still have some of that "kid-ness" in me. Basically, I am still that happy go lucky, sort of clueless, little kid stumbling around, trying to amuse my self and take in the world. 

If I was talking to that little kid this a.m. I would be saying things like: "Life isn't what you think."  And maybe "Don't worry, no one is really sure of anything, we are all just sort of improvising."

I'm pretty sure that little kid would just ignore those words, that is one of my "great" hard-earned, insights: "No one wants to be told anything."

Right. We want live our lives our own way. Make our own mistakes, and conjure up our own fuck-ups. I think that little kid thought he was going to figure it all out, that life and living was some kind of puzzle, or mystery to be solved. This adult, here & now, this morning, thinks that's kind of cute, and actually, not the thing.  "Sorry to break it to you kid." 

The a.m. soundtrack - "An Anthology (Duane Allman Album) (1972): One advantage to staying at a fellow musician's house, there is an incredible collection of vinyl and cds, stacked on shelves everywhere. I get to listen to lots of records I don't own. This is one of them. For some reason I always hesitate to buy "Best Of" or "Anthologies" I am a believer in the integrity of an "album," one of my favorite art-forms, but this collection of tracks is thrilling, totally magnificent. You could make the case that these tracks, especially the early tracks when Duane was a session musician at Muscle Shoals' FAME Studio, are some of the best of the best of Duane Allman's great work. Listen to Otis Redding sing "Hey Jude," or Aretha Franklin sing "The Weight," Boz Scaggs sing "Loan Me a Dime," wow. Exquisite. And Duane's guitar playing is a thing of uncommon power, soul and beauty that stands side by side with those fabulous vocalists. Real musicians and singers in the analog world bringing it. I do believe this music can heal the sick and raise the dead. 

Walking a Dark Hallway...

The walls are alive. I find myself in a foreign place. I have been here before. There is a ghost here. It's female, she has made an appearance from time to time. An old-world, matronly lady. There is always a hint of a shifting air, and a hint of perfume when she enters a room and leaves.

I am always so uncomfortable in this place. Something weird, strange, bad always happens here. I never breathe easy here. I've gotten sick here. One time I destroyed my phone by accidentally putting it in the washing machine. I have been hounded by the dogs of hell here. This time, I am staying with just one dog. He suffers from PTSD. He's jumpy. Sometimes surly. He doesn't trust Human Beings.

Sometimes street-people show up here at odd times looking for a handout. One time, two young ladies, apparently over-served at the bar, were madly chattering on the front porch at 2 a.m. That sent the dogs of hell into a barking tizzy.

There is dog hair everywhere. It's an old, toxic place. Last night, a small calamity. I found myself walking a dark hallway, I walked smack dab into a jutting wall. It wasn't supposed to be there. I was trying to avoid the void, a rickety, slanting stairway. I have a recurring vision that I will stumble and fall down that  stairway. It's old, unstable, slanting downward, it's easy to mis-step, I have had a few close calls.

Anyway, I have a new dime-sized, red tattoo above my left eye. So ridiculous. Walking in the dark down a strange hallway. Not recommended.

Update at 9:37 a.m. - Talking with a friend she repeated a line she heard from someone, "You only see ghosts if you believe in them." Yep. Seems plausible. If you can go with the idea of ghosts, when weird, unexplainable, shit happens, you might attribute it to a ghost. If you don't believe in ghosts you probably figure there is a logical explanation, even if the explanation isn't readily at hand.  For instance, this morning the stereo briefly went on, played a bit of a flamenco guitar, and then went back off. You know, maybe a ghost, maybe just an electrical anomaly? 

BTW - I retraced my steps down that treacherous hallway in the light of day. There is a place, right where the rickety, sloping stairway angles down, that's where the wall on the opposite side sharply juts out. I never noticed that before. A shiver went thru me. If I would have stumbled, slightly to the right after the impact, face to wall, I could have easily tumbled down three flights of stairs. Now that would have been catastrophic. No doubt.  Hah! Was it a warning? Beware of the dark, and things that go bump in the night.  Be careful with every step. Like I said, weird, strange, stupid shit often happens here. I mean, I know it's me, sometimes I truly am my own worst enemy. Still, I tread lightly. Maybe it's time to have a heart to heart chat with the ghost? I mean, maybe we can make a treaty of peace and co-existence? I mean, if you believe in that kind of thing.

