Super Blood Moon 2033, I’ll Still Be Right Here I Think 2015. Acrylic on Masonite®, 16 x 12″
I shall stay where I am because everywhere else seems to harbor more psychosis.
Bury My 42nd Kiss Under This College Hall 2015. Acrylic on Masonite®, 16 x 12″
The verve I expressed internally at 18, I have nurtured and expanded into outward expression these days, and it saves me often from floundering.
Oligarchy Can’t Stop Mass Psychosis, But Guns Should Still Fly Away (Followed by the Bessemer Process) 2015. Acrylic on Masonite®, 12 x 16″
A reaction to the sickening violence of another psychotic American with guns, and then reading the news the next day that other psychotic Americans with planes and bombs mutilated as many innocents in a hospital (Kunduz, Afghanistan), that were killed in Oregon, and yet this mass murder will not be condemned on television by an American President because he is the guilty Charles Manson preaching a tall-tale of the Golden Rule. And a minority in the country openly follow his or another demagogue’s lines of madness because they are very tired and their pasta bowls are full.
Also this week I saw two decals on the back window of a pick-up truck. One had the word SNIPER with rifles forming the letters. The other said Marines.
There is a glimmer of hope.
The patriarchy is in its final death throes because this month I have read all the major works of Erich Fromm. There are many, many broken penises out there literally suicidal to get their mommies back. What we are witnessing now I believe is the tippy top of the fight or flight instinct before it explodes like a caldera. Since ancient Mesopotamia men have been dying (and killing) to get back to the womb. The Iron Age ramped up the arms race. It was only a matter of time before thermonukes were cocked among us. It’s all very reasonable to have arrived here after centuries of man, the patriarch’s, unreasoning. Presidents are no wiser than mass-murderers who run amok to be breast-fed. Nobody has control, and there lies the hope.
Still, the rage I feel while looking at a SNIPER decal, that labels its owner proud to create death, never strays out-of-bounds, and I limit expression to discussion with my wife, or painting a picture, or writing this. And it’s always enough! Unlike a President or another psychopath, I do not feel the inertia or potent urge to kill anyone, which means the saving seeds have already been planted. For I cannot be the only one who feels. Far from it. 5,000 years to nuclear weapons is a long time. But now that it’s here, I believe the mass majority of men and women are rapidly hastening the end of the age of the death wielders. The fire-bombings of Dresden and Tokyo began to show the desperation of the patriarchal society on a mass scale. The violence we see now are reverberations of that loud, hissing insanity.
Today, most people of earth are sensitive always— that is, balanced more or less equally between the male and female human being. Many misguided, and many afraid—unable to believe in the powers of self. The latest book I read from Fromm (published in 1968) talked about recreating a sane society in the technical age. He spent the whole last chapter explaining how to organize people to fix social problems. Putting adds for group meetings in the paper, telephone campaigns—that sort of thing. There was even a form to fill out, left in the pages of the book, to mail back to his office in New York (He died in 1980). He imagined many local avenues to scenarios of revitalized humanity, however no mention of the glorious Internet. Yet it’s here, and it’s making the psychosis of the warped man-society very apparent. Find your groups where you can voice sanity. Beyond my immediate family, I have a local three-chord guitar club, a few friends in and out of the club, and some precious Internet connections. I ignore the groaning caldera beneath me. For no matter what, if it goes, we all go. Time will not protect me from death, nor the sniper marine, the President, or CNN. Time reminds me over and over again that I only have so much of it to get any message out, and perhaps there will be the takers of the next generation. Every man or woman has the ability to accept or decline. Each day I wake up and choose, and hope others awake with such wonderful conviction.