Friday, January 9, 2015

     A visionary once wrote, "I don't care too much for money, money can't buy me love." So the twisted world we live him threw PILES of cash at him and made him famous. To test his resolve. He may have been the one shot by someone who misunderstood fame for infamy. Some dude whose name I will not repeat out of respect for the dead visionary who may or may not have writing credit for that song. Writing credit is a beautiful invention made by lawyers to make music batter.They invented the music business. Lawyers make everything fair and better. Lawyers know more ways to lie than Eskimos have words for snow.

    There are subtleties to the English language. Lawyers know all of the shaduings of words because of something called libel and sl;ander. My job is to explain these concepts to rich Mexican's kids so the whitedevil can't rip them off again. It's the sweetest scam ever. Being paid to talk to people's kids. Molding youth. To connect. So this will be my lesson plan for today mrbossman. I will use the name mrbossman, mrbossmanSIR,and the Spanish "Senor' Jefe" interchangeably to represent the source of evil in the world. A great man once said "It is easier to for a camel to be put through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to get into heaven." They killed him too.

    So no one is trying to kill me yet, except for one extremely deranged feminist who fell in love with me. That's a potentially libelous statement because it is in print. It is not libel because I have witnesses who heard her say it. She often told me she loved me despite the the horrified faces that her Valkyrie girlfriend would make. She had a mohawk and hated men even worse than the one that loved me did. I was special. It was their bond, but I loved her too because she was against most of the same things I was against. Her (now mohawkless) lawyer girlfriend who she won't marry because it represents an institution of oppression or something. You kind of stop listening to demagogs when they begin their rants. At least I do. My ears kind of "glaze over".  She was right about marriage but wrong about me. You kill great men, I'm just a troublemaker. I moved to Mexico to escape the toxic culture that birthed her. A culture that may be "too free. " If you measure freedom by gun deaths and people killed by drunk drivers. It's too easy to kill someone in the USA and "they" hate our freedom so they build for profit jails and sell stock in them and no one riots. Slavery is legal now if you break the law. So they offer prisoners ten cents an hour and everybody wins. A lawyer could help an ex-con spin their resume into a job in Congress if they have the right last name. Senators sons go to rehab. Poor kids go to jail. Democracy works.

     I didn't like living in a country that was that free. So I moved to a country where it will take me a few years to figure out just how nuts they are down here once I begin to understand the nuances of Mexican crazy. The sun is the toughest dude on the block down here, but the Mayan dudes work all day in the sun because they are true bad-asses who work for the man all day. I am trying to learn Mayan. I will bring the concept of Slack to this gentle family oriented people. Wait. Slack is the  language of the man. Mayan women run the show. They must or their men would not be working so hard in the sun all day. "The Morena in my Hamaca" will be the name of the book I write when I speak enough Mayan to be sexy. Goals. If I figure out that Mayans are crazy I will stay though. Three strikes. Three tries. Three cultures, everyone is crazy, "The trick," my married friend said. "... is to find someone whose neuroses mesh well with yours. his ADD makes him a great earner and my manic depression keeps him on his toes!"

    You are free to be as crazy as you want to be in America. The gun nuts in rural areas are frothing at the bit. Whipped into a frenzy by the radio and tv guys saying cops with tanks are going to come get their guns. That's fine with the patriotic rednecks at the bar, who say the "Gub'mint can pry my gun from my cold dead fingers." I think Ben Franklin said that. No one bothers killing these guys. They are already dead inside. They got bit by the fear virus. The fear is in their head.  As a great fictional character named Spock said, "Fear is the mind-killer". They killed him in Star Trek 2.  He said that in a Western town where the bullets only killed you if you believed in them.  That was back when visionaries wrote tv scripts. Dudes like Harlan Ellison who wrote possibly the greatest title ever, "I have no mouth and I must Scream" Dudes like him were writing for Gene Roddenberry who put a black chick in space to inspire Whoopie Goldberg as a young girl.

    Pry is a pretty nuanced word for a Patriotic weed growing, moon shine drinking, Constitutionalist to use. They GET nuance in the sticks and only act simple to throw the feds off. The same trick that students use to fool there teachers, the easy lies about "don't fro me in the briar patch". "my dog ate my homework" and I am getting into law because I  want to help people"  I saw a Patriotic movie about moonshiners killing government agents early last yeat and knew it  was time to get out of the country. Those guys are what will save America, if it is to be saved, but to do it you would have to invent a new kind of money. The kind that only works in your neighborhood. And  when you do invent it, keep it secret or the government will throw you in jail.

    The new kind of money should have an expiration date on it, an IOU, valid thru 2015. The problem with money is it just accumulates in piles which have to be protected from the professional thieves that the invention of money money created. What a great scam early money was! Here's a metal portrait of me, I will protect you from those assholes in the Castle from France and those nasty slave-trading Muslims. They call us infidels. They are different, they don;t even charge interest.The clever thief whoi invented "interest" rates "created" money out of thin air. What a hero. Then insurance policies which took the banking industry to the next level Protecting slave ships from storms. But rich people are said to have consciences too, or at least their wives do, so they called these loans to slave owners "Bonds". Bondage. English is nuanced sometimes, and sometimes it smacks you in the face. The rich guys told their wives the bank the bank they insured merchant ships. The wives figured that out, so they invented financial instruments business.

     "I'm just buying stock in a bank my cousin owns honey, its in Boston and slaves are illegal there." Who the Bank loaned money to was their business and money laundering was born to keep the women off their back.  When they started explaining how the futures market worked and what derivatives were their wives ears glazed over. Polite conversation was saved in the salons and tea rooms and matrimonial beds. And it was all legal.

