Archive | November 2019

Chowkidar

 

From the country’s belly I finally woke up.  I had been waiting a very long time to do so, but the dreams had been intense.  When I did, I noticed all the trails in the dust that others had taken through the dark before me.  Critters of every shape and size including my fellow man.

Since I was awake, I stirred the ashes in the pit and tossed on some branches and a log.  I made myself a cup of coffee.  Then I listened to the darkness for the sounds of others passing.  There were many scuffles of paw and hoof.  I hoped that I had not woken in vain as I waited for the dawn.

The Book of the Dead

Hare 2

Wenet

 

This morning’s question after I saw the cat and the rabbit.  The cat goddess of ancient Egypt was Bast.  The hare was a companion of Eostre.  Who was the Egyptian bunny goddess?  Or does Egypt not have rabbits?

 

 

What If?

After you have watched hundreds, if not thousands of hours, of film about war, disaster, and alien invasion, you notice that some character either military, political, scientist, or shmoe off the street who is smarter than everybody else gives the reason they do not want the general population to know what is going on is because “They will panic!”

In the real world, what if there is a darker reason?  People will not go to work.  Once that happens, things fall apart as Yeats put it.  People will not make the ammunition, people will not pay their taxes, build the escape rockets, or listen to their priests.  The exploited are no longer being successfully exploited.  The gilt cage is not so gilt anymore.

What if in the real world after hundreds, if not thousands of hours of films, books, classroom, wars, politics, scientific investigation, and shmoes off of the street who are smarter than everybody else, there is a sinister reason that God, the aliens, and The Man do not want the general population to know what is going on.  Because they do not know either.

Old Soldiers Never Die,

 

and they do not fade away.

When Eisenhower told us to beware

I was too young to listen.

I am listening now.  It is that damn

youthful illusion thing securing mothers

for the race.  It doesn’t

just work for mothers.

 

Old soldiers never die,

and they do not fade away.  Mathis

told the truth when he is quoted

as saying something like

“You know what I use to do

for a living, right?”  We sometimes

have to become the very people

we fight to defeat them.

 

Old soldiers never die,

and they do not fade away.

Sometimes a useful idiot is

a spoiled brat too broken to be

of much use anymore.  They do not

put away childish things.  They

have not learned charity.

“When they hire yes men,

they will be impeached.”

 

Old soldiers never die,

and they do not fade away.  When

you wake up from your mother’s

womb into the nightmare all

you can see is darkly.  But

even mothers in their loss of

self-­defense can ask, “What

have they done?” before they

wade out into the water.

 

Old soldiers never die,

and they do not fade away.  When

climbing into flak to fight

for a just cause, or waiting

for the bombs to hit, a good

book is hard to get

into, even The Good Book.

You know when you are the tiny

belly-gunner you are open

to concussion and shrapnel.

Warrior scholars are fatalists

like that.

 

 

 

Lies

 

Everybody lies.

I lie; you lie.  He, she, or it lies.

We lie.  They lie.

I wonder why they lie?

That tells me which lie

to ignore and who

to believe.

 

There are good lies.

There are bad lies.

There are lies of omission.

There are lies to deceive.

There are lies to hide.

 

Everybody can be wrong.

I am wrong; you are wrong.  He, she, or it is wrong.

We are wrong.  They are wrong.

I wonder why they are wrong?

That tells me which wrongs

to leave and which wrongs

to pick up and try to clean up.

 

There are good wrongs.

There are bad wrongs.

There are wrongs of omission.

There wrongs to deceive.

There are wrongs to hide.

 

Everybody fights.

I fight; you fight.  He, she, or it fights.

We fight.  They fight.

I wonder why they fight?

That tells me which fights

to ignore and which

to fight.

 

There are good fights.

There are bad fights.

There are fights of omission.

There are fights to deceive.

There are fights to hide.

There are fights to fight.

The 1990s

My world was governed by the seasons in the nineteen-nineties.  The winter wheat slept under the snow; there was green in spring as the ditches ran muddy.  Leaves filled out the lilac bushes and deciduous trees.  Pine pollen floated in blobs on the puddles or in amoeba like shadows on asphalt as the water went away.  Summer baked into dust as combines spread across the hills harvesting the wheat.  The sun started falling to the south as the days grew shorter.  The leaves fell and the snows came again.

Yes the cesspool of existence that is the world occasionally backed up and you had a whiff of what was going on in the world, but all in all, Donald J. Trump was a myth, a joke, a late night monologue punchline.  There were other monsters out there more real than the gilt blob of Trump floating in the obnoxious tank of sewage that tests people’s souls.

I checked to be sure.  I looked on Wikipedia for the key events from the nineties.   No mention of Trump.  What started me thinking about that time was the video that came out this summer from nineteen-ninety two of him at Mar-a-Lago partying with cheerleaders from the Buffalo Bills.  You might remember it.  This is a still:

jeffrey-epstein-trump-mar-lago

That is Jeffrey Epstein standing next him.  Who the man on the left with the drink in his wedding-banded hand is I have no idea.

I filed that date away in my mind as something to think about in the general behavior of the rich and what they can get away with because they can afford it.  Later in the summer, I was taking old photos of mine off the wall for scanning, and the date I had written on the back of one of them was nineteen-ninety-two, these two.

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I know that I was at least once down at Buffalo Eddy on the Snake River in nineteen-ninety-two.  There are all sorts of ghosts that I can dredge up from that year, that decade.  None of them have anything to do with Donald J. Trump.  The film “Home Alone 2” came out in nineteen-ninety.  There is a scene where the kid asks a stranger for directions in a hotel lobby.  I do not even remember the film, but there was a flutter of consciousness of film-technique that this was somebody who might be in pop-culture.  Somewhere along the line, somehow, I found out that was Trump.

The next time I ever thought about Donald J. Trump was during “The Apprentice”.  That did not air until two-thousand-four.  I never watched it.  He was a commercial for mammon.  He was a golden calf.  This is what he did while the rest of the nation was trying to come to grips with the mass murder at the WTC and The Pentagon in 2001.

It is not the nineties anymore.  For the last two and a half years, I have personally felt that I am once again trying to deal with mass murder.  I will be working through that feeling for the rest of my life.  Fortunately, I still have the passing of the seasons to remind me of better days, and I know that The Devil is a chimera.

I found an old interview of Trump by Chris Wallace today on YouTube.  It was from nineteen-ninety-eight.  It sounded like Trump was trying to convince the world that he was relevant.  That is why I looked up the nineties on Wikipedia.  He did not make a ripple.  He was a myth, a joke, a late night monologue punchline.

It is two-thousand-nineteen now.  It is November.  The snow is coming.  Jeffery Epstein hung himself in his cell, at least that is the official line.  I do not know who the guy with the drink is or was.  But Donald J. Trump is in the White House for all the world to watch.  He is a threat to self and others.  One way or another, he will be removed.

Whatever way he goes, I am sure he will be thinking, “Look at all the damage I did!  You’ll pay attention to me now!  Who’s relevant now?  Losers!”  His cycle of abuse will continue however.

God is a jealous God, he punishes to the third and the fourth generation.   That is pretty Old Testament, but as far as the threat to self and others, that damage Trump is inflicting has generational effects.  Hominids are like that.  I have seen their behavior before.  There are bigger troop leaders out there than Trump.  Some of them helped put and keep Trump where he is today.  Hominids are like that; I have seen their behavior before.

 

The Heart

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If home is where the heart lies, why do we ever leave it?  To remember where the heart lies?