Time well wasted

Wish I’d do something constructive today.  

My usual road to ‘hell’ paved with good intentions.  

The last days have been quite dreadful except maybe for a little reading of Voltaire which is what I call constructive… fulfilling, positive use of one’s life.

No one on his death bed will wish to have crush more candies.

Did spend a decent ‘morning’ though sifting through 20 readings of scientists quotes on their belief or disbelief in a god, some of them Nobel prizes woop tee doodle doo.

And that of course created a few thoughts, maybe not new thoughts but more ‘productive’ thoughts than planning my strategy through the next level of Farm Heroes Saga.

Also a bit of ‘meditation’ on the irony of having museums of all kinds, one contradicting the other. 
One museum to remind the Americans of their external crimes against the Japanese
one  museum to remind the Americans of their internal crimes against Japanese.

Talking about the RohWer RoHrers of a previous document and research here.

RohWer RoHrers

Takei was ‘interned” at RohWer  Japanese American Internment, Arkansas(Museum in McGehee)

Not to be confused with Rohrers Island OHIO, which is right next to the Wright-Patterson Air Force Museum

And now please if you would follow me to  the Wright-Patterson Air Force Museum (what’s 600 miles between friends now? ) where the B-29 Bomber Bockscar is held along with a replica of Fat Man full size: the bomb that flattened Nagasaki. 
Kokura can thank their good star.

The original target for the bomb was the city of Kokura, but obscuring clouds necessitated changing course to the alternative target, Nagasaki. An estimated 40,000 people were killed outright by the bombing at Nagasaki, and a further 25,000 were injured.^[5] Thousands more died later from related blast and burn injuries, 

So I could go on finishing Voltaire 

(3PM is always a critical time here) or write some more thoughts on this world and scientists and gods and religion and hope and delusion and madness and superstition and ignorance and sadness and soul searching and meaning and purpose and other Sisyphean tasks or some other nice words oh yeah like Panglossian approach to life which is so so ridiculous by the way and I think I might have covered Leibniz myself previously however  briefly and in my most ignorant manner. 

I do not need to read all of Leibniz or all of Voltaire or all of anything to create and have thoughts and opinions which might be as bright as the brightest and as dumb As the dumbest.

In fact some of them brilliant minds wrote and said some pretty obvious stupid stupid things.

Billions and billions of monkeys and not one of them can write or think a decent thought, not one truth amongst them and by saying billions and billions I am also reminded that Sagan too had some pretty silly wants and needs and beliefs and wishful thinking.

So, I am no Einstein, no Camus, no Sagan, no one really 

but my quest is as valid as any of theirs, 
my questions matter to me much more that it mattered to them, 
much more that they matter to me.  

I like the good old bible saying

And he makes no acception of persons.

The good old idea that a perfect god would certainly not play favouritism and see right through hearts and minds and souls and lies and deceptions and delusions and men would not impress him one single bit.  

Men are bound by chains of all sorts: money, sucking up to superiors, fear, greed, and delusions of all sorts when they are not bound, to begin with, with a very poor gene pool.

Nobel Prizes for instance don’t bother me none. I mean they give these things to just about anyone and are certainly not above biases and corruption.  Same applies to Pulitzer or any other frail human prizes given to frail humans.

Intelligence of the highest part does not seem to make you immune to emotional errors and infighting with other intelligence of the highest part which only tells you that one of them is BOUND to be totally wrong.

So what is left? Not much to lean on I tell ya, 
no rock higher than I here.

My ageing belief is becoming that 
there IS no god and 
no afterlife 
and all is the subject of absurd 
and I mean absurd random and chance. 
That man is no better than a monkey 
or other animal if not much worst in fact.

I would have loved to be born on a planet with no predators at all and 
I can only dream about that now 
about my Elois without the Morlocks. 
( I should read more H.G. Wells, obviously he had a great mind) 

Altered States of Consciousness seem to be much preferred to an unaltered ones as depressive realism is no fun to live through. 

I mean there would be absolutely nothing wrong for me at this point except maybe for one person or two to disappear in Darkness 
to let my Vaisseau D’or sink in the darkness of artificial Light.

I want a permanent dreamland, a NICE dreamland where everything is perfect, innocent and sweet, where 

“Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts”.

