The country is on fire. Looks like the second wave of Covid might be here. One in four Americans are on unemployment, including me. And I am writing a screenplay. I'm taking hikes in the mountains. I'm making my way through the stack of books I've been meaning to read for years. I watch less news, but feel more informed. I cook more, eat better. I garden both in the backyard and at the community plot we have in the Ruby Hill area. I don't feel depressed. Maybe I'm in denial. It's possible. I'm angry at the lack of leadership in our country. I'mdeeply saddened by the gigantic loss of life. I worry for the country, for the homeless, the unemployed, for the sick. But I could be in denial. Because, even now, with all the horrible things are happening on an ever expanding level, I find this life beautiful and full of meaning. I have so many friends who are down. Lost. Sad. They post about how each day is a struggle. How they feel unmotivated. How they can't wait for the world to get back to normal because right now is so awful. And I get it. I just don't feel like that. Maybe it's one of the few bonuses of growing up in a madhouse. Makes you appreciate everyday. Not that my friends don't. Maybe I shouldn't be comparing my experience to theirs. Yeah. That's a good plan. Live my experience, do what I can. Which right now is mostly working the few jobs left, the walks, the gardening, the reading, and right now the screenplay. Which could be an exercise in futility, seeing as it might be a long time before anyone, anywhere, is going to be able to produce a film.
Am I just and egotist? Probably. But I do think, sometimes, when the gods are smiling, you can make something that touches other people, makes the feel a little less alone in a weak and weary world. Gives them a little something extra when they march in protest of what seems to be an unending parade of brutality and injustice. Maybe, just maybe, your art, my art, the art we all make, can help make the world a better place, help lead us to understanding a tiny bit more about one another. I have found this to be true for me. In tough times in my life, stories and songs and comic books and dancing and art have given me solace. Given me strength. Given me hope.
We are in a madhouse, all gone crazy here and someone needs to save my life tonight and every night. The whispers of darkness, of insanity and conspiracy, are blowing with the night wind. I can barely look at the news today. I can't close my eyes and make it go away. Something's going on. It feels like the Sixties meets the Rodney King Riots. Time for another Beatles, another James Baldwin, another Angels in America.
So I wrote a screenplay.
Here's a song. It's Harmony Hall by Vampire Weekend
We just have to stop being crazy. We have to stop. It is becoming very clear that a lot of people have lost their minds. I don't mean the people protesting last night. They were exercising their civil liberties. You remember civil liberties. It's what all those protesters who stormed state capitals with guns were yelling about. How we are all free to live our lives however we see fit. You do you, I'll do me. I mean the police who think killing black people is ok. I mean the nuts jobs who chased down and killed a man who jogged through their neighborhood. I mean the President, who was fine with the gun toting nut jobs when they were protesting the shut down, threatening to shoot people with his tweet "when the looting starts, the shooting starts." I don't think that is going to calm people down. We have a country full of angry, confused, lost people. I think a lot of the anger comes from economic disparity, from the feeling that a very small amount of people control most of the money and all of the power. From being told we live in the Land of the Free where if you do the right thing and work hard, you will succeed, but actually live in a country where the rich get richer and the poor get poorer. And it's been that way for a long time. Maybe forever. Certainly since the 1980s. I think, during the Great Depression, there were some things done that gave the working class a chance. Laws that made sense, that reined in out of control banks, set up social safety nets, and slightly evened the playing field. I think World War Two brought about even more equalization, wth things like the GI Bill, and a common feeling of everyone working for the same thing. The middle class grew, the super rich and the super poor shrunk. Things still weren't perfect. Lots of unjustice and racism and basic dickishness abounded. But there seemed to to a slow march towards progress. So the super rich organized, got some good speech writers, and some smart lawyers, and started taking over the government on all levels. We got fake stories about welfare mothers driving Cadillacs, and the lionization of quotes like "greed is good". We got the modern GOP, which seems to have been infected with avarice and assholes.
And what do you need, if you are taking peoples money, hopes, dreams, and world? A good scapegoat. Someone to blame who isn't you. And here in America, we have the black community. You know, the people we stole and enslaved? The ones who make folks uncomfortable because they remind them of a part of our history that doesn't jibe with the idea of American Exceptionalism. Subtly by some, overtly by others, a lot of people in powerful positions try to paint this picture of African Americans that is just a bunch of bullshit. Look at our movies and tv shows, the places where we tell our myths. How often is the bad guy, the criminal, the evil one, a person of color? It's a little better now than when I was a kid. But only a little. We have created this bizarre portrait of America that doesn't reflect reality. And a lot of people buy into it. Because it's easier to be mad at someone who lives near you than to be mad at rich folks up on the hill. I think maybe part of the reason that is so is because we have also made being poor and/or not rich feel like a sin, something to be ashamed of, and something that is completely your fault, not the result of a rigged system designed to keep people in their places by the few who have it good. So, instead of addressing that aching shame at something a lot of folks feel deep in their bones, we are fed a line of garbage in subtle and not so subtle ways that the culprit is other poor people! I think some people in power know this is a bunch of crap, and just don't care. I think the President buys into it because he is a fool with a weak mind, and feels his own personal shame at his iniquities, so he too needs a scapegoat.
Scapegoat. What a fucking awful thing. We have had them in each society, it seems. A subset of a culture that the masses blame for all their ills, while those who are the true cause of those ills sit in their mansions counting their money while the ghettos burn. And there have always been others who see that. I think of 1 Timothy 6:10, which is the one that goes "For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows". So, you have a country with huge economic disparity. You have a police force filled with working class people, mostly white men, who have bought into the scapegoating, racist line of thinking. And you have a long, long, long list of innocent people getting killed by angry, stupid, and well-armed people who have lost all sense of their morality. Anyone who thinks we have gotten better with our racist myths needs to wake up. We need to throw those cops in jail. We need to change our system. We need to change. Here's a song. It's Strange Fruit by Billie Holiday, which is as fucking pertinent now as when she recorded it years ago.
It's Thor's Day. Time to break out Mjolnir, jump on our chariot drawn by two magic goats, and go raise some Hell. I wonder what would happen if we could all do that. If for one day, we were each granted a super power, some god like ability to cause thunder, or have super strength, or turn invisible. What would we all do? Wreak havoc? Save the world? Try to do one and inadvertently do the other? Would we have a bunch of yahoos engage in free for all battles, like the dead vikings would in Valhalla each day? In Norse mythology, after a warrior dies bravely in battle, they get taken to Valhalla, sort of Norse Heaven, and they hang out and eat and drink and are basically immune to injuries. So, each night, after getting loaded, they would fight each other, chopping off limbs and what not, and then poof, they would be fine, go to sleep, get up the next day, and do it all again. Forever and ever until the end of the world, which they called Ragnorok long before there was the movie of the same name. I always found that aspect of Norse mythology funny, sad, and totally believable. You find out there is indeed an afterlife, and what do you do? The same thing you did when you weren't sure there was anything out there after you shuffled off this mortal coil. It was both hilarious and tragic to me.
