Systemic Toxic Masculinity

I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't toss away my thought on Facebook. So, I'm moving this here. I had posted it there. It's in this here blog where you are not required to look at a man talk about this subject. 

I've written a smidge about this in my blog. And given the "situation" with the poor guy who had a bad day... the guy who just maybe overreacted and killed 8 women, I guess I'm gonna Facebook about how he did it because he's mentally ill since he's white. Because all my women friends want to (if not even need to) hear my opinion on it, especially my Asian friends (Commonly all lumped into "Them thar is Chinese,"), so I can tell them what's what.

So, like... God Almighty created the world in 6 days. Then he just wanted to sit back and watch the game. That's all. Just relax and watch the damn game. But he had kids in the house. He built the house. He put kids in it. There was no woman involved, except for the woman he made by tearing out one of the ribs of the boy. She screwed everything up and ate the apple because she was sinful. And she got the dude to eat it too, because he trusted her. It's not really his fault. And this was going on during the damn game. The man just wanted to relax.

God had told them NOT TO DO THAT! "Don't eat the apple," he had clearly said. There's lots of shit in the fridge. Buy stay away from the apples. But NO! The damn girl child HAD to eat a damn apple. So he kicked them out of the house. Perfectly reasonable. I mean, he had spent all this time making a world, for, well, just to make a world. His ways are mysterious. He wanted a world. And kids. But there was no woman with him. He did it all. So shut up and bow! And for His sake, don't eat the damn apple he told you not to eat. He made it an apple so you WOULDN'T eat it. Because apples aren't something people eat.

Anyway, the damn kids kept getting into trouble in the damn yard, even after he had warned them. He was patient, wasn't he, for a little bit. But then, they were still messing around, making noise, mixing fabrics, eating shrimp, touching wee wees. That shit was really pissing him off. So he went outside and drowned most of them. He let a few of them live. Where the hell had they all come from. Bah! Whatever! Just shut up and quit bugging him! He was merciful, so the few he didn't drown, he let them make themselves a boat. And he gave them some pets. This made him realize how great he was. They damn well better realize it too, or more shit's gonna go down.

Well, that little scene went on for a while. But after a bit, he got one of his daughters pregnant. This kind of mellowed him out for some reason. He drank a little wine, learned to count to ten. That sort of thing. An outside observer might conclude there were some issues here, maybe even multiple personalities. But where exactly would we get an outside observer? Hmmm? So shut up!

I mean, it's OK. I forgive you. Just do all the shit I told you to, and none of what I didn't, and later, after you die, I'll drag you back into the house and reanimate you, and you can get back into the fridge and stuff. And you need to understand, if I get angry here and there, I'm maybe having a bad day.

Toxic masculinity is ingrained in our culture. It's the sustenance of hurt. Crazy people consume it, sane people. Women sometimes eat it. The little thought soup we feed our children is served everywhere.

Spice it up with xenophobia. Say some shit here, some shit there. Sprinkle that pepper everywhere. And there you go. Boys will be boys. China virus. They. Etc.

I don't think women, who feel hurt, threatened, angry need to be told about this guy's mental state. I think the guys need to hear what the women are saying for a while. I don't think Chinese, Korean, Black, Mexican, any other citizens need white America telling them that this guy was just doing it because he was sick, when that sickness is everywhere. I think white America needs to listen to other voices for a while. I think that will make us stronger as a society. Strong is good, right guys?

Consider this manpologizing.

LeeBrief: Thursday, March 11, 2021

Alternative Post Titles:

Shit that worries me and can't do much about

Shitty Shit is Happening 

The Shit Currently in the Vicinity of the Fan

Suck Less with the U.S.

   

I'm not a pessimist. I'm not an optimist. Which, I guess makes me an optimist. It's like the whole socialism scare. There's no such thing as a little socialism. There's just good socialism and bad socialism. Right now the U.S. has bad socialism. It's not like we have a purist economy. It gets lots of government intervention. Really, it always has. It's simply a matter of  where aid and intervention goes. All economies are some or other form of hybrid economy. It's just a matter of how they work, and for whom. So, I'm not a capitalist. I'm not a socialist. But that makes me a socialist, when one does the math. 