Death does not bring that and 
Life certainly doesn’t bring it either.

I am not the first to imagine the lion sleeping with the lamb.

No ants to be ever stepped on. 
Spiders eat grass.

Right there one would need some sort of an ethereal body, a mind energy with the power to travel anywhere and anytime.

Of course it will never never happen and some would say it is useless and silly to waste one’s imagination towards such things but that’s what books have been written and read for. 

I want to write my own book and live in it.

To others it would be madness but to the dreamer it would be bliss.
Add to this a millionaire’s death in your sleep of old age (since we MUST die) and what more could one want?

The only hick and drawback of course of all this is that it doesn’t create much of a real social life and a world would not function too long with seven billion LSD trips going all at the same time.

Even Alanis’s Utopia seems a bit odd at times as it never includes one bad apple 

and that is the real problem with this world ain’t it?

The ONE bad apple.  

We cannot afford the one bad apple as many religions have known and tried to instate by killing right away all “heretics” 
people who made a choice, 
a DIFFERENT choice.

Even Doctor Who’s world does not seem very nirvanaesque.  

And the last thing I want in my Panglossian best of possible worlds is a Valhalla for sure.

Nirvana seems to bring the kind of peace I dream of, at least the word does.

Heaven has been really muddled up over the ages and seem now to represent more my idea of hell filled with self-righteous, holier than thou, foaming at the mouth hateful hypocrites with an angry god in charge somewhere who somehow is not angry anymore and doesn’t seem to care much that the greatest majority is STILL suffering and burning in hell for all ETERNITY which is a very very long time BTW.

So Nirvana it is then but not attained by submitting to some asshole with an agenda.

And I don’t see the necessity either of this hatred for sex drugs and rock and roll or the good old women wine and songs. That could be part of a certain paradise for sure can’t it?

O well so here is another productive hour and so be it, que sera sera.

Maybe Voltaire or some more wasted time being a Farm Hero Saga maniac like millions of others.  Not the kind of Saga I always dreamed of but it carries you through time which is short and it brings the night and dreamland a little closer.

If I can put more hours together like this maybe one day, one day, I will come up with the best dream glued together in what used to be paper but is now bytes, but either way it transports one in a dreamland of his own for a short time,

After all, man has always been a story teller apparently
which might be one of the best things that separates us from the animal
or maybe one of the worst too. Who knows?

Hope it helps you in the five minutes it will take you to read this. One hour of my time for your 5 minutes.  5 minutes multiplied by many people makes for a lot of good time now.

And this is why we blog or write I suppose.

Down the rabbit hole again

Anthropomorphism is the ultimate hubris/arrogance.

To even imagine and 

give human attributes to forces 

we don’t understand is insane.

Life, The Universe, Nature itself 

do not have wills, limited intelligence, petty emotions or even cares.

One might as well ape morph 

or ant morph while we’re at it.

Being is not necessarily thinking.

Having is not necessarily thinking.

Doing is not necessarily thinking.

We come,
we go,
we try to understand
and in the meanwhile we invent a million fallacies in our passing.

We invent thousands of gods
and try to give life, the universe and nature some meaning.

It HAS to mean something?
Doesn’t it?
It HAS to WANT something?
Doesn’t it?

Whatever IT is.

At one point in time IT will all be gone.

Life, Nature, the Universe AND Meaning.

All gone and no more whys and what ifs.

Our temporal minds are so puny. 

To contradict myself here Nature has not seen the need 

to extend life of any form for too long 

if we can understand anything into this 

and humans do not have a preferential treatment here either.  Trees and Turtles come before us here.

What a funny idea that someone something is out to teach us something, at times with a vengeance.

Nothing is out to teach us anything.

It is up to us to learn if we want it or not 

or even more if we are able to or not. 
An awful lot of us will never learn and that’s it and that’s all
more than often due to no other fault than
a genetic or geographical or sociological dice throw really. 

We do not choose where and when to be born 

and we have much less choices 

than we imagine that we have most of the time: 

the old battle between nurture and nature here. 

Most of us do not choose when and where to die either

and more than often what goes in between those two:

being born and dying.

