Joe,
I can feel your pain, Joe. I wish I could be just as starry eyed as I can get with a new sheriff in town, finally. I do so like the man and his family, and it's been so very long since anyone in that oval hole in the wall was anyone I'd have a beer with.
Has mere observation for shenanigans changed the observed, all quantum like? Or am I merely a better observer with a larger bed of knowledge?
A big part of me wants to to let go and let gawd, as they say, get an Obama tattoo for my geriatric years and learn to nod and smile. But then I had to be beaten out of love with Bill Clinton, so maybe I should be smarter. To what end I'm not entirely sure. I've been fighting so hard for so long, and I'm tired. What have I accomplished other than raising children who distrust authority, my own included? Shee-ut.
I'm so proud of you for being such a strong and resilient voice for the facts on the ground. I gave your Deer Hunting guide to recent history to my dad, and he's in it deep and impressed with your prescience about our current housing debacle. And I do believe in brains, which is my last best hope for us folks.
I may make it to Belize yet. But hope is a cruel thing, yet somehow as necessary as the month of March. I'll keep hoping I guess until it's time to get the shotgun from the country place.
In a related note, I was shocked, actually, at the comments left on a Raw Story post about a war college white paper discussing the necessity of martial law. Not shocked that people think this way, but shocked at how nearly unanimous the reaction was. Just sayin'.
Peace, love and all the beer you can drink this New Years.
Jill
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Jill,
I can see that you are feeling as so many of us have felt so often in recent years. Some part of it, as we both know, has to do with our advancing age, and our first taste of that deep existential tang of the void ahead. On the other hand, we must admit that it makes both the squealing laughter of children, faded romance rekindled and the hypnotic eyes of serpents alike all wonderful on this earth. Perhaps the best part of it for me is that I am learning the inner joy of the wildness of old men, defiance for the sheer hell of it.
However, at this particular moment here in Jalisco Mexico, given that my best friend Ken and I sit around in our undershorts scratching unmentionable places, guzzling coffee and poking at our laptops, I would call it more the frowziness of old men. But hey! At least I'm doing it in Mexico (thanks to Ken's generosity), with the soil of a dozen vanished civilizations beneath my feet.
Last night, New Years Eve, I walked the narrow dimly lit 450 year old stone streets of this village, along the foggy lake shore. There was scarcely a soul on the streets (People here dot no celebrate New Year's Eve so much as New Year's Day.)
I had been listening to CNN's endless propaganda loop a day, well coiffed twits mouthing in media speak about Blagojevich, Gaza, Obama on the golf green (who surely must be in a "fake it till you make it" frame of mind, since nobody in their right mind believes he or she can catch every falling stone in a collapsing empire.) The main theme on CNN today though seemed to be "our boys" in harm's way on this New Years Eve." (As if they were not causing anyone else any sort of harm at all. Remind me again who has the armored Humvees, the radioactive artillery shells, drone aircraft and laser night scopes. Is it the barefooted guys eating goat meat and hotwiring dime store cell phones into weapons? Or the Darth Vader dressed Americans spitting fifty caliber machine gun bullets and grenades into every nook and crann y in their path? I forget.)
So anyway, last night I was walking the narrow streets of Ajijic along the cobbled banks of Lake Chapala, where the Huichol and Caxcane Indians fished, and sneaking glances into the yellow lit window squares along the tiny ancient streets. I watched a lone vendore sort his wares, candy bars, batteries, pieces of fruit, sodas, under a light bulb in his doorway… And it suddenly struck me that in this moment not a goddamned person within a couple of miles (except a few dried up old gringos of the Taco Raj, pretending they are not economic refugees trying to survive on their social security checks) gives a rat's ass about any of those things. They are not overly concerned about Obama, or the mortgage crash or the Israeli war crimes in Gaza or any of those things. Because they are not janked out of their minds into the hyper nonreality of the U.S. national hallucination to the north of them. In other words, the 24/7 totalitarian state message. Which mainly comes down to: BE AFRAID. KEEP PAYING MONEY. OBEY AUTHORITY.
And the lake smelled mysterious and dank in the foggy darkness. And the laughter of unseen young lovers echoed down the stone faced villas, as the occasional grazing burro or cow clopped along, pausing to much at weed outcrops min the cobble stones, and the smell of wood smoke from a fire under a kettle mingled with the fog and surely the ghosts of long gone Caxcanes, Tecuexes and Conquistadores.
And I had to laugh out loud to myself at the massive shit storm of folly del norte.
I know by now at this late age that I will always be an American. And as such, I will ever be prone to its national character weaknesses, chiefly its arrogant blindness and fear of the slightest discomfort, all of which are inculcated in us by our corporate state as it grooms and squeezes Americans, who until recently were the most profitable herd of so-called "citizens" on the planet.) As they say, you cannot run from your own identity, or your problems or the problems of your herd. But I have learned this:
You can sure as hell get out of the path of the fucking herd when you hear it coming. Step aside from its thundering cruelty and stupidity. "Aside" can be a lot of places, but in this case I am talking about being outside the national borders in Mexico or perhaps Belize. From here you can watch the entire herd of fat stupid fuckers rush by on their way off the cliff of history. There's no smug satisfaction in watching this spectacle, just utter amazement at mankind itself, and the magnitude of our capability for folly, death and cruelty. Obviously, man's blindness and capability for denial of our very humanity itself is every bit as awesome in scale as our potential for spiritual realization and comprehension of the innate beauty of the earth.
So, Jill baby, it's you and me in cyberspace crying in our beers together. And I'm lovin it. "Barkeep, another one for the lady here, thank you!" And I say, "It's a new year, baby." Politely leaving you the opportunity to say, what either of us would have replied: "Big fuckin deal." Which in turn leaves me to ramble off into my usual boozy metaphysics while you blow smoke rings, then let your mind ride them toward wizened realms known only to ladies "of a certain age." And Joe shambles along toward the morning in a wordy explanation as to why New Year's Day is meaningless:
The universe does not wear a watch or own a calendar, although Western man squinting upward for the past few hundred years has managed to convince himself otherwise, in order to deal with his own utter insignificance. Watching scientists examine the cosmos, then make great pronouncements and "discoveries" always reminds me of the flea on the elephant's ass, humping away and saying, "Am I hurting hurting you big mama?" I am convinced that the street dogs of Riberas del Pilar better grasp why the stars turn (just because they do) -- and the full extent of human cruelty (fathomless) and human kindness (sporadic at best but tail wagging and finger licking helps encourage it.) Meanwhile . . .
Along the calle de los angeles
A loosened pebble clatters
Says all that I know
Something like that.
In art and labor,
Joe
