To live one day at a time like everything is just swell; 
To send me a Rolex so I can really enjoy one moment at a time; 
 To learn to avoid and run from hardships as the pathway to peace;  
And not taking, as He did, this sinful world
 as it is, but imagining it as I would have it; 
Trusting that He will make all things right instead of me trying to do it. 

That I may be unbelievably and screamingly happy in this life 
and even more super duper happy with Him in the next.

Amen.

Like you , LK…I too am done!  Toasted. Fatigued, infuriated, and feeling helpless.  A voice in a void that, unless I say something completely idiotic, hateful  and ruthless enough to go viral on You Tube, rises like a silent cloud to nothingness.  A voice that on Tuesday had so much more meaning as it screamed GOAL!!!! while my wife and I sat in hockey bliss, munching $9.00 fries and $10.00 beers.  A voice that delivers joy and pure devotion as it whispers “I love you,” to my sleeping wife.  Otherwise, a voice that is basically unnecessary.

We – more-so  you – rant weekly about all the horrors, cruelties, political gaffs and corruption, illegal and un-winnable wars, genocide, and on and on and on.  And yes, it’s a good thing to enlighten, to make people aware.  But even too much awareness bloats the psyche.  Like a therapy session that lasts longer than an hour because the brain shuts down from too much information, enlightenment and awareness become so much white noise, or worse, crying wolf.

And so, at least for now, I am washing myself clean of any and all responsibility of everything and anything that goes on outside my immediate circle of loved ones.  I imagine this will last for two or three days, but right now, it feels really, really good!

                          

I asked myself what I would do if this was it. If I knew for sure that say by next Wednesday everything was just gone.  My immediate bonehead ideas were 1.  Buy the Bugatti Veyron Super Sport…the fastest car in the world – and drive it as fast as it can go , which is 253 mph.  2. Buy the L115A Long Range Rifle – the best sniper rifle in the world, and shoot a bunch of Taliban guys just as they were getting ready to rape someone.  3.  Move next door to Angelina Jolie and take her for a ride in my new Bugatti.  And 4.  Drive Angie and me to NYC to find Donald Trump and punch him in the face.

Now of course, all of that is just simple self-entertaining nonsense, and I fully realize that I would do none of those things because none of those things have any true meaning.  But then comes the puzzle – why bother with meaning if this is all over – including my inherent awareness of myself?  And then that irritating God thing comes up and I have to start all over.  Was it the fear or love of God that kept me from just letting go of all restraints and tearing through this life like a mad dog?  Or was there some gene plugged in during mom and pop’s coitus?  The truth – at least my truth when giving this some heavy thought, is that one dies like one lived.  I believe that having gone so many years traveling what I assumed to be the correct path, the right thing to do, the way to be, and so on, has been so deeply deposited into my psyche that even now, knowing that Wednesday next is the end of everything, I would behave in exactly the same manner I did all those hundreds upon hundreds of past regular Wednesdays.

And so, if the Mayans are in fact correct, there will be people stealing, raping, killing, and doing all kinds of bad stuff. But I believe that those people have been struggling with keeping themselves under control all along.  The majority of us will just sit, realizing there is nothing else we can nor need to do.

As for me, my Bugatti -Jolie imaginings washed away for the comical absurdities they were, I would gather my family and try to keep them from the panic and fear that accompanies any unknown.   I would hold them close, and laugh and cry and run through memories and even discuss what is next for us since we all, my family that is, have a belief in an afterlife.  And whether that afterlife is man made fodder created to keep everyone from cracking up at the thought of death, or a mystical, spiritual truth doesn’t matter.  Hope is what has helped me and my loved ones through this life.  To drop it now would be as illogical as shooting up the Taliban.

Still, there is a tiny part of that sniper thing that gives me a smile.  Gonna have to talk that over with God next Wednesday.

                          

Dear Young Leader,
You have in front of you, two paths.  The one is that which you know.  A sheltered life of luxury and protection from the outside world.  The other is quite extraordinary, as it has the potential of running parallel with that of Siddartha Gautama, or the Buddha.