Anthropomorphism should be left to children stories really,
to Beatrix Potter and Lewis Carroll and other FICTIONS.

Life, Nature and the Universe as a rule do not give a fuck.

They are the kingdom of random.

And the house always wins.

1976

It might be a long boring story but I think it might need to be told so here it is brace yourselves.

August 1976:  I am 20 years old, homeless, freshly out of a detox centre, more than likely highly bipolar but undiagnosed yet for another 25 years.

I spent May 1976 at Domremy in  Ste-Genevieve…ended there not so much because I needed detox but more because I needed a place to live.  My dad did not want me. My mum did not want me and my mom’s boyfriend at the time suggested Domremy as his son had just been there so I applied and was accepted.

It was supposed to last 3 months but it only lasted one month for reasons I have yet to really understand.  Other ‘inmates’ had a proper psychologist assigned to them as their counsellor, me and my usual ‘luck’ ended up with nurse Radched, a RN named Monique Gravel.

Even though I kind of liked her, it seems to me she took a profound dislike for yours truly, a bit a la nurse Radched really.

She had read this tiny tiny little comic book about people carrying a façade and all of a sudden she had become an absolute expert in the dark recess of the minds, a professional psychologist in 12 pages with an honorary cartoon certificate.

I did have some good times though at Domremy I have to say. I won the ping-pong A tournament, the badmindton B tournament and I lost 35 lbs in 30 days eating gravy and ham all you can eat.  That running around the compound and intense ping pong training must have had something to do with it. I went from 225 lbs down to 190.  The trainer took a special attention to check my pulse everyday as I ran 6 times around the place with a dreadful look on his face that said not on my shift I hope.

So back to Radched here, and my lifetime fear of group therapy to this day, one experience I vividly remember is one of those therapies where Radched was in charge and she decided that my façade was going to fall off today come hell or high water.  So she lead the charge and they all took turn battering my soul to the very core.  I hug my pillow in  silence all along and after the longest hour ever and only after the last one had left and closed the door behind him, I wept the warmest bitterest tears of my life buried in my pillow to muffle the sound of my bawling.  Why me? What the fuck have I done? What is happening here?

So long story short after a month of this Radched sent my ass back home saying something like IIRC that I had become too dependent on them. And again IIRC she kind of applied her own projection and called ME manipulative

So here I am out in the world, got myself a place with a mate from Domremy on Darling Street near Sherbrooke free just before the Montreal Olympics.

Dumped the apartment in no time and took off in a wild and dangerous adventure on a whim after hearing Supertramp’s Dreamer.  Hitched hiked 1400 miles with one extra pair of underwear and one extra t-shirt for total baggage, nearly died and cried and what not but wait am ahead of myself here

While I was on Darling I saw the Olympic marathon running on Sherbrooke, The Montreal Olympic stadium was just a few blocks away, and I used to visit this other girl from Domremy, I’d walked through the Olympic parking and go see her for a couple of beer and a chat.  Once on my way there I met this 14 year old kid called Eric Wingender.  Stopping to bum a cigarette I got a three hours sermon instead and somehow through a ‘series of unfortunate events’ which to my great dismay I mistook for fortunate I ended up praying on the hood of a car becoming “born again”.  Let’s keep going with this story while we’re at it.

Feeling somewhat elated I joined the central Baptist church, one of the suggested choices of my new friend, and my first sermon was on one of my fav books to this day, Ecclesiastes Chapter 12.

A very poetic passage in fact and one that also mentions a SILVER CORD with which I was really impressed having just finished a series of books by Lobsang Rampa speaking of astral bodies and silver cords and all.

So here I am in my new life ready to move in with friends on the condition that I quit smoking of course which is primordial we all know in a good pharisaic life, that and booze have to go.

Trying to recollect all this in time now I was quite familiar by then with “La Maison du Pere”, the only homeless shelter I would trust and to whom I almost belong too, even though at the time I was a bit of an illegal alien as one had to be 25 to be a legal proper homeless hobo.

So when La maison du pere offered a $2 weekend somewhere with horse rides, board rides, bus fares and all I gladly accepted.

That encounter in the parkink lot was Thursday August the 21^st, 1976 so that weekend must have been August 21^st-22^nd IIRC again.

