8/17/20
My Land Lady, before I left with assurances that my leaving was pretty much destroying her peace-of-mind, related to me some of the scandalous cuckery being pushed on her by her cosmic oatmeal cookie gurus of self-improvement.
Item one was something called “white fragility,” which I suppose is some dysgenic doctrine to explain the sissy American character as deterministically baked into the American cake rather than the product of top-down engineering. It is oh so fascinating that postmodern Leftists agree with the long extinct Third Reich on almost every aspect of the American social condition.
I simply guffawed, uninterested in the whining critique of a whining nation, cultureless society where complaint is institutionalized as some sacred duty to bitch for a bigger slice of the rotting, air-whipped American Pie.
Then she let me in on one guru’s insistence that humans were “herd animals,” and that modern people needed to seek peace-of-mind by following the herd.
I guess that fucker identified the largest target audience and is going after it, the inwardly stampeding American herd of bleating peeple [not a typo, new word].
I began to say, “That is nonsense. We are pack animals.”
Then I paused and declined to follow the line of inquiry.
I set the question out of mind, as it bothered me.
As I complete another journey west—or limp off another leg of the hobbling odyssey of cultural dissent that has come of my life—it occurs to me that the cosmic oatmeal cookie guru and I were both correct.
We are not vegetarians.
We are not carnivores.
We are omnivores.
That gives us a choice, to be sheep, wolves or dogs according to a much abused metaphor. That metaphor habitually leaves out the key figure, the shepherd: who hates wolves, despises sheep and has need of but few dogs.
As I reach Denver, the train is being diverted through Wyoming because of Colorado forest fires. For the mind fighting domestication every natural disaster is an occasion to grin with the crooked half-hope of the ostracized soul.
"Peeple". Briiliant.
Likewise!
I'm with the woodsman on this!
Thanks, Ruben. Entertaining fellow runty pirate types is one of my joys.
LOL.....runty pirate types.....that includes me. Just add beer belly and I'm fine. I'm about to need the diet you used having quite smoking a month ago. The desire for nicotine dies but greater longing arises later on for a while I guess.
Have you read 'Pirate Utopias'? You'd probably love it. My blog name is actually from an Adam & The Ants song based on two famous female pirates. I contacted the Reade family for permission to publish their tale. A bottle of rum on a dead man's chest would suit me right now.
Looking forward to reading more of your blog.
Rum is on Rick's list!