Entschuldigen Sie, Bitte. There’s A Bitter Taste In My Mouth.

Pardon me while I dig a sprout from between my teeth.  Sehr gut!

On condition of anonymity, after receiving a hefty bribe, a U.S. government official allegedly told me that the words “France” and anything French have been banned from the official AmED [American English Dictionary].  Further, the U.S. government has retracted its claim to have freed France the country near Spain from Germany during WWII and has ceded the country near Spain to Germany in exchange for Germany extending an unlimited use of the words “twitter” and “facebook” to German language speakers/writers.

Congrats to the Danes, who proved that the Viking spirit is still alive in the name of Tycho Brahe.

I’m a little behind on my big behind in thanking people who’ve interacted with me in business or purely social situations lately, including Dr. Tom, Cheryl, Sandy, Imaria, Kristine, Ray, Kisha, Billie, Dawn, Leonard, Johnnie, Marlin, Jason, Lativia and several who are working on nursing or business management college coursework.

Congrats to Chestney for being the first person on her mother’s side of the family to get her high school diploma – we’re proud of you, young lady.

Welcome to the new era of CV gaps – I miss the old days when employers such as myself readily accepted excuses for employment gaps like: “The period of unemployment from 1969 to 1991 on my resumé?  I was following the Grateful Dead.”  We had more varied workplaces which enhanced creativity rather than goosestepping employees afraid to take time off for miniretirements.

C’est la vista.

A little bird told me that a rocket team has already secretly launched a small vehicle toward the Moon which will deposit the first Earth-to-Moon food delivery package, possibly containing fresh bread and muffins from David and Cheryl Walker of Atlanta Bread Company.  The first humans to retrieve the package will find a winning lottery ticket.  Or something like that.

Time to apply a little elbow grease and get back to work.

= = =

I leave you with this spot of humour:

A redneck with a bucket full of live fish was approached recently by a game warden in Central Mississippi as he started to drive his boat away from a lake.

The game warden asked the man, “May I see your fishing license please?”
“Naw, sir,” replied the redneck. “I don’t need none of them there papers.  These here are my pet fish.”

“Pet fish??”

“Yep. Once a week, I bring these here fish o’mine down to the lake and let ’em swim ’round for a while. Then when I whistle, they swim right back into my net and I take ’em home.”

“What a line of bull….you’re under arrest.”

The redneck said, “It’s the truth, Mr. Gov’ment Man. I’ll show ya! We do this all the time!!”

“WE do, now, do WE?” smirked the warden. “PROVE it!”

The redneck released the fish into the lake and stood and waited.

After a few minutes, the warden said, “Well?”

“Well, WHUT?” said the redneck.

The warden asked, “When are you going to call them back?”

“Call who back?”

“The FISH,” replied the warden!

“Whut fish?” asked the redneck.
MORAL OF THE STORY:

We may not be as smart as some city slickers, but we ain’t as dumb as some government employees.  You can say what you want about the South, but we never hear of anyone retiring and moving north.

Arrrrrgh

Did I watch a baseball game, softball game, basketball game, hockey game, golf game, tennis game, poker game, car race qualification or horse race today?

No, I stepped into a large room with a curved wall to watch a film about people pretending to live out the realities behind the characters of an amusement park ride.

Were these professional actors good at what they did?

I would venture they are better than average.

The movie itself was geared toward the 3D IMAX experience, I felt, giving a depth that a regular 2D experience would make flat.

A franchise from a franchise machine.

Otherwise, the story would make no sense.

Will people start building IMAX-type home theatres so they can enjoy these experiences with projectors built for the purpose?

“Honey, I’m converting the garage to a planetarium/IMAX theatre.  I hope you don’t mind parking your car in the street.”

“Sure, dear, because I’ve contracted HGTV to record my converting your putting greens in the backyard to a re-creation of the gardens at Versaille.”

Let’s see…thanks to Lindsey, Robert, and Lindsay Blaire at RAVE; Stephanie at Beauregard’s; the 18-year old for graduating high school and getting a basketball scholarship at Belmont, working toward a degree in exercise science/physical therapy; Juliet and the owner of Carson’s Grille; so many more I’ve forgotten while managing an imminent family decision.

