I was talkin', like to my niece, and I said, you know what, what?, your generation are a bunch of spoiled brats and she said, damn, you know, you're right.
And that's my problem: I'm always right and have been since I was a kid and watched a telephone man putting in a telephone and I said you're doing that wrong and he looked at me and said kid, when you know what you're talkin' about...and then the bolt of electrical lightnin' hit his ass and he looked at me as though I were Alexander Graham Bell, who wasn't a first like I've never been a first though I, like Alexander Graham Bell, have the ability to make you believe I was the first, the first and the only of many who think the same things at the same time and are able to either bust a move on these things or not and let them evaporate into the foggy swamp of memory.
All from talkin' to my niece. I like my niece. My niece seems to like me. 'Cause she is like me and is me in the sense she's just a generation away from me, she's a Boomer kid, spoiled rotten, and she's the first to tell you about it. I mean, she was agreein' with me, yes, my generation is a generation of spoiled brats, brats and nerds who've never had to figure out the simple problems in life, like how to keep the books, or how to keep themselves healthy, how to keep themselves advanced in terms of societal advancement--but they are experts in "live and let live" and they are the laziest of a laizzez faire crowd--but my niece at least realizes this and whole-heartedly agreed with me and I liked that and got a lot of satisfaction from that.
Whew. A little walk with a little talkin' goin' on settles a lot of nerves. Yesterday I was ready for a trip up 31st east to the backdoor at Bellevue, the psych ward, it's in the back, everybody's handcuffed to their beds in there no matter the matter of their stability or instability, the question being how do you tell whether someone is stable or instable or not?
Today I had no thoughts of going to Bellevue. I learned I have to keep my mouth shut sometimes, especially when I'm in a good position of the chessboard of my current life's game--I got money in the bank right this minute--I got my eye on a summer escape place up on the beaches of Rhode Island, where my real, old-timey, original family came from, the point at which they came ashore on this continent.
Indentured servitude. Volunteer slavery.
I walk and I think, wow, I've escaped that volunteer slavery, man, and now I'm a freedman and now I am free to go for the world to go for the adventures freedom offers you, the freedom to bust a move to the right to the left to the back to the front, or act like you're cannon-shot into the future or lullabyed into the inaction of the past, the freedom to plan ahead or just to lay down and go to sleep and pass on outta here if that's what you want--and I suddenly think of Doctor Hunter S. Thompson and then my niece's brother, my nephew who back in December decided he saw nothing in the future or the past he cared to stay around in life to figure out or not figure out, who the hell cared, so he blew his brains out in a rather Druid-like setting in the Mojave Desert.
Sorry, Doctor Thompson, I write to Hunter as I think of him as I'm walkin' and talkin' to myself through my self, hi, I'm you and you are me and we are I and I are you and you are I unless you are me saying this and I am you listening to it--wow, it's confusing talkin' to yourself. But, Hunter, I'm too cowardly to blow my brains out. I see now it's in my blood, my nephew proved that, and then there was another relative in my long-gone past life, a poet, who jumped off the highest building in my hometown--but I never knew him, except he's in my DNA, isn't he--and my brother claims we're kin to Edgar Allen Poe, too, though I never believed the Poes we're kin to were Edgar Allen's Poes and anyway, was Edgar Allen a Poe or was that his adopted name? Aha! See, I don't know as much about myself as I think I do; none of us do; none of us know how we're gonna react; like when the tanks come into our streets, how we gonna react to that?
Tanks coming to our streets. They came out into the streets of Washington, D.C., in the aftermath of Martin Luther King's assassination, remember? You don't remember? Yep, tanks were in the streets of the District of Corruption 'cause blacks were revolting--"Those god-damn revoltin' blacks," shouted the white commanders as they challenged the protesting blacks--how dare they revolt just because old Martin Luther Coon...er-ah, er-ah, jest jokin', folks, like old Foghorn Leghorn or Don Rickles, just kiddin'--ever'body knows it's King not Coon, heh-heh, like they say in Tennessee, er-ah, or at least I know they say it in Texas...but, heh-heh, some of my best friends are...." That was the attitude then. Remember, J. Edgar Hoover was still dressing up in his cutest cocktail dress or maybe for a big affair one of his designer ballgowns--along with his male companion, Chester, I think his name was--Chester lived on long after J. Edgar was rotted away to dust or worm shit. How perverted have our politicians and those who rule us always been. Somebody's gotta rule, right? F that. But, dammit, there may be some damn tanks in the street in the morning when I wake up to a horribly cold morning and perhaps snowy morning, which is alright with me since that will mean these illegal immigrant bastards won't be jackhamming the bricks on the wall just above my apartment, the disturbance that almost sent me to the backdoor at Bellevue yesterday.
I've got plenty of nothing.
thewalkin'/talkin'growlingwolf
for The Daily Growler
And For Your Doomsday Delight, Some G. E. Nordell:
Urgently Objectivist
By G.E. Nordell
"The individual can take initiatives without anybody's permission."
R. Buckminster Fuller
Urgency
http://www.the-vu.com/urgently_objectivist.htm
Hay! Hay! Yo soy Chiquita Banana!
WASHINGTON - Banana company Chiquita Brands International said Wednesday it has agreed to a $25 million fine after admitting it paid a Colombian terrorist group for protection in a volatile farming region.
When Smedley Butler Led the US Marines in Conquering the Caribbean for Chiquita, She Was Known as UNITED FRUIT. Hay, Chiquita! "Never put ba-nan-nah in--re-frig-er-ray-tor."
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