Spring fever and small outrages
When I was a couple of decades younger, I devoured science-fiction/fantasy books by the box load. Literally. I had some close friends who ran a used book store, and they would occasionally box up a few dozen sci-fi paperbacks and pack them off to whatever godforsaken corner of the world I currently inhabited.
While sometimes living with Third World accommodations and standards, I always enjoyed visiting distant star systems, conversing with aliens, and reveling in philosophies that differed from the strict standards of reality that I marginally accepted. Alternative histories—such as the Confederacy winning the Civil War, and the futurism of Phillip K. Dick—were especially resonant. I never used mind-altering substances at work, but the theater of the mind can be a powerful thing, especially when you’re bored.
Never, in all my misbegotten voyages to those alien universes, did I dream I’d be living in one. I think of my grandmother—born in 1886—who saw the advent of widespread rural electrification, the proliferation of telephones, the sinking of the Titanic, two world wars, manned flight going from the Wright brothers’ first jaunt to supersonic jets, and men walking on the moon. Any time I read or see a comprehensive history of events from 1886 forward, I am in total awe of what can pass during a single lifetime. (Mother Mamie lived until 1986; dying just after her 100th birthday.)
I gave up science-fiction in the mid-1980s. (I also gave up pro wrestling in 1985, after my father’s murder. Pretend violence was an amusing diversion until then, but despite my acquaintance with the real thing, I lost my stomach for steroid freaks talking smack, tossing each other around, and playing like the battle of good versus evil can be settled with a folding chair upside the head.)
I gave up drugs about the same time. Alcohol had a stronger grip, but in time its insidious influence was reined in. I still enjoy a cold beer or a glass of wine, but I no longer have the compulsion to finish a bottle of smooth bourbon ASAP, just because it’s there. Reality caught up to me; I came to realize that as strange as things might become when viewed through a haze of hashish and whiskey, they are just as diverting when viewed in the comparatively clear light of sobriety, and you don’t fall down as much. The cosmic enlightenment of LSD—which I can’t deny, but don’t recommend—had peaked; the evolution of the human race had become a psychedelic fantasy of the worst sort.
One of my role models was Gonzo author Hunter S. Thompson. I wonder if his lifetime on the edge culminated with reflections like this, and that’s why he put a .44 Magnum to his head and pulled the trigger.
Fear not. I’m too mean to kill myself. It would make too many people happy. In the tradition of Thompson’s “fear and loathing”, I figure living well is the best revenge.
So, what’s all this about?
Well—spring fever and inherent laziness about writing notwithstanding—there was a plethora of outrages this month. I’ll preface listing them by saying I’ve never seen anything like this in my damned life.
Let’s see: four students in a Californication high school got suspended on 5 May because they wore American-flag-logo tee-shirts to class, to counter all the Mexican-flag paraphernalia that was on display by their culturally alienated classmates.
A 6th-grader in Texas was sentenced to a week of detention because she was in possession of a single Gummy Bear, in violation of the state school’s “zero-tolerance” policy.
A War I memorial, in the configuration of a cross, was finally freed from its plywood cover after the Supreme Court ruled it is legal to display on public property. A few days later, it was stolen.
In spite of only running about ten pages—depending on what font you use to print it out—the Arizona law has not been read by The Red Herring, “Tex” Holder, the attorney general, or Minister of Homeland Security Napolitano, among others. Nevertheless, they keep up the “Nazi!” police-state rhetoric, along with numerous city and state governing bodies and influential cultural voices like Will Ferrell, Jay Leno, and that godless Mahr bastard. Those meaningless boycotts are going to hurt the 500,000 wetbacks already living in Arizona, you idiots…
(When I refer to thespians from a specific family, I summarize by saying “one of those Baldwin guys.” You, Mr. Bill, have relegated yourself to the status of “that godless bastard”. If I don’t buy Ayn Rand’s atheism, I am certainly not accepting your “well-reasoned” arguments against spirituality. Remember: religion is for people who don’t want to go to hell; spirituality is for people who have been there and don’t want to go back.)
