CHAPTER 32: The gang conducts interviews at Oklahoma State University before venturing into the hot spring paradise and pothole central of Arkansas.
Billie was glad to turn the wheel over to Buck after stopping at the National Route 66 Museum in Elk City, Oklahoma. The drive reminded her of that stretch of Interstate 70 between Abilene, Kansas, and Denver: endless prairie grass, crops, and cattle. It was a landscape mostly devoid of civilization, its boredom occasionally shattered by bus-rocking wind gusts and tumbleweed attacks. But Route 66 has a storied history, and Professor T couldn’t help thinking about the wild anecdotes Jack Kerouac included in that classic scroll known as On the Road. He (Professor T) was almost disappointed that the route couldn’t be covered on more of those two-lane stretches where Neal Cassady drove the rattlin’ Hudson like a maniac, pushing over 100 mph, passing semis on the dirt shoulder with inches to spare while talking non-stop about jazz, time, and cosmic revelations.
The trip reminded Jack Dean of those heady years when The Forks made their way around the country with their grunge-metal songs and mosh routines. They were a fairly nihilistic bunch, but not inclined to push as close to the edge as those storied Beat Poets or Gonzo Journalists of post-war America. They were mostly happy to read about the “edge” and experience it vicariously.
There was that wild experiment in Laramie, Wyoming, with that “Fozzy” character, but afterward, Jack was less inclined to get boosted on amphetamines and oppressive heat…sweat flying out of windshields with manic companions huddled in the backseat clutching notebooks, all convinced they were going to disintegrate into the prairie like that flash at the end of the 1971 movie Vanishing Point.
“You know, Buck,” said Jack. “Rodeo cowboys pushing their luck on raging beasts are not at all unlike the crazy beat poets, gonzo journalists, and 27-club luminaries.”
“You mean like Kerouac, Burroughs, and Hunter S Thompson? I get those references, but what’s a ’27 Club’?” Buck suspected this had something to do with Billie’s favorite rock star.
“I’m sure that ’27 Club’ syndrome correlates closely with the age at which young men finally develop some frontal lobe perspective,” said Professor T. “I haven’t really given it much thought.”
“Again with the stubborn, sexist omission of ladies as impactful human beings,” Billie said, clearly annoyed.
“Hello?” whined Buck. “What the hell is a ’27 Club’?”
Jack was the Forks’ foremost expert on nihilistic hedonism, so he took over. “Well… it’s a fairly long and sad list of beloved music artists shuffling off the mortal coil at age 27.”
“I, too, had a radical turn of karmic trajectory at that age. I can still see the scene vividly: the day i stopped chasing parties, booze, girls, and cocaine. Walking from the parking lot to my apartment after one of those pointless all-nighters, the sun blazing in my face, i was reviewing all the wasted dollars and precious time spent with people who would never be considered friends. I was 27 when i made that turn. I made it out of that phase alive… the 27 Clubbers did not.”
“Give us some names,” said Billie. “I did read about Cobain being part of something like that,” she was slowly shaking her head. “Twenty-seven is way too young for checking out.” Billie was devastated by the news of grunge’s foremost luminary.
“Okay… but it’s a long, depressing list,” said Jack. “Robert Johnson, Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Amy Winehouse, and Billie’s favorite, Cobain. Neil Young once wrote, ‘It’s better to burn out than to fade away,’ and every member of the 27 Club did just that. It’s ironic Young is still with us, but as a musical journalist of sorts, i guess it’s good he survived the curse. ‘The Needle and the Damage Done’ is another example. It’s like there is a chasm across an artist’s timeline. You either have the will and ability to clear it, or you join the club. You either cross it and gain wisdom as you fade away, or you dispense all the wisdom you have by 27 and check out early.”
Rolling into Cushing Oklahoma, the scent of raw sulfur and heavy hydrocarbons wafted from the tank farms, seeping into the bus through the ventilation and cracked windows. At the fuel stop, Billie asked a local if that was normal. “Oh, that’s a good smell… means things are still hummin’ ’round here.” With a deadpan shrug while paying for her soda and candy bar, she mumbled, barely audible, “…it just smells like money to me.”
In the pre-interview discussions at OSU, Billie pressed on the unique situation Cushing residents face. She learned that despite billions of dollars in oil sloshing beneath and around the town in pipes and barrels, very little of that capital actually sticks to Main Street. Like many legacy energy hubs, the infrastructure is owned by multinational corporations, leaving the local tax base to deal with heavy road wear, crumbling asphalt, and rural infrastructure strain without a fair return.
As a consolation prize for rising to the top of the world’s natural gas producers, Cushing has become ground zero for human-induced seismic activity…the result of excessive fracking. In the 2010s, a rash of earthquakes shook the prairie, including at least one 5.0 magnitude quake that damaged historic downtown brick facades.
If that wasn’t enough, the locals live with the underlying anxiety of residing adjacent to tens of millions of barrels of volatile hydrocarbons. After all, a severe thunderstorm, lightning strike, or grass fire could ignite a biblical holocaust.
As the Cool Bus rolled east through Oklahoma along Route 66 that day, Professor T contrasted the manic bohemian hedonism of his early days with the juxtaposition of On the Road and Vanishing Point’s protagonists. Both Kerouac’s high-strung musings in the careening 1949 “Super Six” Hudson and Kowalski’s white 1970 Dodge Challenger slamming into bulldozers seemed to foretell what was to become of the crumbling “unum” in the USA’s 21st-century “e pluribus.”
NEXT WEEK: Billie’s Albuquerque speed-bump lesson serves well as the Gang meanders around Arkansas’ hot spring destinations.
CHAPTER 31: Focus group interviews complete at Central New Mexico Community College. The gang gears up for a full day on the Embudito Trail. This time Buck won’t have to carry Professor T on his back…hopefully.
The interview participants were gone for the day, and with that, the Forks were free to plan the next day’s trek on the Embudito Trail. Professor T wanted to break the new shoes in a little before putting them to the test, so as Jack busied himself documenting the last sessions and getting them uploaded to the cloud, Mork disappeared to a nearby park for a few laps getting a feel for the new shoes.
Billie and Buck were searching for some New Mexico trivia to spice up conversations over dinner.
