Things are pretty bad in these times. I'm not a happy camper. Nothing specific just the accretion of all the ugly shit out there. In my case the usual early 21st century Senior Citizen sob story.
Remembering how it was where we thought we were going. Loses of family friends position responsibilities purpose. All that swell stuff. The world is now a science fiction William Burroughs Philp K. Dick Samuel Delany Three Stooges nightmare.
...and getting more interesting all the time.
The Newspaper mass shooting today sort of did it for me. The normalization of mass murder the rise of 1930's style fascism everywhere don't help. One becomes weary of the spectacle.
So I called the Suicide Hotline,...expecting to get a machine. A digitized Confessional. I figured I'd complain into some hard drive. Then tell it to go fuck itself. I'd hang up refreshed, and ready to face more shit slammed into my face.
Instead I got a human being.
Imagine my surprise. She listened as I unwound decades of chaos into her ear. Such patients. I imagine being a catholic confessor must be much the same.
If I were one of them folks I'd just prescribe watching a few episodes of "Mayberry RFD",...google it, as a cure all penance.
Perhaps repeat viewings of the boxed sets of "Walking Dead" for any republicans.
Anyway my Confessor just listened, and made a few thoughtful comments. Her timing was impeccable. She knew her business. I'm still here. So another day another mass shooting, and #45 curses his hatred of more than half the country.
Stay Tuned.
"I think I ain't never met a normal, I mean normal, man who wasn't crazy! Loon crazy, take 'em off and put 'em away crazy, which is what they would do if there wasn't so many of them. Every normal man -- I mean sexually normal, now -- man I ever met figures the whole thing runs between two points: What he wants, and what he thinks should be. Every thought in his head is directed to fixing a rule-straight line between them, and he calls that line: What Is. [...] On the other hand, every faggot or panty-sucker, or whip jockey, or SM freak, or baby-fucker, or even a motherfucker like me, we know --" and his hands came down like he was pushing something away: "We know, man, that there is what we want, there is what should be, and there is what is: and don't none of them got anything to do with each other unless --" The bartender was shaking his head."-- unless we make it," Hogg went on anyway. -Samuel R. Delany, "Hogg" (p. 121)
ReplyDeleteSidney, You'll like this even more from Samuel R. Delany:
ReplyDelete"Apocalypse has come and gone. We're just grubbing in the ashes."
I’m glad the hotline helped. It seems these people know their business well enough to know that if you got a robot, the suicide stats would shoot higher than the Empire State. Kudos to that lady for her apt comments and for listening properly, things that are far too rare.
ReplyDeleteI like the flying horse.
Z
Thanks...bless you both.
ReplyDeleteI post from the far future of February 2019.
Yeah it's much worse here more than you can imagine...that bad,...Concentration Camps for Brown children bad.
However this being America we're all still here yacking away.
Till we can't.
Bless you.