where have i been?
where have i been?
where have i been?
today, me and maxx ran on the beach and walked the paths where the army of two wars+ practiced shooting guns, cannons and missiles;
this is where the poison memory of ken lay came to life almost two years ago by way of the best damned binoculars i ever put my eyes to. it put him in sharp focus aboard a container ship miles from where i had my car parked. it was the day i saw the little woman with the tiny teeth and began the relationship with the beings a step or two above me in the food chain. it’s in the link above.
when i think back to then and see where humanity is now and how much of this was shaped by these beings from another place who were only about a good meal (and a suit) after a good grift, all i can say is i’m lucky and worn in that order, but not “worn” by the likes of them.
that is among the “notes” that used to be “blogs” and the fevered reminiscences of what occurred in the conned-hearts of greed and arrogance when they met the terrifyingly swift and brutal catering halls of intergalactic succulence that are still happening and will go on as long as grifting lizards prefer to breed and feed on gourmet know-it-all fat-cat powerbrokers and the like.
but i digress.
i saw my first monarch butterfly this year who is, no doubt, beginning its four-thousand mile trek home.
i wondered if it was the same one i photographed last year.
you never know.
when i drove into the parking lot today, a few days shy of september 15th when it’s OK to let your dog run on the beach, off in the corner i noticed a late model black land rover and was able to see the outline of a person sitting in the driver’s seat.
i knew who was sitting in that luxury SUV sure as i know my own name, but chose to let him sit and i’m sure he knew this was going to happen, anyway.
the shore was nothing but white-capped movement.
at one point, i hollered plenty loud into the roaring ocean. i was sending a message to my literary soulmate who is sitting on a beach a third-of-the-way around the world.
if the speed of sound is 761 miles an hour at sea level, it might reach her tomorrow at around eight or nine in the morning.
i told told her to keep an ear cocked seaward.
i told her that it won’t be very loud by the time it reaches her, that it’ll be more like a whisper coinciding with the sound of a small wave lapping lazily on the shore of the mediterranean.
coming back to the land of the grifting lizards is about as much of vacation as i can afford, but in my heart of hearts, it’s quite alright.
i went on a different vacation last night.
i cycled to yankee stadiums. there are two of them. one is covered in a big shroud that stands silent and dark, the other is abuzz with life and pink faces.
pink faces scare the livin’ bejesus outta me.
we’re not talkin “rosy-glow” or “tanned” or even “red-as-in-too-much-beer-and-sun.”
pink, like in the color of many politicians and high-echelon money managers who, i suspect, drink the blood of feral cats mixed with that of lost children.
humanity’s behavior could most likely be the greatest horror story ever written.
so said the lizard-guy who looked like omar sharif but sounded like eduardo cianelli. he flipped it at me when i returned from my walk/run on the beach with maxx.
he tossed it with the attitude of, “oh, by the way, thanks for not saying hello when you got here even though you knew i was here, but then again, i knew you were gonna do that just as well as you knew it……”
sort of “bitchy” if you know what i mean.
he knew that i was thinking that, too.
this was summed up in these words to me when i approached the car after putting maxx in mine.
“you know, humankind is the only genus that makes rationalizations and justifications for horrible behavior.”
“why are you bringing this up?”
“i just thought you should know.” he said.
was he referring to the stories that were sent to me by a friend from we demand transparency, an activist site that, on one hand, offers information about ways to push against the machine and at the same time, hints of the incredible mass this machine has grown to?
i looked away from his shiny, new english car that became a german car a decade or so ago. i grew up driving english cars. triumph motor cars, in particular. i think i owned a total of seven of them – three triumph TR3, two triumph TR4, one Triumph Spitfire and one Triumph Herald.
but i digress. again.
the british don’t make any more cars and haven’t for years and that’s what america and GM is all about.
germany owns most of the british car companies except that india owns jaguar; some oil-state in the middle east owns a chunk of porsche, fiat owns chrysler, loads of US banks aren’t owned by the US anymore, budweiser beer isn’t even US-owned anymore.
(pssst. don’t tell the clydesdales.)
they are make-believe things that make believe they are other things that make believe they do things.
fantasy is the news, shadows are the facts.
we’re all about make-believe now.
maybe it always was that way.
i’m not railing against anything here, mind you, least of all the planet and humanity in freefall.
the economy wasn’t the only thing in “freefall.”
we’ll all be fine as long as our luck holds out.
it’s more about luck than divinity.
in the end, humanity will eat itself is my reckoning.
well, that which isn’t gobbled up by the grifting lizards and their crew.