In the myths, they don't really go into what happens to the women when they die. Just the men who are warriors. The really good fighters, the ones who caused the most destruction, went to Valhalla. The rest of the men went underground to Hel. The women went Elsewhere. That made sense to me when I was a kid, because it was clear that men were not so good on how they treated women. I mean, this was back when the Equal Rights Amendment, or ERA, was in the news a lot. And there were a lot of folks who could not stand the idea of making it a law that women had the same rights as men. Strange but true.
That's the thing, I guess, my mind is going to this morning. The world is in a strange place right now, but it has always been in a strange place, at least since we humans took center stage. We do the stupidest shit imaginable, both to ourselves and to each other. We pollute. We treat each other terribly. We have wars. We have genocides. We cause the extinction of species after species. And yet, we also create music and poetry. We tell jokes. We dance out of the sheer joy of being alive. Some people thing we do the good things to balance out the bad, that without the one there couldn't be the other. I think that's a lot of crap. I am sure there is a way we could all find spiritual fulfillment, dance every day, sing, laugh, and still find life exciting without being insane and treating the rest of the universe like a toy meant to be kicked. I bet we can, and I bet we will. In any event, it is a strange thing to be a human being. Strange and wonderful, and never a dull moment. We have had a lot of hard times before, even just in our short little lives. Wars, disasters, riots. In just the past fifty years, so many things have gone down that are awful. How can we be that shocked at our current situation? Is it just that the uncertainty of life is being laid out so clearly? The randomness of fate? We are all vulnerable, always. We are all one microsecond away from a Valkyrie swooping down and taking us away from all this. As the conspiracy nuts like to point out, death is a daily event. Forty thousand men and women everyday, as the song goes. But I don't see that as a rationale for not caring. I see it as a reason to live each moment completely, to try our best to make however much time we have count. To fill our souls with love and compassion. To stop complaining about our woes and start celebrating the fact we exist in the first place.
So yeah. Thor's Day. Do you want to make it rain?
Here's a song and film sequence. It's the Ride of the Valkyries from Apocalypse Now.
That's what I saw written on the bathroom wall this morning at the grocery store. They get bail outs, we get coffins. First off, I can't remember the last time I saw graffiti on a bathroom wall outside of a bar or nightclub type of place. But there it was, in black Sharpee. And I have to say, it's a pretty damn good bit of phraseology. To the point, balanced, graphic, and immediate. I did not have my cell phone with me as, when we take our morning walk- which can and usually does take an hour or so- we leave our phones at home. It feels great. Freeing. So I will have to bring it tomorrow and take a photo. I hope it's still there. If it isn't, I think I will also take a black Sharpee pen with me and put it back up. Because I think it's true. I think a huge amount of stimulus money has gone to corporations, and a tiny bit has gone to some of the average working folk. Which makes no sense, and I don't think will help us. How many millions of us are now on unemployment? Do you really think giving banks and corporations is going to help them? I thought Trump was supposed to be a populist, there to fight for the little guy. Seems like he prefers fighting for the fat cats. In fact, it seems like he prefers to feed the little guy to the fat cats, one at a time.
Why have less than half of the small businesses who applied for emergency loans getting them? Why has there only been one stimulus check for the average citizen, for a whopping $1,200 per person, while we've all been shut down for months? Why has there been no mortgage/rent relief plan passed? There have been four, count 'em, four bills passed, with a price tag over three trillion dollars. In number, three trillion looks like this: 3,000,000,000,000. That's a lot of money. Of that gigantic amount, here is how much has been allocated to testing: $28,000,000,000. You remember testing? The thing we need so we can safely reopen without causing a second, third, or fourth wave to come back and force us to shut down again and again and again?
We gave the airlines $58,000,000,000. The airlines. Thirty billion more dollars went to fucking United and Delta and all those other assholes who don't even give us a meal anymore when we fly home on Thanksgiving than went to testing. How stupid is that?
And did you know that Mitch McConnell and his GOP pals want to pass a law to make businesses not be liable for any employees getting sick when we reopen. So, if you go back to work because $1,200 spread over three months doesn't really cover your bills and you don't want to get evicted because there are no laws to protect you from losing your home due to the virus, your boss will be fine, now worry about losing a damn thing, even if they do not provide a safe environment for to work in. Put another way, they are passing laws to protect your shitty boss, but not to protect you.
Put another way: They get bail outs, we get coffins.
I don't get it. Here is what I want congress to do: First, spend money of treatment and finding a vaccine. As much as it takes. Second, spend money on testing so we can go back to work and not have to worry about getting sick and dying. Third, pass a law to freeze all evictions to the end of the year. Fourth, stop giving money to the super rich and overly powerful dickheads who have been screwing the planet over for many years. Stop it. It's wrong. You know it. We know it. I bet even Trump knows it.
And for the love of God, stop using the great distraction of the virus to lift environmental regulations so those same corporate goons can go back to poisoning our air and water. We all like having clear skies and animals coming back to say hello and being able to see mountains in the distance. The world is beautiful, and that beauty is all or ours. So stop that right now.
We have passed over one hundred thousand dead here in the USA. Don't take my word for any of this. Google it. Look around. Get up and get busy and call your representatives and ask yourself what the hell is going on and what can you do to help make the world a better place. We are a good people, I think. We just have too many greedy folks in charge who care more about money than human beings.
They get bail outs, we get coffins.
Here's a song. It's Buffalo Springfield's For What It's Worth.
It's the day after Memorial Day. Now we can forget everything. We can forget that almost a hundred thousand people right here in the United States of America have died from the corona virus. That soon, at least two million people will have contracted that virus just here in the USA. That worldwide, over three hundred and forty thousand people have died from it, with over five million cases. That over thirty million people have filed for unemployment in the past few months here in the Land of the Free. We can forget. And it seems like some of us already have. But that is the key. It seems like that. I don't think anyone, deep inside, forgets any of that. Or what is happening still. I think that some are simply in denial, in the fight or flight stage, because the truth is huge and awful and terrible to consider. And not just the truth about all the death and misery and economic uncertainty. I think what is really scary to think about is how this disease has laid bare the system. All its flaws and iniquities. How deeply out of balance it is. How very much the time is out of joint.