You see, when Prince Siddhartha was a few days old, a holy man prophesied he would be either a great military conqueror or a great spiritual teacher. His father, King Suddhodana preferred the first outcome and prepared his son accordingly. He raised the boy in great luxury and shielded him from knowledge of religion and human suffering. The Prince reached the age of 29 with little experience of the world outside the walls of his opulent palaces.  One day, overcome with curiosity, Prince Siddhartha asked a servant to take him on a series of rides through the countryside. On these journeys he was shocked by the sight of an aged man, then a sick man, and then a corpse. The stark realities of old age, disease, and death seized and sickened the Prince.

For a time the Prince returned to palace life, but he took no pleasure in it. Even the news that his wife had given birth to a son did not please him.

One night he wandered the palace alone. The luxuries that had once pleased him now seemed grotesque. Musicians and dancing girls had fallen asleep and were sprawled about, snoring and sputtering. Prince Siddhartha reflected on the old age, disease, and death that would overtake them all and turn their bodies to dust.

I am wishing you the wisdom and openness of heart to make the right choice.

                          

Anyway, when I got the rough track of the song, I was pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t a folksy whiner.  The band even suggested I make it rock and roll!  “Yahoo,” said me.  Well, the thing came out tough, and angry, and gutsy.  The band even managed to lyrically deliver the much maligned point of the Occupiers, demanding to know:

“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU’RE FOOLIN’?”

Very cool, and maybe 99 Power have given the Movement an anthem.

Here are the video, the music track, and the lyrics:

Note from Cheyenne Picardo, the video editor: “My gratitude goes out to all of the protestors, artists, animators, documentarians, and other people who have created the content from which this piece is derived. In making this piece, I tried to pay respectful homage to the global video conversation that is so effectively saturating the Internet. Please feel free to post links to your work in their entirety in the comments section. We’re all in this together. Thank you!”

WHO DO YOU THINK YOU’RE FOOLIN’?

Recorded by 99 POWER    Words & Music by James Mee

Who—do—- you— think you’re foolin’?
. . . Do—you—- think you’re foolin’?
Who— do—you—- think you’re foolin’?
. . . Do— you— think you’re foolin’?

Who— do—you—- think you’re foolin’?
. . . Do— you— think you’re foolin’?
Who— do—you—- think you’re foolin’?
. . . Do— you— think you’re foolin’?

Who—do—you—think you’re foolin’? . . .
Do—you—think you’re foolin’?
Who—do—you—think you’re foolin’
Do—you—think you’re foolin’?
Who—do—you
Who—do—you think you’re foolin’
Do— you— think you’re foolin’

You stabbed my heart, made me scream,
with the broken pieces of the American dream

Copyright 2011 Metrostar Music
c/o Publishers’ Licensing Corporation P.O. Box 5807, Englewood, NJ 07631

PLCAgent@aol.com

                          

I got the shot to feel like a 1 percenter the other day. See here in this little town, although pretty affluent, there are people who, like in every town are struggling . There is kind of an unwritten deal here that if you have something you are going to get rid of, and it’s not just trash, you put it out on the curb and someone who can use it will take it.

Now, my dad lives with us and he is recovering from a pretty substantial illness, and one which has left him for the time being, at least, in a position to mostly hang out, lay around, nap with his dog and watch TV. He is absolutely fine with this current lifestyle, so I’m not looking for sympathy, just stating the facts. Besides the occasional walk through the house for exercise as he builds himself back up, TV is the only entertainment he has. Again – don’t misunderstand. Pop could watch TV until the Chinese colonize Mars. And he will watch anything. I ‘ve caught him staring at the Spanish Channel, even though he does’nt understand a word of Spanish. Of course if you have watched the Spanish Channel, you will notice that despite the Latina movement to lose their sexist, misogynistic image, all the women are scantily clad. And so for Pop, understanding the language seems not that important.

Anyway, we figured it would be a nice idea to buy him a new 51 inch flat screen cause the one we had back here where he likes to party was over twenty years old and the picture was out of focus and burning images – basically hard to make out. My son helped me drag out the huge old monster and we – like I explained, put it out on the curb.

