Politics. You Decide. 2020.

 The evangelicals are hastening to make it a one-issue question, and that issue is abortion.  Weeks of sermons, pre-election are coming down to the immorality of abortion, and I wonder, truly, with hammer-headed clergy pounding the message, will the church be healthy going forward?

Or will churches be places filled with people who clench on their buttcheeks in the polling booth, then spend seasons grimacing over Trump tweets?  And meanwhile the activist media openly complaining, endlessly musing about how much they dislike the man.

The problem, as I've seen since 2016, is hardly policy, but messaging.

The country was on an upswing prior to Covid 10, and yes, that upswing began just prior to Election 2016.  Yet, professional pundits, paid by the media, make it a point to give their various polemics tagging either Trump or Obama.  A pre-programmed agenda that doesn't edify.

Meanwhile, we've seen Nationalism made White Nationalism, as jobs return to the homefront, the stock market booming, and then Covid 19.

Which Biden called, "the Trump Recession", reminding me of Clinton trying to bludgeon Bush 41 over the Hurricane Andrew response.  Completely opportunistic.

Meanwhile, there is the talk radio world, where listeners here the evils of Schumer and Pelosi, ad nauseum, and those same listeners probably only knowing the names of two or three Republicans, maybe those listeners aren't even registered to vote, either.  One I spoke to actually supports abortion rights, but if you use the Limbaugh terminology, they would claim differently.  And all that butthurt, for the name of entertainment.

People not thinking independently, people thinking the angry voices are speaking the truth, instead of shooting poison venom into the body.

The evangelicals cringe at Trump, the man, and his completely venomous Twitter account.  No matter how many millions follow that Twitter account, its entirely a failure of messaging on Trump's part, with no clear desire to reach out to anyone for any reason, save for his foreign deal making.  And that deal making is nothing if not a feather in the cap of the POTUS, to be fair.

And then we know, the much calmer Joe Biden would push globalism, and cause economic pain, massive job losses through over-regulation and higher taxes.

Meanwhile, aren't we worried on the local front about business deals that cheat workers in the name of inflating job numbers?  These "tax breaks" given to businesses.  The cost is recouped through the payroll taxes and income taxes, no?  So the Little Man pays.

And in Chesterfield County, an entire industrial center made on once useful farmland.  Taxpayer financing of all the costs, the obligatory shell building, and the local media too awed by the whole thing, trumpeting progress, to notice the taxpayer was being screwed, where probably the real problem was financing of a new business venture by the private sector.

How about Trump policy without his evil rhetoric?

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Semiotics: A Four Part Method of Inter Personal Communication, in contradiction to Saussere, et al.

 Is it not clear in these models, there is no room for error, and thus, humans being involved, the old models are too simple?

There are two and three part communication models, but here I add an extra bit, in the sense that one can be in error.  And by goodness, by Jove, we can see what we want, and interpret how we want.

Firstly.  There is a subject, or in this case, an object.  We'll make it very subjective, very malleable in the eye of the beholder before we're done, Cheevers.

Say you and a friend are riding along one day, you as the passenger, and the friend would be the driver.  You see a "Curve Ahead" sign of something.  Well.  That's a thing.  A real thing, no matter what you say about it, no matter what you think about it, and no matter whether your friend has seen it or not.  Its there.  It's inserted itself, by existing, into Plato's Formal Universe.

That's Number One.

On to Number Two.

Number Two is how the speaker interprets what he sees, and when I says this give a nod to Jung and Freud, because here we encompass so many biases and prejudices and even might go back to potty training itself, as the squiggle graphic on the sign reminds the speaker of bemusedly seeing his own feces in the toilet bowl.

So Number Two is not the first thing, but a subjective interpretation in the mind of the speaker, our Person A.

Number Three is what the speaker(Person A) says about the signage.  And in the respect he's not alone, our model is sound, otherwise we're back properly indebted to Saussere, in the case of either reading a book, or driving along alone glancing at the traffic signs.

What the speaker says to communicate what he wants is subjective too, and filtered through its own interpretive matrix of either social nicety, need or what have you.  Proper decorum.