Likewise, I'm not a war monger. I'm not a peacenik. Which I guess makes me a war monger. I am not inherently, nor currently, anti military. In fact, there are so many places in the world where abusers and murderous regimes need ass kicking. The problem is, there is no purist approach to this either. It all gets mixed up in God's little playhouse. And most of the time the power is in the hands of the abusive regimes. The military and police state responses are in the hands of those needing their collective asses kicked. 

The role of the U.S. in the world has not been consistently good, nor bad. It can be argued either way. That, in and of itself, makes it good, by historical comparisons. We should always strive to make our influence better. But the alternatives are not better. We cannot withdraw and leave a power vacuum. Disagree if you like. That's fine. But when I play the chess moves out, and look back through time, there is more chance on sucking less with the U.S. That's a good slogan. "Suck Less with the U.S." We never achieved a net positive influence, unless it is judged by the potential other influences. And that has to be part of the equation.

When Americans worry, and when we act, we influence the most powerful government in the history of the world. Our government. Being aware is a good first step. 

To survive, governments must meet certain basic needs of their populations. So, of course, none of these countries is completely without merit. And not all people or governments should be expected to meet my standards of behavior. Luckily, many of my standards mesh up with the quantum of current expectations. That needs to grow. 

These are a few of the things that you need to be worried about:

 Shit about China 

The Chinese Communist Party and the growing PLA under Xi Jinping have undertaken a new and potentially earth shattering approach to foreign policy. They have historically been extremely repressive of their citizens. And they have maintained a general centuries old philosophy dedicated to inward focus and self defense. Even their terrible treatment of Tibet and Uyghurs and their intermittent, post WWII skirmishes with India, Japan etc. allowed for the West to turn a blind eye, because they didn't represent any substantial outward campaign. Boy has that changed. And they have a very integrated expansionist strategy, business interests, state, military, all fall in line with an organized and concerted influence campaign. They have learned well the ways of the West, to be frank. 

Worries - Hong Kong, Taiwan, Debt Vassals, Military investment and expansion, spying and cyber warfare... 

This video is actually worth watching for a snippet view of how Taiwan might be perceiving some of these issues. It's sort of a recap without high budget graphics. I dig that. 

The bottom line is, China isn't just selling us cheap shoes and toys anymore, hasn't been for a long time. Between their military's aggressive new strategy, their debt-vassal foreign aid, their One Belt/One Road initiative, the South China Sea claims, just all over the place, China is absolutely the one to watch. Their military investments are skyrocketing. Their repressive policies have not changed. There's a lot to worry about.  

Shit about Russia 

What's not to worry about with Russia/Putin? They/He Are/Is always on the move. The news is usually front and center about interference in elections. But that's just one of many tentacles. Were his goals more laudable, it would be less worrisome. But, like with China, the reflections of society when the shadow of Russian influence falls are not reflections I like. Of course, Americans need to look long and hard in the mirror, and less at their Instagram selfies. But, again, the equation has a pro-America sum to me. Here are a couple of current flames to watch: 

Cyber warfare, Control of the Arctic High North... Russia's worry stew is a little easier to digest than China's. There is a much smaller population, much more obvious goals, less complexity of strategy. But it's no less a worry maker. It's kind of just an organized crime organization with Putin at the top. 

I don't worry as much about Russia's Arctic influence. Russia tends to follow predictable and profit driven approaches. Also, Russia is actually the largest Arctic State due to its land mass. But it needs to be countered where needed. Russia's military responses can be ruthless, but are rarely belligerent. 

