Here is my mini-meditation for the day: it is a long walk down the hall of boomeranged good intentions
What a howling, snivelling shame we don’t have Hunter S. Thompson around and in his prime to study the current smorgasbord of humanity running amok. The world’s policeman hog calling and stomping with grace and superior technology. All our souls fogged and shredded, designed and branded. The ultimate fast fashion is the high speed revolutions per second of the evolving lizard, ye olde “American Dream.” We know from the sucking chest wounds where our hearts used to beat all the way down to our Nike sneakers we will never know much peace and very little balance in our new nightmares. Hope is still out there. I think I saw a breafast cereal with that name. Somewhere in the Bible it says I shop therefore I am. But between tweets we kid ourselves that the existential enchilada isn’t both tattered, flapping in the hot desert wind, some dying of the day light sparkling the few large, remaining shards. It has been shattered for all of us in our various Dante-assigned circles of neediness and wannabe sweat.
Dream unattainable, HST writing weekly about Bush but probably even more interesting HST on Obama.
Most especially I wish I could read his thoughts on the mom talking about buying the amour plate, bullet proof ceramic wonder material insert for her 12 year old daughter’s school book knapsack and what that says about our civilization and our society and our dignity and finally our score in the all time measure of humaness and humanity. She was small enough to hunker down behind the bag. She looked athletic enough to run down range with it on her back, hoping the rounds didn’t go too low and take out her legs. Everywhere is a shooting range these days.
Listened to Mort Sahl, an old recording from the Watergate period. He remarked, at the time of the Declaration of Independence there were 4 million people in America and there was Ben Franklin, Jefferson, Adams, Washington, and that bunch of geniuses. And today (1974) with 200 million Americans and there is Nixon, Agnew and McGovern. What does that prove? Darwin was wrong, dead wrong. Evolution was a dream.
Before I unplug the computer and the soul support pump, I look out the windows. No, that is not a Soviet boomer attack submarine out there in Georgian Bay. The Bay is silvery grey and the clouds hang dark and menacing like Vin Diesel‘s lower lip. It is cold and getting colder. We may skip right past autumn. Go find your toque, gloves and scarf, you will need it sooner than we all might imagine.
“Follow the bubbles and swim after them, always head towards the light.”