So here is one of the stories I remember vividly and a very interesting one at least to me, still not completely understood to this day.

Here I am at 190 lbs I assume, 20 years old, had one girlfriend in my whole life so far and it was well over with.  Sitting on the bus, minding my own business, and this girl got my attention as she was well errrrr  right up my alley, dark hair, petite and that’s about all I remember, faceless and nameless for ever … She stares at me and walks to me and says your name is Leo Caissy. I am quite impressed so far, I would have loved to think that I would certainly have remembered such a face but apparently not.  She says she was a friend of Manon D., my first girlfriend and she met me once at another friend of hers, called Claudette?, and she thought I was the cat’s meow, the kindest man on earth, for loving  and caring for a pregnant 16 year old girl when I wasn’t even the father of the child. (Manon and I went out together during her whole pregnancy, and I got dumped shortly after the baby arrived mainly due to a drunken MIL who hated my guts tremendously in her delirium tremens, we got back together shortly after that but it didn’t last and this time I ended it, there is a pattern here btw)

So back to my bus ride, we get off the bus and all the others go their way and all I remember is hours of being lost in each other’s eyes but there was a hick.  It had been two years since we met and in the meanwhile, she feeling a little low self-esteem (on the fact that she was a little flat chested according to her) she picked up the first good man with a job that wanted her and married him but if and if and if blah blah blah life could have been absolutely awesome.

So at the end of a long day, we exchanged phone numbers and parted.  I had quit smoking for 10 days by then. So I spent the longest 2-3 days of my life in some sort of a gigantic dilemma and “spiritual” battle.  I had been attracted to her first because of that little brown wooden cross she was wearing or at least it sure was a good conversation opener but to my mind she wasn’t Christian and moreover she was definitely married.  So my three days in the desert even though there was no sweating of blood here there was actual physical pain chest over the huge dilemma and temptation..

Having asked my new friends in vain (Jean O. and Cie) I somehow thought that I had won this battle and came to the very hard and I mean very hard decision that it was NOT going to happen and that it was not right and I should tell her so too.

By the time we met I felt pretty proud of myself and smug and let’s say it self-righteous too but I never had time to show off like I planned because SHE TOLD ME.  She had been reproved by all of her friends, what are you doing talking to this man all day, neglecting your husband, don’t you remember you ARE a married woman and blah blah blah so she sent me away asking me never to contact her  again before I could say a single word and I was absolutely floored and devastated.

Having prepared myself for a front attack on my balls and lust and feeling proud for winning it I got hit in the back right in my pride that took a huge hit and I said “well if that is how cunning the devil is, Christianity is a little too much for me”  and out the window it went and into my mouth popped the next cigarette.

It does sound childish in hindsight but back then it was extremely serious.  It was much more than lust too, so much more. In fact lust wasn’t really in the mind, just a very silly romantic notion of love I had been carrying all my life with me and that was much too often unreturned, unrequited.

So cig and tshirt and knickers in hand, well the last two in a very small plastic Cojana bag, here I am 700 miles away from home lost and crying, that story is written once or twice somewhere.

Finally got back home, we are now in September 1976 or so and I got a new job and a new room to live in, in Ville St Laurent.  I lost that boring job at Trans Canada Music in two weeks, wasting way too much time in the bathroom, having too much time on my hands if you know what I mean. J

I had my room paid for 2 more weeks but I had no money for food so since it was the same 50 cents that covered the meal and the bed at La maison du pere I often staid in while I was there anyway, being used to the place by now and lining up with hobos who were having long conversations with their invisible mates. (I always wished I could have heard the other half of the convo too).

One night on the 12^th of October 1976, an infamous Tuesday, I had my meal and was ready for bed but the authorities came to me and told me they could not keep me for that night since there were visited by city inspectors and the law said no one under 25, so they kindly kicked me out. I was going to go back to my room in Ville St-Laurent but this other young bloke, a redhead, who also had been kicked out said, I heard of this place called La Porte Ouverte would you like to come? I thought well I do have a room but in two weeks it won’t be there anymore and if they start tightening the noose here I better start hunting for a new acceptable place soon, so there I went.