The Shit Americans Just Seem to Not Give a Shit About

I mean, of course not all Americans don't care (That negative had to be double). For instance, I'm just one guy living in rural Connecticut who has the time to write a post about it. I do so in between other things. I do so, and try... TRY to do stuff other than write about stuff about stuff that I care about (That had to be triple stuff). For me, it helps hone my focus. It helps churn my thoughts around in the old brain bucket. It helps me say things to a few people who will listen. I don't think many people listen, or read, or follow even the best sources of information. I think people tend to gloss over, skim over, pass over so many things. But such is life. I may just be the proverbial keyboard warrior in moments, the crazy, half naked, sign waving harbinger of doom that hangs out on street corners and people pass by. I ALSO boycott, sometimes (nowhere near enough) show up in person to events, walks, protests, and that "sort of thing." I have organized, run for local office, facilitated communication at local levels, etc. Not enough. Never enough. What does it mean that here in rural Connecticut, after a walk with my wife I still want to write about these things that need to be seen? Who knows. At the end of it all, I did. Maybe that's what it means. 

I know of numerous tragedies. I say, "What can we do?" Well, we can do. We can know. We can spread awareness. We can generate tax dollars and make sure they go to the right places, and not the wrong places. We can go to, or sometimes drive others to, or generally support protests, action, movements. In fact, it's important, maybe even critical, that those of us with firm footholds, with stable situations, with investment accounts, jobs, cars, property, and all that that provides us, speak. I have no idea who will listen.

While we're fighting over the spoils of war, war is spoiling the universe for its victims.   

A Twitter List by LeeSunvarmint

A Twitter List by LeeSunvarmint

A Twitter List by LeeSunvarmint

******** 

Blog post about my blog that isn't this blog

This Frog is NOT the Blog

JustLee, my other blog, is a different idea than this blog. I have always been fascinated by networks of blogs. There have been big networks, and small networks. And all of that got basically demolished by the social media networks. That's cool. And lots of blogs basically just morphed into websites, which also got pretty much hijacked by social media. That's fine. That leaves me these hermit like blog zones, where I can go create my long antiquated blog network of two blogs that nobody has to read, or can if they wish.

Social media seems like a great place to share ideas and content hosted on other platforms. It doesn't seem like a great place to trust to host your ideas. The profit motive is too dependent on manipulating the actual content and not the sharing, as much as it once was. When I ran Freepressmusic, I actually had relatively good exposure, almost taking it to a higher level, with a mainstream local venue owner committing to backing the newspaper version which would have provided us with a network of exposure that could have been really cool. Coulda, woulda, shoulda, right? The asshole who sat with us through the meeting decided he could do the same thing, took the idea, and just turned it into a giant fart of a failure. People who steal ideas are usually idiots who can't create the ideas, but convince some other idiot of something. I guess I was one of the idiots in this scenario, though, for trusting the thieving idiot. Anyway, most social media is just a very obvious version of that thievery. I'm trying to be less of an idiot for them. 

Interested? Not interested? See, that's cool too. You can read any of the bullshit I post, or not. You can comment, asking what it has to do with poo, or not. But it doesn't have that insidious, addictive quality that makes your life like the soul's consignment to Hell, scrolling through Satan's vacuous cable channels of other people's opinions about stuff they probably don't do shit about, with no show worth stopping on, except maybe the Argue About Shit Shitshow. 

That's why I'm doing this. Yes, there are plenty of other options that aren't vacuous shitshows. I don't deny that. This is just my offering of a potentially less vacuous, and according to my friend Pete, poo-show. That's a slightly less evil version of a shitshow, I hope. 

Anyway, back to the Blog post about the other blog. Yeah, this blog, the one where I am currently sharing this post about the other blog, is one that could be different things, things I might or might not be the only one sculpting. if anyone else decides to post. The other blog, the one this blog post is about, is just my plain old blog: 

JustLee - https://justleejournal.blogspot.com/

Anyway, out of sync, late to the show, irrelevant in a non ironic way, and giving about half a shit what half the world thinks, and not gonna change for the half that I do give shits about, I'm just feeling like writing, I guess. 

Mydentity: Man Man, or Human? To be or not to be an OWG!

