Commiseration To: India / From: Me

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The recent, still ongoing upsurge of Covid-19 cases, within India, and the consequent magnitude of human suffering and death, finds me pausing to reflect and commiserate. And, seeing how, my own home state, Michigan, is also getting hit hard, I can identify with what’s going on.

Other than echo your sorrow and angst, I feel helpless to offer up little more than some counsel; for whatever that may be worth.

Everyone, everywhere (up and down the hierarchy) must heighten our respect for Corona-V. To too soon let down our guard, grants carte blanche to that sickening pathogen and its even more communicable and deadly variants; all of which are hellbent on making life damned near impossible for us all.

More to the point, be our leaders science subscribers or scofflaws, too damned many of them still don’t seem to fully grasp how that mindless microbe is still calling all the shots. And, wherever / whenever the leaders mislead, the misled masses wind up paying the price.

The empowered foolhardy have been in strict violation of Pandemic Rule #1. Were we to ever get that statute in writing / on the books, it’d go along these lines.

Never prematurely declare a pandemic over; i.e., unless you enjoy eating crow. With very few exceptions, expect to be proven wrong; dead wrong. And, even one more death will be one death too damned many.

Additionally, we must prepare for the possibility that today’s Covid-19 vaccines will not completely end the peril; that booster shots will become a regular (annual?) part of our lives. As to whether virologists can keep pace with all of the variants? Well, that’ll remain to be seen.

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Stay Publicly / Properly Masked!
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The Flaw Maker

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Enter stage (far) right, the flawed lawmaker man
Who, to fascistic assholes, is an absolute fan
He represents Nazis and the Ku Klux Klan
He will always ensure their fit will hit the shan

He detests Founding Fathers; flouts their game plan
All righteous science and laws, he’ll pick apart / pan
Freedom / fairness for minorities; he will flat-out ban
Count on him to block progress; just ‘cause he can

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We are the Bug! Resistance IS Futile!

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In many a Sci-Fi flick, in particular, where extraterrestrials attempt their hostile takeover of Earth, the typical narrative becomes laser focused upon unified humanity valliantly and relentlessly battling the common enemy; and more to the point, good terrestrials whupping evil extraterrestrial butt.

Instantly coming to mind is the typical Star Trek starship captain’s phaser focused response to the following, ominous, otherworldly, deadpanned subspace radio transmission:

“We are the Borg. Lower your shields and surrender your ship(s). We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Your culture will adapt to service us. Resistance is futile.”

Were something similar to ever go down during our 21st century, life and times…

Whoa! WTF am I saying?

Something comparable has occurred and, as I type and you read, is still afoot; or more aptly, epidemiologically stated, is still in the air; literally so.

While, what we Earthlings have been facing down does not involve relentless Borg nanoprobes interminably infiltrating our bloodstreams, nonetheless, in this particular instance, ever since late 2019, a terrestrial hostile takeover has been underway; our common enemy being coronavirus.

One wonders why, within our Covid-19 embattled real world, we have lowered our shields. Why there’s been such a craven, haphazard response when it comes down to conquering what, in essence, is a mindless microbe; a virus so stupid, it’ll even settle for the way we adapt to service it; i.e., via our host bodies morphing into its ad hoc incubators; and in the process, sickening us; far too often, sickening us to death.

Just how mindless is that damned pathogen? Why, it doesn’t even mind if, in snuffing us out, it snuffs itself out, too.

The irony here is how, all along, it has been incredibly easy for humankind to prevail.

With nary one starship phaser blast or launched photon torpedo, by now, we could’ve conquered Corona-V; by consistently social distancing / isolating and masking up. Or, had spines and stout hearts been truly in this fight, right from the get-go, we could’ve locked down the whole world and, sans any “Warp Speed” vaccines at all, deep-sixed this godforsaken microorganism within a few weeks; a couple of months tops.

Imagine, we could’ve all reclaimed our lives by the March 2020 Equinox.

Consider, too, how we could’ve saved a sizeable percentage of the known 3 Million pandemic fatalities (and still counting).

With few exceptions, I’d rank Earthlings’ pandemic intervention tactics (in essence our response to that “We are the Bug” transmission) as pathetic; something akin to Enterprise Captain Jean-Luc Picard obsequiously, cowardly, ignorantly and promptly silencing the Red Alert Klaxons, powering down all of the WMD at his disposal and eagerly rolling out the red carpet to the Borg Queen, herself; and in the process, facilitating her assimilation of humankind.

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Stay Publicly / Properly Masked!
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Top Secret? (1 Quick Limerick #104)

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Forward: With Poetry Month winding down, the time is ripe to trade off the serious for a bit of the silly…

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Intelligent Design can create big bustle!
Doubter debaters’ Qs pop up / up rustle!
Like, why oh why is there hair?
In zones in need of fresh air?
Are roll-on potions God’s Secret™ side-hustle?