“I wonder why anyone would choose to live here on purpose?” said Buck. Seriously, i remember a family trip when i was nine or ten. Dad wanted us to see Carlsbad Caverns, so we drove all the way from Corpus Christi in one shot, rented a room nearby then spent the day exploring. I recall never being so impressed with Mother Nature’s wonder than the sight of the ‘Big Dome.’ Truly incredible.” Buck took a luke-warm sip from the vending-machine soda he’d gotten before the last session and went on. “But as amazing as the caverns are, the bleak landscape we had to cross to get there…shrubs and stubby mesquite bushes, dirt, dirt, and wind-blown dirt. Every once in a while, Dollar General, windshield repair shops, then some more wind-blown dirt, mesquite bushes, shrubs, and more dirt. And this was the good stuff. Apparently, the locals hadn’t seen that public service announcement with the Native American shedding a tear over the roadside litter, because there was trash, trash, and more trash in the ditches. Hell, i think that made me sad enough to cry.”
“You gotta be kidding, Buck,” Billie was incredulous. “You don’t see that kind of carelessness in Kansas or Colorado. In fact, i think you could get yourself killed doing that kind of thing in our neck of the woods…especially in the mountains. Kanoradians are proud of nature’s beauty.” She shrugged, barely smiling. “I remember seeing those ads…we haven’t had a litter problem since.”
“Anyway, New Mexico is nothing if not a land of contrasts.” Buck wanted to veer away from the depressing stuff. “Have you ever been to Santa Fe or Taos?”
“No,” said Billie. “But i’m a Georgia O’Keefe fan for sure.”
Buck chuckled. “I’m familiar, but i don’t understand the fuss. After all, sometimes a rose is just a rose.”
Billie had to suppress a belly laugh. “And sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.” They seemed to be on the same page about art. “I’ve heard people talk about life in that part of New Mexico, laid-back with lots of hippies.”
“Cowboys, too,” said Buck. “In fact, Henry McCarty went bad in Silver City foster homes.”
“Henry McCarty?” Billie had never heard that name.
“Yeah,” said Buck. “After a jailbreak and a fatal encounter with a blacksmith and some horse theivin’ he went by the ‘Kid’ handle. He wasn’t Billy the Kid till the tabloids of the day immortalized him in print long after his death. But there ya go. New Mexico claims him.”
With Jack finishing up and Billie and Buck’s conversation ongoing, Professor T returned to the Bus with a wide grin.
“These shoes will do just fine,” said Professor T. And after a restful night’s slumber, the gang made their way to the local pancake house for a hearty breakfast, then on to the Embudito trailhead at the foot of the Sandia Mountains.
A perfect day for hiking and also a perfect day to learn about Albuquerque’s parking lot speed-bumps. On the way out of the pancake house, Billie missed the cue and the jolt sent everyone toward the Bus’ ceiling. Billie and Buck were strapped in but Jack and Mork crashed knees into the galley table…hilarious. Though no one was hurt and the driver-side fan that Billie had been meaning to fix since California started working again, she’ll never underestimate another speed bump…lesson learned.
So, on the road East, the gang was evenly split on whether to pass through artsy Taos, nerdy Roswell/White Sands, or skip the touristy diversions and continue on Historic Route 66 to their next focus-group destination, Oklahoma State University in Stillwater.
What to do? What to do?
“After all, Taos offers a confluence of culture and nature, a vibrant artistic community,” said Professor T. “Roswell… well, that’s just a tourist trap for people who want to believe in aliens. Do you think it coincidental that Roswell is so near the White Sands proving-ground for military and rocketry research?”
“Hmmm,” Billie was intrigued.
“That’s rich coming from a guy who couldn’t account for a middle-age foot spread,” said Jack. “Taos is for artists and hippies, Professor. People who paint pictures of rocks and write poems about the moon. Roswell is for real Americans. People who are willing to face the unknown, and maybe find some alien technologies to beat the Soviets.”
“Oh snap!” said Billie, sometimes Mork and Jack would get carried away with their debates. Years on the road tends to expand the boundaries of polite conversation.
Buck was starting to worry about these guys.
“Yes, the great American spirit of curiosity,” said Professor T. “Which, in your case, seems to be limited to finding a better way to beat a mule. And by ‘beat a mule,’ i mean, of course, finding a new and improved method for being a hee-honking jackass.” Professor T was personally invested in Taos, and Billie wondered if there was a former girlfriend there or something.
“Wait a second,” said Jack. “I think I know why you want to go to Taos. It’s because you’re a sensitive soul. You like to write lyrical poetry and look at pictures of sunsets. You’re probably one of those guys who thinks that the universe is talking to you.”
“Actually, i do believe that the universe is talking to me. It’s saying, ‘Jack Dean is an idiot.’ Please stop him before he rubs his ‘all et up with the dumbass’ all over these young impressionables.”
“Young? Ah, how nice of you to say so,” Billie blushed. “How about a compromise? We can get our touristy impulse fed by experiencing eight more hours of Americana on Route 66, we can feed Professor T’s intellectual curiosity by visiting pipeline central in Cushing Oklahoma, then Jack’s conspiracy bug with a visit to the site of ‘Black Wall Street’ in Tulsa. After that, we’ll probably need a powerful steam shower, or maybe an all-day soak in one of those Arkansas hot spring complexes.
Jack and Professor T decided to yield to Billie’s logic. “Well, Mork, i guess it’s six of one, half-dozen of the other. Billi’s got a point. You can feed your sensitive soul some other time in Georgia O’Keeffe’s stomping grounds.”
“Don’t forget the roses,” chuckled Buck.
“And the cigars,” snickered Billie.
With that, Billie pointed the Chool Bus toward Tucumcari by way of Santa Rosa… Route 66 or bust!
NEXT WEEK: The gang conducts interviews at Oklahoma State University before venturing into hot spring paradise/pot-hole central, Arkansas.
CHAPTER 30: Professor T wastes no time taking another stab at acquiring comfortable hiking boots. Next stop, Albuquerque. Focus group interviews at Central New Mexico Community College (CNM), after which the gang takes another swing at nature trekking on the Embudito Trail.
The gang was running ahead of schedule so Professor T was anxious to consult a real outdoor footwear specialist once the bus rolled into Albuquerque. But it was a nearly six hour journey from Williams on Interstate 40/Historic Route 66. And since they weren’t pressed for time, the gang wanted to do some touristy stuff en route. Of course, Billie wanted to see if anyone was driving a flat-bed Ford slowin’ down to take a look at someone standing on the corner in Winslow Arizona. But like the Dude in The Big Lebowski, if she had to pick something from the Classic Rock canon, it would be Creedence.
Truth told, she doesn’t really hate the Eagles like “The Dude,” she considered all that noise so much fake controversy, anyway…just marketing noise. Grunge-Metal is her grindstone, and hard-core Grunge started as a rejection of the pabulum corporate A&R people were pushing on radio and MTV’s “heavy rotation”…mostly vapid, soulless “Hair Metal.”
