Nothing terribly important happened to me this July.
I am still getting older. I suspect that my hairline is ascending,
but i have no real proof of that except
the subjective judgment i employ
when fresh out of the shower
and combing my hair.
I seem to have alot of forehead in the mirror.
But i keep the hair curly and what the front part of it does is:
(ha) sweep down in''natural curls" to hide any sign
of incipient baldness, which would depress the hell out of me
if i knew it to be there for Others to see...
right now i don't care.
I still got my youthful curly hair,
hardly one in a billion of its follicles gray.
Someone said my family seems to be weirdly protected somehow from signs of aging...and it is certainly true in sister's case....
i went today with sister L to see "glorious marigold hotel "
and nearly weeped during some of it.
So much raw British-actor energy screaming off the screen
in mild contemplative acceptance of humiliation
as a fact of life,
that I identified with way too many old people in it...
those oldsters looking for a new life, in India....
gosh i hope they find love or just a new way of be-ing...British returning 60 years after the apocalyptic happens there...
no doubt well versed in Hinduism. Buddhism too. Brilliant British actors and actresses, looking for a place where it is not perfect,
yet it can be habitated to,
if enough great actors & actresses decide to play along.
Which they all did.
~ So why not let us all just play along,
here in our own particular marigold hotel, Open Salon?
We know how to talk to each other,
we ancient ones of any age.....
my age is mid 40's. Mid 40 American male,
well preserved physically, but mentally?
Let loose INTELLECTUALLY to explore every inch
of Hell on White American Anglo Saxon Earth he could,
and suffer awful terrible stuff
they now got cool names and drugs for:
like, Bipolar.
Yuck.Yet fun in spots.
Those spots where it is fun to be mentally disturbed
here in 21st century America
are watched with eagle eyes
by therapeutic types, mostly female,
who wanna help you make it through it, whatever "it" is.
The only price they ask, these Psychological/Pharmaceutical educated presentable people who are there to "heal" those of us who go astray
only one thing in their dogooding to get you back to normal:
they ask, without asking, what is it like? ~
I tell em whatever they wanna know,
eagerly, cuz i love talking about 1.myself and
2. the sickness of the American 'self'
and also
3.i am very curious about other people
so i spill the beans, and good!
~ Here is my "message", my "agenda", my "bottom line" as the straight noncrazy people like to talk and inquire about: it is hard to care anymore. do you find that, too?
TIP:
Enter the amount, and click "Tip" to submit!
Very Thingish Things
Antoinette Errante
theig86
Diane Letulle
Geraint Isitt
Sande Berger
Salon.com
Comments
to be curious about other people,
those strange creatures we gotta share space with,
some of em we kinda love...
and to talk of the Self!
whitman said, "what self you got, i share".
walt whitman.
i dont hear his name alot much anymore.
even though they crammed his mystical bullshit down my throat
at age thirteen..when i could barely understand a word
of it...
i sing of myself, he said.
prentending to Be is just as good as being, cuz
after you have "been" for awhile,
you realize: ah, you have just been pretending the whole time.
And in some way this is why we find you so engaging. The breath of fresh air that we all savor before meeting our eyes, staying right behind them, where things are meant for what we know, value. Thanks for being you in this august forum of the free.
R>>>>>>
"The breath of fresh air that we all savor before meeting our eyes, staying right behind them,
where things are meant for what we know,
value. "
The philosophical idea of 'value' has been thrown around.
alot.
some say tis what is 'good'.
i say, with old dead man Whitehead,
that it is this:
"the self enjoyment of an integrated piece of experience".
value is fleeting .
i value our conversation,for it , as i like to say, "goes somewhere".
most talk goes back to some odd world
where dark eyed monsters speak in platitude hoping
it will bring some kind of ''smart'' to them.
i hate that world and wish it would disappear.
i want a world where we love each other's idiosyncratic utterings
of Mind at Large.
Alas, the test of it often is how much hair ya got, mister.
That is what the Gal says.
She is confirming yer credentials,and looking over yr
physical makeup, and calculating gains and losses,
and every smart gal i know knows
that an old guy got alot to still give the world, be he 67 or 76.
as a fact of life'
Aye, Jim..the humiliation, the contemplative acceptance of.. aye
' 3.i am very curious about other people
so i spill the beans, and good!'
Where better to spill it than the.. what? I mean where? 'our own particular marigold hotel, Open Salon?'
Fine form man!
It is wonderful to have fine women caring for oneself. Strong women are God's own blessing.
Rated.
a kid at all this awful humiliating shit happening to these
old goddamn cool as hell actors/actresses
like Lady Dench
and those cool British guys i wish i could grow up to be...
ah well it all was ok in the end.
the hotel is thriving.
the kiddo, the indian guy who had this goddamn foxy
indian chick show up and crawl naked into bed with him
except..well...ya gotta see the movie...he got the fox...
he got the hotel..and his motto was
"IT WILL ALL TURN OUT GOOD IN THE END.
IF IT IS NOT GOOD,
WELL THEN
TIS NOT THE END" HA
he is the luckiest of men ,
to be loved by some fierce kinda woman warrior beauty gal
named Sarah..
he reports this to us! ay!!!!
"only Sarah ever looks that close.
It is wonderful to have fine women
caring for oneself.
