Some Thoughts From the Cockpit of My Non-Governmental Think Tank

shiva

“I Am Mostly a Mortal Muyalaka, For Now” 2017. Acrylic on canvas, 16x 20″

Within one of my mind’s many compartments, I have parked an old tin think tank. I’ll climb into it today to sort out some political or cultural confusion, yet also see if I can word strike enough phony politicos to make a collateral damage difference before Armageddon.

Probably not though. Retaliatory strikes are inevitable and also possessing very accurate weapons from the arrogant illusion arsenal. Also, my think tank is made of tin, which means that tomorrow, maybe even in an hour, I will have ejected myself with a bouquet of flowers and land at a warm mind beach for some sunrise Tai chi. I am a painter and writer, neither a careerist nor a fanatic. I also prefer guerilla resistance fighting to open confrontation. My enemies desire mechanical murders from the sky, and prefer to coax little boys and girls out of high school to press the buttons for them.

My political enemies are true and lasting cowards, in it for the long haul. Presently they remain on the right side of the law, holding positions of fantastical power and influence. A U.S. Congressman claims to represent over 600,000 people. This is an insane claim for certainly 600,000 human beings did not vote for him or her. Neither did human children nor half the grandmothers and grandfathers disenfranchised at a Medicaid nursing home. The rest of mammalia and all sentient life down our anthropomorphic scale of importance were completely ignored on election day.

So 99.999% of life is not represented by the one creature alive who literally holds single vote dominion over all of life. One poorly researched “Yay” on the House floor and poof! Everything is dead—even the trees and the congressman’s own precious babies.

So to counter and check this heavy cloud atmosphere of ignorance and confusion we elect political representatives to tax us, both figuratively and literally. They start out with some good old-fashioned, clerical government work, but eventually without fail, take long, frequent vacations into the cultural control arena. The spiritual religious leaders gave up on this approach by Y2K and just agree to whatever the government decrees, except in the viciously fundamental hot spots of Alabama, Israel and Pakistan—many of their religious representatives  want nothing but to smite everything, and then themselves expire into the loving arms of a violently twisted and disgusting god.

To add insult we group-think the very existence of our modern media into the form of an all-knowing bullhorn, even though nearly every single executive, journalist, and even possibly, newsroom custodian, has graduated from a privileged class of über-consumer type A non-individuals. Those people who willingly afford not only the smartphone, but its 2-year enslaved monetary contract as well. FOX, CNN, NPR, ABC have done nothing in my lifetime besides disrupt, divide and confuse Americans to exasperation.

Likewise, the N.Y. Times only publishes the tragedy, culture and politics of U.S. government interest. And its sister publication, The Washington Post, is owned (therefore controlled) by a delivery boy billionaire, and Americans continue to naively believe in a single political world crafted by the propaganda machine, with rank and file set at mouthing perpetual replay.

Talk radio, the NRA, and Fox TV have fashioned my own father into a gentle bigot. Political correctness, NPR, and CNN have turned so many of my friends, family, and myself into equal intellectual dwarfs, and also downright scaredy-cats to power. Some of us who actually believe that two spoiled rotten human beings should not only run for President, but actually get somebody’s vote. I had a friend express on New Year’s Eve about the existence of a “protest vote” that had ruined his hopeful outcome for the 2016 election. Do you want to know how disconnected I am from my friend, and also my own (and what I thought were deep set) principles? And how crazy this makes me feel politically? I asked my voting age daughter to tell me who to vote for, because it is her generation that must suffer the horrible choices made today.

She (and I) chose the only candidate who had actually signed her name to the death warrants of a million innocent human babies, and also trillions of other living species like insects and water weeds. The other three were clean. We (the pacifists) voted for the killer.

Contrary to the endless stream of hollow propaganda, there has never been an American spirit. We are a nation of dumbed-down descendants of immigrants, some of the latter who voluntarily arrived, and others who were chained, whipped and bludgeoned onto a ship for a once in a lifetime pleasure trip into Hell.

The American reality is that we are degenerate. Well-caloried and degenerate. That is, we are kept alive and sick, both mentally and physically, for a long life and amount to nothing much besides sentiment memories to our progeny. There are real heroes. Not one of them is in the government nor its military. I do not thank them for their service. If it was service they would do it for free. If it was service, Boeing Inc. would be out of business, and “every man” Pullman cars would own the new style. If it was service, some children wouldn’t be chosen over other children for the luck to keep their vital organs on the working side of their skins.

And yet I participated in a bad system (the general election) even though it continues to perpetuate all the atrocity, human and environmental, that I see happening in the world. Therefore I, as is the majority of Americans, are spiritless, and also a bit cowardly, and unbrave-like. We will do nothing ourselves, but rather vote for rotten human beings until the end of our time.

If you seek real human heroes to counter the onslaught of these faux-brave, state-sponsored children who suddenly get lauded just because they ordered a whopper on a floating circus aircraft carrier, or, those like my Congressman, who repeats the phrase “boots on the ground” until no one, not even his own wife, knows what the Hell he is talking about, then read some personal accounts of the civil rights struggles of the past and today. I like the ones from mid-twentieth century or thereabouts, when one could witness the same head get cracked open at nearly the same time, from three different TV channels. And then, to see the victims get up and do it again, and again, in the face of total American bigotry and patriotic correctness… Ho boy! There might not have been an American spirit, but there certainly, most definitely was American courage, and it was nowhere that I am comfortable traveling to these days. I think I would have to cross species to find it.

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