“Besides,” said Billie. “When you get down to brass tacks, ‘Take it Easy’ is Jackson Browne’s song.” Billie plays the tough-as-nails Grunge Queen to a tee, but among friends she’ll confess to having loved Jackson’s early work, as well as the social commentary that came later…Lawyers in Love, Information War, Barricades of Heaven. “Good stuff,” said Billie. “Not entirely unlike the social commentary of punk bands like Green day and The Clash.”
***
Jack was more interested in seeing some retro sights, so the gang decided to stop at an Indian Market on the Continental Divide for some photos and trinkets. Once back on the road, Billie dialed her music playlist to those early country-rock, classic Americana tunes. Starting with those gorgeous duets by Graham Parsons and Emmylou Harris. Buck was aware of Parsons’ early influence on the Americana genre, but had never really listened to those deep cuts. So, Billie and Buck settled into a quiet reverie in the pilot and co-pilot seats of the Chool Bus.
Back in the galley area, Professor T and Jack were at it again. This time, inspired by their interaction with the local natives…the topic was Immigration.
“How can we justify considering ANYONE illegal on land taken away from their ancestors by force?” Jack was taking Professor T to the task of defending the trail of tears leading to euro-honkey hegemony in the USA.
“Well,” Professor T assumed a somber countenance formulating his response. See, Mork and Jack were constantly flexing their rhetorical muscles, each using the other as a sounding board…a form of mental practice. Sort of like chess, but with ideas and words. “Europe was getting crowded and opportunities for building wealth was growing scarce. The news of boundless land and natural resources coming from North America was presenting a tempting brass ring to grab. Very sexy,” said Professor T. “And since Europeans were in possession of better technology for prevailing in armed conflict, i guess their dominance could have been considered inevitable.”
“But, the indigenous people were handicapped by a different relationship with the land,” said Jack. “More like co-existence, with the concept of ‘ownership’ being an unthinkable proposition.”
“Yes but, over the centuries, euro-honkeys had developed a conquer and rule modus operendi. And once it became apparent who had the sharpest knives, the most soldiers, and an iron-will to commit outrage against those daring to challenge, they became dominant. They made the rules, and they enforced those rules with the promise of ruthless violence.” Professor T felt he was on the losing end of this discussion. He considered the current movement toward branding indigenous and Latino people “illegal” patently absurd.
“I guess it comes down to which philosophy is better suited for dominance, and the euro-honkeys had it,” said Professor T. You may not like the result, but it’s important to recognize the fundamental mistake made by indigenous tribes.” He shrugged, and continued. “Had they understood the inevitable dominance of the euro way of social organization, they could have learned to play that game while preserving religious and cultural traditions within a ‘fenced-in honkey world.’” None of it was ‘inevitable’ at the time. Remember, the Whites had to negotiate with each other over how to grow crops, manage livestock, and co-exist near population centers. Many of those negotiations done at the barrel of guns.”
Jack was appalled at a sense of entitlement the recent Christian Nationalist/White Supremacist movement was conducting themselves. “I just don’t think it’s sustainable,” said Jack. They can’t justify ruling such a diverse nation from a theocratic platform. Isn’t this what they are fighting with the Muslims about? And the idea of building a wall to keep out people originally displaced by White Supremacist ancestors is laughably absurd. We have to get back to honoring diversity. We can never accomplish a pure white ethno-state…not here.”
“Well, they’re gonna give it the ol’ college try, it seems,” said Professor T. And that conflict is ramping up to fever-pitch as we speak. The folks favoring good ol’ euro-honkey hegemony have recognized demographic vicissitudes were heading toward something they call, ‘The Great Replacement.’ Where a nation dominated by whites for two-hundred-ish years was heading toward an organic inversion. White couples having fewer if any children; brown Christians and Muslims being ‘fruitful’ like gang-busters; and the folks down south, the ones displaced by land wars, have been returning like homing pigeons. And unlike the proud North American Warrior-Tribes of the 19th Century,’ these folks learned to coexist alongside the whites, signing up for jobs the entitled honkeys didn’t want to do. Not to mention the rainbow wave of others from around the world applying for citizenship to this teeming ‘land of boot-strap opportunity’ with their relentless work-ethic and professional credentials.”
Jack shook his head, sadly. “We could choose to welcome and assimilate them in our uniquely diverse stew,” said Jack. “Instead, we’re trying to deport ALL of them, then keep them out with legal and literal freaking walls? This is crazy, and not sustainable!”
Professor T pondered Jack’s “unsustainable” argument, then put on his “devil’s advocate” hat and plowed right in. “You know, multiculturalism was never going to work. It’s an inherent vulnerability as other multi-ethnic states have faced social fragmentation, lower civic trust, and heightened tribal conflict.”
“As we are seeing now,” said Jack. “But it seems the only tribe at war is the white ethno-nationalist euro-honkey tribe. I’m not sure we can count their declared self-fulfilling prophecy as a worthy one.”
Professor T was testing the tensile strength of his debater’s resolution skills. “But there are social thought leaders with direct access to the White House asserting non-Western immigrants can’t assimilate into American civic life. They conclude physical removal is the only tenable solution to preserve cultural norms. ‘Look at all the innocent victims of crime perpetrated by illegals,’ they say. ‘It’s an invasion, and we have to remove them in order to preserve fundamental national sovereignty.’ ‘Besides,’ they declare, ‘we’re merely enforcing laws previous administrations were too cowardly to do themselves. Total deportation is simply the literal enforcement of existing immigration law.’”
Jack was starting to feel like he needed a shower. “Well, that kind of thinking may have friends in the White House, but i suspect there’ll be a total dismantling of these draconian measures once current occupants are replaced by the democratic will of our nation’s formerly sleepy majority.”
“We’ll have to pick this up later,” said Professor T. There’s the gettin’ place!” Billie was steering the Bus into the parking lot. “I’m going to retire my cruel shoes for a less agonizing experience on the Embudito Trail.”
NEXT WEEK: Focus group interviews completed at Central New Mexico Community College and the gang gears up for a full day on the Embudito Trail. This time Buck won’t have to carry Professor T on his back…hopefully.
Zadie’s on his way… Found his voice and holding evil sway. Straight up with a yell… The desert highway.
Zadie’s on his way.
Woe… Zadie sings… To those who deceive… Cast up… gather out the stones… Hold the standard high… Spread the news cross every hungry ear.
Zadie’s on his way!
Zadie’s here today… And out to lunch… his enemies say. But Zadie’s not deterred… sets his face like flint.