Speaking of which, time for some more jokes from the Grand Lady of Grinder’s Switch, or some she might’ve overheard:

There were two old men sitting on the front porch of their nursing home, rocking in their chairs and watching people pass by.  Then one of the men said, “You know, I think I’ve got to get up.  My hind end is falling asleep!”  The other said, “I believe you.  I think I just heard it snoring!”

* * *

A man and his wife were on vacation in the husband’s hometown.  They hadn’t been back there for forty years.  They enjoyed the trip so much that they went back the next year.  They went to the same parks, cafes, and motel where they visited the year before.  The wife even went back to the same beauty shop.  While the wife was there, the owner asked the lady if she was from their town.  Then the owner added, “I don’t know you, but you look familiar.  Have you ever been here before?”

The woman replied, “Yes I have, but it’s been a year ago this month since you’ve done my hair.”  Another lady in the shop, in a sweet, small, elderly voice, piped up and said, “Well I’ll be, Honey!  It sure did keep good!”

* * *

A self-educated old farmer who had never owned a fancy car was looking at a brand new Cadillac.  The salesman said, “This particular model will cost you $75,000.”  So the farmer reached into his pocket and counted out $75,000.  When the salesman saw this he said, “Well, if you’re paying cash, I can give you a discount.”  Not knowing what the salesman meant, the farmer asked for a minute and went next door to the beauty shop.  Inside, her asked the beautiful girl who worked there, “Do you know what the word discount means?”  She explained, “It means to take something off.”  So he asked her, “Well, how much would you take off if I gave you $75,000?”  She answered, “Would you mind if I kept my earrings on?”

* * *

An older lady went on a routine visit to the new young doctor in town.  After he checked her over he embarrassingly asked, “Because of your age I have to know if you have S.E.X.”  She said, “Wait just a minute and I’ll see.”  So she opened the door to the waiting room and yelled out to her husband, “Honey, the doctor wants to know if we have S.E.X.”  He replied, “No!  All we have is Blue Cross and Blue Shield.”

* * *

The Waltons or the Jeffersons, Sanford and Son or Chico and the Man, Are You Being Served or Fawlty Towers, You Can’t Do That on Television or The Brady Bunch, jokes like these vibrated over the airwaves to people’s homes when I was a kid.

In the current multichannel world of the Family Guy and Adult Swim, such jokes are tame, viewable on TV Land or your favourite Internet rebroadcast service.

But I don’t mind.

Just as I have friends from my boyhood school days who have same-sex relationships or seeking transgender changes, I have male friends who open doors for my women friends, say “Thank you” and “Yes, ma’am,” and read their religious texts with daily devotion.

Some are a mix of the above.

Such is the normal flow of civilisational growth.

And why I live with seven billion people, hoping I never ignore one group for the personal benefit of another.

How are we going to move with that flow and respect the rights of those who wish to preserve the beliefs and practices of decades or hundreds of years ago?

Just because you don’t condone someone’s behaviour in your subculture doesn’t mean you have to block that person from finding a place to fit in a subculture somewhere else.

Although the United States is more of a government-dependent population than we may like to think, where government employees and government contractors enjoy greater benefits than the average U.S. citizens who pay the taxes to support the government [I ought to know], wanting me to joke we’re similar to a socialist/communist country, “Animal Farm” style, like the USSR or Cuba of old, thus swapping places with former enemies…

Never mind, I promised myself not to talk about government or, by implication, politics.

Political entities are just another business, where executives and the legal staff are selected by eligible customers.  You voting customers out there can decide what you want to do about your local political entity, or not – the repercussions are yours to enjoy/suffer – just like any shareholder.

Anyway, time to quiet down for the evening, prepare questions before a visit to yet another assisted living facility and finalise the spreadsheet from which my wife will use her wise financial judgement to select a place for her 93-year young mother to reside a while, if not for the rest of her life.

And then get back to composing my usual satirical riffs, from whence I derive my greatest joy, all while ruling the universe through a network of associates and computer programmers you see everyday but never notice!

Ahahahahaha…a pirate’s life for me, indeed!