There was a yellow bright sign and some verses on it which I quickly checked.  A fat sleepy man opened the door and send us on the second floor in the men’s dormitory where I ended up in a somewhat special bed all surrounded by curtains for privacy, from an eccentric Alain Pelletier I heard, the only one with privacy on this whole floor.

We got there late but I remember vividly being wide awake and full of energy at 7 AM (a certain sign of absolute mania, hindsight is 20/20) and I had to ‘convince’ these guys that I belong there. 

The rest might be too boring for now,

a long tug of war of cult tactics and mind breaking that lasted for years.

So here it is for now I threw my last cig for the next 12 years in that toilet on Adam Street, 4488.

Richard Bujold, Alain Pelletier, Elaine Durocher, Yves Alarie you were all there.

I still am not close to the part where ‘he’ became a ‘she’ but that is another long story.

Léo Caissy met Léo Caissie on October 12^th, 1976

Ecc 12:1  Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them;

Ecc 12:2  While the sun, or the light, or the moon, or the stars, be not darkened, nor the clouds return after the rain:

Ecc 12:3  In the day when the keepers of the house shall tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those that look out of the windows be darkened,

Ecc 12:4  And the doors shall be shut in the streets, when the sound of the grinding is low, and he shall rise up at the voice of the bird, and all the daughters of musick shall be brought low;

Ecc 12:5  Also when they shall be afraid of that which is high, and fears shall be in the way, and the almond tree shall flourish, and the grasshopper shall be a burden, and desire shall fail: because man goeth to his long home, and the mourners go about the streets:

Ecc 12:6  Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern.

Ecc 12:7  Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it.

Welcome to Fucking China

The land of the brave and the free.

Maybe Neil Postman was totally wrong and Orwell is really winning over Huxley.

The land of Gitmo and repression calling China the black kettle is getting very very good at suppressing anything it doesn’t want published, thanks to the mega rich media kowtowing to government censorship.

Twice in two weeks now.

First we hear an awful lot of ranting and foaming at the mouth over Jim Carrey’s new song.  All the dissing in there, you can’t miss it. Try to find what they are dissing about now??? Almost impossible to find anywhere, totally suppressed and erased from history by the giant whore YouTube.  (We need a new You Tube BTW, a YouTube for the people, by the people etc, not a subservient to neocons.)

Now Strike two.

Another controversial song with thousands foaming at the mouth maybe rightfully this time but still? 

Can you find the fucking song ANYWHERE one more time? 

I think not.  

This one being Brad Paisley Accidental Racist.

My first attempt this morning at listening to “freedom” news was a short video of a racist conversation on the train. You’d think I could listen to the thing again eh? There is more beeps in it than whistles in a football game and I don’t like beeps and whistles sounds.

In a FREE country you would think one could sign a fucking waver. I am a fucking adult. I deliberately fucking choose to listen to the fucking original. Please give me the fucking option, you fucking tyrants and dictators out there.

All this obsession with the word FUCK and nipples in a world that is a thousand times more horrible.

The Western world has gone to the fucking dogs with filtered CONTROLLED media.

Yet, Yet, Yet pretending LOUDLY to be FREE, operation Freedom and all that bullshit they force on mother and children with bombs and drones and money and all.

That is the worst part: the UTTER hypocrisy and self-delusion, the madness of the lies.

Dreading already my next flight with all the watered down options we have in their over controlled media as if I was a fucking child and had no option to grow up at all. 

I wish they would grow some fucking balls and let the truth be.

Enough ranting for now but still people open your eyes and see and over all DO NOT ACCEPT the present forced slavery upon us.  FFS.

Here is another GREAT EXAMPLE the GIANT GOOGLE forcing the sheep now to do filtered censored oppressed searches and the options for freedom are getting smaller and smaller nearly impossible to find in this WWW of deceit.

Oh what a tangled web we weaved indeed.

Ok maybe a bit décousu again but the main point is:

I, the free I. ME.ME.ME. 

I WANT THE FUCKING CHOICE.

No one is to decide for me what is good what is allowed and what is not allowed to read or listen to

To be imposed a bullshit morality is simply outrageous.  

To be deprived of facts and words and events 

is just plainly repressive, 

nothing short of mental slavery.