Zadie’s here today.
Cut down the left… But still, they’re hungry… So why not grind down the right? Still not satisfied… so they’ll meet with fiery fate.
Dawn the judgment day… hey hey!
Wonder why we can’t just… Gather good folk together and testify… Speak the truth to power? People like faded roses… Withered by the breath of God… One day bloom again.
Cos all will beat swords and spears into their plows… Going back not is allowed… Sheep and werewolf… Eating tofu chop together… Brotherhood for walls and gates..
Ok… i confess. While piecing together the second “HSoB: Notes from the Road” post, there was a nagging itch in the back of my buzz-cut cranium. Something was still missing. What was it? Well… the answer came roaring into awareness as i was bumping around West Colfax in Denver. I was there to celebrate T-Day with my aforementioned Texas comrade from the 2000s (the Bush Years) but also wanted to visit the new Casa Bonita as long as i was there. Anyway… i had some time to kill before my reservation, so i took a little detour, further west on i70 to “Lookout Mountain”, a peak overlooking the Coors brewery in Golden, and the final resting place of “Buffalo Bill”, a famous 19th-century Wild West entertainer whose comings and goings had him in good ol’ Hays America on occasion.
So… paying homage to Bill, it hit me. When pressed, i declare Kanorado, half Kansas, half Colorado, my home base. And though the first “This Land” post dedicated to Kansas was given due attention, circumstances had me juggling too many priorities and restrictions to give Colorado a fair hearing at the time… more on that, later.
COLORADO…the other half of Rohlfie’s formative experience. As is typical in post-feminist-revolution fractured families, kids spend school months (work) with one parent, and summer months (play) with the other. And so, this was my childhood story. School in Kansas, “God’s Country” as Mother would put it, and summer nature explorations in Colorado, home of my father’s family. These two humans may have been mismatched from the jump, but, we aren’t here to talk about childhood trauma, so let’s just leave it there.
Colorado is a landlocked mountain state with distinct southwest flavor. In fact, the best green chili burritos in the world are served there (fight me). Sharing the Four Corners region with Arizona, New Mexico, and Utah, it is also bordered by Wyoming to the north, Nebraska to the northeast, Kansas to the east, and Oklahoma to the southeast. Colorado is noted for its mountains, forests, high plains, mesas, canyons, plateaus, rivers, and desert lands. It encompasses most of the Southern Rocky Mountains, as well as the northeastern portion of the Colorado Plateau and the western edge of the Great Plains.
The region was originally inhabited by Native Americans and their Paleo-Indian ancestors for at least 13,000 years and possibly much longer. The eastern edge of the Rocky Mountains was a major migration route for early peoples who spread throughout the Americas. More recently, the Pike’s Peak Gold Rush created an influx of pale-faced settlers traveling through Colorado via Santa Fe Trail, which connected established eastern states to Santa Fe and the Camino Real de Tierra Adentro southward. Others made their way overland west via Oregon Trail to the goldfields of California, or the Mormon settlements of the Salt Lake Valley, by way of the North Platte or Sweetwater Rivers, the easiest crossing of the Continental Divide between the Southern and Central Rocky Mountains.
Alongside humans, wildlife found in the mountains of Colorado include deer, bear, squirrels, marmots, moose, pika, and red fox, though moose are not native to the state and the bear are fairly rare. The foothills include deer, squirrels, cottontail, coyote and mountain lion. The prairies are home to prairie dog, fox, badger, and jackrabbit. I have to admit, i have stories a-plenty for nearly every variation of Colorado’s landscape. Here’s a Grand Junction example. A somewhat gonzo road-trip tale, only slightly embellished, but mostly true (wink).
Within the urban sprawl of Denver, a place i have spent many a season, Littleton, Centennial, Northglen, Westminster, Thornton, Broomfield, Arvada, Aurora, and the Denver Tech Center (i wouldn’t know where to start). As well, i have stories for Colorado Springs, Pueblo, Steamboat Springs, Lyons, Estes Park, Dillon, Frisco, Breckenridge, Glenwood Springs, La Vita, Cuchara, Longmont, Loveland, Aspen, Woody Creek, and Boulder. For example, here’s another gonzo road-trip tale. Destination, Laramie Wyoming, but we started from the Keystone Ski Resort where my traveling companion and i were employed and living at the time.
Finally, a shock to the system as my foggy impression of the Northern front range was of middle to lower middle-class living standards… mountaineers, if you will. To my surprise, in my attempt at selling a Rough and Ready camper trailer in Fort Collins, i found myself in a veritable paradise of a college town. It was a pleasant surprise, but since Colorado registration/tagging laws are different from those in Kansas, i was not in possession of the proper paperwork to sell, so therefore had to hightail it to Nebraska on the quick step. We sold the trailer there, but the HSoB tour had me pushing North for the summer leaving me in a time crunch. This, combined with the frustrating Fort Collins experience ended up unfairly influencing my mood at the moment of documentation.
So, yeah, Colorado, half of my home base. As i peck this, my sister and brother in law are pulling up steaks from their Georgia home and transplanting themselves back to Colorado. This fills me with gladness as now i have an excuse to spend more time in a place my father and his eventual life companion would call… “God’s Country”. They would not be wrong in saying that, but neither would my mother saying the same about Kansas… i agree with them all… Kanorado is God’s Country, and i’m proud to call it home.
Now, as my attention has turned full speed to the book project, these blog posts will most likely be restricted to no more than one per month. It’s been a wild year of constant travel and posting, but now it’s, how did Jack Torrance put it… oh yeah… “All work and no play…” Just kidding, we’ll try to strike a balance, and we’ll make sure not to, as Clint Eastwood would put it, “let the old man in”, and hopefully, by the time we head back to Kanorado, we’ll have something to say about the “fibrillating heart of our divided nation” and a manuscript for my shot at the Great American Novel.
OK: Roland the Roadie, a man whose soul had been pressure-washed by the sonic assault of a hundred death metal concerts, found himself back in the beige stillness of Kansas. Because, of course. For months, his universe had been a rolling thunder-dome of Marshall stacks, sweat-soaked leather, and the high-pitched whine of a tour bus generator. But now, in the quiet, his brain kept replaying the scene from Bethel, New York. Bethel! A name that was supposed to conjure images of peace and love and naked people in the mud. Instead, it conjured for him a single, vibrating image: one deeply patchouli-soaked hippie, a walking potpourri of BO and self-righteousness, lecturing him on vibrational energies.