What does “filmy” mean?

If I am a prism or funhouse mirror, there is a film over my shiny surface.

A “fil-uhm,” if you will.

Not a movie or flick.

Not a celluloid or cellulose substance.

The film is made of a bunch of threads that say “what if…?”.

Some days, making my own way, having no signposts I consider permanent guides down a path because I’m mentally trailblazing, I get caught in webs of “what if…?” threads.

The threads become reality and reality is lost in a filmy haze, a background to minor mental dramas a spider or muddauber wasp would not understand.

Learning more about how my central nervous system works would not help me today.

Whether the brain is an imaginary center of my universe or a switchboard without a soul doesn’t matter.

I’m dimly making myself take steps – away, from, to, fast, slow…

Escape or rescue?

I’ve been here before and I still don’t know the answer.

The solution is to make myself disappear, become wallpaper, build a barrier that hides whatever is left of the self from the rest of a species of selves.

I do not exist.

I am unimportant.

These states of energy make their own way, slowly, carefully, a journey, sooner or later, to death.

Leaving?

A blog that gives thanks to others who do exist: Crystal at Apollo Cafe, CeCe’s yogurt shop, Lowe Mill, Flying Monkey Theatre and its support crew, Christabel and the Jons, Helen Keller’s Ukelele, Fred Bread.

To see the world of beautiful young people having fun on the dance floor…

I am an old man, older than I try to deny.

To see my time has come and gone, no longer able to create illusions of youthful hope for my grownup future…sigh…

Well…”my troubles are few,” I can console myself with, “I have an extremely comfortable life in comparison to most others of my species, no survival challenges, no children to worry about or grandchildren to dote upon.  I have what I asked for, so be happy, dammit!”

The private self is in conflict with the public persona, that’s certain.

There are days when the simple act of socialising with others is uncomfortable because, as a person who tries to please everyone all the time, I can find no value in sharing my melancholy thoughts that sometimes border on depression and other less self-assuring attitudes.

To know I am not alone in this mood is even less assuring, due to imagining there’s got to be something about me that’s original even though I know nothing under the sun is completely new.

This mood shall pass.

I shall return to accepting the role I assigned myself a long time ago, making sure our species carves out resources for securing a place for us in the cosmos off this planet.

If that’s all I believe I’ve accomplished, I will not have lived as more than a weather vane that points wherever the winds of change are blowing.

I look across the room, briefly staring into the eyes of a singer who’s sung the same tunes many times, occasionally running into audiences that have no appreciation for the dance style that goes with the music she (or others) wrote but giving her best singing/acting performance every time, no matter what.

She looks back.

Normally, I would give her a look of reassurance.

But last night, I could not.

There was nothing inside me with which I could match/equal or exceed her place in the moment and into the next.

She’s living a real life, trying to earn enough money to go on to the next moment, traveling with her bandmates to strange or semifamiliar towns, seeking and giving honestly, not trying to steal money from LinkedIn through a botched IPO price fix, or selling a dream that the overpriced car in front of you will not only empty your bank account but also make you well-respected by other fools soon parted with their money, regardless of how they, too, acquired wealth from fools.

A look.

There’s no barter exchange in a look.

There’s just two people involved in external stimuli activating two central nervous systems.

Two sets of states of energy in a giant universe completely unaware of itself in any cognitive manner.

Is that too much to ask of me, to participate in that moment with another person, pushing aside a minor issue or two that pales in comparison to what that other person faces everyday?

I can’t wait until I get my mother in-law settled into wherever she and my wife will be happiest, taking into account as much as possible the feelings and wishes of a niece, a nephew and a sister in-law.

Then I can return to my imagination or even create a reality where looks become regular conversations, topics relatively unimportant in the moment, the future completely unknown.

Thanks

A belated thanks to many is due: to the dance instructors at Kinesthetic Cue, who taught a young couple a wonderful showcase performance they demonstrated for us last night; Dairy Queen workers putting in overtime because teenage employees decide to take Friday off; Gibson’s BBQ owners/staff; assisted living facility marketing managers giving their best effort; Beauregard’s; McDonald’s McCafe; local farmers; more to follow.