"Lover's Lane is this way."

Number Four, then, if Number Three is the whatever objectively is communicated from Person A, then number four is Person B's interpretation of what is communicated, that object.

Four Parts.

Two objects.  One subject.  Two interpretations.  Two actual communications in a dialogue, in the signage and the action of Person A.

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Jem and I, as a skilled pilot.

 

So the moon was in Gemini for a little while, and me, flying solo.  In a sense, it felt like my partner was the world itself, and where I could feel "the Primacy of Self", I also a benign interconnection with things outside.

And turbulence is inevitable, but the key is to approach it the way a skilled pilot approaches it: adjust your flaps, and the turbulence will increase your lift, taking you higher than before.

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Everyman's Library: Felicity Windsor's 3 steps to motivation.

Felicity Windsor's 3 steps to get motivated, such as, the ever resounding advice to set the hand brake when parking on a hill, and conversely, disengage it when making a hot dog run.  On the Night of the Long Knives, best advice is to hide under the bed.  And don't think hiding in the console piano is safe, because the brownshirts will strafe that SOB.

Just wait until a lull in Trump's tweets to come out and Jew around.

1.  Breathe.  Are you breathing, gentle reader?  Well breathe deeper, then.  Deeper still, and do it from the diaphragm.

2. Exhale negative energy.  And don't point that at anyone, by the way.  "This is my debt" you say, warning them, and you watch them sidestep, or "this is my A1C numbers", which causes bystanders to flee in horror.

3.  Acknowledge a higher power.  They even tell the Alkies to do this, as a step towards perspective, and just go somewhat in mind of a singular entity Creator.  That's right friends, it's the infamous one from the Twelve Step program.

It relieves a burden, you know?  A boost in faith has positive side effects, such as giving a motive fondant for our optimism.

I forgot that we were going to broach Causes of Suffering, like Sean Hannity and pandemics and so forth.  Calamities.  Bad things that happen to good people, from the sticking place, the hind end screwed to.  But a cog on the great gears of the mechanism, with springs of wishings, unmaskings and promiscuity, sort of a dull obscurity that gets spray painted all over everything.

The experience itself is a suffering, a pain of sorts, and butt-hurting, Amerigo wearing a uniform like someone from the Death Star board of directors.

Felicity Windsor telling us worry is a kidney stone, a carbuncle, instead of a Carpe Diem, a call to Get It On, but without other forms of discoursing, even idle aimless intercourse, the Tortoise and the Hair just keep going on their way.

A bit of cleavage.

Sizzle.

The hind end: the beginnings of motivation pierced, brushed-over.  And so much of this happens, not in respect to systemic concerns, traditions and other various institutions, social contracts, but just because one is drawing breath.  Existence itself has a kind of fatalist, Quixotic quality, and you're just waiting to get your shirt collar caught by a blade of the windmill, for a trip in an ungraceful arc through the air, orange rind, or pink rind, lemon sprinkles.  Mouth puckered as you sit at the office chair, taking to the keyboard, still butt-hurting about something you didn't even absorb properly, something that was "no skin off your nose" in the first place, but improperly, wrongly butt hurt.

Felicity Windsor, I find your lack of faith disturbing.

Anakin, don't try it.  I have the high ground.

"Half-soldier, you were the Chosen One!  You weren't supposed to toss cinderblocks off the overpass!"

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On a day where I polished my instrument in the open air.

#CLT customer and "regional local" channel victim.

Charlotte, where was once, a blue train, a road builder that didn't build roads, rumors of interstate highways, and people riding on public transport that the city couldn't pay for.

Some bullsh*t about a soccer team they couldn't afford, just to go "up yours" on a giant abandoned property.  And abandoned property I know, because this is where the Lost walk, and sometimes, I do, in fact, walk with the Lost, just like the Lord sat with the publicans and sinners, hoping to gain their trust and teach them something.

He came not to heal the healthy, but to kill on some sin, whip it, but good.