So, we slam Jan Brewer and Arizona domestically, then apologize to the Chinese, of all people, and allow Mexican president Calderon to stand before a joint session of Congress and bad-mouth us for “racial profiling” when his government depends on the millions of dollars those wetbacks send home to their families every year.
Meanwhile, I think the Gulf of Mexico has stopped burning, but the level of toxic “oil dispersants” is rising by the hour. Environmentalists are praying for a hurricane, saying Mother Nature can cope with a little oil everywhere, but concentrations are disastrous. I think there is a web-cam down by the leak, for the existentially-challenged who want to watch muck pouring out by the hour.
Dudley-Do-Nothing, after waiting a week longer than Bush 43 to respond to Louisiana on any level to crisis in the South, is pretending to crack down on the arrogant morons who run British Petroleum. I was reminded of his self-anointment; “the day I take office, that’s the day the earth will begin to heal, and the skies will begin to clear.”
I wonder how many of his hard-core believers are still clinging to that messianic myth.
And how does all this tie together? I think you’ve figured it out by now. We are living in surrealism. My dictionary defines surrealism as “…fantastic imagery and incongruous juxtaposition of subject matter.”
We need drugs and booze for this? I don’t.
When I hit 50 years of age, I convinced myself that nothing could surprise me any longer. I regretted losing that child-like sense of amazement—which keeps us alert and fresh—but growing up in interesting times seemed to have negated the ability of time and circumstance to tweak me with new tricks for old dogs.
Politically speaking, I grew up with childhood threats of “I’ll tell Ike you’re a bad boy,” weathered the Kennedy assassination, began to get a clue with LBJ, came to loathe and then respect Nixon long after Watergate, took a last swing at fervent devotion with Carter, suffered and griped through the Clinton years. Oh, yeah, there were Bushes, Fords, and some guy named "Ronald" in the mix, too. Somewhere along the line, I thought I had become inured to incompetence and corruption in the governing process.
Or so I told myself.
As I became an adult—a maturation process that took longer mentally than physically—I vowed that I would never lose my grasp on that child-like ability to be astonished by the world around me. I was convinced that this was the Peter-Pan notion that would keep me forever young and invulnerable.
I still tear up when I hear any version of Bob Dylan’s “Forever Young”, and I now grimace when I hear The Who’s “My Generation” with that refrain of “hope I die before I get old.” I waited in line for the first “Star Wars” movie in the ‘70s, and took acid a half hour before the show started so I could journey out into an alternate reality.
Nothing—not the most optimistic visions of George Lucas, or the grimmest prognostications of Phillip K. Dick—could have prepared me for what we’re living through today. Food police, thought police, subservience by the greatest power on earth, religious persecution and 16th century holy war, leaders obsessed with becoming reality-show celebrities, dynastic totalitarian nuclear threats, and planetary upheavals like volcanoes and oil leaks. Incompetence is a virtue, faith is a vice, reality is a politically malleable entity, and common sense is a myth.
I’ve never seen anything like it in my damn life.
While sometimes living with Third World accommodations and standards, I always enjoyed visiting distant star systems, conversing with aliens, and reveling in philosophies that differed from the strict standards of reality that I marginally accepted. Alternative histories—such as the Confederacy winning the Civil War, and the futurism of Phillip K. Dick—were especially resonant. I never used mind-altering substances at work, but the theater of the mind can be a powerful thing, especially when you’re bored.
Never, in all my misbegotten voyages to those alien universes, did I dream I’d be living in one. I think of my grandmother—born in 1886—who saw the advent of widespread rural electrification, the proliferation of telephones, the sinking of the Titanic, two world wars, manned flight going from the Wright brothers’ first jaunt to supersonic jets, and men walking on the moon. Any time I read or see a comprehensive history of events from 1886 forward, I am in total awe of what can pass during a single lifetime. (Mother Mamie lived until 1986; dying just after her 100th birthday.)