A Bumper Crop of Birds Next Year

The start of a warm day.  Retelling thoughts to myself of previous moments.

Noting the difference between a public persona and the private self, no matter how in/famous one may be (or imagine one is).

Allowing that some will control their selves with drugs – the so-called modern life – crafting states of energy like a microscopic logic board designer or chainsaw-wielding ice carver.

Some subcultures maintaining a separation of gender roles.

Others going with the flow, allowing people to assume they know best what they want to learn/do best.

Is monogamy innate or learned?

And if innate, is it gender-specific?

And if gender-specific, how does one gender teach the other the perceived importance of monogamy?

As our population continues to crowd in, how many other innate behaviours become commonplace in place of the formerly common behaviour of lifetime monogamy?

How do we signal zygotes to become antisocial and will RNA independence later wreak more havoc in one’s genetic tendencies?

Does the sound of a lawnmower influence the mating behaviour of cicadas?

What about an old B-17 flying overhead?

Will cosmic rays change space travelers into a distinct sub/super species due to changes in our copassengers: bacteria in our guts and pores?

The following was going to be part of this blog entry but I’ve decided to challenge myself to stop blogging about politics as a unique category of our human behaviour…

[Someone told me that if my culture eliminated Glenn Beck it would also eliminate the usefulness of a person named Jon Stewart because of the duality present in our cultural subconsciousness.

What if I don’t believe in duality?

Could Tina Fey then complete against Sarah Palin for mass media supremacy and have more real nonviolent power than anyone in the U.S. government?]

Seven billion people, no matter how unimportant or unempowered they may feel, lead this planet but rarely do we act like wise leaders.

We play at competing against each other while ignoring our effects on the states of energy around us that aren’t our species.

Is this a 100% redeemable quality?

Can I lose myself in the fun of the moment and yet be aware of my effect on the environment and the future?

On the dance floor last night, looking into the beautiful eyes of a stranger, having a brief conversation, and then changing dance partners, I felt the concept of opportunity costs and sunk costs as it pertained to social relationships rather than business management.

Soon, I will celebrate 25 years of marriage, my first and only marriage.  According to statistics, less than 50% of my local culture has households with two people being married as the single head of household.

How those statistics account for widows/widowers, young people buying a first house or renting a first flat before finding a marriage partner, or others who believe in marriage but are unmarried at the time of the statistics-taking, I don’t know.

The statistics do not imply, and we cannot infer from the statistics, that monogamy is no longer a preferred innate trait of our species.

Marriage and monogamy are not synonymous.  Neither is marriage and compatibility or monogamy and harmony.

For the most part, our species reproduces by sexual intercourse between the male and the female and subsequent fertilisation of egg by sperm.

We can prevent the fertilisation through contraception and we can fertilise eggs without sexual intercourse.

If contraception and artificial insemination were universally available for subcultures that accept these modern conveniences (and gently encouraged for subcultures that don’t), would we in those subcultures naturally breed monogamy out of our genetic trait set?

If we removed headlines that say overpopulation is an inevitable fatal train wreck for our species and started noting that we had solved the problem of overpopulation and are now managing resources for our population, would our bodies’ reproduction systems adjust accordingly and stop producing antisocial types?

In other words, when we see natural changes of other species in population sizes that peak and shrink, can we honestly tell ourselves we’re just as susceptible to these changes, including nonmonogamous relationships?

My thoughts are clouded by a stressful family situation right now so I can’t be sure if I’m looking at today’s blog as if I’m staring at us outside our species and/or applying [non]relativistic moral/ethical constraints on my suppositions.

We talk about the birth and death of civilisations and cultures as if we’re not the same as any other social species on this planet.

Take away the labels “civilisation” and “culture” and look at simple population growth statistics.

Certainly, as a population grows, the social interconnections grow and thus the population’s interface with the surrounding environment grows more complicated.

The birds in these woods are fattening up on cicadas this year.  Next year, assuming no major environmental disasters in the next nine months, we should have a bumper crop of birds born of this year’s wellfed avian breeders.

Eliminating all our innerspecies squawking and carrying on, I observe our change in population growth.