I have a feeling on the latest Paisley repression that it is the white man who is the control freak here but it doesn't matter.

Plus plus plus why flood us with all the dissing if we never had a chance to listen to the OTHER PARTY accused here? 

What kind of justice is that now?

What is next? Kangaroo courts and lynching again?

Stop PRETENDING that you are the FREE world, lying to us and taking us for fools.

How many quotes on censorship do I need to make my point clear here?

POWER to the PEOPLE and down with Google and YouTube oppressive monopoly.

FB is not any better since as always money talks and bullshit walks.  We need more people freedom on the web, REAL FREEDOM.  

which also gives up the option of the freedom to ignore but wilfully this time.

Unlike James Blunt here I scream at the top of my voice

Give me reason AND Give me Choice

for I don't mind making the same mistakes again

That's how I fucking learn

before this library burns

Here is another little story that might disappear when this library burns.

Laredo is the first one that came to mind even though Waco is another popular one for different reason but Laredo had a special personal meaning to me: the city I never made it to and probably very luckily as chances are I would not be here to tell the story.

"When a knowledgeable old person dies, a whole library disappears" -An old African proverb

It would seem that I now have TWO stories.

Ok first one then, I always thought that African proverb said:

When an old person dies, a whole library disappears and I LIKED it that way.

Why does it “have to be” a knowledgeable one and what makes one knowledgeable and the other NOT knowledgeable?

Alright let’s try not to meander too much here and make this a long and winding road but knowledge, by all means, is very relative. One does not need to be an epistemologist to KNOW that. What does knowledge consist of and what is not knowledge well who KNOWS?

I really hate the new and real proverb the more I think of it as it demeans other human beings as less valuable. 

I often think of (who else) my mother when I think of this proverb when every day I study my roots and my genealogy and some information that is nearly impossible to find on the vast internet is temporarily available in my mother’s head if it is still stored there that is. When she goes she will be in some sort the last of the Mohicans the baby of a huge family now 81.  

And yet even if I have retrieved some of that knowledge through the internet it will be interesting to share with the only one that cares a little about this kind of history because let’s face it we care about our own and that’s about it in this jungle we call ours and this is why we have words like collateral damage that do not make us flinch or hurt in the least way.

We are as a race and by Dunbar’s rule, very parochial, very provincial in our approach to everything.  Just look at local news: 3000 dead here or there and what do they say next? So many Australians (or Canadians or wherever you come from), AGAIN DEMEANING the 2998 other deaths.

So let’s go back to MY African proverb and my little disappearing library here. J

I was 18 years old IIRC young and not so innocent and rather stupid and immature maybe even more than your average 18 year old at the time.  My ‘best friend’ strangely enough was this 14 year old maybe a little more mature than the average 14 year old named Roger C, who happened to be my mother’s boyfriend’s son.

We had come to this very WISE plan to hitch hike our way to Colombia and not the British one either the Colombia with Bogota in South America.

We worked for 3 months or so in a dark medieval electrical box manufacturing plant and I will have to fudge the numbers here but they were as ridiculous as a $90 one way bus ticket to Laredo Texas and about $400 cash in our hands.  So we hopped on the bus in Montreal crazy and dreamy and hopeful. The “plan” was to bus to Laredo and hitch hike our way through Central America and then on to Bogota. J

24 hours later exhausted already, we were no further than Windsor Ontario at the Detroit border. Now I have to admit we were rather dumb and lousy liars so to make the story short when the customs guards found out my friend was only 14 and we only had $400 between the both of us and we probably told them the whole plan too hahaha well they sent our asses back to Montreal and gladly sponsored our early return trip. J

By the time we made it back to Toronto though there was a SNAFU in the paperwork and they wouldn’t let us on the bus without paying so exhausted after 36 hours with no sleep we splurged on a taxi to the airport and a one way flight to Montreal for something like $40 IIRC again.

Then too ashamed to go straight back home we rented a room somewhere and spent all of our hard earned money in 2 days before returning to our respective parents with our tails well set and tucked where it belonged.

In hindsight, which is always 20/20, we should have taken a two way tickets to Plattsburgh or Detroit even and then take it from there but then again have we had that “wisdom” I am not quite sure I’d be here to tell the story as there was over one million way to die between Detroit and Bogota and none of them really fun that I can think of.