Strong women are God's own blessing."
Let's round em all up and put em to work tending strong men.
i would advise you of this, for there is gonna be a Hellstorm of
Genius from me from now on...
i got no damn patience for that weak willynilly little fucker
James
pretending to be me, anymore.
I have been through hell the past two days.
Nothing serious.
And..that is what alarms me, the hell i create for myself from
nothing important, from shit easily fixed...
and then my mind wanders to all my fellow citizens who
feel somehow put upon, pressed upon,
made to be idiot savants
by the VERY SOCIETY THEY HELPED CREATE.
And i am angry.
not as angry as William Blake, thought. or nietzsche. not yet.
not yet dying in utter obscurity and misery of body and mind.
cuzza them damn wimmin! like old scylla says..the good ones..
they are kinda a nice treat once in awhile, from my heavy
work of tending to obscure metaphysical issues. women.
crawling.. I like that. It shows appreciation for our manliness, subservience. all about that, and then turns out they own YOU-
and you thought they were docile. I might be reading more into this necessary.
BUTT
The lessons never end... in the end.. HA
never come around here and say u reading too much in!
rather say, yo man i aint readin you if i am confusing,
or 'tell me man what the f you talkin"
for knowledge, truth, that kinda thing? it is what works.
that is pragmatism , william james.
it "works" means it rings true and it will inspire u to action.
as for the wimmin, sure they got their tricky game.
but we boys got our Intelligence Agency to sniff em all out,
and it gets messy,
you gotta 'GO TO WOMAN' as they say
(nietzsche said if you go to woman bring a stick, haw. can u imagine what a feminist cool chick
could make of that?)
ah wimmin will be sneaky, but you got plenty sneaky in YOU.
we all do, we men do.
haw, they kinda bend over backwards to get a glimpse of it,
these wimmin do.
hee hee.
Promises to be humid and odd. Earlier I attempted to photograph a split shadow. I stood between the deck and garage service door light and actually cast two shadows. At pause I retrieved the iCamera then re-posed attempting to photograph the double shadow after analyzing
that two of a half dozen overhead lights shinned through the aperture
and cast the image just right. It was all right and good so I thought of becoming a professional short story writer. With thoughts of:
too hot to walk through India, I knew I was on to something with or without the 'cooperation' of circumstance. Slowly in the rain a motorcycle navigated the leaf-slick pavement beneath streetlights that were buttermilk colored nearing the overcast dawn. I'd yet to shave and it was already too late to check tire pressure or get the drone-like melody from 'Cats' out of my head. Behind on correspondence I shifted through yesterday's mail as though a card player, wondering if I'd see that interview with that little blonde girl on the television, wondering if I'd have good luck along my own way on past the jingle-jangle jamboree, the close air rife with particulate too fine for the morning rain.
‘nothing terribly important happened
to me in July’,
I left the big casino
(brushing aside the resident poet
without comment on the way out), and
it doesn’t take long for me to
discover absolute slippery-ness
in the form of diversity out there.
My Pride takes a big hit:
it’s simply that evolution takes a long time, and
there’s no way, I am going to compress time;
yet, my fatuousness still reigns, and
I begin to build anew, something primal,
a primeval habitat:
‘And they will come’, I bellow to the wind.
They did come to my aboriginal fatty shore
and my island soon became fully occupied.
But it was a paradise for the pox of Pride and All died.
I buried them in the sand and
consecrated the whole damned island
against the prideful.
No one ever came again, ever, not even the buzzards.
note: the next island over has cowboy girls!
tough luck on yer island old boy.
mine is sinking faster than it is rising, or else
it is rising faster
than it is sinking.
one of those. i forget which.
if i was u, i would build me a boat of dreampatches and
set sail for that island.
it is the cowboy girl salon then
but the x-pollination is fierce!
Rated
Andrea
yet there is none more deadly than
the killer of free form.
You write so well and with such emotion and genuine self reflection. Thank you, James!
I think no matter what happens to your hair, you'd rock it - your personality and brilliant mind would shine through. That's fashion, to me, to take what we're handed and make a look for ourselves.
As for not caring, I do care, and I think sometimes that's a problem. But I'm glad that here on OS I have so many people to care for. I couldn't imagine not having you guys in my life.
"What?" replied the deaf.
The thing about caring is you wear your heart on your sleeve and have to be ready to nurse it often from the shots and arrows thron to break it. But you carry on, James. That's my experience. Ignore the barbes and arrows; they come from insecure, unreliable sources.
R♥
Look at the great response you are getting here.
Just stay the way you are.
Everyone loves you who comes here.
It's good for you to have joined this club,as you have to give a lot .
Thank you, James Mark Emmerling.
Pick Green-Skin Fall Walnuts.
In Old-Day-Walnut Dyed Hair.
`
Squash Green Soft Walnut Shell.
Sell TV. But Hammer and Mallet.
Crack Walnuts With Your Friend.
`
Honest. Mitt & You get `Mohawks.
Dye Mitt's Hair Lime Green. Black?
You may Be Mitt's V.P Grand Pick.
You have Many Normal `"Vices"`
`
Mitt need You Ghost-Write` Asap.
You dyes Mohawk Black & Green.
You just keep sharing Your ` Gift.