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Brief

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Violence whets slayers’ appetites, like vile aperitif
Each “big shot” boy in blue, bigoted; robs black lives like a thief
Each gun nut shoots down the upright; that’s his M.O. cheap, chief

Like the pandemic’s virus, the butchers’ 3-D motif,
Is to Devastate, Debilitate, Decimate; beyond our belief
Sickos’ societal scourge, sickens survivors with grief

We, the preyed upon masses, have a legitimate beef
For we have nary a prayer, see no sign of relief,
How doth one quell minds, unwell? Deprogram? Debrief?

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What Would the Wise (Wo)Man Do?

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Alt-Headline: Covid-21? 22? 23? 24 etc.?

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In some respects, this liberal man has opted to live his life conservatively; i.e., cautiously. That stems from my determination not to depart the Land of the Living prior to the arrival of the Best By / Expiration Date, which my bygone manufacturer(s) had invisibly, indelibly stamped on my butt. How adamant am I? Glad you asked!

I am fully prepared to adopt an interminable coronavirus common sense stance. The Covid-19 vaccines notwithstanding, I fully intend to continue hunkering down at home as much as possible and keep on publicly social distancing and masking-up; as in long, Long, LONG after the medical experts, eventually, silence the Star Trekian RED ALERT klaxons. Why?

For starters, our donning our masks during late 2020 and early 2021 did dramatically reduce transmission of the regular flu virus (and rhinoviruses, too).

Beyond that? There’s insufficient certainty re the duration of the existing vaccines’ protection and whether or not the virologists will be able to keep up with the arrival of the insanely dangerous, coronavirus variants.

Beyond beyond that? What if, as I type and you read these words, there’s another global pandemic looming; oh, say a Covid-21? And if not a 21, what about a Covid-22? 23? 24 etc.?

Year numbers are no different that regular numbers. Just as you and I can easily pick a number, just as easily, virus hunters can always tack on one integer WHEN they discover a new microbe. And note that word choice BOILS DOWN to WHEN and not IF.

Even the idiomatic phrase BOILS DOWN is likely apt. To e.g. that…

What if climate change, in other words, our far, Far, FAR warmer planet, is already providing a more hospitable environment for microbes? In other words, what if human shortsightedness has resulted in our unwittingly constructing something akin to a global lab; its petri dishes incubating / cooking up / churning out difficult to contain, ferociously communicable, deadly to humankind pestilence?

While, for now, that may all sound like some scary, nightmarish plot to a bizarre Sci-Fi flick, do keep in mind that it’s also insanely easy for you and I to twice press our keyboards’ delete key to eliminate that above “Fi”.

Ergo… I’ll copy and paste this post’s above headline:

What Would the Wise (Wo)Man Do?

Stay Publicly / Properly Masked!
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Mask-Up Now! Suit-Up Later?

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Seeing how, there have now been over half a century’s worth of Earth Days and, still, not enough is getting done to combat global warming / climate change, let’s go the K.I.S.S.* route; i.e., cut thru all the hot air type of discussions / debates.

On one hand, we find a gaggle of boneheaded science deniers, who are at the crux of two humanity threatening problems; Environmental Ruin and the Pandemic.

On the other hand, learned climatologists are predicting that, as early as 2050, there’s the all too real possibility that our greenhouse gas / polluted atmosphere will render our home world uninhabitable.

Hmm, one wonders how today’s anti-maskers, who constantly make bogus claims that a simple, flexible piece of cloth, covering the nose and mouth, restricts their ability to breathe / causes them to gag, will react when, just to avoid deadly asphyxiation, perhaps winding up a fried to a crisp corpse, it’ll require everyone suiting up in a NASA / Project Apollo era, bulky moon suit?

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* K.I.S.S. = Keep It Simple Straightforward

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A Morning / Mourning to Remember

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Eighteen April twenty-seconds ago, I donned my public speaker hat for fifteen minutes; put on my best public face and managed to dry my eyes long enough to eulogize my Mother; mention how two co-conspirators, a.k.a. Age and Infirmity, had ushered in her final day on Earth; sum up nearly ninety year’s worth of her extraordinary, ordinary life and times.

And “extraordinary” is an apt term, considering how this impoverished public school teacher (married to an impoverished public school teacher) had, somehow, managed to survive the 1918 pandemic as well as the socioeconomic blowback precipitated by two World Wars and 1929’s Great Depression.

Factoring in how, decades prior to her demise, two more co-conspirators, a.k.a. Time and Distance, had misled her down the beaten path to loneliness / near reclusiveness, I hadn’t expected much of a turnout at her memorial service.

To my surprise, fourteen attendees signed her guest book; a scant two of those being my co-workers. Yes, indeed, one dozen of Mom’s friends and acquaintances had thought enough of her to find time in their own lives to pay their last respects.

Seventeen April twenty-seconds ago, I opened my microphone to record an audio recreation of Mom’s eulogy; mixing in some suitable musical selections during the post production phase. Yes, a memorial CD had been born; inclusive of jewel box artwork and a twenty page, memorial booklet / insert.