In previous overpopulation studies I’ve read, not knowing the mindset or intent of the researchers or the sponsors/producers of the studies, a species that contains a supermajority of paired-off male/female breeders will start producing offspring that do not exhibit male/female breeding preferences.

Of course, we say we’re the only species that can objectively observe the behaviour of other species (we are not the only organisms that can control the behaviour of other organisms), which makes us believe we may be similar to other species but we have a great advantage over them because we don’t have to just react to environmental changes.

In fact, we can create our own environmental success or destruction stories!

If marriage, as a cultural example of monogamous behaviour, is no longer necessary for species survival in our current global civilisation’s modern condition, is it just a temporary reaction to our population growth or a permanent change in our genetic makeup?

Concluding this train of thought, if a sudden environmental megadisaster reduced our population dramatically, how would we view marriage and/or monogamy?

And finally, as a test of my mental state, has this blog entry indicated a family crisis fogged my usual rational yet humourous reasoning?

Jacob West/Wiest of Yeast

“I’m 5 ft, 3 and a half.”

“I’m taller than my dad.”

“That’s huge!”

“That’s average for a girl.”

“What took you so long?”

“I only come here about once a month.”

“I can’t believe I came all the way up here!”

“She’s always putting on a lot of makeup.”

“Listen to me…I’m a turkey.”

“That’s totally you.”

“I love you!”

“Bye!”

Jessica smiled, looking past the group of teenagers while she walked to the food manufacturing line and boxed a dozen hot, fresh, sugar-coated, fried Krispy Kreme doughnuts.

Meanwhile, around the corner at the Roller Time skating rink, after singing the Star Spangled Banner, couples learned to dance under the glow of coloured light bulbs that hung from the ceiling in the formation of a multi-armed galaxy.

Traditions flow through the Rocket City like dark matter.

Pam’s birthday is 2nd June, for those who want to help her celebrate.

Kim was probably wrapping up her server duties at Po’ Boy.

Life moves on…

Maximum Displacement Pressure, Captain

In shocking news, a band of Somali pirates, secretly trained at a high-tech development center, intercepted and hijacked the Space Shuttle Endeavour.

Richard Branson and the producers of the new Pirates franchise flick deny they funded this illegal venture.

Rumours that the Somalis were trained by former Blackwater mercenaries in the UAE are unverified at this time.

Now, back to “Bring Nature Indoors!,” Chef DuJour’s infomercial about using Placenta Helper with cicada grub shells and lightly battered and winged cicada bodies to delight a family of four at dinner tonight.

Wait! More breaking news!

In a rush to create a new Irish saint ahead of the nonCatholic British queen’s visit to the Emerald Isle, the Pope accidentally beatified Osama bin Laden, the Papacy assuming the international terrorist was a martyr named O’say Ma Been Laudin, a young boy known for praisin’ and carryin’ on 24 hours a day about the miracles of the modern Celtic Tiger economy until an angry mob of unemployed Irish workers tossed the lad in front of the Irish PM’s motorcade in protest over proposed austerity measures. “Keep the pubs open!” they were heard shouting as garda led them away in paddywagons.

Iran denounced the Roman Catholic leader immediately and then recanted, saying the Pope, a fellow Muslim, is allowed to give thanks and the blessing of a martyr who nipped at the heels of Satan, destroying his twin dens of sin in Manhattan until the Devil finally ate bin Laden like a lowly prisoner, thanks be to Allah.

In unrelated news, seventy virgins were rescued from the Hotel Sofitel in New York. Authorities would not confirm if it had to do with the IMF chief’s recent alleged conversion to a new Catholic-Islamic hybrid faith based on the Kama Sutra and the Song of Solomon.

Wrldwid txt litrcy rt rizs -n3wz @11.