The Game of Schlep...

Up way before the crack of dawn. I mean it's gonna be hours before the sun even thinks of making an appearance. I set my alarm for an earlier than usual rise. I have "shit to do." It comes with the life of a schlepper. Yes, I come from the schlepper class. I may spend lots of my time writing songs (see previous post), pursuing leisure, and flow, but it's all a bit of a luxury kick. I still need to make $ to keep it all together. So I have appointments to keep, rounds to do. I don't really want to, but you know, I just have to get my head around it and get to it. No sense in complaining. I think maybe I can turn it all into a game to play, yes, that's right the game of life. No, scratch that, the game of a schlepper's life.

The early a.m. soundtrack - Mogwai"s "Happy Songs for Happy People." (2003). I don't think the title is meant to be ironic. But when I purchased it awhile back, post-pandemic, I feared that it was, thinking maybe it was going to be all corrosion and dissonance. Nope. Beautiful. Elegiac. Up-lifting. With some dissonance and corrosion mixed in, but mixed in nicely. Another one of my favorite bands who mainly do instrumental music. Cool guitars, powerful drumming. It's definitely r&r, with some hard edges, but overall, a knockout beauty, very satisfying record. Happy songs for happy people! Indeed. Makes me happy!

Push into the Flow...

I wrote a song yesterday. It happens once in awhile. I had a "vision," there were some images in my head that I couldn't shake, and I used those images as a starting point. You know, it's not an earth-shaking thing. Not sure about the song. Not sure if it will ever see the light of day, or make it to our band rehearsal room. The night before I watched Jim Jarmuch's "Gimme Danger," (2016) about Iggy Pop and the Stooges. Great movie, great, seminal band, and maybe not so surprising Iggy is totally inspiring. I mean, what an extreme rock and roller. Iggy said he was inspired by that TV comic Soupy Sales to write powerful, simple lyrics and songs in 25 words of less.

I tried to do it. I failed. My song is 102 words long. By Iggy's and Soupy's standards, quite verbose. I was playing a borrowed Martin guitar, a smaller-bodied one, mahogany, super-nice and easy to play. It sounds so good ringing out in the kitchen, high ceiling, hard surfaces, lots of nice reverb. I tend to use an alternate turning, it makes standard chords sound a bit foreign. I just tuned up and started banging away. I am always surprised when the words and chords start to work together to create unique lines of melody. I worked on the song for hours and recorded a demo on my little smart-flip-phone. Like I said, not earthshaking. But it was pretty consuming and exciting for me. That's the beauty of the creative thing, it's a flow activity. You push yourself into the flow and ride. Nothing better.

Signs & Wonders...

I tend to lean to the idea that we live in a Universe of Signs and Wonders. I think it's helpful and hopeful to read the Universe as if it were a poem. A long, rambling, improvisational explosion of energy and propulsion. Human Beings are here to see, to wonder, to navigate the vibes. We are just one of many species, and and one of the great multiplicity of beings who do the same. We observe, watch, take it all in. Best to let it flow within and without. To be here, totally present at all times. We have our own lines to write. We run out our own strings. But you know, this poem is much bigger than us. Best to drop the ego, carry on, enjoy the ride. Notice the beauty, the movement, the transformation of energy. It's the best game in town.

Of Course, We Were the Victims...

"I'm a victim." 

Hah. That's from the guy who tried to destroy Democracy in America. He's ranting and railing, huffing and puffing again, does that dude ever shut up, from his garish, no-taste, faux-palace in Florida. On the one hand you think, just forget about this toxic clown, but then again, this creepy dude does command some attention from the worst of the worst of America. It's a relatively small group of folks, but they are loud, and toxic and they sort of hold the GOP hostage to their anger and idiocy. The brain-dead MAGA minions just don't realize how pathetic, ridiculous and frankly desperate, this fat, blow-hard clown truly is.

The rest of us know. Yes. We do. The blow-hard is old news. A multiple-times (can't even count the times) loser. This fucker just has no clue. No. He is not the victim, it is all the rest of us. Anyone in ear-shot, anyone who listens to his garbage-filled blabber, and blubber.  This fat, corrosive cheese is past it's sell-date. He's dead. His movement is dead. The zombie-hordes don't know it yet. Maybe they will never know it.

