Winter spleen
Once we were 10, now 65 and still shouting out fighting back
The very good thing about the WEF coup called Corona is everyone now is seeing the actors of history naked and shameless shouting imbecilic slogans and drunkenly pretending to expertise. How many dead are expected from injections and in how short a time across critical economic sectors that power us, clothe us, feed us and RULE us? No one can say. They have no idea. Overall the revealing is merely confirmation of life absent spirit being more akin to social insects than human beings. And revealing also in the sense shared by Christopher Dawson-"there is a fundamental disharmony between bourgeois and Christian civilization and between the mind of the bourgeois and the mind of Christ.”. Until 2020 bourgeois reasoning enabled the West to rise and did so by a promise unstated -serve and your children will prosper in freedom. So the middle class arose. Now they learn this is only another lie and their service is useful in service of the lie and then nothing. No grave, no memory, no mankind. And still they prefer the lie because truth requires this life end but belief in the lie gives hope the Bourgeois is immortal.
THE CENTER WAS not holding. It was a country of bankruptcy notices and public-auction announcements and commonplace reports of casual killings and misplaced children and abandoned homes and vandals who misplaced even the four-letter words they scrawled. It was a country in which families routinely disappeared, trailing bad checks and repossession papers. Adolescents drifted from city to torn city, sloughing off both the past and the future as snakes shed their skins, children who were never taught and would never now learn the games that had held the society together. People were missing. Children were missing. Parents were missing. Those left behind filed desultory missing-persons reports, then moved on themselves. It was not a country in open revolution. It was not a country under enemy siege. It was the United States of America in the cold late spring of 1967, and the market was steady and the G. N. P high and a great many articulate people seemed to have a sense of high social purpose and it might have been a spring of brave hopes and national promise, but it was not, and more and more people had the uneasy apprehension that it was not. All that seemed clear was that at some point we had aborted ourselves and butchered the job, and because nothing else seemed so relevant I decided to go to San Francisco. San Francisco was where the social hemorrhaging was showing up. San Francisco was where the missing children were gathering and calling themselves “hippies.” When I first went to San Francisco in that cold late spring of 1967 I did not even know what I wanted to find out, and so I just stayed around awhile, and made a few friends.
I lived in Fairfax, Marin Co. for a few goodish years, and at times I think back fondly.
Now, it's all too expensive, and The Vibrancy of yester-yore is mostly gone, as in plumb ate-up with the U.S. blues, and look what it spit out?...Big Wonder...
On a few trips through Marin City, I'd catch J.G. purchasing his candy from the street hustlers, from the window of his BMW... Good Times?... Who am I to say?
Long strange trip, alright. R.I.P.
No, though I like the music of the time more than Punk-though here I recall the rise of the sound of the 1978 Dead Kennedy's, Sex Pistols, X, some others. Culturally speaking I am much closer in spirit to the Beats. My areas of literary interest were Beat writers, and San Francisco Literary Renaissance writers before them. San Francisco until the 1st dotcom wave was a Bohemia. Then only fragmented habitats since Y2K. Now Bohemia is gone.