of saints and beasts in the halfway house

Tempted and tried, we’re oft made to wonder
Why it should be thus all the day long;
While there are others living about us,
Never molested, though in the wrong. ...
author unknown

When you are halfway to somewhere, you are really nowhere at all. You are between somewhere ahead and somewhere past. You can't really accomplish much in that place, you do not know the future, and the past didn't work, so what do you do? You linger in non-action until the passage of time pushes you along, like it or not, and then you are forced to contend with where you land. At least, that is what some people do, here in the land of CAN DO, we'll note they are a majority. Awakening to the late realization they are either nowhere or somewhere they've been dumped against their own unexercised will, they appear to be doing the slow burn. This would be all to the good if they had no fear of consequence and if what needed to be done existed on a small scale, which it does not. Have any of them figured out the idea of choice is nonsense? When you review the current list of necessary repairs required if we are ever going to function decently, we find right away that everything signed, sealed and executed is barely, minimally, addressed in miniscule token and never in our favor. When I say "our" I am speaking of Mother Earth, her body, her species and her glorious (bow your head on bended knee) perfect, all supreme, most elegant system that time after time is shoveled to the back of the line, stumbling, battered, magnificent to the last, here we see honor and the definition of sainthood extraordinaire on its back still giving through its dying breath.

A wise and beloved Rastaman once said "God washed his hands of this place long ago." There are days this may appear to be the case, but now, PRAISES, we have the Apocalypse revealing to us the Divine is right here and the only entity on top of these situations. We learn once again, and again after that, a halfway house is no place to be. Each person living has the true choice of standing up for the whole in spite of the very real threat of consequence. When the job to be done appears beyond your skills, it doesn't matter at all. All that matters is that you are aware and willing to apply yourself when even the vaguest opportunity presents itself. We see these little people in the Gulf taking Pelicans and Spoonbills to the bird cleaning station and the numbers are few, but each worker is a saint. And yet, of what value is sainthood in the growth industry? How often are the saints among us rewarded for their relatively small acts of loving kindness and compassion? They are never rewarded unless they are selected for showcasing at a SOTUS as an example of how benevolently reform stretches above the fruited plain.

Something is missing from the use of the word "reform". It is incomplete as a word without something defining just what is that is being reformed. Health reform, financial reform ... again, its not enough. Reform does not always mean for the better, it does mean" transform" however, which is to change, somewhat, but not completely otherwise it would state so as in Complete Financial Reform Against Corruption. If you pay attention to these kind of sneaky details, you might see that there is no reform of anything. Just a worsening of the condition to the extent we are now seeing (thanks, Apocalypse) the dearth of effective reform is taking us farther along into oblivion in the bullet train. It is this spectacular ineffectuality of our CAN DOs partnering with the courage and heroics of Gumby that reveals to us what to expect in the not too distant future, which is just more of the same as that which came before us in an ever more escalating thrill ride designed to squeeze blood from a rock. Real reform doesn't need up or down votes. That which is filthy and diseased demands a thorough scrubbing and removal of any leftover residue in order to completely reform the health (Livity) of the object undergoing transformation. I don't want to hear about reform delivered by a poseable doll with invented definitions concealing yet another hustle during which sponsor breaks advertise the continuation of exactly what screams for reform in an additional effort to gouge whatever bank accounts of the little people remain intact, if they are intact. You'll note the account gouging is a lot like offshore drilling, resource extraction, its getting louder as there is less and less to gouge. The stakes grow higher with each passing day... the mighty culture of CAN DO has become "WILL DO as long as you don't know what we're doing, besides, you can't do anything about it anyway or you mark yourself but good for some, heh, saintly torture". They mock us. They call us conspiracy theorists and 9-11 enthusiasts in one breath and extract payment with penalties in the next. (Logic: you would think when submitting invoices, if you want your money you would not subject the hapless scofflaw to penalties. That seems to say out front "This is just the beginning of our prosperous relationship where you surrender your first born and the offspring of their unions into infinity.")