Thanks to the many old white guys who have, from time immemorial, felt the need to piss all over the world and didn't learn to take turns and share, many of their self fulfilling prophecies have come true. People are tired of hearing the "Old White Guy" slant on everything. The only ways around that are to qualify your old white guyness in such a way as to make it more something else than it is old white guyness, or be a Republican. People who become Republicans fear the changes and slam their gears into reverse, with cataclysmic consequences. If you've ever witnessed the results of a car being slammed into reverse when all the momentum of that car was headed in the direction of social justice, modernization, inclusiveness, and so on, you know what I mean. That car lurches, the transmission flies apart, gears go whizzing through the air, fluids splatter all over the ground, horrible noises replace the whir of the engine, and mobs attack the seat of democracy to overthrow the government. It's tragic. I don't feel the need to throw the car into reverse. So I will choose this time to accentuate the things about me that are not just old white guy. I can join the world of choosing to self identify. Don't worry old white guys, you will be relevant again soon enough, within the spectrum of relevance, and as part of the whole. Besides, you actually still hold all the power, a situation which is being addressed. But until then, your province is not as the focal point of social interest, not to be praised and your back scratched, but instead to catch you doing something old white guyish, like sexual harassment, or bank fraud, or starting a war. I'm OK with that, because I am more than just an old white guy. I identify first and mostly as hu-man, not man man. 

I realize your situation. For century after screwed up century, there was an idea pushed on the world, the idea that the delicate mechanisms of society relied on all the little man levers lifting the man packages and delivering them to the world for all to see and revere. The idea included, but was not limited to, "white men accomplished all the good things." Of course, honor and glory seemed to ride hand in hand in that wobbly cart, sloshing around in the spilled blood of conquest. Anyone not able to beat the shit out of their goals, which included the goals of dominating other humans, of building empires, of the often self serving concept of legacy, was deemed irrelevant. The narrative was such that all the work done by all the people who didn't want the shit beat out of them was credited to the old white guys, the top of that fucked up food chain. Sure, there were exceptions. Cling to those if you need to. But the skids of society, as envisioned by OWGs was that. And it was powerful. Powerful because of the hell it offered if anyone refused to go along with it. But powerful. The world spun into that gravity well of violence, of plundering the fortunes of the unfortunate. Might makes right. Right?

How does someone escape that gravity? Let me mansplain that for you OWGs: Respecting self identification is paramount to ones own self identification.  For instance, "mansplaining." If you are given the opportunity to sit around a meeting table with, oh let's say, nine men and one woman, try putting aside your man man identity for a minute, and put on your hu-man identity, and listen to what happens. Sure, there are exceptions. But bringing up the exceptions is part of the problem. The math is against it. And if you want to be in touch with truth, math is pretty solid. But at that table, where there are nine men and one woman, watch what happens. I've been there. And it's really weird. She will come up with a good idea, say it out loud where everyone should be able to hear. Some sort of mystical dumbfounded moment occurs. Her words will hover around in the ether as the discussion moves on, then somehow, after only mere seconds pass, her ideas magically coalesce as the ideas of one of the men. At which point it becomes super relevant, as if the other men literally couldn't hear what the woman was saying when it was said the first time. Again, and to sooth your hurt feelings, yes, there are exceptions. And again, math. The statistics don't lie. And I have witnessed this many times. Is this a survival strategy certain men developed through evolution? Hey, we can debate that. But it happens, sure as shit! And it's really weird to watch. Then watch as one of the men, an exception to the other men, if you need to think that, explains her own idea back to her. And then watch, as the other men, all riding the coattails of the previous millennia of shit beating sit by and don't call out the "exception." In that moment, are you more man man, or hu-man? Do you see the person who just had their idea stolen as a person who had their idea stolen. Or do you feel yourself snuggling up into the safe circle of shit beaters? It's a hard call for some, I guess. But that's the moment you should let your psyche live in for a while, until you figure it out, if you want to understand. Figuring it out will give you a more mathematical, statistical view of "exceptions." 

