No Cause for Merriment

Nov 18, 2023

. . . . . . . . . . There’s always a lining, it may not be silver, but it’s there . . . . . . . . . . .

About No Cause for Merriment

This is my culture observations blog. If you’re a nature nut, here’s a link to my nature photo blog: A Walk in the Woods

About the Author

david w. runyan II is an insignificance with much to say.

Preface

Musings on the sources of our sorrows and avenues for marginal contentment.

About Substack

Substack is a venue where authors sell their wares. My blog on the other hand, is free to all. If you insist upon sending money, I promise not to use it for drugs, alcohol or ladies of the night. In lieu of money, share my writings. This is always appreciated.

Dedication

To those with whom I engage this enduring planet and the fleeting era.

How to Peruse

This blog is intentionally disorderly in harmony with my persona. The entries follow no patterns or rules, and the blog itself has no structure, no archive, simply a single chapter which continues to grow.

Chapter One of One

. . . so it begins

Welcome to my literary forest of observations and conclusions spanning six decades filled with countless events and experiences beneath the canopy of recent American history. Speaking of events and experiences, one of the inexplicable mysteries of humanity (apart from the fact that we're still around) is how people can draw starkly opposite conclusions having observed the same event or having shared the same experience. Consequently, I anticipate that some readers might occasionally take exception to my thoughts and when this happens I hope they'll find entertainment in being annoyed.

The Wonders of Living (an ode to the new year)

There was the wonder of childhood, the wonder of parenthood, the wonder of inter-gender splendor, the wonder of exploring nature and the parting gift of grandchildren. The new year is not a time to plan; rather a time to reflect.

. . . rules for living

i have two rules for living which keep me in good stead.

rule #1 - if government is for it, i am against it.

rule #2 - if government is against it, i am for it.

it goes without saying that the term “government” includes all of the industries, agencies and oligarchs forming the governmental web.

. . . on the Cunning of Corruption

People like to fancy themselves sophisticated but once we begin to work with the human equation and isolate the common denominators from the self-aggrandizing variables, then x = below:

Humans are slightly unpredictable. They fall into two possible categories: caring and conniving.

Human organizations on the other hand are readily predictable. They fall into only one category: corrupt. Every human organization, be it government, business, church, charity, education, medicine, science, media et al. will, in the end, become a criminality through the schemes of the conniving and at the expense of the caring.

I refer to this as the cunning of corruption.

While there certainly are good people, there certainly are no good organizations. The touted benefit of any organization lasts only as long as it takes for the conniving to hatch a plan to hijack it for personal gain; an event which is normally measured in minutes, not years.

The lone form of human organization which escapes the cunning of corruption is community. Community and society are distinct. Community is helpful; society is caustic, and this dichotomy we shall explore more fully in a subsequent session.

In closing, the inevitability of corruption in human organizations is the very reason why human organizations should never exist; also the very reason why they always will. The caring will be victimized by the conniving until establishment of the Messianic Kingdom; which is to suggest that there shall be no relief for the victims, nor defeat of the villains, until the final chapter has been written.

This is how your world works.

. . . on community vs. society.

To those who haven't examined the matter, community and society are synonymous.

Wrong!

Community and society are polar opposites; antitheses to one another. Community is a naturally occurring haven of familiarity, safety and support based upon deeply rooted interpersonal relationships. Society is a set of rules and consequences; a handbook of mandates and punishments.

Community spawns a charming diversity of small business; but society force feeds an endless eruption of generic strip malls and impersonal chain stores.

Community engenders unique culture; society insists upon bland uniformity.

Community incubates individuality; society punishes the renegade.

Community provides a home; society sells you a house.

Community offers acceptance as you are; society dictates that you fit the mold and toe the line.

Community yields familiarity; society creates adjacophobia. (adjacophobia is a term I concocted, describing the tendency of people these days to avoid and thereby fear or hate their neighbors)

Community recognizes you; society only recognizes your assets and your ability to service debt.

Community places no conditions upon your participation; society scrutinizes your suitability.

Community is its own free playground; society builds institutional parks. Within community, children play and socialize on their own terms in each others yards, in the streets and in community places public and private. Time spent in the makeshift playground of community is etched into the souls and memories of children and it doesn't cost a dime. Meanwhile, society robs taxpayers to erect expensive cookie cutter parks equipped with a long list of rules. Parents must accompany their children and devote each moment of the visit making sure the kids follow the long list of rules. Neither parents nor children harbor ebullient memories of their moments spent in the cookie cutter parks.

Society is incessantly egregious; community is endlessly benevolent.

. . . on the Davos crowd

The Davos crowd is a group of wealthy globalists who meet in Davos, Switzerland from time to time to decide how the rest of us will be allowed to live and to devise schemes to force us into compliance. They're not elected but they heavily fund the campaigns of shills who pledge allegiance to the Davos agenda. Also at their disposal are various means of election fraud. Then, like magic, we end up with a government that shoves shit up our asses which we don't want up our asses.

Funny what money can do.

Rather than wrongly assuming you can battle the oligarchs, disregard them and live according to your own dictates. They have the means to do evil so evil they shall do. Your fear and worry is their trick. No fear, no worry, no trick.

Enjoy your friendships, relationships, hobbies and lover. Carry on as you wish and in time, the Davos crowd will go extinct due to lack of audience participation.

Funny what money can't do.

. . . rain, rhubarb, and wooden nickels

As a very young child wandering about my town, when older people would meet me on the street, they'd ask, “Think the rain'll hurt the rhubarb?” I had no clue what rhubarb was nor did I understand the meaning of the question; also it didn't matter. I understood within myself that this was how elders greeted children so I answered with a polite hello of my own.

Following the riddled greeting we'd share a pleasant, brief exchange and when we parted they'd say to me, “Don't take any wooden nickels.” this was the standard goodbye from young to old at the time.

These common, everyday idiomatic exchanges spoke volumes about the endearing condition of our country during my early childhood years, 1960 - 1965.

Consider first that I was a child of 4-5 years old, meandering around town alone or with my brother eleven months younger. The nation was safe and parents were not considered negligent in allowing children a bit of freedom. They did set boundaries. In our case we were told we could go to Romeo's (the corner store) and around the block so it wasn't carte blanche to set sail for the new world; there were limits. Nevertheless, parents in that era weren't beset by the fears of today; children were permitted to roam within reason.

Consider also that children were free to speak with strangers and strangers were free to speak with children. “Don't talk to strangers” was a caveat drummed into children beginning around 1968 or so, after the social revolution, when the country started to become a credibly dangerous place.

Consider lastly that these expressions and encounters have remained with me vividly for sixty years as pleasant childhood memories. In the current era, children will form memories of cold, detached, nondescript adults who completely ignored them; if they form any memories whatsoever.

We've lost the wonderful bridge between young and old.

. . . to the young American male

You were born into a society intent upon obliterating your natural masculinity.

Your world is at war with you.

Your options are these; capitulation, revolution, or ignore the meddlers and live your masculine life as you see fit.

Don't be swayed by the opinions of the females. Raw masculinity is the only commodity on the planet capable of satisfying both the libido and romantic aspirations of young girls so you have the upper hand. Remain true to your essence and the girls will eventually follow your lead; which is their essence.

. . . on the roles of lust and infatuation

In my opinion, and according to my recollections, the only appropriate basis for romantic love between a man and woman is lust and infatuation.

This advice is at odds with the world, which prefers to water down the excitement of erotic love by shifting the focus onto such anticlimactics as education and financial goals. This relegates what should be satisfying interpersonal enchantment to a bland business arrangement. When you come home from work, you're still at work.

But, if your focus as a couple is lust and infatuation, then you come home from work to your incessant honeymoon; your endless adventure in ecstasy, your nightly course in romantic rambunctions.

Lust and infatuation are the ingredients of an intense love, whether brief or lasting. It brings to mind the profound eulogy from Alfred Lord Tennyson: “ tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all”.

Invoking Tennyson, we conclude that a relationship based upon lust and infatuation which lasts but one year is superior to a relationship based upon financial goals which lasts a lifetime.

In another example, we travel to the lyrics of “Me and Bobby McGee” where Kristofferson pens, “ I'd trade all of my tomorrows, for one single yesterday, to be holding Bobby's body next to mine”.

You'll notice perhaps that Kristofferson didn't write “to be merging Bobby's 401K with mine”.

In the end, young men and young women are designed to fall in love through the twin mysteries of lust and infatuation; the thrills of which are unsurpassed by all other activities on planet earth, including skydiving and bungee jumping.

