The new stealth technology issued to people has made my happiness radar totally obsolete and useless. Everywhere people can immerse themselves in distractions. I have my doubts whether they even know if they are happy or not. Since the car goes where the eyes go and the eyes always peering into whatever wonderland their device has transported them to, I am not even sure where they are let alone if they are happy or not.
Not that my h-dar was that good to begin with. When issued it had a hard time distinguishing a bomber group approaching from a flock of birds. Through life I just got better at keeping my head down and learning when to duck. But usually not soon enough.
I thought I knew my ex wife was happy. Nothing made her happier than when she was shopping. The glee she had bringing home a new purchase was indescribable. She was a happy consumer single-handedly propping up the economy of the 1990’s. Creating jobs hither and yon where ever she said those two magic words.
I thought she was so happy with me. But then she told me she never was.
When the money ran out, so did she.
Auf Wiedersehen Shotzi
Now instead of doing unto others as I would have them do unto me, I do not do unto others what I would not want done to me.
The former is based on the faulty assumption that I know what would make them happy because it is what would make me happy. The latter makes no such assumption and does not constitute a feat of ESP.
Beauty is a sliding scale on our perception bias based on that which has brought us pleasure and that which has brought us pain. An entirely internalized judge, jury,and executioner.
Only when we try to put our perceptions into words is beauty soiled by the exploitative interpretation of others.
We do that when we put Absolute before Beauty.
Well Gertrude, there is information, damn information, and opinions.
If you thought you were getting TMI back then OMG what would you think of the many ways people foist their opinions on us today. So much stuff that we have resorted to abbreviations to lessen keystroke fatigue FTLOC.
But considering the sometimes dangerous results of relying on the dead reckoning of common sense I am thinking the deluge of data we allow ourselves to be washed over with is not such a bad thing.
Just as no one forced you to read or listen to your information dear Gertrude, nobody forced me to fire up my WWW connection to the blogoshere.
Since it was once considered common sense to put an antiseptic containing mercury on open wounds; so data good and bad is just what it is.
Now where did I put my ….
“Why does the Porridge bird lay his eggs in the air?”
The first time I heard that question it was on a vinyl disk spinning around at 33 rpm being scratched and amplified through big old tubes with speakers pushing air around the room.
Oh I was stumped alright. Considering it was the early seventies probably a bit chemically addled as well. But I was not alone. There were many in the room. Some as confused as I was. Others more confused. A select few with knowing smirks because they knew. Some would claim they knew the answer. Many in the room did not care because they were at a party socializing. They wished there was music on instead of this bizarre collection of words and sounds that they had neither the will nor the inclination to ponder.
What I did about it was spend many hours of leisure time alone and with friends, listening, pondering, and discussing every Firesign Theater album we came across. Listened to them so many times that to this day a response to some questions cries out to be a quote from their voluminous work. Often it is as good a response as any to some of the silly things people ask.
Plus a Firesign Theater response is a great way to end a conversation you want out of leaving a confused look on the inquisitors face. Occasionally the other party will recognize the response and where it comes from and lo and behold you have a new friend and kindred spirit for life.
Yet I am still in that same room wherever I go. There are many in the room. Some as confused as I am. Others more confused. A select few wearing knowing smirks because they think they know. The scary ones are the ones that know they know. Still many more in the room do not care because they are at a party socializing and wish the music was on instead of this bizarre collection of words and sounds that they have neither the will nor the inclination to ponder.
As for me I am with this guy:
The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing.
- Work schedule
- Cash flow
- Fulfilling work
- Better teeth
- Single Mindedness
I wake up early on this first day of that changey rangey what if morning with the sun. My circadian rhythms are no longer in conflict with my second shift phone fodder job. I put the coffee on and sit down on my writing porch and spill forth my first chapter of the next epoch of my life. The words create a rhythm that induces theta waves in the brain when read either internally or externally that brings all who read it peace, joy and comfort. The readers will be calmed and comforted but there are still too few readers pay the bills. Not much of a market for peace, joy, and comfort when the real money is in selling stuff to others to make as big a profit as the human psyche can invoke.
After banging out just the right number of characters I breakfast, cleanse, and head off to sell some stuff to others. But now I am in the high priced consultant chair and no longer having to act like others ideas for selling people things they don’t really want, don’t really need, while spending money they don’t really have, to impress people they don’t really like, are pure genius. I as high rent poo-bah have the final call because they have paid lots of shekels for that final call.
I tell myself that it is fulfilling work because it pays well and it does “create jobs” because someone has to make, market, sell, and deliver these consumables. Even though the only ones that really “create the jobs” are the consumers who pony up the cash for the snake oil, widget, or service I am shilling. But shhhh!. Our little secret.
With that I sink my new dental regalia into a big juicy steak with little concern for the hours I had formerly spent having to pick the remnants of such a delightful repast from the gaps in my collapsing back teeth. The new cash flow and deluxe insurance coverage it affords me has purveyors of dental bling lining up at my door to beg for a session to deliver just one more implant.
While being gassed for that diamond implant in my front decorative gold tooth I have the epiphany of all epiphany’s and finally know what my real purpose is. I pursue that purpose exclusively until I am tucked in for that final dirt nap. Fortunately for all, that comes only after delivering on my special purpose in this world.
This delusion was brought to you by me.
It is a simple machine. Yet it has been attached to me for most of my waking hours, certainly all of my walking hours, and some of my sleeping hours for thirty three years plus change. Many changes for sure, Yet over such a span the change can no longer be quantified. But my machine is a part of me. I am human, so It is indeed the most human machine I know.
Like humans it has brought me great joy. Like humans it has brought me great pain. Like humans with out it life may not be impossible but would not be as rich, strange, and wonderful as it is.
When my machine breaks I can effect temporary repairs with super glue, duct tape, epoxy, adhesive wraps, and other items found in big box stores. I’ve seen humans do that when necessary too. This has been imperative since every other step I have taken for the past thirty three years has relied on this basic machine.
When my foot vanished in a pink mist so many years ago I had no idea how important the lever would be in my life. More important than the details of how I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time to bring about my lever dependency.
So I love my lever and will leverage my way, from my weight bearing knee at the one end to the toe tip of my Seattle Foot at the other end while I roll on down the road.