Some Ridiculous Things

Some Ridiculous Things

People believing Trump actually speaks sense. As far back as the 12th century–my memory falters–Trump’s kind of socio-political agenda created havoc, more often than not via The Church, but in Japan long-lasting civil wars were the result. What’s in it for the US?

The fact that Christians should actually be expected to stand up for something and, then, do something. If it’s not status quo, why bother, eh? We’re comfortable.

The FBI collecting data on police shootings. As if they’ve not been. But what’s really up, for they don’t have the slightest idea of what they’re looking. They live in a history of preconceived ideas of everything about crime and criminals. If we don’t like it, it’s wrong. Jah! Vee don’t neet no edyucashun! Heil Hoober! Who cares vat ju tink. Vee got dis vun, Schatsie.

Home of the Brave. Land of the Free.

Chipotle in crisis? Anyone interested in conspiracy by a competitor? There is no connection between Boston and the State of Washington. Chipotle is not McD’s any more. If they’re doing anything wrong, outside of succeeding, that other food chains are also doing wrong. . .they’re doing it better.

A Saudi woman, who will probably find herself stoned, maintains that, yes, women may run for office but. . .they cannot drive to the polls. Mah, goo’niss! Don’t this soun’ lahk blacks kin vote, they jest cain’t afford the registration fee? Y’all got a problem with that?

The psychiatric establishment has linked marijuana to terr’ism! Rise up, y’all! Hallelujah! The drug crazed psychiatric community has the answer via dangerous, life-threatening drugs and then says marijuana is dangerous? Om, Freud. Om, James. Om, Skinner. Om, shit.

People. In general. Which amounts to just about everyone. Generally speaking.

Christianity is under attack.

The NRA.

Incomprehensibilities

Incomprehensibilities

Medical practices that evaluate whether they will allow someone to be a patient.

Christians who twist their souls into knots about accepting or not refugees (in this case). I’m sure such an ideological dislocation exists with other people, in other situations.

Buddhists who do nothing to help people but, yet, hold Bodhisattvas in high esteem.

Luddites who use technology while damning it.

The image I see in the mirror. The face I comprehend but my mind still sees me as thin beyond measure but the mirror image I see is fat. Skinny arms and legs, gorilla belly. This being and percepting are incomprehensible to me. I also do not understand why I’m so old. Surely I was given the wrong body when these were handed out.

Why people accept–why media airs!–reporters who comment on and opine in the most graphic, negative manner about incidents. . .and then say they were not there. The instance to mind is the attacks on the two blacks at a Trump rally by the whites in the all-but-two white crowd. Even while the video was rolling showing the two Black Lives Matter blacks doing nothing but being set upon, beaten and kicked and corralled so they could not escape, the on-air reporter classed these two as nothing more than thugs, rabble rousers and troublemakers who deserved what they got. Overtly racist. And spouting the same language, the same rhetoric used during the early portion of Hitler’s Cancellorship when Jew-baiting and Jew-beating was beginning. It is not only incomprehensible that such vituperative, racist sentiments be aired on TV but that the audience would choose to believe what they are told rather than what they see. And then, by-the-by, “I was not there.” A stage throw-away line that will, indeed, be thrown away by the audience.

As Lucy Liu’s pineapple-heiress’s boyfriend says when she stands before him and his two girlfriends in bed with a gun, “You gonna believe what I tell ya or what ya see?” She killed ’em all. Present-day American audiences choose to believe what they are told, fuck what they see.

I remember the I-was-there novels; CNN and Fox are beginning the TV equivalent I-was-not-there novels. Great stuff.