Lust and infatuation; seek this, this alone, melt into each other and tell the world to go to hell.

. . . the rite to write

It is, I believe, a middle age rite of passage to write; aka, the rite to write.

We’ve lived a bit, seen a bit, have a bit of free time, and usually discover to our delight (if we give it a shot) that writing is rewarding, relaxing, enriching. We’re also able to articulate our long-incubating thoughts clearly, succinctly, effectively.

I highly recommend to my peers that they try their hand at writing, even if they’ve never done so in the past.

This blog of mine is my nightly companion. I spend an hour or so before bed emptying thoughts into it. It’s become as much a part of my routine as my floor exercises which keep my body fit. No Cause for Merriment keeps my mind fit.

I’m convinced that my post-parental peers would all do well to write according to their interests and tastes. Exercise is high on my list of priorities and now writing joins those ranks. So, try writing on for size. Perhaps you’ll decide to publish; perhaps you won’t. That’s a matter of personal preference. Keeping a private diary as just as rewarding as sharing your thoughts with others on social media or through publishing.

. . . cute quip

“A government which does nothing is superior to a government which does anything.”

I can’t take credit for that saying but I like it. There’s a great deal of truth to it; not entirely of course; exceptions exist everywhere and with everything.

One exception might be a government which does nothing during a hostile invasion, but even this exception has a twist. Many Americans today are so disenchanted with their government, they’d welcome invasion.

The saying has a well known look-alike, “That government is best which governs least”. This is sometimes attributed to H. David Thoreau and also to Thomas Jefferson but scholars tell us that neither is the original author.

. . . can someone please explain

As a child of the 1960s, I was given three vaccines in school: polio, tuberculosis and smallpox.

In the present era, children receive thirty-two vaccines; one of them within a few hours of birth.

Something else occurred to me; specifically that we adults who had only three vaccines and who now have weaker immune systems than children, are not required to get these thirty-two new vaccines which children are given.

This is curious in a disturbing way on so many levels.

. . . a bit of magic

Some call Quabbin an “accidental wilderness” and my hometown could have been called an “accidental happiness”.

The town where I spent my youth, was a former farming community twelve miles from Boston. The farms had been slowly sliding into extinction while the town began its gradual descent into becoming an overdeveloped blight.

In my early years the town was sparsely populated, densely forested, quiet and replete with “places” which we young boys explored on a daily basis. My peers will recall Lump Lane and Ditch Valley, the abandoned Rahanis Farm, the Tarzan Swing, Sawmill Brook, Shaw’s Pond, the Hairpin Turn, the abandoned chicken farm, the boardwalk, Fox Hill, Falcon Park, Mill Pond with its 500 acres of forests and trails and the list goes on and on.

Our young lives were filled with the wonders of unfettered exploration for about eight years until urban sprawl began erasing our places one by one. The final blow came when the town seized the 500 acres surrounding Mill Pond to create a reservoir for the burgeoning community.

Nevertheless, I had been granted a bit of magic for a space of time.

As years wore on, I became a man and then a father. I had a desire to provide my sons with a childhood experience approximating my own. I chose as their hometown the North Quabbin and while not a carbon copy of my boyhood, it was pretty close: nice neighborhood, lots of friends, good schools, no crime, immense forests for hiking, fishing, exploring, camping and so much more.

Every child deserves a bit of magic for a space of time.

And then, the magic is gone.

Quabbin area towns are presently under attack from government sponsored economic development and solar farms; the latter having recently wiped out 20,000 acres of local forest. The once-effective schools now excel at graduating woke illiterates. There is a fentanyl epidemic claiming lives and leaving streets littered with used needles. The drug culture has spawned skyrocketing crime. The hometown my children knew has vanished, in the same way my boyhood home disappeared out from under me.

The magic wasn’t only the places but the culture and people who coexisted with those places. The culture and people have changed so the triangle is broken and the places slipped through the crack.

. . . encouragement and a plan for sensible people

People are fretting about the antics of the Davos Crowd; a group of globalists busily upsetting the present way of life in America by funding illegal immigration, funding riots in cities, funding the campaigns of unscrupulous politicians who carry out the wishes of the elite. They push ridiculous agendas such as climate alarmism, they fund and perpetrate hoax pandemics as a means of reducing the population through fear and coercion to take experimental vaccines which lead many to premature death and infertility. This is by no means a complete list of the evil and illegal activities of these oligarchs, but it gets the point across.

In summary, they are unelected criminals interfering with our way of life, our elections and our government. The duty of the CIA is to find and eradicate such threats but the CIA does nothing. The duty of congress is to protect our civil rights but congress does nothing. The average person senses that their government has been hijacked (including the military) and their lifestyle is being threatened.

People feel hopeless.

The purpose of this essay is to explain the present distress and provide suggestions for overcoming what lies ahead. Is there hope? There’s always hope.

To understand these oligarchs, let’s travel back in time to when they had little or no influence in America. That would be 1966 and earlier. In those days, the average home price was 1.5 times the median wage of the single income family. For reference, the average income for the Boston area was $15K/year and the average home price was $25K. The average mortgage term was 15 years at 4%. The mortgage was issued and held to maturity by a local bank. Car loans were also handled by a local bank. People paid cash for everything else. They saved for appliances, furniture and clothing.

Credit cards didn’t exist in a big way until 1966 when the first widely marketed credit card began showing up on TV screens across the country; encouraging Americans to forget about saving for the things they wanted. All they had to do was apply for a Unicard and they could achieve instant gratification. We see the end result of that seduction; Americans are up to their ears in all kinds of debt; credit cards, homes, cars, education ad nauseum.

Shortly after the oligarchs hooked Americans on credit, the price of homes, cars and everything else rose rapidly which then made living without credit difficult or impossible. They had succeeded in trapping Americans in a lifestyle of never ending debt service.

Prior to the credit seduction, Americans were locally self sufficient. There was no global delivery system for food and household goods. People bought their dairy products, meats, vegetables, fruits and breads from local farms, butchers and bakeries. Small family owned general stores and markets could be found in every neighborhood within walking distance. All necessary goods were available from local sources.

So, the big trick of the oligarchs was to entrap people using credit, then to use television and media to seduce them away from tradition and into the global delivery system for all the things they had previously bought locally. The farms and stores owned by local people all vanished from the landscape, replaced by regional and nation wide chains providing anything and everything the newly enslaved population needed or wanted. This is the mode we’ve been in since 1966.

I could continue for hours but you already get the point. The economy is a trap set by the globalists and we’ve been sucked into it. So we need to extricate. To defeat the Davos crowd, withdraw from society and immerse into community. Do this gradually and incrementally and little by little you’ll get there.

I would like you to consider the Amish. Do you think they’re troubled by what the Davos Crowd is up to? Of course not. The globalists have zero influence upon the Amish because the Amish are self sufficient in every way. The Davos Crowd can’t frighten the Amish or make them feel uncomfortable because the Amish aren’t subject to the economy or society created by the globalists. Furthermore, the Amish don’t watch television and don’t spend time on social media. They are very deeply into their local communities and traditional living. They shun everything else.

So let’s discuss simple, inexpensive ways you can begin liberating yourself from the control of the elite. Let’s discuss how to take steps up the ladder of liberty.

1 - Turn off the news, completely. Scan the headlines for two minutes in the morning if you must, but otherwise turn it off completely.

2 - Reduce time on social media and eventually get rid of it.

3 - Reduce time watching television and eventually get rid of it.

4 - Keep your cell phone powered down. Turn it on once every hour to see if you had any important calls or messages.

5 - Visit forests and other nature venues daily if possible or weekends if not.

6 - Develop hobbies and enjoy them. Most people I meet don’t have hobbies.

7 - As much as is possible, begin purchasing meats, dairy products, vegetables, fruits and bakery goods from small local sources.

8 - When possible, become a local supplier of goods or services yourself.

9 - Stop using credit cards. Use debit cards instead. As practical, pay off and cancel the credit cards.

10 - Stop buying frivolous items. Buy only necessities until you have paid down debt.

11 - Get out into your neighborhood and begin talking to and getting to know those around you. You’ll probably discover that most folks, whether liberal or conservative, are reasonable, decent people and that wingnut radical liberals are few and far between. Begin rebuilding your community, then your town, then your state.

12 - Get and keep yourself healthy. For most people this is quite simple, Walk for one hour nonstop in the fresh air and sunshine each day and drink a half gallon of purified water each day. Make this a lifelong habit. Soon, you may declare yourself healthy and tell the medi/pharma extortion racket to go to hell. Walking is the ideal exercise for human beings. Do it daily, do it for life.