Thus it has become increasingly obvious who it is that is really in charge here. We don't actually need anyone in charge in the first place, but especially not when the particular version of being in charge is voting for change and getting genocide. Oops. It may be that we have come so far so fast as to have lost the ball forever. When you think over your past purchases during these several decades of outsourced manufacturing, ask how much of those products and capital goods are genuinely worthy of having been produced, especially at the cost to so many who suffer as a consequence of the insatiability of CAN DO. Now - a step deeper, how could those tragic little people slaving in sweatshops have possibly ever performed as master craftspeople lovingly creating technological wizardry better and at less cost while under incarcerating sweat shop circumstances, indebted servitude, owing their very soul to the company store indefinitely, make ANYTHING that works? And lasts? A pair of socks gets holes on the first wearing, formaldehyde in drywall, melamine in pet food (only pet food?), the blowout preventer seal spawning genocide, every electronic toy you ever bought lies useless next to the useless VCR in the public storage unit rented under duress, but it doesn't matter, there is more where that came from, and all of it run over roughshod with the next release of whatever item/situation/cultural requisite is reformed, improved and upgraded as you wonder how in God's perfect world will we ever be able to recover all that has been lost while it still as of this writing, marches into hell, blaring trumpets, the Beast of Reform hungering, spittle dribbling from its blubber lips, lumbering from side to side, surveying seabeds, tar sands, other peoples' lifeblood needs - always from the point of view of "You Exist, You're Mine ... and here is the pretext we'll follow as I work my way through, limb by limb."

The Beast doesn't give a damn who is in charge or what stupefying reform is pushed through or not. He know its always the same and he damn well knows how to survive. That the beast has no honor is something that would never confuse him. He's a serial killer of the highest order who's work is not just cut out for him, it is handed to him on a sterling tray complete with a cornucopia of the rarest, most sought after, endangered to the extreme, verging on extinction, exquisite jewels such as caviar-covered Pelican eggs. CAN DO is a joke to him, an inside joke, his enabler/supplier always at the ready: "Here, adored Beast, please have more. Its on the house (and senate). Do tell what else should please your grace. The world is your oyster."

You know how it goes. You know what it means and you know where it leads. Addiction never goes well, worse, addiction always leads to justifying addiction, leading to vulnerability, arriving at unwanted coercion. It may be said in some corners it is our fault, but it is not. Our only portion of blame is having been cheated and lied into a dead end detour when all along the road we traveled was meant to lead us to a better place. I'm sure that road is still available if we could only get our bearings. Sometimes I feel like I am watching a secret dog fighting ring, vicious to the death, everything about it wrong and repulsive. Or a cock fight with the tragic rooster in spurs, feathers bloodied, body fluids leaking from every orifice, as screaming crowds shove fistfuls of money into the betting window.

Wondering when enough is enough is a waste of time. Is it not enough to see the truth behind the events taking place, is it not enough to see the response will always be the same despite which event is under discussion or who pens what reform? The dealmaking between the Beast and his caretakers is one sided and that side isn't on the side of saints. They have a special way of dealing with interlopers who have yet to successfully demolish the Beast. But YOU can do it, its a CAN DO culture after all. The not so secret and powerful weapon is to starve him of your attention exactly as they do in the media when they want a story to disappear.

There is good everywhere. Wonders to behold and participate within. I see it on an hourly basis if not more frequently. A healing and hungry Guinea Pig or playing with the dog and his favorite toy, making healthy clean meals for my house of males, planting flowers in the Mofusa and Malcome Memorial Park, taking photos in the desert, a painting that paints itself while I hold the brush, with things like this at the forefront of our attention all the time, why do we need busy Beasts from the halfway house bossing around the populations? Can you explain how these monsters have anything to offer in our time of diminishing resources? They and their psychopath bredren appear to have nothing of more import to do than agitate, snarl and prey on the defenseless even as they know and we know - get hip, we are all in this fix together.