20/20 Gonzo 38: Sift Through The Garbage

Even the Maoist rejected the Struggle Session after 1978.  The scripted, intentional, and humiliating public shaming used to destroy people's lives, supposedly the oppressors, supposedly the powerful, supposedly for some intellectual and cultural utopia.  This was way before all the Wal-Mart contracts, millions of manufacturing camps, the one daughter limit, and British Petroleum.  Commies always working some angle, always stirring up the easily stirred.  Lingering class resentments, common envy, and revengeful justice, Stalin's useful tricks.

Hard to notice an actual journalist these days, they've mostly taken sides, usually the side of the boss, the paycheck signers. Imagine the modern newsroom, a collection of zoom heads, seeking ways to push the news, provoke some news, make some news, manipulate some news, make a name, gather followers.  The news is news to them, industry vanity virus.  The actual journalist will write what they learn, they will learn by curiosity, the best will ask the best questions.  Of others and internally, that ever-present 'Hmmm, but...?', that refined logic of space and timeline, that series of events, those possible probable realities.

There's no shame in clarity.  The patient can take the medicine, the citizen can take the actual story, the good citizen will sift through the garbage anyway, there is always some truth, dumpster diving can yield some dinner before it hits the landfill.  The things folks will trash!  Throw it all away, out of sight, out of mind, discard liberally, waste.  Because no waste is really wasted in the end, bugs have to eat too.

20/20 Gonzo 37: No Idols Yet

A proxy for lowly humans long gone, stick it to them anyway, for sins of mission and omission.  Just marble, granite, or metal now, a place for birds to sit, to shit.  A chance for some to learn something, but statues are not the whole story, they memorialize, they represent, they ignite, they glorify, they indicate, but they do not capture the universal history of anything. All were commissioned at one point, all were unveiled, ribbon cuttings and afternoon refreshments, news conferences perhaps, the sculptor politely answering questions, knowing the toil, the imperfections, the features, the anxiety of unlikeness.  The finished art is usually better than the subject, for all people have darkness.

Monuments seem different, more for the masses, more about ideas or efforts, initiatives and victories.  Less idolatry, more commemoration.  Statues of people are tenuous, somewhat endorsing and/or excusing lifelong behavior, certifying lifelong actions, forever sainting someone in a way, despite scandal, lameness, greed, or any other social distortion.  Perhaps generic faces are best, nameless muses, professional models, the artist's imagination.  Like the massive Statue of Liberty, Bartholdi and Effiel's creation, a gift from the French, depicting Libertas, the Roman goddess of Liberty,  unshackled and walking forward, raised flame, cradling a dovetail handled tablet with the date July 4, 1776 chiseled in Roman Numerals: JULY IV MDCCLXXVI.

In general, and eventually, the dumb will lose to the wise, the frantic will lose to the calm, the cowards will lose to the brave.  In life, in sports, in love, in business, in politics.  On all seven continents, both hemispheres, along the Tropic of Cancer and the Tropic of Capricorn, even in space, even on the moon.  Mars will be no different, but there will be no statues or monuments for the losers to blame.  It's not a place for injustice, not a place for chaos, there are no idols yet.

No Joke Dirt Biking

     Tree hugging and drenched in early summer evening rains. The norther hit the hot, wet air up from the Gulf of Mexico and a frontal war broke loose in the atmosphere above Erwin Park.  Bolts, loud thunder, cracks, booms, and bams!  Eventually, even a massive oak tree's massive natural canopy was not enough shelter from the torrent.  We made a dash for the automobiles, despite my predictions of a quickly passing storm and pleas for endurance.  Even mocking the rain as mere water at one point.  I didn't know, I was only hoping.  JD and TTop ignored my hope, thankfully.  They were their own leaders, peer pressure was irrelevant.  It was every man for himself.

     After we gathered up our belongings, racked the bikes, and performed a litter walk through Erwin Park Campsite #1, we reconvened and ate incredible burgers in JD's SUV.  Grilled and buttered corn, all the fixings included.  Tupperware and ziplock bags saved dinner again.  The cook's timing was impressively perfect.  We were fine, just fine.  The food was dry and fine, just fine.  Car eating like we did as boys in the 70s, before we became fathers in our 50s.  Hydrated and full.  Thankful to be dads, and thankful for our dads and their dads.  Wherever they were at that moment.  Happily exhausted after the grueling 9 mile loop through the woods, creek beds, and prairies that surrounded us.  It's no joke dirt biking at Erwin.  It's like a fight where the two fighters are friends in the end.  The trail and the biker.  Buds.  A few observations and encouragements...