13 - Enjoy your family, friends, lover, neighbors and hobbies. Make this your focus. Socialize with real people. Build strong families and friendships. The resurgence of community is the death of globalism.

In summary, you can’t stop the globalists from tinkering with the things they created and own; which is to say, the economy and the society. But the globalists can’t tinker with your community and family because you created and own it. Be like the Amish.

This is my letter of encouragement to my fellow Americans; to give them hope, to help them cease from worry; to help them begin the long process of escape and the satisfaction of becoming reacquainted with the wonder of community.

. . . the pedigree mandate

In my childhood years, everyone had a family dog and in almost all cases that dog was a mutt; no pedigree whatsoever, a mixture of a half dozen breeds or thereabouts. But mutts, as it turns out, have the best combination of traits. They're excellent watch dogs and also gentle with, playful with and protective of children. In so many ways they enrich the lives of their human family members.

Back in those days, you found your family dog at the local grocery store. When someone with a female dog had a litter, they'd place the bundle of babies in a cardboard box and stand outside the store for passersby to peek in and fawn over the pups. Within an hour, the box was empty and several families had a new puppy to love and the puppies had a new forever home.

Then came the heavy-handed onslaught against the mutt. Governments began forcing people to leash, spay and neuter their dogs under threat of fine or imprisonment. Shelters spayed and neutered the dogs before adopting them off.

In short order, the lovable mutt went extinct from the American landscape.

In the current times, those seeking a family dog may choose only between expensive pure breeds. The seller of the dog subjects the family to income verification, credit check, background check, home inspection, urinalysis and so forth.

It has become as difficult to get a dog as it is to adopt a child.

And there are those who call this progress.

. . . on mischievous mushrooms

Mushrooms are pranksters. They're governed by rules which they routinely break. They're defiant renegades and charming trouble makers. They seduce us into learning about them but the learning never ends.

. . . no one owns a house

The current generation of young adults complains that they don’t own anything.

The complaint has merit. Home prices have risen at the same time interest rates have risen which is an unnatural economic phenomenon. Historically, as interest rates rise, home prices drop commensurately to keep the monthly mortgage payment at levels considered to be affordable in relationship to wages.

So, in a real sense, the new brood of adults is locked out of home ownership because they can’t afford the monthly mortgage payment.

But does any American of any age actually own their home?

At the local level, if you can’t afford to pay the ever-increasing property taxes, you’ll soon discover that your town owns your house and you’re just a tenant subject to eviction if you don’t pay the rent. Also at the local level, if your town decides that it would like to pop in a strip mall on your property, they will simply take your home by eminent domain, pay you fair market value (in theory) and you’re back on the street.

This case of eminent domain for commerce is courtesy of the New London vs. Kelo Supreme Court decision which declared that seizing private property by eminent domain for purpose of economic development is constitutional. Don’t ask me to explain the court’s rationale. In my estimate, it amounts to a declaration of war upon private property rights.

The state and federal governments likewise, can seize your property by eminent domain for roads, reservoirs, schools, prisons, gas pipelines, solar farms, economic development and whatever else strike their fancy at any given time.

Home ownership and private property rights in America are illusions. No one owns their home; not even those with a free & clear deed to the property.

There is a simple solution to every oppression so here it is: abolish any and all forms of bank bailouts including the covert bailouts provided by the federal reserve, abolish all government backed mortgages, overturn the New London v. Kelo decision, replace property taxes with local income taxes and allow the free market to determine and establish home values and mortgage interest rates.

Perhaps this new generation of adults who find it impossible to own anything will rise to the occasion and set things straight in Washington DC.

Who knows?

. . . on the automobile

Cars are angry sounding machines operated at varying degrees of recklessness by humans operating at varying degrees of incompetence.

For comic relief, I refer you to the Jerry Reed song entitled “Lord, Mr. Ford What Have You Done”.

. . . breaking free from ADHD

This is a long overdue essay.

Disclaimer: I’m neither a physician nor clinician so my suggestions are not approved or endorsed by the medical community, but they do seem to work quite well.

When I was young and going through school (1960s - 1970s), no one was diagnosed with ADHD; neither did anyone exhibit any such behavior. However, when my four sons went through school (1980s - 1990s) ADHD was now commonplace and many of their friends were so diagnosed.

We lived in a small town in western Massachusetts and in our immediate cul-de-sac lived a total of seventy-three children; six of whom were diagnosed ADHD and one with Asbergers. Moreover, dozens of their other friends from school were diagnosed with ADHD, autism and Asbergers.

I began to wonder about the origins and mechanics of ADHD. Why was it not a part of my childhood landscape but prevalent twenty years later?

I made an interesting observation. Whenever these ADHD children were at our house, they showed no symptoms. I began thinking that perhaps something about our place was negating the ADHD.

My house and yard was boy heaven. We had a swimming pool, dirt bikes, an archery range, air rifle range, paint ball range, campground and fireplace. In the cellar there were HO Scale train tracks and racing car tracks, a ping pong table, a pool table, a weight room and a musical instrument room. There were stunt bikes, skateboards, all kinds of sports gear and fishing equipment. It was boy heaven and every kid in town wanted to be there.

I didn’t permit my children to have a Nintendo which was popular at the time. I provided outdoor and indoor activities and hobbies instead. I told them if they wanted to play Nintendo, they could do so at their friends’ houses, but, this rarely happened since all their friends wanted to be at our house. Dirt bikes and air rifles trump video games every time!

This ADHD continued to perplex me and I felt sadness for the parents and children coping with it. I researched the matter and came across some articles theorizing that ADHD et. al. were social constructs. The underlying principles of those articles harmonized with my own casual observations. I shared what I learned with the parents of the ADHD children. This led to many discussions and eventually to a plan to put my theories to the test together with the other parents.

I explained that their ADHD children behaved perfectly normal and natural when visiting and I theorized that it wasn’t only the activities at my place responsible for this improvement in behavior, but also the unsupervised socializing which occurred between the kids. They were free to be boys without me hovering over them, except of course while using the bows, airguns and paintball guns, but at all other times they were interacting with each other on their own terms and developing their own culture and their own brand of emerging masculinity.

I invited these parents to come over and remotely observe their children. Many of them did and were amazed at how normal their kids behaved simply hanging out with and socializing with their friends without adult micromanagement. These were breakthrough moments for the parents. They began to understand that there was nothing medically or emotionally wrong with their sons but that there was something wrong with the society their sons were attempting to navigate. We concluded that the society and the schools were deliberately involved in stifling the natural development of boys and that these so-called ADHD behaviors were simply the reaction of these boys to being stifled.

Together with the parents in my town, I was able to free dozens of young boys from the dangers of Ritalin and the stigma of ADHD. They went on to lead normal lives. Through a process of understanding the root cause of their behaviors and intermingling masculine activities into their routines and allowing them to form their own culture with their friends and peers minus adult meddling, we were able to grant these children an effective escape route from societal coercions and manipulations.

I’m quite certain that if the authorities caught wind of my little program, I’d’ve found myself in big trouble of course. The medi/pharma profiteering racket would like to see all children as ADHD positive and pumped full of Ritalin. But I evaded their radar and a bunch of happy parents and kids have used the “herbal” alternative to break free from the social construct known as ADHD.

Post Script: Some claim that cell phone radiation is linked to ADHD and autism but my sons grew up in the era before cell phones so that can’t be the root cause. Some folks claim that vaccinations are the root cause but vaccinated children behaved normally in my yard so again, vaccines are not the root cause. Based upon decades of observations I conclude that ADHD is indeed a social construct which frustrates the natural development of young boys and the boys react to the frustrations in ways which society ignores and subdues with drugs. Society is not interested in the root cause because society is the root cause.

. . . embrace collapse

I’m surprised that so many clear thinking Americans are worried about the decline and collapse of the country.

The destruction of society is the rebirth of community.

Society is worthless, community is priceless; therefore, embrace collapse.

. . . people are so thoughtfull

Very few people are thoughtful, but all people are thoughtfull. All of us are full of thoughts which constantly swirl around in our minds.

There are two types of thought: command and streaming.

Command thoughts are those we willfully call to mind in order to focus or reason.

Streaming thoughts are those which flow into our minds when we cease from command thought.

The human mind is vexed every minute of every day with a mixture of command and streaming thoughts and while it's possible to empty ones mind of command thoughts, it's impossible to do so with streaming thoughts. Once command thinking ceases, streaming thoughts fill the void.