And we have that realization, "There Is Suffering", and we probe not yet, but brush over the tendencies, expectancies, watch Shep(of course), The Cavoot, talking about "them boys", "yall need to-".  These pretzels are making me thirsty, and here I was weeks from a vulgar display.

Kind of scuz on the surface of the nonesuch and the whatwith, we do not penetrate the matter in the first juncture, but save those learnings for further meditation sessions.  "where does suffering come from?" you might ask, but you've leapfrogged a step in that.  There is a clear definition and identification phase, where the matter are duly catalogued, and in queque is the whole list, you know?

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Bizzle and the Esses, beating back the darkness by "cleansing the doors of perception".

In him was no darkness at all.....

Not quite, I thought, passing by Dead Man's Curve, Lizzie Byrd Rd, and realizing there was something of a darkness that lingered from within with that Cheever, how is was with Bizzle, to fight back the darkness, lest he be overcome.

For a certainty, loved and loving those around, would lay down his well-being for the sake of another, a man with his heart on his sleeve, and it driving him to work against his own better interests.  Again, for certain, he loved well in his time and it was appreciated by all.

In death, only his own hand, again, fighting back the darkness, as it has always been, striving towards some sort of peace, even if it cost him more in the long run, to get popped by the Man here or there, to strive against whatever darkness it was that was trying to get his attention.

All there really is in the human perview is to leave something of a decent life, and whatever that means, "a decent life", to love well, care about others, as I begin to forsake violence, firearms, and leave my only knives in my tool shed to cut weed eater chords and open packages.

Love God.  Go behind the house with the neighbor, and all that(that's second of the Ten).

Naked prettily painted little foot digits, fat little pads then the Candy Apple teasing over the tops of those, kissing on them, and still mildly saliva wet, to breath on them, then watch them curl in delight.  A knee rises, slightly.

And in the end, I'm sitting with the slight cool washing over me, and I feel a kind of absurd thankful feeling, a kind of gratitude that there is anything at all, even at last seeing Bizzle, there was an imperfection to it all, a drug-tinged frazzle that marred the whole ting, even though he was in top jive form, and "feeling no pain".  Happy to have seen his only child, that Cheever and his own little Cheever.  

And only two weeks before, the hopeless young man waving pistols in his car.

Try not to be a problem for everyone to solve.  Again, love God, and if you can't bring yourself to love other people, don't get in their way, at least.

Years ago, they had told Bizzle about Obama.

"Yo Momma!" yelled Bizzle, rebelliously, with a kind of grin on his face that was totally happy but malicious, too, like an angel that would cut someone's throat, the complete Rebel Without A Cause, not self-possessed enough for pride, and in fact, having no assets to tie him to the Earth, no real substance to be proud, only his family, who tread along on the same current.

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Room 22. or "Twenty-Two"

 

The immutable doctrine of water, how, if water confronts an attack, it conforms around and engulfs the pursuant.  The truth can be as hard to get a hold of as water, with one left only went to have his hands wet.

One prefers a static camera when one is standing in front of a smaller matte painting.  My heart burns there, too.  But the Piranhas can jump so far out of the water and lop on, or as it were, lop off.

Dem bahs be so pried, so pried. The dem hoax. Comes close.

 

I submit to you, a Nexus of Control between Hannity, the Log Cabin boys, and the Proud Boys.  Rice-a-Roni and fresh sweet corn?  The fresher the better?  Flex fuel?  E85, engine valves chattering on a freight train bound for Socialist hell?

Dare we all wear the same shirt in a show of mass psychosis?

And Lee J Cobb got on the blog again.

The Dem hoax, a cobb basically stuck in Trump's throat, now?  Anderson "shining that sumbitch up" and about to turn it sideways?  Would it speed up our stimulus, or do we let the economy choke on fumes these next few?

Don't think I didn't notice what no one else did: Biden called this "the Trump recession", being as opportunistic as Bill Clinton using Hurricane Andrew to bludgeon Bush 41 back in 1992.

And look at me in my Plymouth Valiant, tearing ass on my own path.  You call your future a "path" by the way, in the Buddhist vernacular.  I have vim for my own path most of the time, knowing there are so many possibilities, even despite the world around me.