I was thinking this morning about how completely free of reality our economic system is. We have enough resources in this day and age to feed and shelter every single human being on the face of the planet. Every one. And we have the technology to provide healthcare for everyone as well. We also have the means to create energy to safely and cleanly. We just don't, because we are tied to an antiquated way of running the world that is so far out of step with the times it would be funny if not for being so tragic. I mean, what in the world does the stock market have to do with how much food has been grown? What does the GDP really mean to someone who's mother or father or son our daughter is dead or dying? Not a damn thing. It's all smoke and mirrors. Make believe. We have been locked down to some degree or other for months now. Somehow, the world has continued to turn. The lights have stayed on. The essential places where we get food, still running. We even had free money sent to us from the government. It makes me think that what we call commerce is just a bunch of malarky. And I think it's time has run out.
What is, after this is over, we realize that we don't need what we thought we needed? What is we realize we are stronger that we thought? That we can entertain ourselves just fine, that we don't need to spend ten hours a week sitting in our cars going back and forth to do something we can just as easily do at home? What if we realize that what is truly important to us isn't what people who are trying to sell us things want us to think it is? What is what we really want is time with the people we love? And travel? And time to watch the sunset? And learning how to bake bread?
I think that is exactly what will happen. What has most likely already happened. We are changing, whether we know it or not. I can't wait to see what happens.
Here's a song. It's What If We Give It Away? by REM.
Memorial Day. I know it's supposed to be a day of remembering the fallen military, but I think for most of us it has been a day of BBQ, baseball, watermelon, the beach, and cutting loose. Which doesn't really sound a lot like remembering the dead. What it seems like is mostly a kick off of summer, of blockbuster movies, school getting out, endless days, endless nights, and outdoor music festivals. And it still seems to be so today. I see all these images of people in the Lake of the Ozarks, and I am fairly certain there's not a lot of rumination on dead soldiers. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe nothing says we remember you, dead warriors, by getting loaded, playing volleyball, and having a picnic. In a way, I do believe that. I think that the sacrifices for our freedom should be celebrated by exercising our freedom. I just think you need to have the honoring the dead be part of the equation, not an excuse to have a day off an party. Not that I don't love having a day off to party. I am all for that. I just think it odd that we tack it onto a day of remembrance. We seem, in general, to excel at the partying and lag on the remembering.
I get that. Death is a drag. No fun. Not conducive to a good party. "Hey, look at this photo of the dead bodies washing ashore at Normandy. Wow. How sad. Now, let's make some burgers!". Just seems a bit off. But I think, in the long run, if we spent a little more time thinking of the dead, of the fact that this life is limited, our time momentary, and our end a guarantee, we would probably have better parties, get more out of lost week ends, and live fuller lives. And I can't think of a time in my life when dealing with the fact that we all have a date with the Grim Reaper. I have heard the argument that if we spend too much time thinking about death, we won't get anything done. But that usually is a thinly veiled plea to not consider death at all, to pretend is doesn't exist. Well, screw that. Ignoring death is ignoring life. I am a big fan of life. I love it. I would love to live forever, or at least for a few millenia. But, as far as I can tell, that ain't in the cards. So I live now. Today. Or try to. I fail at that a lot, as we all do. But I think that accepting the fact that we all have to go one day helps me a bit in living a more fully realized life. And I dig that.
So, Happy Memorial Day. If it means you think of dead American soldiers, great. If it means time to party, fantastic. I hope you do it well, whatever the day means to you. I also hope you don't do something stupid that endangers you or others. By stupid, I mean drink and drive, start a fight with a gun toting nut, gather in large groups with no thought of social distancing during a global pandemic, leap into an active volcano, and so on. All those activities seem shockingly fucked up and stupid to me. I'm sorry if that hurts your feelings. But it is just how I feel. You do you and I'll do me is fine, until you doing you includes kicking me in the balls, somehow being involved in the original cancellation of Arrested Development, or inadvertently spreading the virus, thus causing a second wave which results in an even bigger shut down. That's frowned upon in polite society.
Okay. Now off to honor our fallen heroes with a socially distanced BBQ.
Here's a song. It's Ed Sheeran doing a cover of Dylan's Masters of War.
Dreamt of rodents last night. Mice and rats mostly. All in NYC. First, I was in the alternate New York I dream of from time to time. Lisa and I were living in some shabby little apartment way out in one of the boroughs, somewhere still full of old buildings owned by landlords you never see, all the apartments tiny and falling apart. We were having rehearsals for some show in our apartment, had been up all night, and finally were asleep, when some workers from the unseen landlord arrived, unannounced and with their own keys, and started ripping apart some walls to do some kind of electrical work. We tried to ignore them at first, but the work was very loud, and then they started working our living room/bedroom. I got up, screamed at them that I was going to call the authorities, and the grudgingly left. It was then that I noticed there were mice all over the place. Maybe a dozen or so, scampering around. Not cute mice with big eyes, but NYC mice which are basically little rats that want to eat your toes. The dream then cross faded to me downtown, in a parking lot full of people doing some sort of sit down strike. I was looking for my friend Elena, who runs the New York International Fringe Festival, who for some reason had become the borough president. She was on a flat bed truck, driving slowly around the parking lot, which was huge, waving and shaking hands. People were cheering. Whatever it was they were there for, Elena was clearly on their side. She spotted me, and I climbed up onto the truck and said hello. She told me she wanted to catch up, but first had to go take care of a few things, and invited me to join her. I said sure. First, we went to this really awful old apartment building. It looked condemned. As we walked into the building, there were all these snapping sounds, like traps being sprung. Sure enough, the place was overflowing with mice and rats, and when we walked in, a bunch of traps had gone off. And these were industrial strength traps. They had cut off some of the rats legs. But it didn't kill them. It seemed to just make them insane and angry. Like little zombie rats. Even their severed limbs were still alive and bouncing after us. Elena told me not to mind them and to follow her. So, wading through hundreds and hundreds of vermin, we made our way into the building. I could hear their bones crunching under my feet. We made our way to a balcony on a higher floor, which was fairly rodent free. I looked around, and their were several fancy new buildings nearby, impossibly shiny and large. And active. One building in particular was like the robots in the Transformers. It would shake, move about parts, and then become a new type of building, Every few minutes. I wondered aloud how anyone could stand to be inside a building that was constantly rearranging itself, and Elena said "some people like that sort of thing." Then the person she was there to see texted her announcing his arrival. We went to another room to find him. He had brought more traps, and had killed all the mice and rats, and was sweeping them into huge piles. Then he reaching into the piles, pulled out a carcass, and started eating it.