The next morning, two women came to the door to make sure the TV was free. I told them it was, and that it worked but it would probably need someone to have a look at it cause the picture was weak. One of the women was so excited, she begged me to hide it so no one else would grab it and then cheered “Merry Christmas to me!” as she scooted excitedly out our driveway to get a truck.

Now, I whine. I try not to, but it’s in my nature from time to time to whine about this thing or that. I whined today. The Eagles got embarrassed by the Patriots, my car got smacked in a parking lot in Baltimore, and I’m whining right now how I could kill you for me being awake after beating myself to a pulp with two out of town concerts this weekend. And so, I want to thank those two women for the God-pie in the face reminding me to shut up, count my blessings – of which I have many, and get on with this beautiful life. I also have a tiny smile thinking of them sitting in front of dad’s old TV. I would like to think that if I ever did become a 1 percenter for real, I would do a lot of giving cause it just feels really cool.

                          

We can assume the Pope knows about pedophile priests, bishops and other church hierarchy.  And we now know that Joe Paterno was told about the sodomy of a young child by one of his coaches.  As for Schwartz, he told an Armed Forces congressional panel he took “personal responsibility” for what occurred in 2009, when soldiers’ body parts went missing and then wound up in a landfill somewhere in Virginia.

The Pope protects the Catholic Church.  Paterno attempted to protect Penn State football, and Schwartz tried to protect the US Air Force.  I smell something missing.  But before getting to that, another assumption must be made.  All three of these guys most definitely are not – were not promoting child abuse.  We can say with almost absolute certainty that these three top guys are not pro man-child sexual relations.  We can also make book on the fact that none of these guys held the victims in any formidable place in the line of importance.  And there is where they all stink as humans.  Along with their power, comes responsibility.  Not one of them stepped up to the plate and took any action until they were hit with the not so glamorous spotlight of exposure.

Did Schwartz fire everyone involved with the unbelievable concept of burning and dumping our hero’s body parts?  Did Joe clean house when given a detailed description of the ugly, unspeakable stuff that was being done to children?  Is the Pope washing clean the stains on the souls of his priests and bishops by turning them over to the policia?  No. No. and No.  Sports reporters rumble on about the Penn State scandal not being about football.  It’s not?  Then what is it about?  We’ve already established Paterno is not pro-ped.  So, why the whitewash?  The Catholic Church denounces the despicable acts, as does the Air Force, but – like Joe – they consider the bigger picture.

Well, my friends, if the bigger picture does not have the victims and their families forefront, then that picture is distorted and plain wrong.

The fact is those violated will never be the same.  Their lives have been changed forever.  The families of the landfill soldiers will look upon our country’s military as a shameless machine that has dishonored their loved ones.  Used them up and tossed them away.

Responsibility is a great word, and an even greater concept, but like so much of the word noise we get from political, corporate, and big religion, it is only that – noise.  These people are essentially lobbyists looking out for themselves and the shadowy upper echelon who pay them.  They are not anything more than that.  Leeches, piranha, bulldozers, sucking dry, eating up and blowing through anything that may prove disruptive to their personal money pots.

                          

I was waiting for the bald guy who runs the UFC to come out and sign Romney and Perry to a match.  Wouldn’t be surprised if he shows up on SNL to do so in a skit.

Herman’s been real good at solving problems in his business career.  He’s horrible at explaining his solutions on a national stage.  His takes on OWS and the unemployed being problems and not victims were surreal.

Newt had the highest IQ on stage and would probably be the most productive president, but he’s a case study in over-packing one’s baggage.

Ron Paul should be the new Sec’y of Liberty and Constitutional Adherence, which would create another department he’d immediately abolish.

Rick Perry never ceases to look like a kid’s toy waiting for a big key to be inserted into the middle of its back to keep it wound up.

Bachmann is an embarrassment to the nation, the party, and the political process.

Santorum’s getting up a head of steam for 2020.

Huntsman boycotted and McCotter bowed out because the media won’t cover even the smartest guy in the room if he’s bald, which left us with a mean IQ south of the electrified border fence.

Net result may well be Jeb Bush entering later in the process and winning the nomination and the presidency.  Rand Paul starts a third party and runs in 2016 or 2020 the latest.