Like I always like to remind some of my close friends: People cried when Stalin died. Yes. People ran into the streets with tears in their eyes when their brutal dictator and cruel strongman finally gave up the ghost. The type of folks who give their souls to the authoritarian strongmen, fall hard. The Florida creep is on a downward slide to madness and abandonment. Some folks just don't know when to quit. The true believers will never admit they were wrong to support this plague of a human. 

The a.m. soundtrack - What is the antidote to the ugliness? Beauty, intelligence, truth, grace, kindness, love. I turn to the fabulous, and great Icelandic band Sigur Ros. Their music has been so healing, so profound, so essential to my life ever since I "discovered" them in in 2001. This morning it is a thing of hushed beauty called  "Valtari" (2012). Gorgeous. Spiritual. Inspiring. It's like, you know, modern, sacred music.

The Doing Becomes the Meaning...

Are you surprised I always have something to say? I am too. 

Yesterday, my mantra was "It is good having shit to do." I think it's true. I was fully-engaged with the day from start to finish. And it was good. Not a lot of time to reflect, lots of time getting from one place to another. The "doing" becomes the "meaning," and the "purpose."

I remember reading something like "being an alcoholic gives one something to do." You are always swimming towards the next drink. I think it's the same with being a junkie, you are always searching for the next fix.  Your addictions becomes the doing, the doing becomes the meaning.

Best to pick your addictions & poisons wisely. I am hung up on coffee. Massive quantities of coffee in the a.m. Also music, totally addicted to listening, playing, thinking & reading about music. I can fill my days with coffee and music and I am full.

I force myself to be engaged with the world too. That engagement is the meaning and purpose. Right there.

"You Don't know Shit from Shinola."

I am staying at a very plush, comfy, luxurious residence for a few weeks. It's pretty epic and amazing. A large, beautiful mansion on the lakefront. Every morning, scratch that, every sunny morning, I can watch the sun rising over Lake Michigan. That lake is always changing from day to day, sometimes from hour to hour. This morning, it is calm, ghostly, a little blanket of fog hanging low.

I sit typing at a table, facing a big, open-faced, analog, clock. It looks like a clock that used to sit in a factory, or a warehouse, maybe in the front office, or even, possibly, in the executive suite. It is old-world cool. Big, well-made, heavy, bounded by shiny, thick steel. It looks like an artifact from another era, think late 50's or early 60's America.

Besides the hard beauty of the clock, it does look like the official oracle "father-time," counting out our minutes and hours. Siting right below the number "12" on the dial, is a little orangish lightning bolt, and just below that in bold all-caps letters: SHINOLA. Below that is the word in small type: DETROIT.

What is Shinola? It started as a shoe-polish company in 1877. Read the wikipedia and I realize all my assumptions about this clock are most assuredly wrong. This clock was probably made in Europe, China, Thailand. Maybe in the 2000's? Or, maybe not. I mean who knows? Is it old-world, or faux-old-world? I have no way of knowing. 

I do love typing in the shadow of this clock, every morning, I grab a cup of coffee, fire up the computer, and type.  And, inevitably, these words never fail to rise up in my head, like an insistent, humbling mantra:

"You don't know Shit from Shinola."  What is real? What is faux-real?

Indeed. A head-scratcher. Not a bad way to start the day in our little capitalistic playground. Keep your eyes peeled, keep an open mind. A good default mode: I know nothing, but I'd like to know… something…

Post-Update - Oh well, this afternoon I thought: "I have to know more about this clock," so I picked it up; hefty, solid, and substantial. Yes, indeed, it is well made. I flipped it over and laid it on the table before me.  There is a GE logo in gray, embossed on the back, and there are these words "Built in the United States." But then smaller type, not embossed, "Made in USA from Imported Parts." Ha. So, the answer to it's origin is Yes,  and, No. There's a serial number too. I checked it, it tells me that this clock was "manufactured" in 2001. Ha. So it is old, but not as old as I originally thought. It is sort of American made, and sort of not.  It does seem like authentic Shinola but not the authentic Shinola I thought it was. It's not shit. Very much not shit. But it's a complicated artifact with a back-story. 

The Sea of Positivity...

