Thursday, August 16, 2012

Wake-Up Call: Thinning the Herd

The repellent savagery and 'Big Hot Mess' that is Life
may not be as readily evident in America as it is, say,
in the starving regions of West Africa or other more
impoverished global stages in the 'third world.'

But aside from the prestige and pretense of the upper
crust regions, there are plenty of American slums, drug
dens, homeless populations, horribly impoverished
neighborhoods, that all point to the illegitimacy and failing
of the American Dream.

These days, there's a greater likelihood of finding these
dire situations than of finding happy-go-lucky dream
achievers. (But please, Johnny-come-lately Veep runners,
tell us alllll about the 'opportunities!')

There are multitudes of uninsured living without assistance,
the disabled struggling without funds or care, the under-
employed striving to do right and still not make it, college
grads with no opportunities, addicts with no help or counseling
available to them, and so on.

People 'Living' the barest of existences, horror stories really.

We overlook them's hard to look directly into
the sun and still be able to see.

When there's nothing to be done, it's easier to ignore
the image or notion that offends us.

Inner-city violence , drug overdosing, spread of disease,
millions of miserable self-destructive, self-hating
homosexuals (Thank you, religious Overlords!), racism
and separatism still quite alive and thriving, and all of us
conveniently geographically and emotionally distanced
from one another, worshipping our new god of autonomy
and independence.

We avoid the dark for as long as we can, immersing
ourselves, distracting, comforting, medicating, consuming,
until we are irrevocably finding ourselves in the midst of
the tale, or no longer able to lay witness to the invisible
around us.

There is a storm coming, and it's going to be bad.

The landscape will change radically, and much of what
we all 'know' (assume) to be true will be torn asunder.
...revealed for the false hope it ever was.

Not everyone will survive the transition.
Already, T.P.T.B. are pushing through for the 'lowest of the
lows' to be done away with; lack of care for the terminally
ill, lack of proper treatment for the mentally ill, no treatment
for returning vets with disorders, no assistance for those
without jobs or resources, and so on.

We cut the school staffs and the social programs when those
areas are ill-equipped to handle any more surrenders.

The new status quo is going to shock the Bejeezus out of some.

What goes up, must come down, though.
And the bill has finally come due.


Saturday, August 11, 2012

"To scare myself with my own desert places."

Living in the South is like being in the desert. Not in the most
obvious sense, as with the heat and bothersome bugs and
perils of snakes and other horrific critters... although that's
here, too.

No, in the south it's dry.
And Nothing grows here, either.

The only way to get some excitement is to have heatstroke
or suffer from the effects of a mirage.

"Why not move?" A simple enough query.

Would if I could.

Times are tough, obligations plentiful.  But that's not all.

All the Kerouacs and world travellers and adventurous sorts...
all the 'Kumbaya' and openness to discovery....all that 'hitch
your wagon to the stars' and 'the world is my oyster' stuff makes
for great movies, and it sounds like a pip.


But it's mostly great when you're in your twenties.
Maybe your thirties.

Works great at any age when you're well-off financially, or
have places to stay should/when problems arise.

Works great when your body's in great shape and your
options are plentiful.

But my world's grown smaller and less-populated, habits
have become history, and I know what I know.

Making the most of what you have should be an Olympic
event--it sure takes a ton of hard work, sacrifice and training.

Perhaps I'm merely drained of all soul and adventurous
spirit from my long and arduous journey through the swampy,
intolerant, unflinching environs of the South.

Those words and glares and 'sublimated' threats are as
sticky as an armpit at High Noon.

Maybe the whole point of venturing out of the desert is
the hope that--against the odds--there is something
beyond these limited borders, which have now afflicted
our minds, too.

If only we can overcome the fear that the torture to come
is worse than the torture which has kept us in place.