Changing over

Those familiar with labelleotero are now here. Talesofthefloatingworld comes about from problems that would not fix.This is the fix for the lovely, incomparable and very numinous Minna vander Pfaltz, whom Jimsecor might call a Familiar. I occasionally let him mount essays and whatnot here and he tells me there will soon be an update on the ludicrous happenings in Lawrence, a town that fits Dunning-Kruger to a T. Truly an oddity considering KS’s governor, Sam Dale Brownback, a nobody til he married publishing money, played toady to Bush II and got hysterical over a mole on his back and apparently saw God. Not quite like seeing the Fairy King over a mushroom hood but certainly of the same fantastical nature. Jimsecor is extremely cynical and disgusted over Brownback’s harrowing encounter with death via mole, as he himself bled out in 1999. He does not talk about this much, only to say he got no enlightenment, which may be a kind of enlightenment nonetheless. I have followed Jimsecor since we first met across the country and into Europe and Russia, and thence to the Far East: Japan, China, Korea, Singapore, Malaysia and Hong Kong (which many Americans believe is China; it is not, though China’s governors want it to be for good capitalist reasons).

Along with this new blog site comes a new apt, albeit not really ours yet. Nevertheless, the promise is there and the money is rolling in, kind of like Sisyphus pushing his stone up the hill. It is on the first floor, given there is a ground floor, for which we are not totally thrilled as our wheelchaired friends cannot visit and I fret over his falling down the stairs (Jimsecor is a fall risk, managing 2-3 episodes/yr). But it is larger than the present dormitory type room and much more open and bright. Jimsecor will be able to set his office aside, in the second bedroom; I prefer to write on the kitchen table so I can yell at the cat for strewing my papers hither and yon as he scrambles over the polished oak surface in chase of. . .whatever it is cats see. We will have to line the balcony with something to keep the little g-kids from falling off.

Speaking of g-kids. . .Aurora, now 2, was born on Jimsecor’s birthday. As he has no family, she and her brothers and sisters have been a boon to him. Me, too, when he lets me get in the mix. There is a picture of her taking a bath. She cannot say her name, managing only “Rora.” Very headstrong, full of “No” and, though indulged, not spoiled by her grandpa. But we do not get to see them often enough. Isn’t that the way it is?

Jimsecor will be undergoing TMS, transcranial magnetic stimulation, in an attempt to gain some kind of control over his treatment resistant depression. Without such control, he is tossed about like a rat in a cage as his moods swing into and about his person. Before returning to the States in 2010, from China via a stop in Liverpool, his Bipolar I was not so disruptive. Since returning, he has spent half the time not writing, the publications coming right at the beginning of the 2 1/2 yr dry period. This is the last resort. Please, gods and goddesses, let it be successful! I will not abandon him as family, friends and lovers have; but living with an out of control Bipolar I is not rosy. I think, though, I handle it better than Zelda did F. Scott’s; however, Jimsecor’s not a raging alcoholic. If there is no resolution, we will be going to live in a “populated area,” either here in KS or in China, where he does have family: adopted girls. And students he is still in contact with.

“Populated area”: a ghost town has no people in it. A populated area has some. Very some. Matfield Green, KS has 49, a cowboy bar and a grocery, along with an artist’s retreat and a couple ranches on the National Historical Register. Linghu, Zhejiang, China has a main road of 1/2 mile and is the hometown of one of his students; her parents own THE grocery store. There is an old town along the polluted canal and out a ways from the “town” centre is Gu Jia Michelle’s grandparents’ house, where she was raised. Jimsecor would like to have indoor plumbing put in and move in; Gu Jia is somewhat resistant to the idea, believing he won’t be able to manage on his own with his (and my) slim Chinese ability. I wonder because Linghu is 45 minutes by furious bus over both paved and unpaved road from Huzhou, the nearest big town. I think the nearest town period. We both would like to move to Whorehouse Meadows, OR but it is not a town, just a beautiful spot of greenery in an otherwise arid area where, once, whores were housed in tents to keep the RR workers content.

And that’s about where we are at the moment, with me taking care of the mundanities of life and the editing and other business concerns, all of which frustrate the hell out of Jimsecor. I don’t mind. Jimsecor is my populated area.

The dishes await.