One of the many dangers of a mania spells that I luckily avoided.

So here is my L for Laredo silly story in a nutshell.  I am 3 times 19 now and lived to tell the tale.  The imagination of what could have happened could make for an interesting novel but we will never know now will we?

 Passport Photo....would you trust a face like that now? :)

Stealing Immortality

Stealing Immortality

Who has ever heard of P.F. Sloan?

Now if I tell you Barry McGuire you will all start humming.

‘Tis the story of this sad world unfortunately.

At fortune’s and man’s eyes is whimsical and cruel.

Real creators, real geniuses often get used and abused, chewed up and spit out by more world savvy profiteering scums.

What am I doing? Rewriting Phantom of Paradise now?

The point is that faces are deceitful.

We all praised the valiant celebrity doing his show, walking in the jungle facing dangers, COMPLETELY FORGETTING the poor nigger cameraman doing the exact same thing backwards and with an extra heavy load on his shoulders. I bet he doesn’t get a personal make-up artist and a personal assistant, more slaves to the cult of the celebrity.

We praised the likes of interprets merely monkeying and lip-synching what geniuses have created with their blood, sweat and tears.  Celine Dion and gambling hubby have created nothing at all.  They are the same as Colonel Parker and Elvis bleeding the life and stealing the bread of songwriters.

Christians would have no use at all for a P.F. Sloan to PARADE him like a clown, like a prize that THEY have won.  They’ve done it to Bob Dylan even for a while.

The show must go on but at what cost for human lives and miseries?

It‘s so easy to sear one’s conscience when dollars are involved now.

Prostitution and whoredom is much much bigger than street walking you know?

If you marry for money you are a WHORE.

It could come down to basically if you do ANYTHING for money you ARE a whore period. 

What is the old story again?

Man to woman: Would you sleep with me for one million dollars?
Woman: Sure.
Man: How about for ten dollars?
Woman: What do you think I am?
Man: We've already established what you are.
All we're doing is haggling about price.

A lot could be said on this about the values of sin conceptions and shame but the bottom line is honesty I think.  There is nothing wrong in being a whore, in fact the most honest profession if you ask me.  Now pretending to be holier than thou is another story of lies and deception and self-deception at that too.

What am I trying to say again? About immortality, I was saying recently I’d just like to at least have my name in Wikipedia which is really stupid and vain not to mention surreal.  What does it matter if I have my name in Wiki or not?

HE LIVED. HE DIED. END OF STORY.

He is/was not bigger or smaller than any other human really or maybe any other animal who all had a right to live, a chance to life. 

Death is the great equalizer of us all.

When you consider the demography of celebrity magazine buyers really, there is nothing to boast or look up to.

It's astounding, time is fleeting
Madness takes its toll
Please have exact change

There is something deep in old ‘spiritual’ values and one does not even need the bible to say so, Antoine de Saint-Exupery will do just fine thanks.

Voici mon secret. Il est très simple: on ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux.

·         Here is my secret. It is very simple: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.

·         Variants: "Here is my secret. It is very simple: one sees well only with the heart. The essential is invisible to the eyes."
"The essential things in life are seen not with the eyes, but with the heart."
"One sees clearly only with the heart. Anything essential is invisible to the eyes."
"One sees clearly only with the heart. What is essential is invisible to the eye"

He says another thing too I have been repeating often

Le langage est source de malentendus.

·         Language is the source of misunderstandings.

I PASSED BY.

And this too shall pass.

"This too will pass away"

I passed by, just like the 7 billion others and just like the  69billion to 110 billion humans before me.

And in a short TIME  from now,

all the Ozymandias of the world will have passed away too.

Me and YOU and a dog named Boo and a rabbit named Twitch too.

Your mother, your father, your son, your daughter, your brother, your sister, etc
…we are ALL just passing by, clinging too hard to this harsh planet at times.

It doesn't matter what the size of your tombstone is or will be or even if you will have one.

Mozart is a good example and many low-life criminals have huge tombstones bought with blood money.

So here we go with another “bright” “morning” thought.

Ponder on people, 

Ponder on while you still can.