The Power of Positive Thinking. Growing up I resisted. I thought it was a load of shite. I mean, I actually was a relatively happy lad, but to think that it was all up to me, that the secret was to open myself to positive vibes, to walk on the sunny side of the street, to lean to the light, to smile, laugh, read poetry, listen to music, and to maximize the doing; that all of these things were things I must actively choose, just seemed too simple and simple-minded.

You know "the World" is hard. You find out you are not the center of the Universe. Lots of your dreams and ventures are going to crash and burn. You have to adjust, and reframe, and constantly improvise. And you know, it is inevitable, you are going to fuck up. Maybe often. Sometimes supremely badly. You will find out that there is sickness, and evil, and your body, just like all bodies will grow, change, morph and finally fail. Yikes. There are people that will hate you and want to take you down.

In the face of all of that, positive thinking seems a bit paltry and limited.

How do you deal with all that bad shit? Getting pissed off at God, or the world, or your parents, or school or whatever is kind of pointless. You really do need to have talk with yourself. You can choose to deal with Life, or not. You can choose to lean to the Light, or not. You can make do with what you have and give it a go or not. You really can just try to do your best. And if that doesn't work, try something else. It's pretty much the game. Do you want to play, or not? 

Being positive, creative, throwing yourself into activities, yes, that is the good life. Why wouldn't you want to take that road? All that negative shit is just a roiling ocean of turmoil, no more real than the sea of positivity. Where do you want to live? Really, it seems kind of stupid, but I think it really is all a choice.

"Good News for People Who Love Good News."

One of the great recordings and album titles, Modest Mouse's "Good News for People Who Love Bad News." (2004).

I love that record, funny, enthusiastic, beautifully recorded, but I am not that kind of "people." I, like many of us, like to avoid bad news. I am super-good at minimizing bad news, always trying to see the glimmers of light in the piles of dung.

I do know plenty of folks who love bad news. They love to tell you all the bad news that's fit or unfit to print. You see them coming, it's always a bit of a comedown, and I realize I have to charge myself up a bit, to find the energy to deflect, to reflect and to point out that often we are talking about things that haven't happened yet, and maybe never will happen. Sometimes the best advice: "Let's wait and see." No one knows nothing. And Joe Strummer's great line: "The future is unwritten."

This mid-term election we were swamped with all the pundits and experts who couldn't wait to smack us around with the rise of "election-deniers," and a triumphant Red Wave. We were told that Democrats were sunk, Democracy was on the ropes, it was all gloom and doom and it was all delivered with an smart, all-knowing, enthusiastically peppy, radio and TV friendly voice. Smug, smirking, oozing, slimy, smarmy, "conventional wisdom."

Ha. Fuck. 

They were all wrong. So I find myself this morning tuning into NPR radio happy and excited to hear "Good News for People Who Love Good News!" Yes. That's me. Looks like the Dems will hold the Senate, maybe even add another Senator to the mix, and also get awfully close to keeping the House.  Turns out Joe Biden is cool! Democracy is Good. Commonsense is ok. Maybe we are gonna muddle thru? Good news, no doubt.

A Bit Brighter this Morning...

"China has peaked, Russia is retreating, and Trump is done. There's hope, people." - Timothy Snyder (author of "On Tyranny - Twenty Lessons from the 20th Century").

Yes. Hope. For sure. Great minds. Great writers. It's important to study and to know history. I mean, not for nostalgia, not as a retrograde move, but as a way of understanding the complexity of the human thing, finding clues about where we are today, by understanding what has happened in the past. 

"On Tyranny focuses on the concept of tyranny in the context of the modern United States politics, analyzing what Snyder calls "America's turn towards authoritarianism".[6] Explaining that "(h)istory does not repeat, but it does instruct,"[7] he analyzes recent European history to identify conditions that can enable established democracies to transform into dictatorships.[8][9] The short (126 pages) book is presented as a series of twenty instructions on how to combat the rise of tyranny, such as "Defend institutions", "Remember professional ethics", and "Believe in truth."

Yes, indeed. This morning it seems that Institutions, the Rule of Law, Free and Fair Elections, Ethics and Truth are still with us in America. Who knows? I mean, of course, it's always a battle, there are the never-ending, always contending forces of  Dark vs. Light. But today the Light seems a bit brighter. Yes. It does.