If a person claims to be able to empty their mind of those pesky streaming thoughts, through meditation or some other method, the meditation itself is merely a command thought which displaces streaming thoughts and as soon as the meditation ceases, streaming thoughts return.

In conclusion, we are designed to be inexorably thoughtfull without remedy.

. . . on petting

If women petted their men as frequently, lovingly and unconditionally as they pet their dogs and cats, our country would become a great big tail wagging purr party.

If men pampered their women as meticulously as they do their cars and motorcycles, the women would be suspicious of their motives; in some cases rightfully so.

. . . a sudden change in course

On June 10, 1963, President Kennedy delivered a commencement address at American University which has come to be known as the Kennedy Peace Speech.

Among many important concepts presented, President Kennedy posed thusly, “What kind of a peace do we seek? Not a Pax Americana enforced upon the world by American weapons of war . . .”

Today, we have a Pax Americana enforced upon the world by American weapons of war.

. . . what was woodstock?

The 1969 music festival at Max Yasgur’s dairy farm in Bethel, NY, known as Woodstock, has been romanticized as a cornerstone of world peace.

But since that time, there have been about 100 wars, conflicts and coups, most of them the concoctions of people from this very same peace-loving generation.

Ultimately, Woodstock was a star-studded concert and a whopper of a pot party. The irresponsible, inconsiderate attendees left the place a mess.

If global peace is the goal, a pot party and concert are clearly not the answer. The answer is eradication of War, Incorporated, aka Washington DC, the Imperial City, the global bully, which sanctions, drones and bombs any and all imagined enemies and it does so unilaterally with accompanying propaganda and arrogance.

Are the Woodstock Worshippers equal to the task at hand?

. . . get the lead out

In my teen years I worked on the grounds crew at a golf course; best job I ever loved; despite my boss, Dominick, who was, shall we say, less than pleasant but still a source of inspiration.

Each morning at 6:00 am, I was greeted with the grouchy command to “get the lead out” which, in those days, was idiomatic for “move faster”.

I became acquainted with many men at the golf course. Some taught me how to golf, others how to charm the girls, and Dominick taught me how to work hard and get the lead out.

. . . live your best life

One of my daughters-in-law has a wonderful saying whenever someone is complaining, she says “live your best life” . . . works like magic, the complaining ceases, but I don't think my daughter-in-law ever had shingles, and I hope she never does since pondering your best life, for even a single moment, while the pain and discomfort of shingles tortures you, is outside the realm of the possible.

. . . on the passing of fads

Question: Where are all the hippies of the 1960s?

Answer: They're all good little capitalists with 401Ks and McMansions.

Moral of the quip: Fads are always short-lived. Wokeism is the next fad to vanish.

. . . do as I say, not as I do

My employer asked me to make the company ITAR compliant.

ITAR is a set of government regulations designed to keep American military weapons from ending up in the wrong hands.

Recently we've learned that weapons the government sends to Ukraine are ending up in the wrong hands i.e. sold on the black market to terrorist groups, drug cartels and the like.

So, the government, which requires companies to be ITAR compliant, is itself not ITAR compliant.

. . . on racism as scientifically established myth

The savored battle cry of the left is racism. Here a racist, there a racist, everywhere a racist racist.

For the left however, there is a dilemma in the form of a woman the scientific community refers to as Mitochondrial Eve.

In the 1980s, a team of scientists studied the mitochondrial DNA of 20,000 placentas of women from around the world and discovered that all 7-billion people alive today are the descendants of one woman; Mitochondrial Eve. Their work has since been peer reviewed and corroborated and is considered “settled science”. It irrefutably negates racism as there is but a single race.

Since race doesn't exist, racism is a fairy tale, wait, even worse, a sinister political gimmick.

. . . on the concealment of culture

We no longer have a culture, we have an economy and the economy is the culture.

Through seductions many, we’ve been reduced to chronic consumers and servicers of debt; all to the glee of banks, businesses and kleptocracies.

But culture is resilient. Culture is indigenous to the human spirit. Should the economy collapse and people find themselves forced into giving up the glittering gimmicks, forced into being reacquainted with human essence and authenticity, then culture would organically reappear overnight. Culture is a seed within the souls of a people. It can’t be destroyed; it can only be subdued.

. . . 99%

Left unmolested, 99% of humans are healthy 99% of the time.

If true, doctors, hospitals, pharma and insurers would go belly up in under 60 seconds. So, for the past half century the medical-pharma industrial complex has busied itself converting much of America into a nationwide blob of hypochondriacs and fearful germophobes who spend more time in a doctor's office than they do visiting friends and relatives.

My advice? Walk for one hour nonstop each day, drink a half gallon of water each day, declare yourself healthy, cancel your appointments and go roller skating with the grand kids, take a forest walk with friends, go to the beach with your lover or otherwise savor your free time.

Cautionary post script – remember that 1% of the time you will need a doctor so don't cancel all those appointments, only those in the category: frivolous.

. . . juxtapositions

The world is to be observed; the earth to be experienced.

Society is to be observed; community to be experienced.

Tin soldiers are to be observed; friends to be experienced.

The world, its society, and its tin soldiers offer you glittering gimmicks in lieu of human authenticity. Human authenticity though, is a stubborn commodity with a quick middle finger.

* mea culpa – while experiencing the earth, I avoid experiencing mosquitoes and ticks.

. . . let it be said that people lived here

There is a distinction between house and home, vis a vis servitude vs. comfort.

You may, if you like, worship your house and spitshine it each waking moment.

In the alternative, you may, if you like, live in your home and accept a bit of clutter and some minor blemishes as the expected byproducts of living.

When I was young, a neighbor had a placard hanging on her kitchen wall which read, “My house is clean enough to be healthy and dirty enough to be happy”. This is worthy of consideration.

As for me, let it be said that people lived here, that they laughed here, that they loved here; but that never for a single moment were they curators of a museum.

. . . when knowing is not knowing (a delightful distinction)

While learning a new language, you sometimes notice charming nuances and such was the case when I took up German.

One of those charming nuances was their distinction between “wissen” (to know facts) and kennen (to know a person). In the English, we’re limited to the verb “know” for both classifications. In reality, the two are very different forms of knowledge and deserving of segregation.

German not only separates, but elevates the knowing of another person to a higher plane, where, in my estimate, it should be, and that is the charming part of the distinction they make in their language.

But it gets even better than that. Germans don’t get to know people, they learn how to know people. Their verb for getting to know someone is “kennenlernen” which is the combination of the verb “kennen” (to know a person) and “lernen” (to learn). So in Germany, when you meet someone new, you learn how to know them and this adds depth to your interpersonal relations if you put this concept into practice.

For example, Thomas doesn’t simply know that Barbara likes to play piano, but he has learned why she likes to play piano. Cheryl doesn’t simply know that Robert plays first base but she has learned why Robert favors that particular position.

It’s quite easy to grasp that if you apply the kennenlernen concept, that it will deepen your relationships with others. Do German people actually apply the principle as I’ve explained it here? Hard for me to answer since I don’t live there and haven’t subjected their culture to kennenlernen. Whether they do or don’t doesn’t prevent you from putting into practice this charming concept to help you develop deeper, more meaningful, more connected relationships with others.

And now it’s time to say goodbye and I’ll use another charming German phrase.

Bis Bald!

Literally translated, bis bald means “until soon” and this conveys a higher degree of eagerness to see someone again than our casual “see you later”.

. . . wrinkled peach and grass of parnassus

There was a giddy song by Bob Dylan with the tag line “I would not feel so all alone; everybody must get stoned”. He seemed to be referring to some common foible which besets all of humanity. I can relate. My version of that song goes something like this: I would not feel so all alone; everybody must get peached”. What the ???? . . . Allow me to explain.

The Wrinkled Peach is the world's prettiest mushroom. Some might disagree but what do they know anyway? The peach has a soft pink cap with faded pink elevated veins; pink-on-pink in 3D. Her gills are finely pitched and powder pink. She sports an antique white shaft which weeps ruby teardrops in shades from pale strawberry to burgundy wine. This weeping, a feature in some mushrooms, is a process called guttation whereby the mushroom vents and colors moisture from the host.

Despite being an accomplished mushroom hunter, despite having found many rare species, and despite having lived in places where the Wrinkled Peach is known to exist, the peach and I have never crossed paths.

Maybe you don't hunt mushrooms but somehow, some way, some thing which you've searched for or desired your entire life, and which should be within your reach will nevertheless elude you. This is your symbolic peach.