Happily, Padfoot woke me up right then. So I got up and let him out. It was around 4:30 or so in the morning. The world was quiet. Well, not the world. The people in my neighborhood were quiet. But the birds were up and having a very loud breakfast luncheon in some nearby tree. Even now, in the midst of so much uncertainty and sorrow, so much anger and division, I find the world beautiful and magic. I suppose I might be insane. It's okay if I am. I have always suspected that we are all indeed mad here. There's a sort of comfort in madness. And a glint of a hope that perhaps through madness comes a form of crazy wisdom. And that wisdom is love. Pure and simple. When I say love, I don't mean skipping along tossing daisies on front of you, although that does sound fun. And I don't mean poems, or sex, or hour long hugs, even though those are all fun too. I mean the realization that we are all connected. To everything. To rocks and trees and dogs and birds. So maybe I do mean skipping and tossing daisies. But not only that. I find solace in love. And purpose. And joy. And I felt love this morning, standing in the backyard with my dog, listening to the birds.
Here's a song. It's Things Grandchildren Should Know by The Eels.
Been listening to this crazy podcast of late. It's called The Duncan Trussell Family Hour, and it's by one of the people who create The Midnight Gospel, my current favorite animated series on Netflix. What I love about the podcast is that it is basically this guy Duncan having intensely interesting, funny, spiritual, bizarre, free flowing conversations that go wherever they want to go. It's perfect for listening to late at night, or when gardening, or taking a long drive. Today's episode was with Mitch Horowitz, this author on all things occult. The dude sounded pretty cool, actually. When I hear "occult author", I immediately thing of Boris Karloff in the classic horror flick The Black Cat, which is really weird and amazing and I highly recommend. But turns out this guy was nothing like Karloff's character in that movie. He is more like a spiritualist, or thinker, or just interesting person who has some thoughts on life he shares. And they were talking about how we all can have bad days, times when we act like morons, treat others poorly, cut people off in traffic. You know, act like Human beings. And how that's okay. Not that we should strive to be assholes or anything like that. More that we should accept that everyone plays the fool sometimes. The jerk. The creep. Choose your word. And I got to thinking. Do I come off as someone who thinks they're perfect? Do I come off like I think we should all grow up and get over it and stop whining so much? Maybe I do. I do think we can get through this. I do think there have been worse times to be alive in our history. But I do realize that this is a hard time. That people are depressed. And lonely. And worried. So, if I have made anyone feel crappy about how they are dealing with this virus, I'm sorry.
I think, sometimes, in a very twisted way, that growing up in an alcoholic, co-dependent house with lots of psychological abuse and the occasional slamming against the wall - while horrific and a drag- did give me something to gauge other bad times against. It also messed with my head, and I am fairly certain if I didn't go on a spiritual quest that began with a stint as a full blown Born Again Christian in high school that I would most likely have ended up in jail. Still, I know what it is to feel lost and scared and like I am living on a different planet from everyone else. And that has come in handy of late. But I think it might make me a little less tolerant of other people's pain. So, thanks Mr. Trussell and Mr. Horowitz, for helping me figure that out.
It's Memorial Day week end. Doesn't feel like it. Feels like... I don't know. Feels like a time I've never lived before. It's kind of unique. I guess labels have gone bye bye. And that's cool. Each moment is ephemeral and not to be seen again. But in the old, pre-Covid days, somehow I was able to pretend that was not the case. There would be days and feelings and times I would just think "oh, it's the Monday blues", or "it's Friday Night out with the gang", or "it's clean up the house day". Now, every day is different and new and while that can be tiring, it's also invigorating. Maybe the sheer boredom of routine confined to a limited space has forced me to open my third eye just the tiniest bit and look around and see things more clearly.
Maybe.
One more thing. I saw a young owl today in a tree. I've always felt like when I see an animal in the wild, it's the world trying to tell me something. Owls, in particular, have always felt like harbingers of mysticism and romance. Some people think when you dream of an owl that means you were abducted by aliens. Or that a ghost walked your house while you slept. I think it was bringing some spirit guides to help me finish the first draft of my screenplay. I also think it is yet another sign of how happy the planet is to have been given a slight, very brief break from all the horrible treatment she has received at the hands of the human race. We really need to be better about how we treat our home. I like owls, and clear skies, and sea turtles, and life in general.
Here's a song. It's Night Has Turned to Day by Fantastic Negrito. Feels good.
I think I'm going to change my schedule a bit. For the past few months, I have written in this post first thing. I wake up, let the dog out, put the kettle on for a fresh pot of coffee made on the French press, and sit in front of the computer and write whatever pops into my head. And I have loved it. But I am missing writing in my journal, which I do longhand. I don't write a lot with pen or pencil. Part of that is just a byproduct of living in the age of laptops, phones, and computers. We type, either with our thumbs our the old fashioned typist way, to communicate. Letters, sadly, have mostly gone the way of the Dodo. On top of that, I'm left handed, and writing in this right handed language is not fun. I get ink on my hand, cramps in my fingers and wrists. Also, I type much faster than I write long hand, and I need that for the glorious times when I am in the flow state, writing quickly, words and phrases popping out. And I love it. I love typing. But there is something to be said for mixing things up, doing things differently, Thus, my journal. Home to my morning pages, to experiments writing with my right hand, or backwards, or in code. And doodling. That is such a freeing thing. I don't know if young people still do that. Doodle. Just make weird drawings of whatever. I love it. Frees the mind. Frees the soul. Frees whatever my brain is oppressing. So, I think moving forward, or at least for the next week, I'm going to try writing in my journal for half an hour first, then moving to the blog. Maybe it will be terrible, and there will be a week's worth of crappy, lifeless blog entries. I can live with that. At least it will be breaking what has become a habit. And habit, as Samuel Beckett wrote, is the great deadener.
Not that all habits are bad. Rituals. Repetition. Repetition. It certainly helps when getting in shape to have a pattern. A system. And having this blog helps me. Gives me a reason to get out of bed and in front of the computer writing. I don't want to lose that. I just want to explore. Expand. Continue to grow. I do want to write everyday. Just not the same thing. I want to doodle. Maybe take a stab at some bad poetry. Maybe take a stab at some good poetry. It just feels like the right thing to do, the same way that this blog felt like the right thing to do.
