You know, one function of my blog (for readers) that seems to be emerging is, I’ll say the fringe-y shit people are thinking but don’t want to admit. That was zero percent my intention, starting this blog back in April; my only intention was to pretend it’s my job, and truly show up for it no matter what.
Let’s look at both halves of that intention: first, pretending it’s my job. What if, instead of agonizing and scheming and strategizing to make someone give us our perfect job, we all just did the thing that we wished was our job, whether anyone paid us for it or not, and then managed to get the bills paid regardless? I mean, what is a job, even? I’d like it to be the thing I get excited to wake up for, and then for my bills to be paid peripherally around it somehow. And so far that’s occurred. So: hey, this is my job.
Second, truly showing up for it no matter what. Well, I did not know how much I was biting off to chew there, back in April. Showing up means, for one thing, strongly discouraging the people, events, and circumstances in my life from derailing this one commitment. So far so good there, with some minor hiccups. There’ve been some attempts to bulldoze me, and I bulldoze back. On occasion, I’ve raised hell to have this time, and then I’ll sit down and find only stupid things within myself to say, which is quite a humiliating anti-climax.
But more than that, showing up means, like…showing up on the page, the way I would if I loved and trusted the reader and they loved and trusted me.
This, more than anything, has represented a nexus of artistic conflict in my life. Basically, I make things — songs, poems, prose — and I share them with people, and they become embarrassed for me. This dovetails with today’s earlier blog; the question of shame. Apparently I’m supposed to have some built in level of shame about fully sharing my actual self, artistically, with the world, and I have the spiritual version of a head injury, or, like, autism, around that. Not only do I *not* think it’s shameful; I don’t understand the point of art, if not that. And I don’t think everyone needs to be making art, either. We can all make something, and that’s fine. Cabinets should open and close, and art should disclose…and disclose… meaningfully let’s hope, and it’s all fine. It’s not some kind of hierarchy. The world needs a bunch of stuff.
So yes, that was my only intention, starting the blog. And now here I am, somehow off in an outlying fringe, based on the shot group of peers on the great paper target of life. But none of them are vegans, so fuck ‘em; I was already fringe, and I’m not gonna start second guessing myself now.
Having established all that, I’m going to give you more thoughts on the premature electile dysfunction. I have a compendium of influences and sources to thank for whatever fragment of clarity I have gleaned. This is because I prefer not to be hooked up to the MSM IV-drip; rather, I rustle about in the foliage of alt-media, like a curious and mostly harmless but at times unpredictable javelina.
Okay, broad strokes first: this has stopped being obnoxious and has started being epic. I think one of the problems of our cultural chronocentrism is we so firmly assume all the interesting people have already lived and died, all the interesting problems have already been tackled, all the really crazy events in history are, indeed, safely in history. Except systemic racism of course — I mean, that’s right here right now. And climate change, which — as Tucker Carlson once quipped — is like systemic racism in the sky.
Now, I have looked at the data on excessive police brutality and I’m satisfied that’s a red herring, infinitely stinky at opportune times. I have concerned myself with micro aggressions and problematic ‘isms in the past, and I’d like to concern myself with them again in the future, but to the extent that teaching everyone that all white people are bad and racist, I know that I’ve stumbled into the wrong classroom — kind of like that one day in college when I thought I was in music theory, but it was actually Psych 101. When the solution is stupider than the problem, I stop caring how you define the problem and the solution, I suppose, because the common denominator with both is simply, stupid.
Okay, back to chronocentrism, here’s what we do: we bellyache to infinity about how the Germans could have been so naive as to let Hitler rise to power, but we rationalize the assemblage of a public list detailing the names and addresses of Trump supporters so their homes, careers and livelihoods can be destroyed at our first convenience. We tear down statues of Union generals who did oppose slavery but just not strongly enough, while permanently laser-blinding police officers who show up to do their jobs. We valorize minority voices who faced unspeakable danger to advance the causes of their people while organizing ourselves in fluffy herds, asses powdered by MSM, imagining ourselves the heirs of our predecessors’ heroism. I could go on, but what I’m saying is, not all the epic things have already happened. Something epic is happening right now, and most of us are missing it, and that’s what makes it epic.
So I’m fine with that; I’m at peace. Back to broad strokes: enormous corruption has characterized our country’s undercarriage for decades, connected to similarly slithery elements around the world — let’s just call it something fanciful, like “the Deep State” — and the time for co-existing with it is done. There comes a time when the new can’t arise without a full and total collapse of the old. This will occur one way or the other. Trump can and will, imo, collapse the Deep State. But guess what — Biden can too, or Kamala more realistically. If 2020 has proven nothing else, it’s that the ideology of the Left eats itself alive. Not only can it not withstand external stressors; it can’t even withstand its own infinitely accelerating dead weight. The cancellers become the cancelled, the weakest and most crippled intellects rise to the top, like spoiled cream. You can’t run this program for long; it’ll crash the computer. Trump will crash the computer too. So hey — either way, it’s gotta happen, and it’s gonna happen. Some people believe in getting a little prepared for that, some people don’t, and that’s their prerogative of course.