A.  If the roots get too jankee, walk the bike through.  Pride is dumb.

B.  Tires don't grab the dirt like they grab concrete.  Careful with sharp turns, watch the slip.

C.  Helmets provide needed protection from abundant overhead tree limbs.

D.  Sidewalks are less safe than roads usually, especially in the suburbs.

E.  As a general rule, follow the By-Pass signs.

F.  Bias towards the higher gear.

G.  Learn to let riders pass skillfully, learn to pass skillfully.

H.  Coast.

20/20 Gonzo 36: Purple Punch

Reminds me of the time my youngest daughter turned 7, hosted a backyard costume party (Her birthday is October 25th).  A Halloween tune-up, the entire soccer team, schoolmates, neighbors, family members.  Lots of Princesses, some female superheroes, a few Star Wars characters, robots, couple of hippies, a box of macaroni and cheese, and one red devil.  I dressed as a butler, or a roadie, I don't remember.  Tension and anticipation ran high, lots of attention was being paid to the birthday girl, she was being showered with praise.

She was about to take the microphone.  Had set up my PA and created a stage on the backyard deck.  Jam out, get the iPods hooked up.  Sing girls, sing!  It was gonna be great, she had been practicing, some Jonas Brothers, some Hanna Montana, some Emma Lou Harris.

But the big ole gal jumped up and grabbed the microphone, and she wasn't giving it up once the actual show started, the one the birthday girl was supposed to kick off.  In fact, when my sweet, sweet little baby girl got on the stage and went for it, that big ole gal, her soccer teammate, the worst player on the team by far, whacked her on the forehead with the microphone causing a wafflelike mark on her that took two weeks to disappear.  Shocked, and in pain, she ripped it from her, hit the tunes, wailed her set like a rockstar, dropped the mic, slammed a full glass of purple punch, blew out all her candles without flinching, thanked every guest with a goodie bag, and banked on presents.  She never cried, she never shed a tear, she didn't even care.

Old Hoboes From Farmersville

G
C
FC
GFCF

Forward motion is our potion.
And raw emotion is our notion.
We can see past the road.
Looks dark, looks wild, needs to be mowed.

Four way stop, damn it's hot.
Legs are shot, it's all we got.
Birds they chirp, snakes they hiss.
Sound tired, sound mad, hungry and pissed.

(Chorus)

GCx3
GCF

8 mile crossing on the Chapparal Trail.
Just past Merit we rode like hell.
Found our stride, gave it our best.
Headed back for an afternoon rest.

Let's go, let's roll, kick it in gear.
Just follow Joe, he's iced some beers.
Chase him down, keep the pace.
Feel strong, King Kong, your biking face.

Be on caution for heat exhaustion.
8 mile crossing on the way to New Boston.
Railroad tracks used to go through here.
Old echoes, old hoboes from Farmersville.

(Chorus x2)

20/20 Gonzo 35: Hypnotized And Sad

The warlord came by this morning.  Said his right side was his best side, be tight with the video.  Being a mere gonzo scriber, I nodded knowingly, knowing the wrath of left side warlord video was not among my concerns.  Press credentials are not easy to come by, the less said the better, like a mute almost.  He was covered in spray paint.

Guess the police can work from home too, just leave when an urgent call comes in, take care of business, the dirty business, the tragic business, the dangerous business, the business no one else will do.  Let the drones do the boring patrols, let others mess with the traffic.  The station, the headquarters, the precinct, a future relic really, like stores, moviehouses, restaurants, corporate buildings.  It's all art now and the warlord showed me his graffiti work-- it was a bit pretentious, and vulgar, and lacked the needed layered quality and shadowing evident in the best work.  "Cool," I told him as he beamed with pride.

At lunch, got into it with a food truck scammer.  Intrigued by the 3 for 2 taco special, was surprised when he handed me one taco after good cash money was paid for three.  Assuming some unintentional oversight, politely, and with good nature, I pointed out his mistake.  He just stared at me blankly, without expression or indication of understanding, like he was hypnotized and sad.  Furious, but held back by my personal pacifism, I called him 'buster', insulted his taco, and assured him the warlord would hear of his shameful business practices.