On this April twenty-second (as has always happened in the past), my eyes welled up during my playback of this special CD; this time, my tears transcending the obvious reason.

For starters, I found myself considering how the afterlife, celebrated in story and song, may not actually exist; the possibility that the dearly departed only live on in the realm of our loving, caring hearts; our cherished memories of them.

Beyond that, I could not help but feel intense sorrow FOR the (known) three million souls, worldwide; FOR the well over half million (known) souls, stateside, who’ve passed on; who’ve literally, been denied their breathing rights by the ruthless Corona-V; FOR the untold families and friends who now survive them; the vast majority of these mourners still being denied even the slightest sense of closure by way of the eulogy / memorial service.

BTW, for anyone who may be interested, I’m linking to the second half of my Mom’s Eulogy.

PS: My apologies re that past post’s “dearly departed” YouTube clips.

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A Bad Cop sez, “Stop AND I’ll shoot!”

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Eric Stillman, has been identified as the Chicago cop who, on 03/29/21, shot and killed 13-year-old Adam Toledo; i.e. in spite of the teen fully complying with the cop’s laced with F-bombs orders to stop and show his hands. Early accounts of the incident make it unclear as to whether or not Toledo actually had been armed with a deadly weapon at that time. However, his obeying police orders does render that point, moot / up in the air.

Be forewarned, Chicago Mayor Lori Lightfoot, is not being hyperbolic in describing the available surveillance / body cam compilation vid as both “excruciating” and “difficult to watch”. You can view it over at CNN’s website.

Several bullet point Q’s to Stillman, whose M.O. appears to be “Stop AND I’ll shoot!” NOT “Stop OR I’ll shoot!”:

• Would not ordering Toledo to hit the ground, instead, have better deescalated this tense situation?

• Would not such a command have also better ensured your own personal safety?

• How can a suspect with empty hands, held up in the air, have posed any threat to you / anyone else?

• In your book, what more could Toledo have done to avoid getting gunned down by you?

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Sweet Dreams Are (Not) Made Of This

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Upon awakening from a lifetime of recallable dreams, I’ve frequently mulled over the feasibility of online dream journaling. However, I’ve resisted making my slumbering nightlife an open book, mainly, because I’ve deemed my content, by and large, to be akin to a bedtime story; in other words, a real yawner. Uh, that is, up till this early a.m., when my R.E.M. sleep story seemed a bit more worthwhile and interweb interweave-able.

It all boils down to a specific dreams’ recursive, bothersome nature; of late, the bizarre manner in which my unconscious mind has been prioritizing a particular narrative; has become unduly fond of (unproductively?) sorting out my time served within a peculiar, particular gated community, a.k.a. Retail Hell (initially, as a sales rep; later on, as an entry level manager).

The, perhaps, unsolvable mystery, here, is why there’d even need to be a nocturnal rehashing of this epoch of my life; these dreams ARE playing out nearly 13 years following my injury-forced early retirement. Additionally, I’d hardly categorize more than 5 of those 30 work years as worthwhile and satisfying. Hence, my headline’s negation of the 1983 Annie Lennox / David A. Stewart’s song title, “Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This”.

Possibly, it’s my having pissed away nearly forty-five percent of my entire life within that milieu, which would account for this phenomenon? Might there simply not be enough of my other life experiences to draw on? My gawd, it’d be bat crap pathetic, indeed, were my so-called career the only aspect that had ever defined me.

Getting down to the actual dream details, they are, at best, phantasmagorical; the slew of farcical / surreal workplace settings, facial flashes of both wretched and wonderful big bosses and fleeting glimpses of the revolving door co-workers who’d been treated just as shoddily as I. Other mystifying dream elements include my neither showing up for work nor completing my assigned tasks on time, utterly failing to carry out the most mundane of work routines and, in the process, completely mucking up everything; all of which, runs totally counter to the actual facts; corroborated by my rock solid, top-notch, annual job performance reviews.

As for “the why” to my experiencing these (worthless?) dreams, the only working theory I can dream up is how that bygone era of my work life had been a walk in the park; when compared to staggering thru today’s zombie apocalypse.

Such an assessment of tough times, doth summon forth the 1967, James Anthony Dean / Paul Riser / William Henry Witherspoon, R&B/Soul musical masterpiece, “What Becomes of the Brokenhearted”: these songsmiths’ lead lyric, “As I walk this land with broken dreams” aptly setting the world stage.

Once juxtaposed, such a sentiment is totally relevant to the coronavirus pandemic, which has devastated, debilitated and decimated humanity; to a society sickened by the plague of racial inequality, police brutality, gun violence and mass shootings; to the delusional domestic terrorist sleeper cells, who await their collective alarm clock to go off; to trigger the unleashing of their deadly and destructive plots; all of which could, someday, trump Trump’s own, wide awake nightmare; his fortunately failed January 6th attempt to hack America to death.

Indeed, Sweet Dreams Are (Not) Made Of This.

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