There have been many times in my life where I did what felt right. And I don't regret any of them. There have been many times in my life where I didn't do what felt right, usually out of fear of rocking the boat, losing something I had at that point, or some other fear. And I regret them. I suppose, in a larger sense, those moments of not taking risk were instructive to me, lessons on what not to do. So in that sense, I don't regret them. But I do wish I had taken my friend Len's offer of seeing the World Series. And the offer from the late great Tom Mankiewicz to come out to LA to meet a bunch of people in the film industry, which I deferred to a later date, and then he died. On they go, the list of what-could-have-beens. And that's part of the deal, I suppose. Part of being a human being. Having things we wish we had done differently. No use crying over spilt milk, wasted time, water under the bridge and all that. No. What would be sad, though, would be to not let that teach me.
When I met my wife, one of the first things she said to me was "leap and the net shall appear". And I believe that. Leaping is what it's all about. So I'm leaping, moving forward, living in the now and damning the torpedoes, or blessing them if that seems right.
So. Let's see what happens. Until then, Leap, my fellow rabbits.
Here's a song. It's All That, from the new Album by Sparks.
Many, many moons ago I stood on a cliff with friends and howled at the end of summer. We were in Big Sur, and had all worked together at the Western Stage theatre company in Salinas. It was an intense time, in the best sense of the word. One of those times that sort of set the tone for how we would live our lives. I don't think anyone knew going in it would be that. We had simply auditioned for some shows. But life is like that. You walk into a room expecting one thing, and pow, something else happens. The big show we all worked on was a nine hour, three part adaptation of Steinbeck's East of Eden. If you haven't read the book, do. No spoilers here, other than it's beautiful and epic and funny and sad and uplifting. We worked our asses off, day and night. It was pretty much our existence. It filled out off hours, our few days off, our nights spent blowing off steam and talking about the show. And we all blended our souls in the process. We were one. And we were magic.
I think, to a certain degree, we are all going through a similar process right now. Our lives are dominated by one unifying event. It fills out days and nights, our conversations and our dreams. And it is shaping who we will be moving forward. I can, and do, call people I did Eden with, all these years later, and it is like no more than a few days have passed. Because we still have bits and pieces of each other inside of us. There are songs we sang, movies we saw, days at the beach, highs and lows, that attached themselves to our DNA. And isn't that what's happening now? Won't all of us, whether we watched it or not, have a gut reaction whenever the Tiger King is mentioned? Will any of us, ever, for the rest of our lives, look at someone wearing a surgical mask the same way we once did? The entire world has a stamp on it now. A bit of our souls are now infused with this time. And we are part of it too. And we howl. We listen to the Chimes at Midnight. There will be a a name for us, some Gen X or Millenial or Greatest Generation or Lost Generation moniker that will arrive, unbidden, from a surprising source. And it will fit, and that will be that.
One more thing. In East of Eden, there are two things I find relevant to life today. First, the line "life made to look beautiful to the weak and the foolish teaches nothing, cures nothing, and does not allow the heart to soar". I have always found that to be so, ever since I first heard it. It resonates stronger than ever. Don't believe me? Turn on your television. The other thing is Timshel. It's an old word from the Bible. It means Thou Mayest. Here is the section from the original book. It's part of a conversaation between Samuel Hamilton and Lee, two of the greatest characters ever.
Do you remember when you read us the sixteen verses of the fourth chapter of Genesis and we argued about them?” “I do indeed. And that’s a long time ago.” “Ten years nearly,” said Lee. “Well, the story bit deeply into me and I went into it word for word.
The more I thought about the story, the more profound it became to me. Then I compared the translations we have- and they were fairly close. There was only one place that bothered me. The King James version says this- it is when Jehovah has asked Cain why he is angry. Jehovah says, ‘If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him.’ It was the ‘thou shalt’ that struck me, because it was a promise that Cain would conquer sin.”
Do you remember when you read us the sixteen verses of the fourth chapter of Genesis and we argued about them?” “I do indeed. And that’s a long time ago.” “Ten years nearly,” said Lee. “Well, the story bit deeply into me and I went into it word for word.
The more I thought about the story, the more profound it became to me. Then I compared the translations we have-and they were fairly close. There was only one place that bothered me. The King James version says this- it is when Jehovah has asked Cain why he is angry. Jehovah says, ‘If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him.’ It was the ‘thou shalt’ that struck me, because it was a promise that Cain would conquer sin.”
We have a choice. We choose how to respond to this crisis.
Here's a song. It's Rafe Hollister singing Look Down that Lonesome Road.
And here's a bonus link of an interview I took part in about The Western Stage.
So last night, we had a socially distanced visit from an old friend. We sat in the back, with two separate tables, and talked and laughed and caught up and all those things you do with old friends, only with the added feeling of joy at seeing someone in person and all that brings with it. I do think I value seeing people a lot more than I used to. We take so much for granted in this life. Our time. Our health. Our loved ones. Having the world shaken like a giant snow globe has forced us to reassess our priorities. What are we living for? What do we want to do before we die? I find I love being alive even more than I already did. I love taking walks with Lisa each morning. I love writing this blog. I love gardening. Don't get me wrong. I already loved all those things. I just love them more. So, there we were, sitting in the back yard, catching up, talking about whatever came to mind. And somehow we got on the subject of how there is a huge lack of actual photos and/or video of people who have the virus. How horrible it looks. And how maybe, awful as it is, we should see more of it. We talked about how the footage from the Vietnam War made a lot of people see for the first time what a war really looks like, and what the price of a war is. It's one thing to read about an event, a disease, a disaster. Another to see it. As we were talking about this, I thought of this woman I am friends with on Facebook who has the virus. I don't know how we became Facebook friends. Theatre is a large community, and we come into lots of contacts, all the time. It's the nature of the beast. Anyhow, she had been posting photos of herself in ICU, dealing with the disease. It looked awful. Like "this can't be real" awful. I hadn't seen a post in awhile, but thought I would look her up while we were talking about images of people who have the virus. And I discovered that she had died from the virus. She was younger than me. She had a husband and kids. And she's dead. Forever.
It seems like a lot of us are acting as if it's all over. That now we are in the process of picking up the pieces, and getting on with our lives. As if the threat has abated, and all is well. I would love to believe that. But I don't. I think there are more and more new cases. I think we are rushing in way too fast, and with little to no thought of social distancing, wearing masks, or even the old standby that was so popular at the start of this, washing our hands. And there will be more and more mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers, more grandmas and grandpas and nieces and nephews, who will get sick and die. We will probably hit a hundred thousand fatalities before June. Just here in the USA. I think that there will be a second wave, and a third, and the shut downs will return, and people will freak out. And I am certain we could have handled this better. That we should have listened to the scientists and not politicians and pundits. That we should have spent more time being safe and less time reposting ridiculous memes about the fucking flu. We can do better. And we must. I don't want to see more people die. I don't want children to lose their mother. I don't want any of this. And I don't think screaming at each other helps.