More Headlines

“Band Manager for The New Pornographers Admits Bribing US SEAL Team with Bin Laden Porn Stash”

“Obama Spied Secretly Negotiating 2012 VP Deal with Palin in Exchange for Alaska Oil Deal”

“Brazilian Scientist Creates Anaerobic Carbon-Capturing Artifical Photosyntheis ‘Tree’; Brazilian Officials Rejoice, Pave Over Amazon Rainforest for Massive Supercity”

“Saudi Government Converts Peninsula Into Giant Solar FauxPalm-Lined Beach, Using Faux-Grass Solar Panel Suburban Lawns to Fuel Modern Civilisation, Becoming First Nonoil-Dependent Nation”

“Technical College Opens New Landscape Engineering Department, Sponsored by the Intel-Huawei-Sony Corporation”

“Colbert Declares Himself Emperour, Forms New Global Government In Exile, Devoted to Dry, Acerbic Humour for the Ham-On-Wry Masses”

“Hillary Clinton Defeats Colbert in Thumb Wrestling Match, Reveals Billary Husband/Wife Coemperourship Rocketing to Mars Headquarters Soon”

“Union for the Preservation of Unions Dissolves all Worker Unions into Website for Chronic Employee Complaints titled ‘That’s Why They Call It A Job'”

“British Monarchy Funds New Comedy Troupe Shoppe for Exclusive Rights to Officially Make Funne of Thugs with Crowns”

“India Caught Drilling Gargantuan Water Tap into Himalayan Glacier Network, Consents to Relocate Bangladesh to Hidden Indian Gov’t Officials’ Private Holiday ‘Shangri-La’ Resort”

“George W. Bush Contracts Reagan-Thatcher Disease, Can’t Remember Details of US Presidency”

“China Finishes Plans of Tibetan Amusement Park, ‘Retrains’ Monks for Park Guide/Mascot Duty”

“Guinness Book of Records Annoints Panama Canal as World’s Largest Water Slide”

“Food is Shown to be Both Fatally Cancerous and Good for You at the Same Time – Anorexic and Obesity Support Groups Cry ‘Foul Fowl, Fools! Dig in, if you Dare!'”

Stop Print Shop Lexicographers Delete Punctuation From All Languages Stop Use Stop Instead Stop Stop Please Stop Stop Stop

“World Court Rules Trees are International Treasure, Allowed to Fall and Rot in Place; Roads Become Obstacle Courses; Cotton Prices Soar on Toilet/Facial Tissue Industry Conversion News, Surpassing Oil and Gold; Lumberjacks Protest, Invent Miniature Cotton Plant Chainsaw”

“Pope Blesses Islam as Catholic Sect, Sees Protestants and Jews as Wandering Catholic Children, Hints Buddhists and Hindus are Probably Catholic, too; Vatican City PayPal Donations Clog Internet More Effectively than Spam, Offline Bible Reading Explodes in Proportion”

“Research Shows Headlines are Subliminal Messages from Aliens, Nostradamus Predicted”

“Supermarket Rag Mags Receive Lifetime Achievement Award for Most Insightful/Entertaining News, ‘Legitimate’ Journalism Finally Dies A Merciful Death”

“The Committee Makes Satire the One True Religion, Outlaws Seriousness; Punishments will Include Reading Bad Jokes in Front of Drunk, Tomato-Wielding Comedy Circuit Crowds Night-after-Night, No Rewrites Allowed”

“SETI Discovers Radiowave Radiation Attack from Extraterrestrial War Accidentally Created Life on Earth, Intercepted Galactic ‘Wikileaks’ Communications Details”

“Life Started A Moment Ago, Ends In The Next Moment, Guru Proves with Lack of Evidence”

“Germany Will Only Approve Doctoral Theses with the Best Use of Plagiarism From Now On, the Government Precisely Copying GrecoRoman Law, Itself A Copy, for this Proclamation”

Thus endeth today’s satirically sacred meditative lesson. Bless you, Satire. Thanks for your confession – five hearty laughs and ten raucous guffaws every day until your next confession.

If vegetables had eyes…

Chocolate-covered cicadas – not bad – a delicacy I’d enjoy, say, once every thirteen to seventeen years.

Looking through my 2011 spring-summer catalog of aee (association of energy engineers (R)) energy books, I wonder – should I get the handbook of web based energy information and control systems or the guide to microturbines?

Considering the recent adverse weather conditions, how about “DISASTER & RECOVERY PLANNING: A GUIDE FOR FACILITY MANAGERS”?

