jpaulgorman

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 lea...

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 sai...

     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 ziplo...

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 t...

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)

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 beam...

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.

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.

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 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...

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.