The whole psychic episode had left Roland feeling untethered. He decided, in a moment of profound spiritual desperation, to reconnect with the simple carpenter from Nazareth he’d learned about in Sunday School. A tune-up for the soul. The first step, apparently, was having a beer in Kanorado with an old classmate, Buster was his name, but might have been Biff or Buddy or something equally percussive.
Buster was now full-on MAGies. That’s what he called it…Make America Great In Every State! He said it with the kind of thermonuclear conviction usually reserved for multi-level marketing pitches. He was a walking, talking embodiment of the movement… a cyclone of star-spangled certainty in a Cabela’s cap. Roland, who hadn’t been inside a church since Y2K, admired the dedication. He truly did. But a few things didn’t quite add up.
“So, help me out here,” Roland began, watching the condensation snake down his bottle of suds. “Jesus was all about welcoming the stranger, the whole ‘Good Samaritan’ bit. Now, how does that square with, you know, the screaming on TV about immigrants being an invading army of… well, Bad Hombres?”
Buster took a mighty pull from his beer, his eyes gleaming with the reflected light of a flatscreen broadcasting the gospel of NewsMax. “Roly, Roly,” he said, shaking his head with a sad, paternal chuckle. “It’s an invasion. The enemy within! You gotta protect your house before you can invite people over. It’s just common sense!” Roland wondered if the biblical Good Samaritan had checked for Roman citizenship papers first.
On they went. Roland brought up humility. The washing of the feet. The first being last and the last being first. A beautiful, revolutionary kind of logic.
Buster countered with a sermon on the Prosperity Gospel. Yessir! It was a whole new, New Testament, one seemingly ghostwritten by a real estate developer from Queens. Buster spoke of the President, a man so obviously blessed that his success… the towers, the gold, the winning… was a sign of divine favor.
“It’s a blessing!” Buster roared, a bit too loudly for a Tuesday. “You model the behavior of the blessed to get blessed yourself (Because God, you see, is a big fan of winners)! Damn the torpedoes!” He finished with a belly laugh that shook the barstool.
The conversation, naturally, turned to money. Out on the prairie, a lone steer bellowed for its evening feed, a primal scream from the feedlot heartland. “It’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle,” Roland quoted, “than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.”
Buster’s face soured. “That’s communist talk, Roly. Wealth redistribution. That’s theft. And there’s a commandment about that one, an old one. A good one.”
And so on.
Roland pivoted to peace. “Love your enemies,” he murmured. “Be peacemakers.”
“You have to crack a few eggs to make an omelet,” Buster said with a shrug, finishing his beer. “It’s a simple recipe.” Roland felt a sudden, powerful urge to test the idea on Buster’s nose, but he resisted. He had, after all, sworn off violence after the “damn hippie” pepper-spray incident.
The final frontier was Truth itself. Roland lamented a world gone funhouse-mirror mad, an upside-down where experts were fools and feelings were “alternative facts“. Buster then launched into a magnificent, thirty-minute jazz solo of pure, uncut conspiracy, a verbal firehose of YouTube links and podcast prophets about how the only way to find truth was to “do your own research.” Roland performed a quiet face-palm, a gesture of complete and utter exasperation.
“Jesus challenged worldly power,” Roland said, one last gasp. “He taught that leadership was about service, not control.”
Buster saw his opening. “Exactly! He was against the Deep State, just like us!”
Roland drained his beer. It was over. He and Buster were standing on opposite sides of a canyon, shouting into the void. They lived in two different sectors of the multiverse, occupying the same space. An irreconcilable parallax view. He realized there was no argument to be won here, only a friendship to be cautiously maintained across an ideological event horizon.
He clapped Buster on the shoulder, managed one last drop from his beer, and walked out into the vast, starry Kansas night. Roland the Roadie resolved then and there to just keep living by the simple, baffling example of the Nazarene, hoping his friend might one day meet him somewhere on the spiral of spiritual originalism.
And so… a lot has transpired since our whirlwind swing through the New England and the D.C. swamps. To be more explicit, we’ve wrapped the HSoB tour in a bow visiting all 48 mainland states. Admittedly, some got less attention than fairly warranted. Texas most egregiously. So, after taking care of health, dental, optical, and vehicular care in good ol’ Hays, America, we (Rocinante and i) made our way south when the Late October chill started infiltrating the great state of Kansas.
1st stop… Tejas…
Since the time is neigh for diving head first into the book project, i couldn’t in good conscience leave the current snapshot of Texas stand unfinished … we’re searching for that “fibrillating heart of our divided nation”. And Texas in an important pole in the current energy disturbance. So, we HAD to spend more time here. And so we did. Starting with a stop in Red Rock, a rural berg roughly 30 miles from Austin. We have friends there, including one bass player who i assume wishes to remain nameless. He’s the one from whom i learned the expression, “just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.” He was a literal comrade in arms as we stumbled through a giant swath of the 1980s in the same Rock-n-Roll platoon… we took no prisoners. As well, a brief detour to celebrate Thanksgiving with a Texas comrade from a different war, the 2000s… the Bush years. Another fellow soldier whom i’m assuming wishes to remain anonymous. From him, i learned that there are no problems in Civil Engineering that, “can’t be solved with a bullet.” He has effectively estranged from his home state, but i suspect he still harbors a deep connection to this storied “whole ‘nuther country”. One thing for certain, he has a keen Texas ear for good music.
Anyway… Texas… after escaping the late autumn chill in Kansas, cruising over the vast tabletop of the Texas prairie, listening to Crime and Punishment via audio book, deep in a reverie, my concentration started wafting in and out with disjointed strains of a song i once knew by heart but hadn’t heard in many years. The voice was that “high lonesome” distinctly Texas lilt, and as the miles rolled by, the music grew more intense and i couldn’t ignore it any longer. When the song started drowning out the book, i turned it (the audio book) off, and racked my memory for a door that could lead me into the song properly, but it didn’t appear. Finally, wishing to get my concentration back in order to track the Dostoevsky novel properly, i pulled over in one of those Texas prairie parking areas for a quick Google search. I HAD to get a bead on that song. And here it is… Lilah, by Don Henley. From a record released the year my first marriage was falling apart. The song evidently embedded itself in the hole where my soul had been before the divorce. Anyway… it was the endless Texas prairie that stirred the song from its resting place, and that impression will be with me for the rest of my days.
Now, in Rocinante’s slipstream as we made our way South, an early November arctic blast ravaged the Eastern Midwest, and more, reaching all the way to Georgia, even Northern Florida. And since we have no interest in climates dipping into the 30s, we beat a burning path to Corpus Christi after sharing a few beers, reminiscences, and current doin’s with my old Rock-n-Roll war buddy.