     We stole this country from England after emptying the prisons to exterminate the Native population. It was all legal, France adopted a wait and see attitude after saying the paper looks official. SO maybe they weren't assholes in castles after all. the French do not work at night or longer than eight hours a day because they will burn Paris down. They saw the Nazi's for who they were and realized the true enemies of freedom were rich dudes. America will figure it out soon or turn into one large Prison. I love apologizing to the kids about stealing California, Texas and Florida form them, but like I said, they are smart. They realized it  was bad politics to mess with a well armed nation of psychopathic killers. A nation whose lawyers coined phrases like "justifiable homicide" which cops refer to as a "good kill" There's an oxymorn for ya.

     My IOU's will read something like this. I owe you one days work. Lets define our terms. You are reading one days work here. Now I'm gonna go talk  to some rich  Mexicans kids for three hours to get lentil  money.  And I'm done. I could be convinced to do about an hour of leisuirely gardening and don't mind cooking. There's some stuff that a natural man  has to do each day to feel good about life and I intend to spend part of each day doing that so let's call that 3 hours. So that's 7-8 hours of heavy thinking and talking there.  l can sometimes bed be convinced to do a couple few hours of back breaking labor, some day in the near future, in return for some booze or some flowers to smoke. Or just because it needs to be done, it depends on my mood, it just isn' happening today without a bribe that fixes my thinking during the labor. There's a case of beer behind the woodpile sort of thing. It  doesn't hurt to ask but don't be hurt when I say no. I value my time more than most bosses do, that's for sure. I will always make enough to scrape by, and that's fine with me. It's not fine with most American women and  that's one of the main reasons I'm single with my pretty blue eyes and kind nature. Plus, what half end  in divorce? More money for lawyers. Yeah. usa usa.

Thursday, January 8, 2015

There were a lot of people there...

   People were talking about going to see a Famous Musician. The capital letters were in their inflection. It was an exciting event that one needed tickets for.  I was unsure of my work schedule and told you so. WE were unable to commit, at that point in time. How that morphed into "Do you still want to go to listen to the pianist and singer Di Blasio Friday night at 8 p.m.?" Didn't Chomsky write about "manufactured consent?" Please do not try to Noam me, Noam and me are pals in the struggle, even if there are some that question his lack of curiosity about specific subjects.
   I never indicated a preference, so you made up an feeling for me and that's great if it works for you. Just try not to be disappointed again when your fantasy me comes up short again. I tend to prefer my own company on most evenings. Especially when school starts and Capitalism dictates that if I am nice to people I can have some money for behaving. There is a balance. There is an inevitability about having a schedule which chaffs me like a loose piece of rubber in an undergarment.  Specifically, it rustles my bustle.  I wear a bustle to highlight my man boobs, my decolletage.
   Another problem I would like to highlight is just exactly what WE means. I was a little miffed by the knowing look exchanged between your namesake and me when the topic of sex came up at that same party. I know that you have no control over the knowing looks of people who share your name. The look implied carnal knowledge. So she doesn't "get" who we are and maybe that's just another case of a woman hearing what she wants to hear instead of the intended message. A lack of clarity. Claro.
  Perhaps crystalline clarity is too high a standard, but that is the standard I attempt to eschew.  With words like decolletage and eschew, what could be clearer? The world changes with each breath. I meant it when I sang "Crosstown Traffic" to you in my classroom.  But in the interests of clarity, it would be unfathomable, a remote happenstance. Sorry that those terms do not transfer well into this culture and that people make assumptions about patterns repeating themselves. I am an outlier. I thought that was clear.

               (song lyric of the day) blues riff...

   I'm an outlier baby, i said I thought that much was clear
   I said im an outlier baby, i thought thay much was clear
            but what you heard was "outlaw",
                               and thats what brought you near

  An out li ar is statistics
  and statistics are used to lie
  and that is why there are so many cop drones in the sky
 
 you can not grow that plant,
 you cant brew more than beer
 im choking on all the freedom
 that Ads say you enjoy here

 Im an outlier baby
 an out and out lying
 snake of a man
 and im out to love any
 slow moving hottie that i can

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

     Thin, rosey colored cloudlets on a Perfect Yucatecco morning transported me back to college and a thin girl named Rosie.  The birds were magical and I started singing the zepplin song about her.  "oh Rosieee< oh girl, Oh rosey , oh gurl"  Alas, Rosie's heart was set on the Captain and Founder of the club, a dynamic, Gangly giant of a man.  Jimmy Stewart if he was a drunken lout with no class. His favorite phrase at practice was, "What are ya? A bunch of Pussies?"  I loved talking to her, everything was interesting about her, but it was never to be.  This was before I spent the summer running home from work and I was stiull finding my style.  And boy did I find my style that summer. 
     She was Jeff Terrie's girlfriend, a thin brown haired, doe-eyed country girl.  She would pull up next to me as I was running home and offer me a ride.  We would pull off the road and get high and do some back seat yoga in her compact car asa the Allman Brothers played on the cassette.  Nothing beats a dark country night with someone elses girl.  On the hood of her car with the crickets so loud. At work in the dark room on the floor.  That's what he gets for trying to beat me up when I was the new kid at school and didn't know how to fight a lick. 
     That was before I was a hulking brute, before the growth-spurt that had people at Community College of Philadelphia calling me big guy.  I was scrawny in high school and wrestled at 125 pounds without cutting weight.  I put some inches on in every direction and for a year I thought people calling me "big guy"  were actually calling me fat so I did 500 crunches a day and "curls for girls" like by the wrestling coach would say.  One day I was invited to play Rugby by  a colleague of my Dad's at the college.
     I was a little pudgy my first year at college, but running home from work every night was fresh and clean and as the summer progressed I found longer routes to run home to make up for the nights I missed doing my karma fucking.