Or Else!

It’s been a good life.

I was remembering this morning. One time I sat on Fred Henderson’s deck in Rowaton (Norwalk) CT, drinking Goldwasser with he and my father. His house was built right to the high water mark. Back then there were fewer regulations and he pushed an otherwise useless lot into a home site with sheer determination. I remember his determination because it was one of the main characteristics having produced his wealth.

It’s been a good life.

I used to drink my Lake George NY water from a 1 1/2″ pipe 50′ off the front of our dock, turned up a foot from the bottom with a piece of window screen over the open end. It was “Sandy Bay,” but now, on any day for half the year, there are so many boaters in Sandy Bay that the water is full of feces. Sometimes I want to set up bouys with signs “Pick your ass on the grass.”

10-3, isn’t that some kind of trucker code for getting the rig ripped off? I believe that there is a designer money manager at work who wants the Rescue of the Reckless to be passed 10-4, good buddy; I was told a “good buddy” offers that which should be picked on the grass. Bend over America, it’s been a good life.

I just can’t believe we are being threatened with Martial Law if we don’t pass the bailout. Sig Heil!

Hey, it’s been a good life. Bring them on Bushie Buddy.

I am an American, raised with the people being branded as manipulators of the panic. Mom hung with Harrimans, Rockefellers, and the New Rochelle crowd. Grandfather from hers was a war supplier. Grandfather from hero flyboy Dad was a Goodyear dealer through the depression and they bought a house that never recovered it’s physical value, but oh wow, what an extended family I have. IBM, Prudential, independent businesses, marketing managers,  all the to be blamed are there, but hey, I am an American, it’s beed good.

I didn’t find comfort in the rigid path. I needed to walkabout. Oh how lucky I have been. I say I’ve been to the top of Mount Kisko and to the top of Mount Marcy, and I like the view from Mount Marcy the best. Yes, I could have lived back in the days of “The Deerslayer.” I would no doubt been the General’s daughter–go read it, you’ll love it!  I know from my spiritual work that my love of nature came from virtually being abandon to the wilds of Sandy Bay–back when bears were frequent–for all of an upper class summer. We had our own rituals of love and pleasure. We had secure locations in the wild, all made like “Lord of The Flies,” as children do. We were crafty.

I worked with tools early on, so when presented with life on Martha’s Vineyard in 1968, as a runaway from the remedial college of Catholic ritual abuse, where entry was through the trades and the Masonic Orders. I lagged at the Orders; something about being raised with Mom and her New World Order work caused me to stand arms length from that part of society. My house became somewhat of a 1970’s version of a Maypole Carnal Camp. Matt took over where Billy left off. Most of the way. Billy could sing and play a pretty good James Taylor imitation; Matt doesn’t sing or play anything other than a drum.

It’s been a good life.

My young spouse joined me in practicing birth control by only having two children. We read the “Limits to Growth,” saw the light, and sampled the delights of the early 70’s. Children brought the living of responsibility. We did a really good job. Both, unfortunately to the Zeitgeist, are contractor and Project Manager, but good for them, on Martha’s Vineyard. The younger is a leading figure in the localization efforts going on. Don’t all pile into the vans and try to head there, the Vineyard is a MOTED community with stringent checkpoints. You must know the secret handshake!

It’s too bad Spectacles have to hurt so much. There was a video once shown–and never shown again–of the leaders of the fire brigade at WTC on 9-11. They were going to go out the doors to leave, but the bodies kept falling like rain. They were alive, for the most part, until the impact. I am empathetic. I feel the void open and suck at their souls. I am the vortex itself. The best defense is “Get thee behind me Satan.” With a couple of near death experiences under my cosmic belt, I know there is a difference between the concept and mind god of humanity Satan, and the dark void, and the edge of life known as death; there is no death, only pausing.


Here we are. The end is here, as is the beginning. How many times do you need to say to yourself, yes, it’s all in the now, before you will really believe it? Your choice then, is compassion, love, joy, friendship, and serenity, or jealousy, hate, fear, persecution, and disease. They don’t listen to us.

I am a child of the Love Generation. Bring it on.

This entry was posted in anthropology, Carl H. Wilken, economics, economy, Pagan, raw materials, Rome, sociology, survival and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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