Second Day

Today is my second day of a news blackout.  The first day went pretty well.  I wrote a Tin Hats post, read 50-odd pages of Steppenwolf, walked the dogs twice, played with the cats, had a couple of good conversations with two street people and helped a crazy woman look for her missing kid.  She needed me to translate for the police.  Genevieve protected me and told me nothing from the Woman Warrior Conference.  It’s a three-day affair and she’s feeling outstanding. 

Today will be a continuation of contemplation and reflection, but I think it will be harder to isolate myself from news.  The computer keeps sending news flashes, but my eyes move away quickly and I delete them.  All of this reminds me of the Jews in Germany during the 1930s.  A good portion of them refused to talk, listen, or read about Hitler, the Fascists, the wars and civil unrest, and the swing toward right-wing politics.  They just wanted to be happy and have everything normal.  In retrospect, they were in denial and they did so in the face of two books by Hitler, Mein Kampf and The National Socialist Movement, which laid out in detail how the Jews would be treated as “chaff” and eliminated in a “bloody process” to insure the purity of German genes.  Few Jews thought any of this would come to fruition.

If you don’t know, I count myself as an émigré living in Mexico.  An émigré is a different sort of fish then a retiree.  No, an émigré has political reasons for living outside of the home country.  My reasons are the rise of right-wing policy and parties that are destroying the ideals of American democracy.  Fascist at the core and I find it intolerable.  If I was younger, I’d be there, but I have already fought the good fight and lost most profoundly.  I’m cynical and tired.  There is nothing much for me, other than thinking about the world and entertaining all the odd life that Mexico has to offer. 

Last night I slept with Genevieve on the far side of the bed.  Matilda was at my shoulder, Birdy and Stormy Bell were stretch beneath the covers along the edge of my naked body, and finally Missa Him was at the foot of the bed, her head resting on my foot.  It was cold and I felt like I was back on the Loa border, in a refugee camp, sleeping with a H’Mong family.  The whole family would pile into a large bamboo bed and the dogs would jump in as well.  Being a foreigner, I’d have the honor of sleeping next to the man of the hut.  All of the women far away, dogs closer and I could feel them running in their dreams. 

I feel good not knowing anything.  Here is something I wrote to Aaron, a few days before I came up with the idea of a news blackout: “More and more, I am on a spaceship or maybe a masted ship from the 1800s.  Either way, I feel alone. You are a lifeline, the message in the bottle, the probe to a planet unknown and like a captain in the dark, I stand on the quarterdeck, at the controls in the glow of screens, looking out on all I behold … occupying the cracks of myself.” 

Ni modo, for me anyway.  But you don’t have to take it. You can fight like hell. If so, good luck. Better standing than on your knees.    

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3 thoughts on “Second Day

  1. I’m reminded of the valence shell theory of existence. Imagine playing a board game with others, where some argument breaks out. The game has zero impact in life, yet one remains invested in the outcome of the superficial fight. Why? “You can’t move six spaces if your whirlybat hasn’t earned its wings yet.” “Bullshit. I earned my wings when I drank that noxious fizzy potion.” “No way. The effects were only temporary.” …

    What will the Red v Blue game reveal in the end? That humans are petty creatures who will never learn. That there will always be disinformation and deceit swaying the minds of the simple and intentionally ignorant. Case in point, Oregon had a measure to REMOVE “slavery” language from their constitution. 50% voted NO. One could pound the game board and cry foul or fool.

    Or, step away from the nucleus of such inane conflict, step out, perhaps even to the level where the specter of Death leans eager over one’s shoulder.

    The struggle, I find, is failing to suspend my involvement, failing to extract my will from the petty goings on in society or work or family. I think it’s DNA continuing to have sway over my beliefs. Me becoming enmeshed in the survival of my family, my tribe or my country, DNA might say, is beneficial to its propagation.

    Well, fuck you DNA.

    Liked by 1 person

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