After crossing the prairie, escaping the white knuckle traffic snarls of Austin, and finally spending a few weeks here in South Texas, i have a better impression of the Lone Star State and with that, ready to dive head first into the book project.
For that purpose, back to the River of Grass… back to South Florida and the Miami-Dade Public Library Network. I’ve begun the process of world building and character development, and i know i have a lot to learn before screwing up enough courage to present a manuscript to publishers. I also know the chances of snagging a professional deal are slim to none. But i’ve read Stephen King’s comments “On Writing,” and from that, i know rejections come in bushel baskets. So dear loopers, please understand, i don’t do any of this out of an expectation for something more than, how did Papa Vonnegut put it? Oh yeah, renewing, “feeding, and growing my soul”. And by some lucky coincidence, this has been my retirement plan all along… #winning.
And now, another desperate yawp from my perch atop a high rise bar-stool in the Texas A&M “Tejas Lounge”. Not really a bar… more like a living room in a co-ed dorm… people saunter to and fro. Holiday lights are hung by student workers piloting mobile telescoping scaffolds that make that garbage truck reverse warning BEEP BEEP BEEP whenever moved. Now, that sound is somewhat annoying, but nothing bothers me… i’ve raised boys… and if you know… you know. After that, NOTHING in the way of annoying sounds can break my concentration.
Anyway… i’ve been meaning to compose a piece aimed at one of the many things that keeps my beloved loopers at each other’s metaphorical throats. And yeah, some of them are prone to discuss the possibility of moving from bellicose words in the social chat threads to destructive action in the real world. My hunch is much of that talk is just that, empty posturing… just words. But i also believe there are loopers out there that would spring into action if they thought the “boogaloo” was actually on. This is a bothersome thought, but i was raised in an era where, at any moment, we could be coping with the chaos of city-obliterating nuclear exchanges. After surviving the Cold War, a few deluded psychopaths with guns and terminal bloodlust isn’t really that scary. In fact, these poor creatures desperate for validation are kind of pathetic, and i can’t help feeling sorry for them. Now, this is not a political statement. I know loopers on both sides of the artificial divide who take pride in their gun handling skills and unabashed hostility regarding political “enemies”.
So… today, i’d like to take a stab at defanging the ideological “boogeymen” cited in weak justifications for contemplating the murder of neighbors, acquaintances, or participants in distant social unrest (looking at you, Mr. Rittenhouse). Now, to be clear, distrust, and ill-will is clearly coming from the very top of our political hierarchy. From the right, the smoldering embers of racist fear and loathing leveraged to the maximus surpacity, with some success as politicians take steps to rid the nation of anyone not in possession of certified proof of citizenship. On the left, we have protesters warning of some sort of impending fascist coup, aimed at eliminating the democratic ship of state, among other issues. For one, the documented fact that law enforcement officials are far more likely to perceive bodily threat to the point of deploying lethal force when the threat is a person of color. This all came to a head with the death of George Floyd, and it led to a “summer of racial reckoning” leaving quite a bit of property damage in its wake.
Then came the #metoo and #blacklivesmatter movements infuriating those wishing to preserve what’s left of a patriarchal power structure favoring white dudes over people of color, but especially women, let alone women of color. So, imagine the seething fury of one of these “rugged individualist” alpha male types trying to cope with the likes of a Michelle Obama, Kamala Harris, Jasmine Crocket. Right? So many social media keyboards are coated with spittle flecks coming from the rabid foaming mouth of an alt-right edge lord, putting those uppity folk who have clearly forgotten their place in their rightful cages.
All must be “made great again”.
And so… both sides get on their favorite hobby horses with their metaphorical spears and magic helmets to slay the forces of their chosen ideological boogeymen. For those on the left, the boogeyman is turning the U.S.A. toward an ethnonationalist “fascism” similar to the one that infected Western Europe in the wake of the great depression. For the right the boogeyman is the Marxist camel trying to get its nose into their sacred Constitutional Republic’s tent. Because, you know socialism ALWAYS leads to injustice and mass atrocities… everybody knows, right? Besides, the camel stinks and makes funny noises.
So, shall we now pour some cold water on this dichotomy? Let’s open a few historical cautionary tales starting to look familiar as current events unfold. Starting from the left… the most egregious examples of regimes widely described as authoritarian socialist ruling as single-party states include the Soviet Union (especially under Stalin), the People’s Republic of China (especially under Mao), North Korea, and the Khmer Rouge regime in Cambodia.
In Stalinist U.S.S.R., there was a rapid, forced buildup of industrial capacity and collectivized agriculture. These efforts to strengthen the nation, unfortunately, contributed to mass starvation, most notably some areas of Ukraine. It also featured extensive political repression, including the Great Purge, a campaign of surveillance, mass arrests, and executions of perceived enemies of the state, with many sent to Gulag concentration camps.
In China, Under the leadership of Mao Zedong, extreme social and economic upheaval featuring a similar push for societal change, including the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution led to widespread famine, social chaos, persecution of the educated classes, and millions of deaths. The Chinese Communist Party has maintained a single-party, authoritarian system since taking power, which is considered highly repressive of dissent and civil liberties (see Tiananmen Square massacre).
Today, countries like China, Cuba, North Korea, Laos, and Vietnam are considered by many observers to be authoritarian states with ruling communist parties that exercise significant control over the economy and suppress political opposition. Loopers conflating U.S. socialist public policy (Social Security, Medicare, ACA, etc. ) with the abovementioned authoritarian communist examples, unfairly brand Democratic politicians with a scarlet “S”. But this is understandable considering the “conservative” mindset of eternal vigilance against the constant threat of “barbarians” outside their doors… they truly fear their Boogeymen.
Now, from the right, the most egregious examples of authoritarian fascism in history are considered to be Nazi Germany under Adolf Hitler, Fascist Italy under Benito Mussolini, and the Empire of Japan during the 1930s and 40s.
Nazi Germany is widely regarded as the most extreme and devastating example due to its systematic use of genocide and state terror. And though there’s really no need to belabor decades of History Channel cautionary tales, it’s important to note Nazism was based on a pseudo-scientific theory of racial hierarchy, promoting the idea of an “Aryan master race” and identifying Jews and other minorities as scapegoats for Germany’s problems. Their Atrocities include the well documented systematic, state-sponsored genocide of millions, including Romas, people with disabilities, political opponents, and roughly six million Jews in concentration and extermination camps.
