To You Yet Living
or Dead In The Desert
If all goes according to my wishes my body will dry to dust in the desert somewhere and never be found and this will be the last you ever hear from me.
If my body does happen to be found, I want to be on record as saying I do not want a funeral, none of those formal little ceremonies where the ones who always stand up stand up there and spew forth self serving drivel and lies meant to promote themselves and comfort their consciences. In other words, shut up, sit down, and listen to this. Better yet, let the ones who never stand up, the ones I blew off and blew by and blew away stand up there and smile.
Spike Lee just made the damn movies and didn’t try to add that glitter of intellectualism.
that self serving bullshit...
...you aren’t going to end that, not with this generation anyway. In fact much of what they write is meant in their imaginations to be them unto perpetuity...this will elicit a lot of that tisking and condescending sniffing but even as they write that and read it back to themselves they are giving it that little echo, as they imagine it reverberating down the hallowed halls forever.
Cockburn didn’t do that.
Anyway.. there, the above, are two examples, of me having conversations with myself...I had these earlier as I was waking up here in the truck, eating, making coffee, smoking cigarettes, processing regrets and resentments and wondering what the future will bring.
Anyway I am back, after my week off with a room at the Moriarty Comfort Woman Inn...Too much to update here...
...et suburu pluto?
Oh yes and the weekend in Albuquerque with a side trip to Cerillo, I guess it is...am beginning to discover these distinct little sub communities down there with their own at least perceived identities...
...home as it wasn't. Taking the full compliment this time as I stayed out an actual three months this time, a new record for longevity out but also for brevity of staying off...the reason? Pushing on toward my goal of landing some land, propertying some real estate.
For despite ongoing or recurring crisis of faith, and despite falling away further all the time from the codified version of Christiosity, and despite becoming closer and closer to an acceptance of the futility of it all...I yet and still continue to pursue and fantasize and plan...
I'm getting loaded here at Prewitt for Carson, CA, with the big rolls of paper which will become flyers and inserts or maybe cardboard gift boxes of perfume or boxes for perfumed garden tractors so I'm sitting here waiting in line and some kid walks over from his truck and stands outside and I roll down my window and he stands there hiding behind his sunglasses looking up at me and gives me the "Where ya goin'?"
Which means, "What is the destination of the load you are picking up kind sir." It's what every truck driver, sunglasses or not, of any age, ethnicity, country or city asks you when you're waiting to be loaded and they are waiting to be loaded too. It's never, "How's it going?" Never, "Kiss my ass," or "Nice day to organize a union at this pissant futile excuse for a Capitalist enterprise ay?" No nothing, just, "Where ya goin'?" Not even "Well how do you do sir I'm going to Honolulu Hawaii. How about you?"
In other words, let's compare hair. You go first though. Then if I feel like it I'll show you mine. If they are going somewhere less favorable you have to have to ask or they won't admit it. It's nothing but one more little pissing contest. Of course, when your life is nothing but one load after another and that's all it is and that's all you have and you want to know how you stack up you ask the guy where he's going. In other words, 'Where on the hierarchy of excellent and crappy loads do you stand in relation to where I stand?
We decide where our self esteem is at any given moment by where on some hierarchy we stand. We find a hierarchy we're high up on and tell ourselves we're good at something. Which means, better at than somebody else, because it's a hierarchy, or we list our accomplishments, which means, what have we done that that guy over there hasn't? Our victories and conquests and even if you walk into a psychologist's office and say Hey Doc I'm feeling blue they'll sit you down and scroll through your mind a little while and say "Well you're good at plucking chickens and slicing the heads off shrimp so you see, you're not worthless after all."
Yep, I didn't get fired for not plucking enough chickens like that guy over there chasing pigeons. The problem of course, is that in order for you to be higher up on any given hierarchy someone must be lower. Must. Otherwise there's no hierarchy and you're not good at anything and there's nothing to base your self esteem on.
What's the matter with, We're all God's children. There's value in that. You have value. Period. I should have just told the kid, "I'm going nowhere. My load was canceled." He would have smiled because it really sucks when your load is canceled.
But I get caught up in it too, all the time, and what really pisses me off when I get the "Where ya goin'" question is that I never have my list of snappy rejoinders in front of me. I have to answer and leave myself open to whatever comes next, which is, "Oh yea, well I'm going to Exactly Where You Want To Go."
The kid wandered over to another truck to find out where somebody else was going, pushing his sunglasses before him with his upturned nose and I made myself an organic peanut butter and organic jelly sandwich.
I just stocked up at the food co-op. What a dismal experience it is. You go to the checkout, you ask them how they're doing. "I'm doing great." Yea right. Me too. I always say, "Well, not that good." They stop and stare at you. The smile fades when they realize, 'He's telling me I'm above him but really he's saying I'm a liar.'
However you're doing, they hand you your change and sneer at you. Never at that place have I heard, "Thank you for making my livelihood possible by frequenting this establishment," no "Kiss my ass," No nothing. Here, have a nice day, now get the hell out of here, I could have been daydreaming about having a nice life, somewhere where they paid me well and treated me well but I had to stop and wait on you and now your'e going to pay. Pay twice.
And there's always these people in there shopping who look like they've come down from their gated homes in the heights, and here they are, where there are people, and they walk briskly up and down the aisles and if they don't get out of there within five minutes something terrible will happen. They might have to make eye contact with someone. And of course, no stopping to have a chat over the green onions. Everywhere you go you see people walking briskly, I mean those legs are pumping. There's no strolling behind strollers by the former rock and rollers. But this is the co-op. A co-operative endeavor. It's Socialism goddammit. It used to be. God dam.
So I was checking out, waiting in line, going through the coins in my hand when I noticed I had one of those old pennies with the two wreaths on the back. I don't like to save such coins because I always end up losing them, they just never turn up again, I spend them probably, so I try to give them to someone who collects coins so I turned to the lady directly behind me and offered her my penny with the two wreaths on the back.
I could have threatened her with a gun. The look of terror in her eyes. It even frightened me. She stuttered, she stammered, fumbling for a way out this terrible situation in which she wasn't walking briskly toward the door and thence to her SUV with tinted windows and hurrying back to her gated hillside enclave with the tinted gravel beside the hard, hard driveway.
She finally took it when I insisted. But it's everyone, living in fear. Especially in these food co-op type places. It's not the old hippies, the ones who founded the co-op movement, it's the ones who can afford to pay double the price and who are in fear of the contaminants allowed into their food chain by the people they vote into office so that they can afford to shop at the co-op and drive a gated tinted SUV.
Of course these may be the people most prone to breaking down under the general agression in society today. But it’s everyone. Living in fear. It’s not fear of terrorism, terrorism is so yesterday, so from some bygone news cycle... no it’s fear of ourselves...of being taken...of the aggression, which is getting worse as things, the material conditions, and the aggression, and the conditions, get worse. Of the end game of Reaganomics, the declining standard of living, the end of the American Dream, and it's the fear that my list of snappy rejoinders is back at my other pants and it isn't that snappy after all, fear that you're going somewhere better than I am, fear that there's no place to go and I have to go there but you're not going there, too.