It is said that into each life, some rain must fall, but it can likewise be said that into each life some sunshine must be withheld. Without these unfulfilled desires we'd be overly sweet. In the same way that a bit of lemon mitigates excess sweetness in a recipe, likewise the melancholy of desires unsatisfied is an essential life ingredient and only small amounts are required for perfect balance. So embrace your peach. It provides an imperative hint of bitterness.

As for me, if by haphazard fortune, I one day meet the wrinkled one, I have a trick up my sleeve. It's called Grass of Parnassus, which is the world's prettiest wildflower. Some might disagree but what do they know anyway? As with the peach, I've not had the pleasure of meeting Grass of, so this is my reserve peach to ensure that I retain just enough tartness to avoid becoming nauseatingly sweet.

Everybody must get peached, capice?

. . . the patent absurdity of identity ideology

I've decided to identify as President of the United States so I can fire the entire cast at the CIA and refill those roles with people dedicated to eradication of the Davos Crowd. Sounds good, right? The only problem is that my identifying antics are ridiculous since they violate the man made rules of elections.

How much more ridiculous the identifying antics which claim to violate the natural rules of biology?

This too shall pass.

. . . on vitamin H

Your overall well being is dependent upon your hobbies, which I refer to as vitamin H.

The most contented people I know are those who have hobbies into which they immerse themselves on a regular basis.

It seems to me that a majority of people I meet don't have any hobbies; they're vitamin H deficient.

When I meet a new person, right after learning their name and where they come from, I inquire about their hobbies. If they lack hobbies, this becomes quickly apparent as they struggle with what to say or they're confused about what constitutes a hobby. But a person with a hobby will light up instantly and be pleased and eager to tell you all about it. It's a matter of pride and excitement.

Hobbies are deeply personal skills you develop and from which you manifest creativity. Arts, crafts, modeling, mastering a musical instrument, knitting, pottery, painting, sculpting, cooking, developing your creative mind through reading, writing, photography, restoring old cars, old barns, old steam engines, and the list goes on. Hobbies are interests you keep secret until ready to share with others and usually after a long period of mastering your art.

Hobbies lure and hold us introspective, enhance our lives, make us more interesting to ourselves and others, grant us creative outlets and contribute to our general well being.

A final thought about hobbies. As we experienced during the recent pandemic lockdown hysteria, those of us with hobbies were largely uneffected and simply appreciated having more time to devote to our hobbies. But to the person without hobbies, the closing of bars, restaurants, night clubs, shopping malls, sporting events etc. left them beside themselves with boredom during that bizarre chapter of malevolent political tyranny.

Get your vitamin H.

. . . applause without cause

We lavish people with honors too readily. This should be reserved for rare individuals with exceptional skills. Everyone else should receive courtesy but not undue accolades.

Soren Kierkegaard called this the leveling process. Modern man refers to it as the participation trophy syndrome. To me, it's applause without cause.

Showering the undeserving with unearned honors diminishes the incentive to excel and kills the spirit of competition among the best of the best; extirpating true excellence.

To receive just praise for your mastery, seek it from your community and let the flunkies seek the false adulation of society. It's a case of bigger is not better.

. . . government and trust are mutually exclusive terms

My government taught me to be suspicious of everything it says and does; to treat it all as propaganda, worthy of my instant skepticism.

My government sent 58,000 recently graduated US high school seniors to their deaths in Vietnam. My government was also an accomplice to the murder of some 2-million Vietnamese people.

Vietnam was not threatening to invade or attack my country. Neither were there any vital strategic US interests being threatened. My government told me we needed to be there to stop the spread of communism. But we lost the war, left in humiliation and the communism we sought to stop, rapidly spread over South Vietnam like melted butter.

The rational man asks himself this question: what terrible thing happened to the United States after losing the war in Vietnam? Did we need to surrender to the communist government there and forfeit all our precious freedoms? No. Did communism overtake any of our allies? Again, no.

Not a single detriment accrued to the United States by losing the war in Vietnam; therefore there was never a single reason to kill 58,000 American kids; nor to be a party to the deaths of millions of Vietnamese people.

In summary, back in the 1960s, when I was a young boy, my government taught me to distrust my government and since then my government has proceeded with impeccable consistency to reinforce the rationale for my distrust.

. . . on simplifying matters

to whatever extent practicable, simplify your life and you won’t have as far to fall.

to whatever extent practicable, extricate yourself from the delivery system and you won’t be distraught should it fail you or should it become unaffordable.

. . . ongoings in Africa

In the news lately are numerous articles about how the various nations of Africa are developing a common voice supportive of casting off the shackles of neocolonialism and western bullying.

The coups in Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger resulted in eruptions of people coming out to celebrate in the streets. They approve of the coups so any attempt to reverse them through military intervention is contrary to the will of the people and will ultimately fail. As has been observed, “It's not a coup, it's a revolution”.

It appears that centuries of plunder by the west shall be coming to an eventual end. It's particularly troubling to discover the ways in which France has been exploiting these nations.

The cunning of corruption ensures that the people of liberated Africa will eventually be exploited anew, but better by a government of their peers than by the west. In the very least, and for a time, they'll be allowed to attain a better life in the Springtime of their liberation.

. . . not your mother’s pork chops

Through the years of growing up I remembered quite well all the delicious meals my mom made for the family, including her moist, juicy, succulent pork chops.

When I left the nest I spent a few years as a wild bachelor eating mostly at restaurants and occasionally heating something from the freezer but as time passed I somehow got this notion that my diet needed nutritional improvement.

As a newly hatched chef, I discovered that my pork chops were dry and tasteless so I phoned my mom to ask her how to make mouth-watering chops. She willingly divulged her secrets. I memorized them and gave it another go. The next pork chop attempt was like the previous; dry, tasteless, a waste of time and money. So I gave up on moist chops and made them tolerable with marinades and sauces.

For many years, I hadn’t given much thought to the matter until a friend and I were reminiscing and this topic of moist vs. dry pork chops came up and she said, “Dave, that’s because your pork chops are not your mom’s pork chops”. She went on to explain that in the years since I was a child, livestock farming had undergone major changes, that livestock was being injected with growth hormones, their feed included antibiotics and the animals were not developing naturally.

It turns out she was right. My mom’s pork chops predated growth hormones and antibiotics, the pigs developed by natural means and the meat was superior.

Moral of the story; if you want moist chops, you’ll need to find a butcher who buys from a pig farmer who raises pigs the old fashioned way because it’s true; your chops are not your mom’s chops.

I don’t seem to recall the USDA raising any flags over these changes, do you?

. . . on limits to learning

All nature aficionados start at the same level; novice observer. Thereafter, they learn from the body of acquired knowledge. The ladder of learning may be climbed to the known top and from there a new top is discovered and on this goes. But it’s the conscious choice of each naturalist to rise to a level of knowledge which suits them.

If they’re wise, they’ll proceed no further than the point of pleasure.

Consider the candy striped leafhopper (Graphocephala coccinea). The first time I noticed this tiny insect I was captivated by it’s colors; adorned with red, cyan, orange, yellow, purple and black. It’s a virtual animated rainbow. I was filled with wonder at the discovery of this barely perceptible, yet boldly colored creature.

In my naivete, I named him “The Bug of Many Colors”. He was cooperative while I snapped a number of photos from different angles. Later, while working with my photos, I researched his common name, scientific name, his role in nature and other facts pertaining to the bug of many colors.

During that research, I found a scientific paper on Graphocephala coccinea, written by an entomologist. In his paper he proceeded to define and explain the purpose and functioning of the various organs. It was clear that he had fully examined the insect under an electron microscope. It was also clear that his descriptions, while replete with scientific knowledge, were completely devoid of passion. And I thought to myself, this poor fellow studies insects to a level where all sense of wonder has been lost in scientific minutia.

It occurred to me that my rung on the ladder of learning is low to the ground, below the entomologist and below the citizen scientist. Sufficient it is knowing the common and scientific names and perhaps a few facts about the species.

This is my point of pleasure

. . . the kiss that changed history (mine anyway)

At age fifteen, I was seduced by a cougar. It was a thrilling bit of luck But when she kissed me, her lipstick left a waxy feeling which I didn’t care for. So, I proceeded to kiss every inch of that woman . . . except her lips.

Over the decades, it dawned on me that subconsciously, I was always choosing girls who didn’t wear heavy makeup and particularly lipstick..

To the ladies who do wear makeup, you’re gorgeous of course, but I was traumatized by the cougar with waxy lips so kindly forgive my inability to sweep you off your stilletos.