Another broad stroke: anyone for whom an obviously rigged election in favor of their preferred candidate confers a satisfactory result has officially jumped the shark of credibility, in my book. I’m pretty sports-blind, but I would think we’d have enough sports fans in this country to at least agree that a ref who turns out to be on the dole is, in itself, reason enough to challenge the call, regardless of which way the bias fell. But no — the cybersphere is awash with young parents saying, “Thank god the future is safe for my little Tom Dick and Sally.” Wow. My impression of what represents a threat and what doesn’t is…a lot different.
Anyway. Next thing, with a finer point: Trump hasn’t been caught by the Deep State with his pants down yet, despite the MSM’s avid portrayal of him as a bumbling orange buffoon, so the chances of him *not* having a backup plan for a rigged election are, in my opinion, zero. Watermarks, I’m hearing, with a blockchain or QFS (quantum financial system) component. Two interesting items: the price of Bitcoin spiked by about three grand during the course of the, for lack of a better term, “election”, AND internet searches for the phrase “election fraud punishment” peaked in Arizona, Michigan, and Pennsylvania days before the election.
If this is true, or worth considering at least, then you have to admit: this wasn’t an election, this was a friggin S.T.I.N.G. Has any drag net in history caught more fish? It wasn’t a counter-rigged election, which would have betrayed Americans’ trust completely; it was enough rope to hang, for anyone in the business of betraying Americans’ trust in the course of their usual nefarious bullshit.
For many of us, hope gave way to disappointment, then confusion and then outrage, as the chicanery of election night…and then election-next-day…and next-night…etc, became more and more overt. The very same populace who roared and scratched about Russian interference in the 2016 election, for the last 4 years!, are contented kitties, relative to the 2020 situation, frolicking among the canary feathers.
My eyes-wide-squinted impression was that they hoped to create such a confusing, exhausting shit show that everyone would just give up. It’s because COVID — it’s because stupid Trump gave his stupid supporters (who are indistinguishable from anarchist right wing extremists, everyone knows that) stupid information, and fought the cooler, COVID-er, prevailing heads on mail in voting, and gosh — I mean, who can even know what all went where, at this point. Of course they have to stop counting tonight, and of course a boatload of retroactively-dated ballots showed up the in the middle of the night, here there and everywhere, including 130k marked for Biden at 4am, in Detroit, in a small convoy led by a Ferrari, and of course the computer glitch in one Michigan county that caused over 6000 votes to erroneously swing Biden was also used in 40-some other counties, and oh as it turns out like 30 other fuckin states, and, and, and. It’s just too confusing, and anyway systemic racism, and here’s eight minutes of Biden with some heartfelt and uplifting rhetorical elevator music, and here’s fifteen more minutes of it, just to get us softened up for the media’s unified — I mean, like Project Mockingbird level unified — announcement of Biden as the winner of some shit they have no authority over.
So yeah, hope gave way to disappointment, then confusion, then outrage, then…what? Well, in my case, this blog, and a lot of speculation. Trump’s legal team will challenge it all in court, of course, and win, of course, and then what? What happens when the baseless claims turn out to have a base, and the legally counted ballots show Trump to be the winner? Right left and center, I don’t think anyone actually believes, in their heart, Biden won this election.
For the average de-clawed house cat, probably not much fuss will result, but the cucks of manufactured crisis abound. I don’t think anyone is really worried about this, anymore than they’d worry about taking their big tom cat to the vet. Getting him in the car is gonna be an ordeal, but it’s gotta be done. Whatever it is, it’ll all happen fast. One side or the other will win. And you’ll know which side won, based on whether we come out of it with civil liberties or FEMA camp numbers tattooed on our forearms. I don’t think it will be a protracted thing. That whole run on toilet paper, last spring, really soured my expectation of the American populace withstanding a prolonged hardship of any sort, or remaining focused on what the hardship might imply for their lives or bodies, aside from their literal assholes. Really quite a revelation.
Anyway, toilet paper hysteria notwithstanding, great things are afoot in my humble opinion. Great things, right here in River City. I know it’s hard to believe — 2020 has been nothing if not normal. Not the slightest inkling of loch ness monsters, stirring, spoiling, fuming, choking.
So the biggest question remains: will Antifa change their name to Pro-Fa, so we’re all clear on who’s doing what? Orwellian scholarship tells us: no, they won’t. They’ll backwards talk themselves, each other, and anyone stupid enough to listen, all the way to permanent, mandatory empowerment for everyone. Fuck that, and fuck them.
Just some thoughts.