I gave up science-fiction in the mid-1980s. (I also gave up pro wrestling in 1985, after my father’s murder. Pretend violence was an amusing diversion until then, but despite my acquaintance with the real thing, I lost my stomach for steroid freaks talking smack, tossing each other around, and playing like the battle of good versus evil can be settled with a folding chair upside the head.)
I gave up drugs about the same time. Alcohol had a stronger grip, but in time its insidious influence was reined in. I still enjoy a cold beer or a glass of wine, but I no longer have the compulsion to finish a bottle of smooth bourbon ASAP, just because it’s there. Reality caught up to me; I came to realize that as strange as things might become when viewed through a haze of hashish and whiskey, they are just as diverting when viewed in the comparatively clear light of sobriety, and you don’t fall down as much. The cosmic enlightenment of LSD—which I can’t deny, but don’t recommend—had peaked; the evolution of the human race had become a psychedelic fantasy of the worst sort.
One of my role models was Gonzo author Hunter S. Thompson. I wonder if his lifetime on the edge culminated with reflections like this, and that’s why he put a .44 Magnum to his head and pulled the trigger.
Fear not. I’m too mean to kill myself. It would make too many people happy. In the tradition of Thompson’s “fear and loathing”, I figure living well is the best revenge.
So, what’s all this about?
Well—spring fever and inherent laziness about writing notwithstanding—there was a plethora of outrages this month. I’ll preface listing them by saying I’ve never seen anything like this in my damned life.
Let’s see: four students in a Californication high school got suspended on 5 May because they wore American-flag-logo tee-shirts to class, to counter all the Mexican-flag paraphernalia that was on display by their culturally alienated classmates.
A 6th-grader in Texas was sentenced to a week of detention because she was in possession of a single Gummy Bear, in violation of the state school’s “zero-tolerance” policy.
A War I memorial, in the configuration of a cross, was finally freed from its plywood cover after the Supreme Court ruled it is legal to display on public property. A few days later, it was stolen.
In spite of only running about ten pages—depending on what font you use to print it out—the Arizona law has not been read by The Red Herring, “Tex” Holder, the attorney general, or Minister of Homeland Security Napolitano, among others. Nevertheless, they keep up the “Nazi!” police-state rhetoric, along with numerous city and state governing bodies and influential cultural voices like Will Ferrell, Jay Leno, and that godless Mahr bastard. Those meaningless boycotts are going to hurt the 500,000 wetbacks already living in Arizona, you idiots…
(When I refer to thespians from a specific family, I summarize by saying “one of those Baldwin guys.” You, Mr. Bill, have relegated yourself to the status of “that godless bastard”. If I don’t buy Ayn Rand’s atheism, I am certainly not accepting your “well-reasoned” arguments against spirituality. Remember: religion is for people who don’t want to go to hell; spirituality is for people who have been there and don’t want to go back.)
So, we slam Jan Brewer and Arizona domestically, then apologize to the Chinese, of all people, and allow Mexican president Calderon to stand before a joint session of Congress and bad-mouth us for “racial profiling” when his government depends on the millions of dollars those wetbacks send home to their families every year.
Meanwhile, I think the Gulf of Mexico has stopped burning, but the level of toxic “oil dispersants” is rising by the hour. Environmentalists are praying for a hurricane, saying Mother Nature can cope with a little oil everywhere, but concentrations are disastrous. I think there is a web-cam down by the leak, for the existentially-challenged who want to watch muck pouring out by the hour.
Dudley-Do-Nothing, after waiting a week longer than Bush 43 to respond to Louisiana on any level to crisis in the South, is pretending to crack down on the arrogant morons who run British Petroleum. I was reminded of his self-anointment; “the day I take office, that’s the day the earth will begin to heal, and the skies will begin to clear.”
I wonder how many of his hard-core believers are still clinging to that messianic myth.
And how does all this tie together? I think you’ve figured it out by now. We are living in surrealism. My dictionary defines surrealism as “…fantastic imagery and incongruous juxtaposition of subject matter.”
We need drugs and booze for this? I don’t.