And then there’s Il Duce. Mussolini’s fascism emphasized extreme nationalism, the glorification of war, and a corporatist economic model designed to suppress labor movements and consolidate state power. The regime utilized black-shirted paramilitary forces to dismantle free speech, intimidate and murder political opponents. It later passed antisemitic racial laws and cooperated with Nazi Germany during the Holocaust.
And rounding out the WWII Axis Alliance was Imperial Japan who’s military committed widespread atrocities, including mass murder and human rights violations considered on the same level as the European genocides. The ideology centered on emperor-worship, extreme nationalism, and the concept of a “Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere” to justify military conquest and imperial rule across Asia.
And let’s not overlook the Balkans and Spain. The Independent State of Croatia under Ante Pavelić‘s Ustaše regime committed some of history’s worst atrocities and advocated for a “Greater Croatia” at the expense of Serbs. And Francisco Franco‘s long-lasting Spanish military dictatorship, while not a pure fascist regime, absorbed many elements of the Falange fascist movement and implemented mass arrests and human rights violations.
Sam Clemons put it best. History may not repeat by rote, but very often rhymes with current events (see above… astonishing deja vous bars). And we’ve already mentioned how, with just about every attempt to build and maintain government run enterprise under the heading of “serving the people” in matters too big for private enterprise to manage without coordinated planning, the political left is branded with the Scarlet “S”. But now, with the right, loopers who have determined government run enterprise inferior to the invisible hand of market forces, have been hoping for a chance to “drown the U.S. federal government in the tub” after shrinking it down to a drownable size. These loopers are now in power, and the tactics they have employed look a lot like authoritarian fascism.
Sam ClemonsBoogaloo BoysThe Stupid ShitElmer Fudd puts on his “war face”Vigilante Justice
But, here’s the deal. Democratic leadership has yet to employ the authoritarian communist policies conservatives fear (Jade Helm, gun confiscation, etc.), and, so far, the right has not begun rounding up undesirables for mass extermination (that we know of). And they haven’t yet succeeded in overturning U.S. democracy in favor of an all powerful executive with a lifetime appointment (yet). They do make these kind of noises in the form of online trolling (Bannon’s “flood the zone” strategy), but getting their political opponents riled up is most of the point. Worst-case scenarios are most likely not part of the plan (call me overoptimistic, i’ve heard worse).
Bottom line, neither of these political boogeymen are anything more than red herrings, mirages meant to keep their respective bases outraged enough to make sure to vote when the time comes. So, if we can take a couple steps back from the outrage machines, acknowledge both sides have good and bad ideas. And since neither side will be free to put members of the other in ovens, it behooves us to get back to reasoned debate. Stop demonizing the “other” and look for ways for all of us to work together, identify common concerns, and draft policies that can accomplish agreed upon goals.
And with all of that said… seriously, the left is not going to “Cultural Revolution” the right out of existence, and the right is not going to march undesirables into ovens. OK? Ok! So, let’s now address the elephant in the room… let’s talk about religion. As much as i’d love to avoid the topic altogether, it’s unavoidable. We have at least two, maybe three supreme court jurists identifying with a sect of Christianity that is actively working toward a power structure placing apocalyptic Christians in total governmental primacy. They are literally working on ways to delete secular, pluralistic governance in favor of an ethno-nationalist monarchy. Do i believe they will succeed?? Hell… to the no! But the fact that this is in the works, and they’ve managed to capture the White House, the Speaker of the House and at least two SCOTUS justices is beyond anything i would have imagined in all of my adult life.
And the founders were unambiguous about the prohibition of religion capturing the levers of power. There will be no “official religion”. The sooner we can get the wall of Church/State separation rebuilt, the better. This has to be job #1! After that, time to drop the wedge issues and rancorous, bad faith rhetoric. Seriously, i don’t know ANYONE who wants to eliminate local police departments. Maybe divert some of the “socialist” resources to “community policing” and counseling, but only a delusional crazy person would take us back to the libertarian “wild west” days of vigilante justice. Full stop… there will be no defunding of the police. At the same time, no one i know wants their neighbors to stop going to their chosen church, or stop celebrating Christmas. It’s all just rage bait…. grow up people! Please let’s cut the stupid shit all the way out.
If you were to put a gun to my head for an answer to our current state of divisiveness, i would say forcing mainstream news organizations and health care practitioners into capitalist imperatives comes closer to the core of our cultural and economic strife than the spittle-flecked pseudo-debates over extreme abstractions such as “communism” or “fascism”. I know… it’s an opinion, and my opinion is about as good as anyone else’s. I’m just another slob … like Werner Herzog, or David Letterman, or Jesus… you know, one of us. But i do have skin in this game. I want to see a tenable future for my kids… that some day they too can thrive in a world they would be glad to welcome new souls into.
Right now, it’s not…! So let’s do this thing, what do you say? Let’s 86 these boogeymen together… OK? Ok!
So, you’re not free to determine the path your life takes? Why? Is it like the song? Because your love is, “too much, Baby?” Is your autonomy actually restricted by the attachment to which you’ve surrendered? Or, have you, like another song, “the kind of debts no honest man can pay?” Or maybe, you just want to “fit in” or be “normal,” but that normality severely restricts the frontiers of your authentic self? Well… what to do? Will you roll with the imprisonment, or will you take action and do like a whole ‘nuther song, and choose one of the fifty ways?
First, i guess we need to define terms starting with, “freedom”. What does it mean to be “free”? For the narrow purpose of this mental snapshot, let’s go with a less than conventional definition (from A. Bierce’s sarcastic dictionary)… “FREEDOM (noun): Exemption from the stress of authority in a scant half dozen of restraint’s infinite multitude of methods. A political condition that every nation supposes itself to enjoy in virtual monopoly. Liberty. The distinction between freedom and liberty is not accurately known; naturalists have never been able to find a living specimen of either.” Could it be the effort is futile? We’ll save that questin for later. For now, let’s just agree the condition of “freedom” is slippery at best.
And what does it mean to be “caught in a trap”? Is this a good or bad, pleasant or painful condition? Again, an elusive concept to pin down. Do restrictions imposed by the trap cause pain, or are they more like liberators, freeing our minds to explore expanses of thought without the burdens of engineering and executing an escape plan? The question might take you back to those wild and wooly “salad days” when you KNEW you had to generate enough income to feed yourself and secure a warm place to sleep in those bone-chattering winter weeks or a cool oasis in the “dawg days.” This might have required a duel life, one that makes room for the tasks for acquiring necessaries, and another that feeds your restless soul. You didn’t want either to interfere with the other, so you found a normie gig that wouldn’t sap what creative bandwidth you had, and you avoided creative gigs that might jeopardize your meal ticket.