There are millions of moments similar to the one I mentioned above that revolve around your OWGness. That is from the perspective of you. That's OK. But understand that that's the center of you. It's not the center of societal identity anymore. When someone introduces themself to you using the pronouns by which they identify, it really doesn't revolve around you... But, how you respond? YES! There you go! You have agency there! You can respond as someone who doesn't respect self identification, or someone who does. But before you go off disrespecting another's identity, you have to realize that yours is only yours, theirs is theirs, whether you like it or not. You truly have no idea whether the person you are speaking with FEELS one way or another about themselves. It's not your place to judge how another person sees themselves, how another person identifies, how another person IS in or about themselves. That's tough for a shit beater to understand. But to make it simple, the beaten are beating back at that ignorance. So shit beaters will have to deal with shit beating if they try to beat shit out of change. Not everybody has a violent ignorance about change though. There seems to be an average OWG, who just "Doesn't get it." That's actually OK too. The funny thing is, when you get past the bulk of prejudice, you realize peoples are peoples. You will encounter assholes and sweethearts. Those come in all shapes and sizes. There's no guarantee that someone who identifies in a way you "don't get" is going to be a sweetheart and explain it to you. But some will.

As someone who identifies as hu-man first, and man man as part of a strong mix of self, I enjoy meeting new people and trying to understand them, and hear their stories. Sure, I'm an OWG. But I choose to recognize the "so much more" of me. If you present that to the world, you'll feel better about yourself. Will you encounter assholes who don't get you? Gosh... I guess so. So what. Be true to yourself. Be good to others. It's important to learn the lessons so many have had to learn. People HAD to learn, because the old shit beating lessons actually taught that everyone loses. They made those who didn't fit into that format realize that you need to be OK within yourself. Fuck what others say, if they don't get it. You won't have the adulation or deference of just being the OWG. You may even get some asshole uncalled for condemnations or even sweetheart push-back. But again, and gosh, life has no guarantees. Find good friends. That's always been tough, for everyone.

-Yours Truly, In a Concerted Effort to NOT Fuel Facebook with My Rants, 

Lee     

           

The Wormhole

The Wormhole is a wormhole. It's just is! It er there! And it er for time!

March Morning

As it goes

From every beginning

feeding energy poured
it overflowed

there were two

anger was electric
pouring from one
soaked up by the other

Then there were more
energies merged
energies merged

again
there will be two
as the world washes things away

again there will be two
one still flowing
one a tattered sponge

hungry energy poured
and overflowed

there were two
anger was electric
pouring from one
soaked up by the other

Then there were more
energies
merged
energies

soon
there will be two
as the world washes things away
Soon there will be two

one still flowing
the other a tattered sponge

Nazis or Notzis? Or Demystifying Trump's Fart Myst: A Not Facebook Post

 An observational expression of happenings: 

Diddy Lee here, pontificating from the Analysis Room at The Center for World Review. This installment of the LeeBrief focuses on the current state of white supremacist activity as it relates to the January 6 insurgency. This is not an essay. This is not deep thought. It doesn't have to be. This is just getting it off my chest.

The issues of white supremacy have never been hidden in our culture. They have just not been challenged to the extent they currently are. I don't mean in magnitude. There have been punctuated moments throughout history where white supremacy has been "challenged." So in magnitude, there have been challenges. In inescapably important moments there have been Americans who have bled, fought and died to resist the ingrained white supremacy in the bloodstream of our nation. In constant struggle, there have been individuals and groups who screamed into the abyss of American complacency. But this moment is different. This moment is about the inevitable. It is wrapped in complex social evolution. And in many ways as simple as demographics.

I strive to be an antiracist. I work to see my own flaws in perception, and the ways our society has fucked up my thinking, so I can focus on unfucking it. I win some. I lose some. But that's life in a nutshell. That's also a struggle for identity, mine, and my ability to see and respect others'. I consider myself a person, relating mostly to the spirits of those with whom I share this planet. To do that, one must recognize the experiences those spirits have. It's all wrapped up in how the world unfolds for people, how they learn, and are taught to react. It's affected by society, by realities, and by symbolism.

No greater symbol than Former President Trump could have been hoped for, apparently for people of all stripes, those who support him, and those who reject him. Donald Trump has ridden the wave of conflict and placed himself squarely in the mind's eye of the world in the turbulent upheaval and the unavoidable changes of the day.