Also, I think it takes courage to wear a mask. I think it takes courage to ask people to social distance. I think it takes courage to stay at home when you are tired and restless and lonely.
I wanted to show photos of people who have the virus. Show what it looks like. I am not sharing the photos from the woman on FB, because I don't know what her family wants to do about that. So I googled "corona virus victims", and "what does it look like when you have the corona virus" and all sorts of variations. And you can't find a photo of a person in ICU. Not one. Which seems a bit weird. I even tried "woman who died of corona virus from Greeley" because two nights ago on Rachel Maddow there was a horrific image of her shown, of her in ICU. It was terrifying.
Why are there no photos we can all see? Why?
Something strange there. I can't believe it's a decency thing, considering the things we have all seen on the interwebs over the years. Is there a gag rule?
Well. to the woman I barely knew on Facebook: Rest in Peace, and God help your children and husband and friends and family.
Here's a song. It's Everything Has Changed by Lucinda Williams.
We are thinking of selling the house I grew up in. My brother, sister and I, that is. And it feels bizarre. Most folks, I guess, come to that point in their lives where the place you grew up in no longer is part of your family. At least in the sense that you no longer can go there, no longer no that the stairs you ran up and down are available to you. That the tree you climbed so many times will no longer be an option. Well, no unless you want to get the police called to come take you away by whomever lives there now. The wall where you marked how tall you were getting, the sliding glass door your sister once shattered accidentally, the orange tree. All of it about to fade into the distance like morning fog burning off. It's just something we are talking about, but it feels like this will most likely happen. And because I grew up in what is now called Silicon Valley, I think it could easily happen. We've had the house in a trust under all our names for over ten years now, ever since my mom passed away. And it's been more of a pain, in a lot of ways, than anything else. My mom had cancer, and it was the second time, and because this was before Obamacare, she had to pay quite a lot of money for her treatment. A lot. And so she had to take a second mortgage out on the house. As such, when she died, she left us all the house, which still had quite a bit of money owed on it. Over the years, my brother and sister both tried to make a go of it, but we are a family of theatre artists and teachers, and that means lots of joy, but not a lot of money. And charming as San Jose is, it is also very expensive. I think, one day, the real estate market will go away like the dodo, and people in the future will scratch their heads and think "what was the deal with that?". But this is the world we live in. They both put a lot of time and effort into making it work. But somehow, probably in part due to the virus and how it's forced us all to take a longer look at our lives, where we are, where we are headed, and what is important, the time has come. I am both excited and sad. Excited because this is moving forward, letting of the past, and also a way to relieve a lot of debt for all of us. Sad because that house has my home. It's where I became me.
In one of those coincidences, I am currently writing a screenplay that takes place in that house. One of those autobiographical coming of age stories. So in my mind, I've been in that house everyday for the last few months. I can see it clearly. The art on the wall. The shag carpet in me and my brother's room. The backyard with it's rusty swing set. The cedar tree out front. And the magnolia. Of course, that house is no longer around anyway. And that house will never go away. I think, maybe, that all we do when we cling to the past is make it harder to see. So we must let it go. Move on, move forward. Move.
Anyhow. Strange and sad and scary as it is, I feel in my bones that this is the right thing to do. The healthy thing to do. Part of living in the moment. Of living. There is no past, no future, just now. I think of two songs today. One if from the musical Sunday in the Park with George. It's this song from Act One, where the artist Georges Seurat is paining the at the time new Eiffel Tower, while his mother watches, lamenting time gone by. It's lovely and bittersweet, and I remember playing this song for my mother in college. She cried.
All these moments will pass, in time, like tears in rain.
Here's a song I loved when I was a boy. It's Fly Like an Eagle by Steve Miller.
Woke up and all my dreams instantly teleported to Pluto and other points beyond the edge of our solar system. I could feel them leaving, like a dozen trains pulling out of my brain. And I lay there, feeling like I had been pulled out of the ocean, blinking my eyes and wondering what I would write about on the blog. Got up, go out of bed, did not drag a comb across my head, went downstairs and made the coffee, and sat in front of the computer. That has become the ritual. Wake, coffee, computer. There is something to be said for ritual, for repetition. It keeps one going. Yes, you can be on auto-pilot, but still, you're moving forward. And for me, writing is an exercise, a muscle that needs to be kept in shape. So I got online, looked at my emails and social media, and there, yet again, was a post, or rather a repost, of some meme about how over two hundred billion million people die of the flu each day, and only six people ever died from the corona virus. And I thought, what is it with the recent crop of conspiracy nuts? Why do always have to talk about seasonal flu? First off, they need to get the numbers consistent. I've seen the amount of people who die from the flu each year be anywhere from twenty to sixty thousand. And not only do the numbers fluctuate, sometimes they talk about numbers per year, sometimes per time period. This morning's meme had a comparison chart for deaths from the first of January through March twenty-fifth. Which seemed like a strange time frame, given that the majority of deaths from COVID 19 have occurred since then. But what seemed stranger, and always bugs me, is this idea that somehow, since people die anyway from other causes, why should we care about this new form of death. It seems to diminish the deaths both those that die from the new virus, and those that die from seasonal flu. Or suicide. Or opioids. People dying before there time for any reason is bad. Maybe I'm getting the wrong message from these memes, and they are trying to say we need to do more on all these fronts, that we should be tackling seasonal flu and suicide and addiction and car deaths and whatever else they list along with the new virus. But I don't think that's what is being conveyed with these reposts of ever changing numbers about survivor rate and all that. I just think it's all a bunch of bullshit. A way for them to say that this whole thing, the virus, the shut down, all of it, is a ploy, a way for the powers that be to trick us. Which is, as I think Thomas Jefferson put it, cuckoo for coco puffs.