Does Johnson & Johnson use Johnson Controls and did anyone there read a report by Masters & Johnson while attending the Masters?

I’m told some numerologists have used an unreliable text written and rewritten by politically-motivated power brokers to predict an end to the world as we know it on 21st May of this year.

My species…what would I do without it?

But seriously, what could I do without having to take our species into account? How much farther could I stretch the finite resources of this tiny orb to extend my dominance of the solar system and eventually an arm of the galaxy?

The Committee is still here in the background, reminding me that I may want to forget about them but they haven’t forgotten about me.

My network keeps plotting futures against which they compare the Book of the Future and the crystal ball. A few other tricks up my mojo bag of a sleeve protect the real purpose of the predictions we openly share with you.

Sunshine laws and transparency are not normal business practices. Steve Jobs is not Obama. Political entities – municipalities, states/provinces and countries – do not operate in a noncompetitive vacuum.

I don’t believe in Destiny as some forecast from the past.

Instead, adaptation to the everchanging moment brings about the best chance for successfully reaching the next moment and the next.

The collection of sensations that we call wisdom in middle age causes me to imagine patterns that permeate the chaotically intertwined fabric of our social lives.

That’s why separating the individual from the individual’s factually verifiable goals is a hard, carved in planetary systems, requirement of membership in the group that controls the group that controls the Committee’s advisors to the MORTIE network.

And why separating the species from our planet’s goal to perpetuate its forms of planetary existence by the fractal spinoff of a galaxy called life looks like a Destiny rather than a Consequence of Good Fortune.

We will spread life, as this planet knows it, onto other satellites of the Sun, feeling proud of our technical achievements and intellectual independence from what we see as the basic hand-to-mouth, eat-and-be-eaten cycle of nature, only half-aware, if that, we fulfill the imaginary destiny of nature’s (or the universe’s) larger cycle.

Trees, roads, earthquakes, farms, factories, glaciers, volcanoes – all the familiar labels we choose to compartmentalise the local states of energy of the universe as we know it, including ourselves – have led to this moment, when we realise we are, despite character flaws and perceived environmental missteps/corrections, right on a true and straight course, preserving life in our vainglourious attempt to advance and spread our species.

In the long run, because I have no children, I care not whether our species or some other travels to another star system. Only your descendants will know for sure.

The Book of the Future says much about the subject.

We can discuss it another day, when many a child with a learner’s permit drives the family vehicle to raise funds through magic of the adult breadwinner’s traveling sales closing methods.

Let’s dance!

Glass of Banfi Chianti

I get paid to observe and one day I’ll spend my savings.

Last night, while adults courted at Guiseppe’s Italian Dining & Cafe, Chad M told me about Maria Marinelli, a niece of the owner, Mike or Raffaele Misciagna.

Earlier in the day, an Air Force veteran and her business associate arranged some flowers at their establishment, the Petal Pusher.

Linda at Kohl’s had brushed her hair and looked 15 years younger.

At Miss Bea’s, sweet tea and pulled candy sat while the workers stood and talked with us away from washing dishes.

Melissa delivered flowers to my mother in-law’s room. Myra, Elizabeth, Debbie, Pauline and Bellamina smiled while they kept patients healthy.

Immigration legal status is a matter of perspective. Feeling invited or welcome is a matter of community generosity.

A whooping crane, whale or leatherback turtle cannot be sentenced, fined and jailed.

I played with children in my neighbourhood when I was a child allowed to go outside and play.

What of the children whose parents discouraged unsupervised neighbourhood gatherings of youth?

What are those grownup boxed-in kids doing today?

Do they discourage unlawful migration of children to more prosperous opportunities to play?

What do you hold sacred?

Do you preserve history at all costs even when you know history is a fable written about the few for the masses?

A candle on a birthday cupcake from Gigi’s given to me by my wife, the two of us celebrating quietly, she lit the candle while she listened on the mobile phone, whispering to me a line from “Happy Birthday,” and I blew out the candle, eating the little cake alone.

The hermit’s life is here and now. My fabled history is completed.

The rest is happy silence, watching my species compete/cooperate for personal space.