So when I say this isn't meant to be some deep analysis of all the obscure manifestations of racism, to a large extent, I have Trump to thank for that, in my opinion. And it all culminated (to date and hopefully in finale) on the insurrection day where a bunch of Trump supporters, dissatisfied with the realities of their changing surroundings, tried to destroy democracy.

On February 8 former president Donald Trump's legal team submitted a memorandum with the Senate for the defense in his impeachment trial. In this brief, a very important and often parroted notion was repeated.

"During the past four years, Democrat members of the United States House of Representatives have filed at least nine (9) resolutions to impeach Donald J. Trump, the 45 th President of the United States, each containing charges more outlandish than the next."

I've been hearing shit like that since Trump forced his smelly carcass of a soul into the nostrils of the world. The bottom line is, YES! Democrats have been "After Trump" since he took office. But the obvious issue there is, WHY? The correct way to see that is that Democrats have been SOUNDING THE ALARM since Trump became such a danger.

There are just too many metaphors, similes, analogies, memes, and odors with which one can capture the essence of Donald Trump. None of them are pretty. But the thing that gets me is how people can be so hoodwinked by him. He has mystified even many of his opponents. He has the quality of a noxious gas that somehow poisons anyone who comes in contact with it. Only some folks seem to get a deluded high, losing touch with reality, while others get some paranoid complex where they think he is somehow magically invincible. He's, in fact, simply a human version of a highly toxic fart. That's the simple truth.

The Qpublicans (GOPQ) have let him loose and keep trying to pull the covers over our collective faces. And now there are speculations about whether the stage at CPAC was some secret Nazi symbol. My response to that is, who cares? It's only a publicity stunt if so. We already know they're Nazis. Trump and his crew brought that pimple to a big white, exposed head. I think we all know what's coming next.

-Yours Truly, In a Concerted Effort to NOT Fuel Facebook with My Rants, 

Lee 

Celebration

The other kids will pick on me if I name my puppet "Sadness." That's a gift. Clever little fingers craft handles and strings, and he's a marionette. I name him "Cliche," out of fear. He likes simple words, simple phrases. They cause him to stand and dance. He's having a party, many gifts, many of the other kids are there, many gift their absence. 

She names her puppet "Judgement." There's a beautiful show, simple, clever. He names his puppet "Criticism." We have a simple theme, a plot. They like to call their puppets "Refinement." Silly prancing and clacking little, wooden feet. All the best people watch, from empty chairs. 

Maybe it's beside the zoo, beside a pavilion, where vendors sell cotton candy and a friendly lady teaches sculpting clay, scooping tiny bits with curved knives, like eating soup from a bowl. He likes simple words. 

There is a table where he can see gifts piling up. You give one, you give one, you give one. Nobody comes empty handed. I call him "Cliche" out of worry. Her glance catches me holding him. I see the thoughts vomit out of flaming eye sockets. It's a party now!

That More Convenient Faith

uninspired and quick

I see you in your castle

of flesh, loving hands holding

bones and false hope

of self convincing

your castle of sinew

blood wet mortar

squared off thoughts

into bricks and bracken filled

moat of syrupy stretched truth

nature calls to you

from seeping moonlight

through myriad cracks

letting in

whispering winds

your smile

is the saddest picture

(unrelated frog)

Dad's Mail

 

Dad died in late January of 2019. It was about three weeks after his birthday. He slipped on a sheet of ice while taking his garbage out to the road, hit his head on the ground, suffering a brain hernia, bleeding on the brain. 

I don't remember what i was doing. I only remember Paula's voice on the other end of the phone. "Lee, it's your dad. He slipped and fell and hit his head. They're flying him to UAB. It's not looking good." The next thing I remember is trying to get into the emergency room door, pulling out the small knife in my pocket, being told I couldn't bring it past the guard station. It was a small, silver lock blade, pocket knife. I remember explaining to the guards that I understood, but needed them to be very careful with it, that it was a knife given to me by my father, who was somewhere inside the building "Not looking good." The guards, used to this sort of thing I imagine, were very nice, reassuring me the knife would be there when I came out. Looking back, I knew then. After all, "Not looking good" is "Not looking good." Dad was either dying, or already dead. 