My man tongue prefers your woman skin over a polymer coating.”

I retire in two years, back to my beautiful New England, to build my later life home and I’ll find my later life woman. But, and of course, she’ll be the kind of girl who doesn’t leave a waxy film on my lips when we kiss!

The legacy of my 1972 cougar was truly the kiss that changed history (mine anyway).

. . . opiate of the masses

While perusing Substack today, I came across an entry from a woman remarking about the new year festivities in time square and how instead of living in the moment and experiencing it with their senses, the throng of party goers were busily recording the event on their cell phones, taking selfies of themselves at the event, but in no wise enjoying the event in a genuinely human way.

It shouldn’t be surprising. We’ve all been treated to family gatherings where no one looks at each other because they’re too busy looking at their cell phones.

Karl Marx famously quipped that religion is the opiate of the masses. Did he lack foresight to understand that technology would become the opiate of the masses? If so, he can’t be faulted as he lived in the era of steam engines and at a time when the advent of photography was barely 20 years old.

But in another sense, it can be argued that technology is a religion, or a faith at least, so Marx’s maxim can be accurately applied.

Cell phones and social media then, are the current opiate of the masses and the faithful followers are devoted more to these things than they are to their tangible relationships and activities. They resent anything and everything (even their job) should it interfere with their daily devotions to the i-phone gods.

I have a cell, an internet connection, a laptop. When in the presence of my fellow humans, I look them in the eye and converse with them voice-to-ear instead of sending them a text message from three feet away. So, we can rightly place me as a member of the congregation but not a fanatic. Everything in moderation is the addage which comes to mind.

Following trend lines we can easily conclude that technology will become more pervasive, more intrusive as time passes. There is no generation on the horizon which views the cell phone as part of the establishment and worthy of overthrow. The apps and social media will change but the hardware is a permant fixture of the human landscape both now and going forward. 5G, 6G, 26G and on it shall go. The time will arrive when miniature cell phones are embedded into the buttocks of babies moments after birth by government mandate.

As for me, I spend my free time hunting mushrooms and visiting uncharted mountain streams in places where there is no cell phone signal. These are my moments of repose from technology. When I emerge from the forest, my body is bombarded afresh with cell phone signals and radio waves too numerous to list.

I’ve long said I look forward to the day when I can fling my hardware out the window (figuratively of course) and be done with technology. I might actually be able to pull it off to a certain extent but never completely. We’re a spineless species, unwilling to live authentically and in accordance with our design criteria. We’re hopelessly addicted to the opiate of the masses.

. . on the distinction between conservationista and environoid

Radical advocates of the natural realm are not created equal; they come in flavors.

The conservationista protects land from development for the benefit of flora, fauna and humankind.

The environoid does likewise but eliminates humankind as a beneficiary.

There is another important distinction to be observed between them; motive.

The conservationista doesn’t feather his nest as he goes about the business of preserving lands. In most cases, he’s a volunteer. He has pure motives.

The environoid on the other hand earns his living by robbing taxpayers to perform a job which doesn’t need to be performed. He lobbies government to pass laws which don’t need to be passed. He robs taxpayers to buy land for a wildlife refuge but the land is off limits to the taxpayers he robs to buy the land.

The conservationista is a blessing to everyone; a sweetheart if you will.

The environoid is a blessing only to himself; a con artist if you will.

. . . while you weren’t looking

the sudden widespread popularity of socialism in a capitalist nation is not a sign of impending collapse but a sign that collapse is already well underway.

. . . on the imperative emotional connection with folk music

I occasionally meander on you tube, listening to various forms of music and one night, I came across a live performance with Gordon Lightfoot delivering one of his lesser-known ballads entitled “Song for a Winter's Night”.

The lyrics are sad; a song about missing a former lover, sitting quietly, longing for her on a winter night alone.

It wasn’t the song which caught my attention; it was the audience.

As the videographer pans the crowd after the first verse, I couldn’t help but notice their facial expressions. They were drawn into his sadness; introspective, reflective, solemn. There’s unanimous melancholy on each of their faces as they listen motionless for the entire performance.

Could it be that the lyrics strike a resonant chord in all people? Have each of us felt the romantic longing for a lost love in a weather ambiance reminiscent of scenes from the wonder of that love? Or was it that Gordon was a master minstrel; able to magnetize his audience? Perhaps it was a bit of both.

I don’t have the answer to the mystery. But I do have the link to the performance in case you’d like to witness the human dynamics for yourself.

. . . passion of the photographer

The photo at the end of this entry is from a place in my town called Silver Lake; a small body of water which the town converted into a park; surrounding it with a number of man made structures and apparati. The townspeople don’t give much thought to the lake, beyond its recreational uses.

But in its terrestrial essence, little Silver Lake is a beautiful tapestry of forest, water and sky. It’s an ideal location for sunrises, fall foliage and snowscapes. The forest which surrounds the lake is a mixture of conifer, hardwood and the glorious white birch. The forest undulates against the skyline and the shore is dotted with native reeds and vegetation, interrupted by an occasional tree. The water surface is usually calm; providing a mirror reflection of sky, clouds and sun. On most mornings, a mist rises from the lake for added drama.

When I share my photos of Silver Lake, local people are always amazed at the beauty which comes through in the images of this familiar place. A certain woman once said, “He makes Silver Lake look like Hawaii!”

The trick, if you can call it that, is this; you must love the place you shoot. If not, your photo appears mediocre at best, no matter how fancy the camera nor how extensive the training. If you love your venue, it’s a pleasure to compose in its most compelling light and with patience; waiting for the ideal moment to pull the trigger.

When I see Silver Lake, I see a place where my children learned to fish and swim and where they made memories with their friends. Furthermore, I see a spot in my beloved North Quabbin, adorned with all the native living things: flora, fauna, the enchanting cattail reeds and a decorative spattering of lily pads, encircled by a lush forest.

Silver Lake is a treasure chest of memories for me. My adoration runs deep.

Some who photograph our little lake produce images which say “Look at my gear!” or “Look at me!” but my portraits say “Look at Silver Lake!”

. . . the kingdoms of this world

You may be in the category of those who look at their government with disgust over the level of corruption, the ignoring (or encouragement) of crime and the unsecured border, reckless spending, forever wars, erosion of civil and constitutional rights, failure to investigate such serious issues as election fraud, the pandemic origins, political tyranny related to the pandemic, and on goes the list.

If the reiteration above matches your mindset, you’re not alone. A majority is with you in what is termed “The Collective West: which includes North America, Europe and a few scattered vassals elsewhere in the world .

The Christian familiar with scripture and prophecy recognizes these transformations as expected events heading into the end game wherein governments demonstrate the necessity for God Himself to cut short his dealings with humanity and establish “the Kingdom where righteousness dwells”.

“The kingdoms of this world have become the kingdoms of our Lord and of His Christ, and He shall reign forever .” (Revelation 11:15)

For the Christian, establishment of the Messianic Kingdom is a sweet relief. The rules never change, the king is never replaced, and those prone to evil will be forcefully and permanently removed. Then comes fulfillment of the beatitude which states “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst after righteousness for they shall be filled”.

These beliefs help Christians deal with the ever-worsening infringements endured at the hands of an evil government.

For ethical atheists who don’t share a belief in a moral spiritual God who will eventually take the reins, the best advice I can provide is to be accepting of your inability to control most elements of your own destiny and to be content with your relationships, friendships, your lover and your hobbies. This will help you deal with the ever-worsening infringements endured at the hands of an evil government.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . photo source: starrfmonline.com . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . did you ever have . . . ?

In my hometown was a department store named Almy’s, relatively small in terms of square footage but well supplied. Whatever you needed, they had it. They even had a snack bar serving hot foods and cold drinks.

Almy’s was an institution in our town, situated centrally on the main drag, within easy reach of the entire population. Furthermore, it was the only department store in town until the developoids filled in Wheeler Pond (probably illegal activity by today's standards) and popped in a massive mall. The locals then had numerous shopping options and I'm sure this was the beginning of the end for our cherished Almy's.

As young kids, 7-10 years of age, we’d cut through the woods to the abandoned Rahanis farm then follow Sawmill Brook to the rear lot of Almy’s; about a 10 minute walk. We’d take the small change we made cashing in returnable bottles and spend it all at Almy’s penny candy stand.

As preteens, with our own serious money from mowing lawns, raking leaves, shoveling snow, doing paper routes, Almy’s was where we’d buy ourselves gifts from their toy or sporting goods departments and treat ourselves to burgers, fries, a Coke or a frappe at their snack bar.

