Saturday, July 11, 2020

Whatever It Is, I'm Against It





I just wrote a long piece about Epstein, Maxwell, and Letourneau.  Actually, it was about people's fascination with all of it.  There is much interest in Ghilane Maxwell turning over graphic tapes of every powerful and famous person in the world.  The Clintons, of course.  Trump absolutely.

It will never happen.  They don't exist.  Do people think that everyone with power and access is a pedophile?  Why?

Oh, there I go again.  I trashed the whole thing.  It was really about parents and how we don't seem to hold them accountable, but fuck it.  I'm just going to sit back and watch the rodeo.  I don't have a dog in that fight.

They used to say there was nothing you could do about the weather.  Boy, were they wrong.  This weekend is proving that just about everywhere in the country.  We did something about the weather, alright.  We really did.  I was hoping the climate would heal during the coronavirus lockdown.  The earth seemed nicer then.  The air was clearer, the water cleaner, and the world was quieter.  But things are not looking so good again.

If you can find some good news, let me know.

Well, we are elevating victims to the status of heroes.  I've never liked a hero, anyway.  Who does, really?  Only those with authoritarian personalities, that crowd that watches Fox.  I guess I have an anti-authoritarian personality, if that is a category.  As Groucho Marx sang so admirably, "Whatever it is, I'm against it."


I can't even agree with myself.

I've been at this far too long today.  I've written two posts and am posting half.  It is like that sometimes.  All your good ideas seem to wither in the light.

But gardens do grow, too.

2 comments:

  1. Hey. Hi.

    Oh that was good. I loved it. Is that good news?

    Not all that trivial bull shit about bull shit. But Groucho. *Lisaclaps*

    Oh there are so many more lovely things to things to ruminate about. Other than people like that. Aren't there? I think so. But I suppose someone has to scribe into the ether about the Times. Tom always did - the last year of his life he wrote "Daily News" poems - a shit ton about Trumpy but all hidden in his ways.

    It's late. I'm grilling some steak tips and frying up some shitake shrooms. It was tropical here today - they keep saying we are going to get rain but it never comes. You know what that means - watering. But yes - the garden is growing.

    My roma tomatoes are killing it. I'm waiting on the beefsteaks to really show there beef - they'll be the late. First week of August I bet.

    What a strange summer.

    Anyway.

    Love the Humble Art
    July 10th (I'm a day behind in my Stoics)

    "Love the humble art you have learned, and take rest in it. Pass the the remainder of your days as one who whole-heartedly entrusts all possessions to the gods, making yourself neither a tyrant nor a slave to any person." Marcus Aurelius, Meditation, 4.31

    I won't type the rest - but it has to do with comedians - working at little comedy clubs - the real famous ones - who don't give up practicing in little clubs. They can't not do it. And it ends with

    "Love the craft, be a craftsman."

    I've thought a lot about "my craft" lately. I've decided my craft is Love.

    The pay out couldn't ever have enough zeros if it was to be written on a check. I'm convinced.


    Hope you had a good day, Intrepid Reporter. x

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    Replies
    1. Man, I wish I had a garden. My yard is far too shaded with oak and camphor trees to grow one. I could rent a plot somewhere, but it isn't the same as stepping out your door and doing a little picking. Enjoy that. You'll live longer :)

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