Good Burger

She just wanted a good burger.
That's all.
World's been closing in.
Issues, quandaries, paradoxes, the like.
Thinking about picking sides.
This or that, they say.
Quick, decide.
What about the other thing, she wonders.
And the other, and the other, and the other.
Maybe more like a league with 12 sides.
Teams, perhaps.
The debates would be incredible.
Streaming across Netflix, episode style.
More diversity, deeper thoughts.
Her mind was racing, details.
Questions of team size, sponsorships.
Format outlines, hosting possibilities.
It was all too much.
Now, in this time of all her time.
In this moment of all her moments.
What she really wanted was a good burger.

Shrug

Already decided what kind of person to be, long ago while hiking the side of a mountain.  If nothing else, if alone or not, a levity of humor, the satirical opposite of cynicism.  Giving or taking, turn to the irony, the absurd, the unimagined.  It's not funny, either, and can be tragic, depressing, and defeated.  The give-ups are easy, towels thrown, live out the afternoons in complaint, the nights in regret, and the mornings in worry.

Health is at stake.

Give it to the pine trees, they are literally calling for it, the wind makes them talk.  Nature is connected in ways we are not.  Her citizens work together without question, ever evolving, ever surviving, ever thriving.  We are not of it, the shrug she makes as we quake, drown, and burn.

20/20 Gonzo 34: Bring It To Ruin

Looked at me like I was speaking some other language, I repeated what I told him, using the same english language, hoping he would understand this time, "Protests around here are usually at Erwin Park.  North End," I said, slower than the first time.  He had asked me where the march was happening, his two friends stayed in the car.  Figured everyone knew where to go, but they were out of towners.  Gave him some quick directions and wished them a successful protest, everybody loves Erwin Park, especially when they visit for the first time.  Unique by nature I thought as they drove away, that place is like our own Central Park, never, never, never shall a housing development, or some other enterprise, bring it to ruin.

Madness, in all it forms, will take you down.  It is best to avoid by occupying time with productive, benevolent, and/or entertaining activities surrounded by plenty of sleep.  Keeps you from going crazy, keeps you from going mean.  The airing of grievances has never been easier, let it out out, but don't let it pop.  Needs to have the right bounce to work right, not too flat, not too full.

The seething of the majority, sickened by the screens, losing faith in many, faith displaced from the start.  All have done unrighteous things, all have had unrighteous thoughts, all are guilty of something.  Humans are humans, it is a common trait.  The self righteous are ignorant, they know not what they do, they hide behind things, they hide things, they justify things, they demand things.  It's easy to spot because we all recognize it in ourselves, and the mirror don't lie, but it sure can can make us mad.

20/20 Gonzo 33: Yucky Medicine

The street cred of the day, nothing else to do anyway.  Music shows, sporting events, restaurants, daily activities--not alot going on.  The boredom is intense, months and months of lockdown, a place to go, a movement to join, a huge vent, people.  Shame as a weapon, guilt as a tool, the sit down and shut up treatment.  No taste for it, like salty in a bad way, like bitter with a shot of burnt char, like yucky medicine.

Payroll day will tell the story.  Fewer paychecks, fewer direct deposits, fewer bonuses.  The boss keeps it, actually makes money on the interest, the cash doesn't disappear.  Poor get poorer, rich get richer, true since money was invented.  The after math doesn't look good.

King size mattresses, cheesecakes, headphones, shoes upon shoes, iPhones, bicycles, stuffed animals, watches, prescriptions, a Tesla.  OK, now what?  The stores will most likely not be restocked.  Can only speculate, of course.  I don't know.
 

Cherry Wood

Dodging turtles, taking out some brush.

Ain't no future in rust.

Turbines are legit.

General store pies, buttermilk and coconut.

Harps, for ice and assorted provisions.

Bacon, eggs, O'Brien potatoes.

Clear the cabin, windows down.

Taste the souls.

Remotely, in an air tight compartment.

The narrow trail goes right up the rocks.

Jeeping through a national forest.

River crossings and other obstructions.

Effective machinery will not be denied.

Cherry wood delivered right on time.

Night fire burned hot and glowed.

On that London to Paris international line.

Karate Kid turned down Back To The Future.

Hammock needs replacing.

Screens would be a fine addition.

And a back deck to see the sunrise.

Could drop a light over the kitchen table.