And finally, what exactly is “normal?” After all, science finds itself baffled by some serious inexplicabilities. For one, if gravity is an attractive force, what explains the dramatic “red-shift” observed by light from distant galaxies? According to what we know about the Doppler Effect, those pups are speeding away from each other at roughly the speed of light… WTF? Shouldn’t gravity be pulling them together? And what about that spooky “quantum entanglement” nonsense? If nothing travels faster than light, how can anyone explain the “instant” response of entangled particles across vast distance? How can those particles possibly move in synchrony with no delay? These and other paradoxes have to be reckoned with before we can stand on a box and declare what should and should not determine the boundaries of knowledge. After all, have you seen Escher’s art? How long can you stare at those images before giving up and just accepting the notion that sometimes you just have to be satisfied with a non-resolution resolution.
So… are you really not “free”? Are you really caught in a trap? Can someone or something actually force your soul into a restrictive box?
Seriously… have you ever tried to put yourself into the slippers of those unlucky bitches and bastards locked in cages? Sing-Sing, CSP Canyon City, Club Fed, the Hanoi Hilton, Auschwitz, Dachau, Siberia, and Gaza? What sort of redemptive discipline does it take to survive those literal “traps”? And can that sort of resilience be applied to the regular routines most of us endure on the daily? I imagine that sort of superpower would come in mighty handy for those elderly neighbors waiting out delays in medical procedures or the brief and scarce visits payed by over extended loved ones? Folks who were once strong and vital, free to move around with supple limbs and grand ambitions. But now they’re grounded by failing health and limited monetary resources? When they finally realize no one is coming to save them, what sort of mental expanse can they exercise to endure the quiet hours that comes with chronic sedentary existence?
Could it be efforts to reach gold-plated states of “liberty” or “freedom” are futile? Einstein was right about time… it’s relative to local conditions such as pleasure and pain. If we could find a way to fill our days with service and purpose, even if that means dealing with… ugh… people or worse, our own nagging regrets or admonitions, maybe then time would be a friendlier companion. And so, if those literally confined in cages can do it, so can we. Even if we think we’re “trapped” by conditions beyond our control. Don’t wait for a savior, no one is coming. Get up, stand up, find a purpose and fill your days working for it. Give it your all… and don’t let disappointing results stop you. It’s like the lessons of geology and the Shawshank Redemption. Time… time and pressure. Time and pressure create diamonds and the possibility of genuine freedom.
What will time and pressure do for you? How will you reconcile the non-resolution resolution?
Seems we’re coming up on some hard scrabble times for citizens down on their luck. And hard scrabble times call for hard scrabble responses. We’re going to have to grapple with how to handle the consequences of gutting the social safety nets. Nothing new, we’ve seen this play before. In Les Misérables, Victor Hugo’s novel uses the theft of a loaf of bread by Jean Valjean to illustrate the harsh and unjust nature of the justice system in his time. In more recent times, Willie Smith Ward, a Texan, received a 50-year sentence in 2013 for stealing a $35 rack of ribs. Now granted, this was the logical conclusion of this man’s incorrigible behavior in the light of Texas’ habitual offender laws, allowing for lengthy prison sentences to repeat offenders. Yes, he was a pervasive violator of civic good faith, but the final straw was the theft of food.
It’s probably no coincidence original sin is connected to behavior inspired by hunger. According to the Judeo Christian holy book, we’re guilty as soon as we hit the ground. And guilty of what? And why? Because the first XY chromosomes in our hereditary line fell for a cock-n-bull story about an apple being verboten per maximum overlord’s command? And why the prohibition? Because consuming the apple would drop the scales from our minds regarding the existence of good and evil? And the consequences of gaining this knowledge is… death? But not until one experiences a veritable parade of humiliation, pain, sorrow, and general suffering? Again… we get to ride this roller coaster of woe because some dipshit, 10,000 years ago chose to enjoy a spot of fruit with his girlfriend? Yeah… i don’t know if i can get behind this allegory. It seems a bit unfair to the XX natives. It paints them in a devious light. Like, both of them were instructed to avoid the fruit, but the devil’s serpent chose XX as an ideal target for corruption. And XY was just too gullible or dumb to mount an effective argument. Bottom line, XX is an hedonistic schemer, and XY is a goofy simpleton that just wants to eat. Naw, we’re not gonna fall for that misogynistic bullshit. XX and XY are born equally innocent, if they go bad as they grow, it’s the result of non-optimal environmental conditions or physical chemistry, but mostly… bad behavior is taught by irresponsible caretakers.
The whole “bad behavior inspired by hunger” issue might grow into a nagging problem in this age of prioritizing gilded ballrooms, machine automated labor, and antiquated energy policies over the well being of the XX and XYs who happen to lack connections in society’s power structures. And how might that play out? We could look to historical record for cues. Has hunger ever been an issue for working and doomed classes through the ages as economic and technology conditions change? Indeed it has, is, and will continue to vex policy makers… Victor Hugo’s novel is a vivid example.
And outcomes have varied widely. The most recent encounter with abject mass deprivation in this country got defeated by what was known at the time as a New Deal for the nation’s people. This, many would acknowledge was a best case scenario. Things didn’t go so smoothly in Russia or France as they transitioned away from monarchical rule. You could say, for the ruling classes, these are a couple worst case scenarios. Given that, what’s driving the U.S.A. away from democracy, careening toward authoritarian ethno-nationalist governance? Time will tell, but for now, it might behoove the ruling classes to recognize working people and the doomed are talking to each other. They’re not as hampered by ignorance as has been a hallmark of previous socio-economic upheavals. Consolidating power may not be the golden ticket they think it is.
Now… how will all of this shake out? I wouldn’t venture a guess, but i do see chatter crisscrossing the social networks, and i can confidently predict how some will approach the oncoming hunger dilemma. As we advance into this age of machines automating repetitive rote tasks, and jobs continue to evaporate, people will ask for opportunities to earn the means of feeding their families. When no useful work is available, they will ask for food assistance, and when no food assistance is available, they will take the food from whatever source is handy. And there will be plenty of XX and XYs with the resourcefulness and discipline to create their own redemption. Regarding original sin i, for one, am grateful for the flood of knowledge passed down by the original XX and XYs. I’m GLAD they ate the apple. And if supporting tax dollars for food security to people i’ve never met makes me a communist, well, pepper-spray my ass and call me “Comrade!”
I gotta black bomb… It’s tickin’ away… Gonna take it out… On the Blue Highway.
Loopcircus 