The waiting room is a jumble of memories, Dad's brother coming in, a few family members, cousins, Meg and the kids. I remember we needed to get in touch with Jeff.  I had to tell him what Paula had told me... "It's not looking good." 

The waiting part wasn't long. Or was it? Time was on holiday. Everything was upside down and moving in unconventional directions. My head was spinning even as my body sat dead still in the chair. There was noise and clamoring of an emergency room waiting area. But there was also dead silence. People kept trying to say the right thing. The words of that are impossible. But the saying of them helps.

I've tried to relay this experience several times. But the further I get from it, the more it exists in harshly punctuated moments. It hides in his contact files that I have yet to delete from my phone, jumping out to startle me when his profile picture pops up. It floods into my brain, randomly, when out of nowhere I remember having to "Make the call." He wasn't going to make it. His brain had split. It was on me to say "Let him go." 

I suppose I also used the planning, the dealing, the work part of it to distract the real part. Yes, we had to "Let him go." As much as it happened during the excruciating, guilt ridden, heart wrenching moments when we removed the breathing machine, it happened after, in the dull, oscillating emergence of the new reality. We had to let him go. We still have all the thoughts, the regrets, the memories, the assets, the explaining, the tears, the stress of dividing pennies, papers, pictures, guns and money. 

I hold on, though, in some tiny room in the back of my mind. Maybe I'm waiting for the Dad he was, the Dad he never was, The Dad he wanted to be and didn't want to be. I'm not sure. But I know it's hard to understand how I've not yet cancelled his mail delivery. It comes to me now. All his Fox news inspired nonsense, the solicitations for an old, sometimes gullible guy to send "Just ten cents," to help him heal his soul's heart, I guess. There were no records of his donations. I fear he sent more money to right wing political groups than he did to "Just ten cents a day can feed a child for a year!" But who knows...

I guess I'll save some trees soon, and "Let him go." I'm just not quite ready yet.      

 

The Project

The Project, for project's sake, is long. I've been pondering this morning's post, what to write, like a reverse, anticipatory dream journal. I think of the people to whom I've sent invitations to author, while I wait for someone to show up to my party, or I sit as some aged monk keeping watch over long forgotten texts, or maybe some hunter stalking prey, intellectually. It's a story, no doubt. I like the idea of writing my own story, the story of me. I like the idea of the story of us. I like the idea of a small fire on the border of the settlement, or the watchmen at the edge of the encampment. I like the ideas. 

I respect the simplicity.  I've made some decisions about the structure of sharing. I like the smaller text, the necessary gaze and focus to engage. I like the honesty of foibles, the humor of our lives in punch lines of mistakes and flaws. There's a cosmic mist in the air, Aurora Borealis down to surround human heads, illuminating the crown. Here, away from the Regent's tent, on the periphery of The Horde, there is energy in peace. 

I hate the false choices always proffered as if facts of nature. Be the influenced, or the influencer. Be the wolf or the sheep. Be the lover or the fighter. The worst kind of false choices are those imposed, by others, by entities with agendas, by PR campaigns still selling the same. I hate false choices. The world is full of choices, myriad choices, or a myriad of choices. They're everywhere. 

I am saddened by the current, social limited breadth of attention. The world is consuming mental bonbons and intellectual petit fours. For now, for hope, let's consider it appetizers.  Or maybe small, sliced chum bait for lost souls.  

 

The Party

I am in part using this blog as therapy. It seems like I have developed a habit with Facebook. Each person who uses social media has their own social media vice, I imagine. Some of that is due to demographics, maybe patterns of behavior developed over years. I truly enjoyed the connection Facebook once brought. But now it's as if the party has gotten out of hand, the neighbors showed up, bringing their guns to wave around and hoot, people pissing in the potted plants. But I miss some people when I can't see them. And I'm certainly always interested in meeting new people. That's the Facebook party I showed up for. 