Don't get me wrong. I love conspiracy theories. I am certain there are alien ships somewhere being studied right this minute in top secret labs. I am also certain there is technology that can make fossil fuels obsolete. I am also fairly certain that there is an evil sprite that lives in my computer who likes to mess with my Zoom meetings, turning off audio and/or video at will for reasons none can fathom. But I need a conspiracy theory to make sense, on some level. And there are a few that just don't pan out. I'd say the top three theories for me that make no sense whatsoever are: the Earth is flat and NASA and all the world governments, even North Korea, are in on it; Trump is secretly super smart and he's just pretending to be a moron to put on over one the snowflake liberals; and the corona virus is made up and being used to enslave us. First off, if we are being enslaved, why are we not working? Isn't the point of slaves to have them do the work you don't want to do? Is there some part of a shadow government that needs me to write a blog each day because they don't want to? Is there a cabal of evil doers who think the best way to take over the world is less hair cuts and more people wearing the same clothes for days or weeks on end? I mean, what are they gaining from this? Nothing more than the joy of a prank well played? Or were they just really hoping they could get people to tell bad jokes about toilet paper? What is the endgame?
And the thing that I ponder about as I see these weird reposts (always a repost) is how do I respond? I usually don't, because all that does is add fuel to the fire. I think a good conspiracy nut needs someone to question them. It gives them something to do. Reply with a link to a site they found on Reddit. Or another repost. Usually it does get them to write in their own words. Which is usually what confirms for me that the original post came from somewhere else, as the language is almost always different. I don't know about you, but it's clear to me when someone is writing in their own hand and when they are doing the old cut and paste routine from school. I do want to respond. I want to tell them that yes, people dying from the flu and car crashes and cancer sucks. It sucks a lot. That doesn't mean that additional deaths from a new virus that has spread across the globe is acceptable. Yes, there are people and organizations in the world who are selfish and horribly misguided who do bad things to the planet and the human race, but I don't think one of them is the scientific community. I would look to oil companies, corporate farms, and whomever it was who cancelled Finding Bigfoot. I want to tell them that life on this planet is precious and beautiful and they need to remember that while spending hours on a twitter thread the secret tunnels under Denver International Airport.
But for the most part, I just shake my head and move on. There are bigger fish to fry, better conspiracies to consider.
Here's a song. It's I wanna Be Sedated by The Ramones.
Last night was all about turtles. I had one of those epic, switching location multiple times kind of dreams, where characters from early unexpectedly show up later in totally different scenarios. First I was at an English country home type place, and it was being over run by turtles. Big turtles, about the size and shape of a classic army helmet from World War Two. And these turtles were fast, like rabbits. Like the old story of the turtle and the hare had somehow resulted not only in the turtle winning, but the turtle and all its descendants were given the gift of speed. This may have something to do with me watching the limited series of Watership Down on Netflix right now. The turtles were running all over the place, getting into the house, digging up the garden, having the time of their lives. And nobody was really freaking out. Everyone at the house just watched them. It was almost like entertainment to them. Then it switched, and I was at this swanky hotel, like the Ritz in the 1920s kind of place. And there was this very long table, like fifty feet. Long and narrow. And covered with silver trays of food, candles, decorative flowers. And way down at the far end from where I was standing, this turtle was running towards me, knocking things over as he came, breaking crystal and stomping on food. And this harried, uptight waiter was giving chase, but failing miserably. It felt like a slapstick movie. Or like when Chef Louis chases Sebastian the crab in The Little Mermaid. And then I was at the house I grew up in in San Jose, California. There was this big truck, full of old things, sitting in the driveway. And a bunch of turtles had taken it over, and were living in it. And people were freaking out, angry, up in arms. The whole neighborhood. I was looking at it, thinking that it wasn't so bad, but a lot of people felt the need to come and vent their frustration at me. And then, from the top of the truck, which was about eight feet up, one of the turtles fell out, and there was this horrible cracking noise, and I knew it's shell had broken. And I felt sad.
It's not a world gone mad. It's a world that has been turned upside down, with turtles running faster than rabbits, and all the fancy things we aspire to getting upturned, and what people seem to get upset about the most is what other people have in their front yards. Which I supposed is understandable. We go through most of our lives thinking their is order, a way things are done, a plan of some type handed down from some mythic place which dictates how we live. How we work, play, what we aspire to. All of it. And right now, we are in flux. The goal posts of life haven't been moved, they've vanished. So some of us clamor for the posts to come back, exactly as they were. But I don't feel like that. I don't feel the anger that a lot of us seem to feel. And I don't feel the fear either. I feel... different. I don't know if I can pinpoint it beyond that. But I shall try. I feel more like me than I have for a long time. I feel focused, clear in what is important to me. I feel more grateful when I see a friend of family member. I appreciate the time we have together. I realize how precious time is. I feel more in tune with nature. I look at trees and flowers and the rabbits that have made a bit of a come back in our neck of the woods. I tune out less often. And I am no longer connected to my cell phone. We take a walk for about an hour each day, and leave the phones at home. Some friends will still text, and get a bit upset if I don't answer immediately. Which I think has become part of most of our lives. Or at least our lives before the virus. But now, I treat a text they way I treat getting a letter. It's something to read, think about, and answer when an answer is needed. Have you ever noticed how some texts are statements of opinion that don't really require an answer? Maybe I've become a turtle.
One thing I am not is bored. I don't understand how anyone can be. We are in the middle of a global pandemic. We are living in a time that will be spoken of for the rest of our lives. A lot of us have extra time, either from not commuting, or not working at all. There is so much to do. Cleaning house. Taking walks. Reading books. Watching movies we've been meaning to watch. Calling friends we haven't spoken to in ages. How on Earth can we be bored? And yet, plenty of folks are. And that is sad.
Well, it's a shockingly beautiful day. We have a walk to talk, gardening to do, chores to finish, and who knows?
Here's a song. It's Pete Townsend singing Blue, Red, and Grey.
Had two contrasting dreams last night, divided by Padfoot waking me up to go outside and do his business. First dream, I'm in NYC on a visit. It's the NYC before the virus. packed and crazy and teeming with life. We're walking up Broadway from Midtown, heading for a friends place, when I run into a former student who just got into NYU. She's super excited and happy, and tells us all about it. She's so excited and has so much to tell us about that she joins us on our walk, chatting away. As we cross an intersection, a man who is clearly not stable or happy is shouting his misery to the world. Most people walk by him, taking no notice. As we pass him, he aggressively spits on my former student and runs off. As we are reacting, I wake up to Padfoot barking. Sometimes I think he is tuned into my dreams, and knows when to pull the cord on one. So I get up, let him out, look at our rain soaked back yard which is peaceful and lovely. The dawn is just beginning to think about showing up, so there is a light silvery light to the world. I go back to bed, and have another dream. This time, I'm in a lovely park, that is a cross between Vasona, a park nestled in the foothills of the Santa Cruz Mountains near Los Gatos, and the park in Boulder next to the library. I am teaching a theatre class, and have been given a new book to use for my class, full of quotes and lessons. Today's class is on Stanivslavski's influence on the world of acting. It's a perfect Spring day, and we sit in a circle, reading from the book, playing theatre games, laughing and enjoying every moment. It starts to rain, and we run for cover. I realize I left the book in the middle of the field, run to get it, and a nice police woman has found it and kept it dry. I thank her, and we all head inside to this nice library/school space. Inside, a friend of mine is in charge. She tells us we are just in time for coffee and snacks. And then the alarm goes off.