Another thing Almy’s was good for at that age was informal sports. We’d play street hockey in their spacious rear lot. The rear wall was a wonderful place against which to pitch hard rubber balls to practice fielding skills. Depending upon where the ball struck the ground and the wall, you might get a high fly, a line drive or a grounder.

As teenagers, Almy’s was where we went for 45s. Whichever song was popular on the radio could be found as a single in the racks at Almy’s. They kept it well stocked for the town’s teens. The importance of their music rack to teens can’t be overstated. The entire junior and senior high school population rifled through those racks every week, year in, year out.

Almy’s was also where you would go to buy your puppy love girlfriend some jewelry or cologne, a stuffed animal or an I Love You card.

Almy’s was the be-all end-all store, an integral part of our childhood experience.

Sometime in the early 1980s, after I had left town, the chain closed and slipped into a chapter of local history.

I was fortunate to have such a place all through the years of growing up.

Did you have something like Almy’s in your hometown?

. . . never trust a man . . .

Never trust a man who never raised children.

He will have zero tolerance, zero patience and unrealistic expectations.

. . . on regional distinctions

Regional differences are a natural byproduct of culture. We no longer have a culture; we have an economy which has become the culture. Regional nuances no longer develop. Everything has been homogenized into a nationwide uniformity.

Let’s consider the regional accents of yore.

I was raised in Greater Boston and thereby endowed organically with the world famous “pahk the cah in Hahvid Yahd” accent.

To folks in other parts of the country, everyone in New England had a Boston accent whether they were from Maine, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Vermont, Connecticut, or Rhode Island.

But to we Bostonians, everyone outside route 128 had a different accent; perhaps a New England accent, distinct, similar but not the authentic Boston dialect.

Within the Boston accent were many subtle variations. For example, those of us from Burlington could tell whether someone was from a neighboring town, and could even name the town. We knew right away if that person was from Woburn, Wilmington, Billerica, Beford and so forth. Their speech betrayed them.

More remarkably, we could tell which part of our own town someone came from by their sub dialect. Those of us from Rahanis knew if someone was from Winnmere, Simonds, The Oval and so forth.

Culture is such a powerful influence that it can create sub dialects with minute differences within a small circle of friends in any given neighborhood. This kind of cultural depth emerges from relationships within a community and there is no alternative means for this to occur.

Those days are long gone of course. Children are no longer permitted to hang out with their peers on their own terms and develop their own unique culture. They’ve been lured into a life as economy cogs whose uniformity is wirelessly injected into them by their devices.

If you're curious to hear the authentic Boston accent, you better hurry. You’ll need to find someone raised within the route 128 semi-circle prior to 1975 and that generation is rapidly heading into history.

In conclusion, there was a time when people were free to develop their own culture together with their friends which resulted in their own dialect, their own sayings and idioms, their own code of ethics, and their own flavor which defined from whence they came.

Community breeds culture, society breeds economy. Community and culture are endearing, but society is just a gimmick which funnels one as a nondescript uniformity into the economy.

. . . on being truly green

hydrogen is the answer of course; inexhaustible, potent and completely non-polluting . . . it simply lacks an infrastructure, but the Detriment prefers to spend a trillion dollars per year on forever wars instead of developing a hydrogen infrastructure.

. . . the protestrian

If there was a single action I could recommend for the benefit of humanity, it would be that they take to the streets.

Not for any political or social agenda-du-jour, but to protest society and advocate for community.

The protestrian therefore, is a member of the community who abandons his car and takes to the streets of his community upon his own two feet; to walk around the town with all the other members of his community; to engage them as his neighbors, to talk with them face to face on the street as opposed to issuing a hand wave at 45 mph as he zips past them in his car.

We have become detached from one another and this facilitates manipulation by the modern day gestapo-government, aka The Detriment. Community fosters togetherness while the Detriment thrives when it can isolate us one from another. They derive their tyrannical strength from our willful inter-human divorcement.

The automobile, the television, the internet, the cell phone, all collectively erode the meaningful and essential human bonds. Turn them off, leave them at home, take to the the streets, retake the streets, then retake the whole town, the state and eventually the nation.

The protestrian is the foot soldier of the community.

This is my dream and it’s a sweet dream but naive.

Asking Americans to park the car and walk around town to rebuild human bonds with each other is a fairy tale. Americans would rather give up their children than give up their cars. In our time, you are your car and without your car, you are nothing.

In following trend lines we can safely and accurately predict there will be more embracing of technology, not less and even those who understand the value and necessity to simply their lives and revert to being authentically human are unwilling or unable to do so.

The future is one of colder humans, mechanical humans, humans who have lost the ability to feel and follow their instincts. Instead, they wait for the Detriment to instruct them how to feel and act.

There is no hope for humanity. There is only the rare old individual who might remember what it feels like to be genuinely human. Or there could be the even more rare young person who is able to imagine what that would feel like.

. . . sphere of affinity

If we’re not busily engaged in hating each other, we could be busily engaged in enjoying each other. The natural condition of the human is affable animal; whereas the manipulated condition of the human is segregated ideologue. Once was a time when we were capable of sharing togetherness despite differences of opinion and in particular, opinions in the political and social realms.

On the comparative scale of pleasure, enjoying your peers exceeds the pleasure you derive in hating them over their opinions.

The first step into making your way back to enjoying others is to develop idelogical tolerance; which was a given in times past but eradicated in recent times. People draw different conclusions for different reasons and those opinions should not be a criteria for despising them. It should strictly be a footnote in your relationship that certain topics are best avoided as you proceed in sharing time with them in fun and mutually rewarding ways.

So, with tolerance as a reinstalled feature of your personna, you’re now free to go out into your community and increase your sphere of affinity.

In my particular instance, I’m what they call a nature nut. I have an automatic affinity for people who love nature and love to explore nature. Many of those people I love spending time with in a forest, also have opinions I don’t hold to. If I limit my nature friends to those with identical opinions as mine, I have just subtracted at least half of them. To make matters worse, some of them agree with half of my opinions and disagree with the other half so if total opinion compatibility is the criteria whereby I’m willing to explore nature with others, then my sphere of affinity is instantly reduced by a whopping 75%, possibly more.

But, and if I accept the proposition that they’re entitled to their opinions and I’m entitled to disagree politely, but we avoid contentions and love being together for the common cause of exploring nature, then my sphere of affinity is large and boundless and can continue to grow as I am introduced to the friends of my friends and this makes for a rewarding and enjoyable life of pleasure and excitement.

I don’t limit my tolerance to like-minded nature nuts; I take my tolerance to town.

I find enjoyment in all people of all stripes and permit my sphere of affinity to expand through interest diversity. In this way, I’m exposed to new activities and new people. I may not find every new activity worthy of my time but I do find human interaction worthy of my time.

In my past, I was more inclined to be close-minded. As I age, I become less rigid.

But, it also needs to be noted that judgement is a good thing. Judging others is a tool which helps you avoid trouble in your life so I heartily recommend judging others. Certainly, and without argument, it’s a great idea to avoid drunks, druggies, criminals and trouble makers. So, be open to increasing your sphere of affinity but not with anyone and everyone; judge them first, then embrace them if they pass the suitability test; not a test of opinions but a test of actions and character. There is a difference.

Differences of opinion are inconsequential. Increasing your sphere of affinity is personally rewarding. As we move forward into a cold, dehumanized technology driven future, a robust sphere of affinity will be a satisfying counter measure to the harsh and egregious society.

. . . hunters one and all

I was chatting with a man recently who likes to visit strange places and meet strange people. I was enjoying his stories and he was enjoying my photos and notations on mushrooms. We had a nice social time together.

It occured to me that whereas I hunt mushrooms, he hunts venues and characters.

It further occured to me that we’re hunters each and all.

I have a friend who hunts nature hearts, another hunts sea glass, another hunts for old steam engines to refurbish, another hunts for new recipes, another hunts for plants from which to make tinctures and the list goes on and on.

But the cunning of corruption renders hunters in two categories: the caring and the conniving. So while the caring of the world hunt innocuously, there are the conniving who hunt harmfully. To wit: the politician is always hunting for new ways to rob taxpayers. The seducer is always hunting for new hearts to break. The drug dealer is always hunting for new customer victims and the list goes on.

Each and every person on the planet is on the hunt.

Even the lethargan who does nothing but lie on a sofa with a remote in his hand is hunting for entertainment to make his inertia rewarding.

Anthropologists, archaeologists and sociologists tell us that humankind began as hunter-gatherers. We still are. Only the things we hunt have changed.