When I hit 50 years of age, I convinced myself that nothing could surprise me any longer. I regretted losing that child-like sense of amazement—which keeps us alert and fresh—but growing up in interesting times seemed to have negated the ability of time and circumstance to tweak me with new tricks for old dogs.
Politically speaking, I grew up with childhood threats of “I’ll tell Ike you’re a bad boy,” weathered the Kennedy assassination, began to get a clue with LBJ, came to loathe and then respect Nixon long after Watergate, took a last swing at fervent devotion with Carter, suffered and griped through the Clinton years. Oh, yeah, there were Bushes, Fords, and some guy named "Ronald" in the mix, too. Somewhere along the line, I thought I had become inured to incompetence and corruption in the governing process.
Or so I told myself.
As I became an adult—a maturation process that took longer mentally than physically—I vowed that I would never lose my grasp on that child-like ability to be astonished by the world around me. I was convinced that this was the Peter-Pan notion that would keep me forever young and invulnerable.
I still tear up when I hear any version of Bob Dylan’s “Forever Young”, and I now grimace when I hear The Who’s “My Generation” with that refrain of “hope I die before I get old.” I waited in line for the first “Star Wars” movie in the ‘70s, and took acid a half hour before the show started so I could journey out into an alternate reality.
Nothing—not the most optimistic visions of George Lucas, or the grimmest prognostications of Phillip K. Dick—could have prepared me for what we’re living through today. Food police, thought police, subservience by the greatest power on earth, religious persecution and 16th century holy war, leaders obsessed with becoming reality-show celebrities, dynastic totalitarian nuclear threats, and planetary upheavals like volcanoes and oil leaks. Incompetence is a virtue, faith is a vice, reality is a politically malleable entity, and common sense is a myth.
I’ve never seen anything like it in my damn life.
posted by Robert at 6:11 PM
3 Comments:
"I’ve never seen anything like it in my damn life."
End Times?
As I contemplate that, it might make a good title for a periodical...although probably someone has thought of it already.
I'm not an end-of-the-world adherent, but I always considered thermonuclear weapons to be the punch line to some cosmic joke. Just as the story of Genesis seeks to explain why man has free will, so might our ultimate exercise of that free will result in our extinction as a species. My God isn't so much wrathful as disappointed in how we turned out.
I have always seen the fine hand of a Higher Power in seemingly secularly explicable things like evolution. That business in Genesis about "eating the fruit of the tree of knowledge" intrigues me. If Original Sin was self-awareness, then we're guilty as charged, and that unique sense of self can be our downfall. There's too much stupidity, avarice, and vanity involved.
This planet may not be God's little green foot stool--apologies to Carl Sagan--but I believe we [the universe] were created by Something, for some purpose. I know there is something larger than my puny self out there, and I try not to dwell on it too much. My leap of faith is that the purpose of human creation serves some unknowable purpose, and that is what we refer to as "divine". My vague concept of an afterlife is that the essence of our souls will join with that larger entity, in some form that defies our wildest imagination.
Otherwise, we're a failed experiment in a planetary petrie dish. I've already made Blaise Paschal's wager: it's better to believe in God and discover that death is only oblivion, than to die and realize that God is pissed off at you for being an atheist.
The planet will survive until the Sun burns out. Humankind is a more risky proposition. If there is true destiny and free will, then we have been handed the instruments of our own destruction by the acquistion of knowledge through Original Sin. I don't think time itself ends, but I do think Oppenheimer was on to something at the Trinity site when he saw that atomic sunburst and muttered "I have become Death; the destroyer of worlds."
What scares me more than my own inevitable demise is the realization that our destiny as a species--whatever it may be-is in the hands of absolute fools.
I DO believe in the "End Times", and we are slowly wending our way there. I think I feel a blog article coming on. So rather than bloviate here, I will try to put my thoughts into an article (hopefully before the feeling passes).
But bottom line: it's a war that we are losing. God commands us to keep fighting, and we might win a few skirmishes here and there, but ultimately God has seen the outcome and it's not a pretty picture. This world is going down the tubes, and we are watching live... as it happens.
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