As I lay in bed, thinking of those dreams, I thought about the country right now, so divided and angry and yet so full of love and hope. I'm glad they came in that order, because that's sort of how I process what I see and hear, what I watch on the news and read in the papers. I see anger and fear and lots of people shouting and screaming their dismay to a seemingly uncaring world. Some of them spit at one another. Or worse. And it feels like we are all lost in this rushing stream of humanity that is unable and/or unwilling to change in anyway whatsoever. But then I see families on their porches, closer than they have ever been, spending way more time than they are used to with their spouses and children. I see those children running up and down the street, making up games to pass the time and having a blast. I don't know how they got off their phones and video games, but they did. I see them. And they look so happy. I hear the howling at 8pm every night here in Denver. Last night's was especially exciting, seeing as it happened during a thunder storm. All these people opening their doors and windows and howling out their joy and love for humanity while the rain comes pouring down. Awesome and healing. Maybe we are all werewolves, changing under the moon, but instead of turning into homicidal monsters, we are both evolving into stronger beings while at the same time reconnecting with the earth, with our primal selves.
I know times are rough. So many people dead or dying. So many more people sick. It seems we are heading into a global depression. And I wouldn't be surprised if we have a huge second wave hit us thanks to opening too soon, and then shut down again, and on and on. But there is something in our spirits that keeps moving, keeps evolving, keeps finding the light. I think we have to remember that evolution is a very slow thing, and we have only been on this planet for a short time, all things considered. I am going to try and be a better person. I am going to try and listen to people who are angry and maybe insane. I am going to try and howl in the rain often as I can. If I do turn into an actual werewolf, I am going to try and not eat my neighbors. I am going to try.
Here's a song. It's Jumping Jack Flash by The Stones.
I like UFOs. Always have. Bigfoot too, of course. And the Loch Ness Monster. I love all those mysteries, legends, beasts the wander the back roads. There is something both frightening and entrancing about them. About the unknown. I watch all the shows: Finding Bigfoot; Ancient Aliens; Monster Quest; Fuller House. Any show that has a monster or alien in it, I am there. Much to Lisa' chagrin. Last night, I finished a thing on Netflix called Declassified, all about aliens, reverse engineering, conspiracy, and the like. Not a lot of new stuff, and way to many talking heads and way too few shots of ships in the sky. Still, it had some good moments. One guy was talking about how we are at least a century behind in technology. That we were cooking with gas at the turn of the last century, metaphorically speaking, with the advent of the airplane, the automobile, and people like Nikola Tesla creating all sorts of amazing things, including supposedly a way to harness clean, limitless energy. And there was more on the way, according to this guy, mainly coming from reverse engineered alien spacecraft and direct contact with people from other worlds. And then it all got shut down. His theory is that the powers that be, those in charge of the oil and gas and coal, did not want this new technology to come out, because it would mean more autonomy for us all, and less power for them. This is not a new idea. I've heard variations on it many times. The government is sitting on all the cures to our ailments. Or at least a lot of them. Cars that run on water; little power generators that run forever with no pollution; anti-gravity devices; maybe even time travel. But in the context of current events, I found this theory much more interesting. What if now, due mainly to mismanagement of our world leaders, at long last we get to see the wreck from Roswell? And find out what was in those papers Tesla had locked in his safe that were confiscated by the Feds the day he died? Seems plausible to me. We have this global pandemic, mass hysteria, confusion, and anger. The Lunatics are on the path, the Fox is in the Henhouse, and disease is in the White House. I can easily envision some worker bee who loses a loved one to the virus, whose job it is to watch the storeroom where they keep at least some of the secret spacecraft. Maybe she's felt we should all see this stuff anyway, but out of a sense of duty, has done her job and kept them tucked away. Then this anonymous guardian of galactic secrets loses her mother and father in one week, and a best friend. And she gets angry. She turns on the TV and sees some our our illustrious leaders saying we are going to need to sacrifice a few folks for the economy. And she turns and looks at these machines that could save the economy. And she takes out her key, or types in a code, or does whatever it is she needs to do to open up the floodgates, and presto, the world gets alien tech.
Maybe that's a bit fanciful. But if ever there was a time for us to hear from the aliens en masse, it's now. And if we can't have that, then we should at the very least start listening to scientists more often. They may not be the "end all" on matters of energy, medicine, and climate. But I think they know more about it than most members of congress or the folks in the West Wing. I mean, let's look at the past five months. Pretty much everything the science community said would happen has happened. Everything the powers that be said would happen has not. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to realize that rocket scientists are smarter than the average Jane or Joe. That's why they're rocket scientists. Now, that doesn't make the ethical. I'm sure that there are some rocket scientists who are selfish assholes who treat their families poorly. Even so. I'd like to hear more from them and less from politicians and CEOs who I am fairly certain don't have our best interests in their hearts.
Mostly, though, I'd like to hear from the aliens. Or Bigfoot. In fact, I'd like an alien to give a press conference with Bigfoot. The alien could talk first. Go on about how they're here, have been here all along, and now is the time for them to share their knowledge and take us on trips to the stars. Then the alien could bring out a Sasquatch for a short Q and A session. And then and at the end of it, they could bring out our President and have Bigfoot slap the shit out of Trump. I know, it's a bit mean spirited. He's an old, doddering fool who clearly doesn't have a lot going on in the cranium. And revenge is a bad way to go about things. But man, that guy really gets my goat sometimes.
Anyhow. That's where I am today. Thinking of aliens, Bigfoot, and our current shortage of good leadership at the national level. I think this is due to the time being out of joint. To seeing people out on the street acting like the virus is gone already, that we are past the crisis, that all we need to do is open up and not test and all will be as it was. I feel like we're on the Titanic, the band is playing, and people are going about things like all will be well. Don't get me wrong. All will be well. But not if we pretend we didn't hit an iceberg. I'm not saying we should give in to fear either. We need to use just a bit of our little brains, and figure out how to fit as many people as we can on the life boats.
Ok. Weird rant. Spread the love, look to the skies, and if you know anything about the aliens, let us know.
Here's a song. It's And the Band Played On by Moxy Fruvous.