. . . on copious despisals

The united part of the United States is not just a misnomer; it’s a ridiculous term to use in conjunction with a people full of insta-perma contempt for one another.

It’s your unconstitutional right to base your hatred upon skin color, ethnicity, gender, economic class, political ideology, sexual orientation, religion, position on issues, ad infinitum. There are so many possibilities available which may be used as the foundation and justification for your hatred. There are shopping options; pick two or three so you can enjoy hating everyone you meet on any given day for any number of reasons.

You might have noticed that “race” was not included in the list above. That was intentional. As discussed elsewhere, race doesn’t exist so discussing it is foolish. But the hateful don’t mind being foolish as long as loathing flows through their veins. Any cause, real or imagined will suffice as a fan for their flames.

There is little, if any sense trying to help the hateful overcome their addiction to baseless abhorrence. Despising others in ingrained, entrenched, inexorable. They’re dyed-in-the-wool, born and bred, over-the-top, hair-trigger haters. No day may be considered complete until they sniff out a few despicable humans upon whom to wish instant death.

Collapse and the ensuing anarchy is the prescription for restored civility. And while events in the modern world can happen fast, I don’t suppose collapse and anarchy can be expected any sooner than twenty years.

So, what we see today in the dysfunctional society is what we’ll be seeing for a couple of decades or maybe longer. But, as mentioned elsewhere, society is a corrosive gimmick with no value so feel free to ignore it and instead, immerse yourself into your community which will be the green shoots following collapse.

. . . content to be content

At some point in my late forties I discovered that I was no longer interested in being combative and confrontational. I suppose that this fiery side of my nature had run its course and was simply incompatible with my aging and slowing physiology.

I developed a motto: I’m content to be content.

When this refreshing sedation swept over me, I was no longer interested in fighting with idiot drivers on the roads, fighting with my lazy coworkers, fighting with irritating neighbors, fighting with the kleptocrats at town hall, and fighting with my woman (even though sex after a fight is incredible). I was done with all that. I discovered that calm contentment was superior to tangling with my detractors and antagonists.

I was then able to tolerate and even enjoy my fellow humans.

Whenever a fighting-mad moron attempted to goad me into it, I’d smile and say, sorry brother, no fight today, I’m content to be content.

Once I arrived at being content to be content, life and every action and task therein became a pleasure. Some pleasures ranked higher than others of course but all were in the category: pleasure. The wars had ended. A time of peace arrived, and an enduring peace as I’m still in the content to be content mode some fifteen years later.

As a footnote to all of this contentment, I retained honesty in my words and remained resolute in my opinions and conclusions; which some interpreted as discontentment but when they themselves reach their content to be content phase, they’ll understand the distinction between honesty and aggression.

. . . a paper cut on your pinky

A few decades back I heard a comment and I’m not able to credit the commentator but to paraphrase, he said something along these lines, “Americans care more about a paper cut on their pinky than they do about a million people starving in Africa.”

That brief and not-so-eloquent comment struck me as profound but only if extended beyond its face value or literal interpretation. If you happen to be watching a report on starvation and you get a paper cut, obviously you’ll tend to the laceration and get back to the report later. That’s not what the commentator meant, nor how I interpreted. I would also mention that Americans have historically been very generous with their charitable contributions in response to calamities around the world. So, they do care about human suffering and are willing to help.

But in another sense, there has been a dramatic shift toward callousness in the American mindset with regard to war. Since the collapse of the Soviet Union, Washington DC has become an aggressive global bully. If the DC neocons don’t like you, they won’t use diplomacy, they won’t seek consensus at the UN; they’ll unilaterally sanction, drone and bomb you. They’ll also invade you and occupy you for decades. In the course of all that sanctioning, droning and bombing, multitudes of people are killed, including civilians. Most Americans don’t seem to care that Washington DC has been responsible for the killing of hundreds of thousands of people over the past thirty years in wars against nations incapable of attacking the United States and incapable of defending themselves against the United States. Americans are largely ambivalent.

The same generation that so powerfully demonstrated against the Vietnam war is now the generation bombing tiny countries willy nilly here and there. The peace generation, the hippie generation, these are the people now pulling the trigger.

Once was a time when the United States exercised restraint and diplomacy. It was respected around the world. It had leaders with integrity. It is now a bully superpower either hated or feared but not respected.

American people largely remain silent while their government terrorizes the globe and kills people. Without contradiction, the American people care more about a paper cut on their pinky than they do about the killing of people by the US military.

The lone exception is that many Americans are currently upset with the killing of civilians in the war between Israel and Hamas (as they should be), but these same people have been completely silent about the killing of civilians by the US military in Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, Libya, ad nauseum. So, these people are selectively upset with civilian deaths. It appears that civilian deaths are only a matter of concern to them if Israel is the one doing the killing.

The Random Thought Dump (for later constructiveness)

communism - inflation, capitalism - greed, self-reliance is eternal

the era shapes human tolerance . . . human intolerance shapes the era

repudiation of the debt

adept to adapt

murderous entities are plentiful . . . one which comes to mind is washington DC, which recently baited ukraine into an avoidable war with russia and now there are 400,000 dead ukrainian soldiers . . . i think when the final tally is in, washington DC will hold the top spot for senseless murders post WWII

Dickinson was such a delightful anomaly . . . what i like most about her is that she never left Amherst yet could explain the entire world . . . this is evidence that humanity is a simplicity but fancies itself a sophistication . . . which it is not, and Emily Dickinson proves this repeatedly and conclusively.

the rigor of vigor

Incompletion II,

In ignorance we mention oft,

about a sun which always rises;

While science with our claims agrees,

Our world therefore yields few surprises.

Sense of wonder, sense of glee,

of happenstance, discovery,

or rampant serendipity,

all these pleasures sadly flee,

while all in their entirety,

in a moment are explained to we.

So now explain the chapter final,

forget about suspense and thrill,

plots and themes are null and void,

no story line should need we build.

Why then read or why then ponder,

What lies ahead or hides up yonder;

Among us those who might remember,

Creative minds, imaginations,

Behind us leave while others tender,

No applause for their gyrations.

unless it’s a modern poem which doesn’t meter and doesn’t rhyme . . . in which case i would need to rehearse it for a while before attempting recital . . . the message of a poem is the enigma but the metering and rhyming is anticipatory and expected and these elements make it recitable.

comes with age i think . . . once i was 45 or so, and after two decades of the ravages of raising children, i ceased from emotional confusion and simply accepted my train wreckness . . . fortunately for me, a number of women found that sexy so i suffered no sexual drawback as a result of being disheveled.

i always enjoyed real, tactile people and not fabricated similitudes . . . ai therefore is an extension of hollywood; both are best left ignored in my opinion.

play with your children

discourse on pride

dreams as embellishments of familiarity

hard vs fiat currency

if you’re concerned about public schools neutralizing your child’s personna (as well as their genitals) then home school them . . . they’ll get a superior education and their little individual personalities will thrive . . . yes i know it’s difficult, but nights and weekends if necessary because public school has become a deranged detriment to children.

that putin, i’ll tell ya . . . brandon wanted regime change but he’s still there with an 82% approval rating no less . . . brandon wanted to drive the russians out of ukraine but 35% of ukraine has already been annexed and more to come . . . brandon wanted to crush the russian economy with sanctions but russia’s economy grew 2.5% while europe slipped into recession as the sanctions backfired . . . brandon sent all kinds of US military hardware but the patriots and abrams have all burned . . . that putin, i’ll tell ya . . . i guess he showed brandon . . . yes, i know, the “putin bad” people will call me a putin apologist but there’s really nothing to apolgize for except putin’s successes and why would anyone apology for success?

When I studied Soren Kierkegaard’s work, I enjoyed his focus upon the individual, which, to K, is the human unit known to God.

what is a raindrop? raindrops are liquid lenses; they reflect, refract and magnify their surroundings.

more to come . . .

Janet

Dec 20, 2023

David - I have read your entire blog and am struck with the wonderfully astute quality of your writing, but even more so, with the on-point philosophical nature of your musings. I would venture to say, that in spite of your "writer's license' in the description of yourself as "insignificance" - that you are anything but. I'll take it as tongue-in-cheek, as in my view, interpretation is the 'reader's license'. There are so many points in the segments of your blog that I would like to respond to - in agreement in fact, about a great deal of it. Where to begin? JDL

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No Cause for Merriment

No Cause for Merriment

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. . . . . . . . . . There’s always a lining, it may not be silver, but it’s there . . . . . . . . . . .

Chapter One of One

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