So, this little room here, this blog, represents a corner where the cool kids can come. Rather than some narcissistic drive to hear myself, and capture the attention of others to see only me, I'm hoping some of you will share also. I don't care what. I enjoy the randomness of a good conversation. But I also like the notion that there is an ever so slight effort involved. Facebook, Twitter, et al, they're designed to ease you into over sharing, into plopping out opinions, ideas, the self entertainment sphere. I actually don't have an issue with that concept. What I do take issue with is the obvious strategy of the pusher-man to guide us and trap us into the ding ding bells and react emojis on a one way street to advertisers. 

Social media has its obvious issues. Rather than spending half an hour on a deep dive into any given thought or situation, it feeds "users" into the stream of momentary bits. Outrage, anger, cuteness, doggies, kitties, smileys, bubbles, you name it. Social media turns most communication into those tiny elements, one way or another. Of course I'm not telling anyone anything new. But what are some possible solutions? Again, I don't really have an issue with the monster being the monster. It is the thing it always was. I have always thought dragons serve a purpose. As self actualized human beings, so do we. 

Blogger offers the ability for many authors on this blog. If I am not mistaken, we can add up to 100 authors. As an author, in this context, that is just a more engaged user. The blog is open, can be viewed by anyone, so we're still at the party, in other words. Anyone, from Bangladesh to Birmingham, can take a look, comment, and even request author permission. I doubt many will. But to the cool kids who want to sit in this corner with me and fire up the proverbial J, put on the cool music, and talk philosophy until the sun comes up, here we are. Welcome. 

As for me, I'm currently sitting in my "old man chair." This, as Joe from Smokerise would say, is my "whittling chair." I'm watching the snow come down outside, dropping a few more inches onto the 2 or 3 feet of snow already covering the ground. Connecticut weather is interesting for a boy from Alabama, whose main experience with snow was always about how disappointing it was, never enough, never staying long. My experiences were always the mystical connections of "Do you remember 1993," or "That time we went to so and so and saw snow, on vacation." Now I have to plan when to push the driveway so the cars can get out. And I have to admit, though I once had a unilateral desire for more snow, I look forward to the melting. I like the fact that I have traveled far enough north to experience seasons that aren't just punctuated summers.   

Snow on the frozen creek
 under the  Arch Bridge

        

Now I am become blog, the destroyer of words

 Thanks for the invite!

POOF! I made you a blogger!

 So, you say you want to be a blogger? No? You never said that? Well, that's what I heard anyway. 

I know some people don't have any experience with the interface, don't know how to use Blogger. Ask me if you have a question. My goal is to have many authors, sharing here, instead of throwing your pearls at the feet of SWINE! I mean, we're all probably going to throw some pearls at the swine anyway. But I want some pearls thrown at me too. 

If you have any questions about this little project of mine, just ask. If you need help using Blogger, just ask. I don't expect everyone to know how to insert pictures and such. But it's really quite easy when you give it a go. 

I would love some videos, some day to day stuff, special occasions, cats playing piano. I am definitely going to keep posting here. It may be stories about why nobody is engaging with me. But long ago I realized I needed to play with words, and people. I hate the idea that social media has hijacked that. So... I want an alternative. 

Poop is a funny word

 Poop is a funny word 

The Idea

It's a simple concept. I want to keep up with certain people, without the ads, without the bullshit of Facebook or other social media outlets. This is a semi public way to share with each other. I love to see your content, pictures, poems, shared articles. You can share out of or into this blog. Write a post. Post a picture. Picture the possibilities! 

If I invited you to be an author, it's because i want you to share in this experience. I'm not making this blog private. I don't want to be cut off from the rest of social media. But I want the authors to have control over more of their experiences. You can share posts from here to other social media. No problem. You can share from other social media to here. 

You may choose to pass this opportunity by. That's OK too. I just want to create and not be dictated to or guided by the whims of social media. And I would love for you to join me. 

We can invite other authors too. That's all good. 

Consider this a slant version of other social media outlets, where you can make a post, have people comment on it, and control the content.