I guess, I could become a GOP member even without supporting Trump, thinking that the party is sacrificing its future, "burning political capital", for the sake of a few insignificant little mole hills today.

But I do wish Chump well, for true, continued good health, even if I haven't chosen how to vote in November.  Non-violence, and all that?  Real compassion, even for the fat cats that are unable to feel that same sympathy in return.  They are people, too.  They have souls, and those souls are to be contended for, just like everyone else.

Echoes the Will of Silence/The Boy the Universe Talks To.

 I was on the exercise bike with blood pumping and endorphins popping, a song in my head.  And I just let it go a moment, and the breeze rose.

I was thinking the universe was whispering to me.  And its like I said elsewhere, when one is still enough, one can feel the vibration of the universe.

But next time out I pulled John Lange-era AC/DC on the phone during the ride, and I followed along with the lead guitar(Angus) and the rhythm guitar(Malcolm), then picked back up Angus's line as he went for a solo.

I shall try silence next time, the wheel of silence and the will of silence, in which the universe begins to speak to me, I guess.  Feel a certain one-ness with line of dogwoods and the old pecan tree.  And then, I'm also somewhere in mind ruminating on my schedule.

Lost causes can be taken up, I wot, for the defiance of eternity, but we should be prepared to put forth an effort worthy of moving the universe, even as the universe enthralls us, in return.  The interconnectedness of things, and the old adage, that the universe is, in the end, just to all, but its these man-made systems that we get civilly disobedient about, like Breonna Taylor and police reform.  But we observe non-violence, and then, these others, in the destruction of property, put their cause to shame as the "other side" just labels them criminals and refuses to listen to their gripes.

"The left demonizes opponents" says Laura, as she demonizes her own opponents, picking the loudest or worst of the variety out to wag her own finger, and this a sort of nightly rant against both the left and the media, conversely, the left or the media.  And its no wonder in return that outlets like Gail King's CBS This Morning have browned as if in a pit roasting over those Fox News flames.

Like wanting a token black film to win.  We stopped relating to Gwyneth a long time ago, and in fact, people like her are more at home sitting on Mars with me, or even Affleck, visiting Natalie Portman, being told to go outside on the doorstep if he really, really needs a cigarette.

And I'm out there with him, wanting to smell Natalie's panties, actively wanting her to hand them to me, while another part thinks, this, too, would make a great movie.  But more or less having a nic fit, and in the quietude, with only myself and Ben's long exhales, the breeze would again rise, and the birds aflitter.  While elsewhere, Donald would tweet something mean about someone, defying the notion that he is "everyone's president", that "Sean's boy" is not "for everybody", and I'm thinking, my own prescription costs went up under his administration, me still even without insurance, and our own side preventing the dole from being a living wage, barely a subsistence wage, a stupid stipend, a kiss-off from people more overtly watching the stock market and trying to make Joe Scarborough eat his turncoat words.

In vibration of the universe, percolating worlds, spinning discs and burning orbs, and all that radiation and magnetic energy pooling somewhere on the fringe.  Part of us hears "submerge" as our disembodied spirits float-race across the void towards some inevitable destination, and only now do I come to grasps with the journey having a definitive beginning and end, Memento Maury, Premaditatio Malorum, Milk and Vodka, in our paths there is first to grasp the things that are more immediately before us, mindfulness, you dig?

And when John Roberts said something like, "though its unconstitutional, I gone side with the socialists."  Then the next guy in the white stick frame says, America wasn't great anymore, that he would have to make some adjustments.  And believe me, they like nothing better than legislating their own personal ethics, and even now the churches weighing in on the matter.

I'm thinking I'm going to do some Karate on the next preacher that gives me a lecture on Politics.

These guys didn't get the concept of America from the Constitution or history book, they got it from their parents and the media.  So when talking about "make america great again", I'm thinking that's a bit vague, or "rebuilding" or what-have-you.  

Re: Building.  Reb ill Ding.

What kind of pajama and sports bra wearing, vodka breath, food stamp whore that Lady Liberty has become.

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