The heart has its own reasons that reason cannot understand

 

    The other day, I sent out an email blast to old contacts in Key West and the Florida Keys and elsewhere, and to new and old contacts in Alabama, about this new blog going online. 

    I met one of the elsewhere contacts, D, in a Christian Science Monitor online political forum during the summer 2002. The discussion was whether or not President Bush should invade Iraq. I said Iraq was a trap, and I bored in on what would Jesus say about America invading Iraq? I pissed off some people, and some people liked what I had to say. 

    D and I stayed in touch. He told me that he was from the Dominican Republic, and his family had moved to America when he was young. He spoke several languages fluently. He knew the Bible and the Classics cold. He was familiar with other religions. He was a retired tech engineer. He lived in New York City. He started calling me Don Quixote, and I started calling him Sancho Panza.

    We had many discussions about lots of things.

    We traveled together through the rise and fall of Barack Obama, who Sancho hoped was the answer to his prayers. We watched Obama accept the Nobel Peace Prize while he was waging the two Bush-Cheney wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. By the end of Obama's 2nd term in the White House, Sancho was totally disillusioned. He told me that he would vote for Donald Trump, hoping Trump would destroy American politics and the Washington, D.C, swamp, snd something new and better would emerge. Sancho voted for Trump again, hoping Trump would finish the job. Sancho couldn't stand Hillary Clinton, and he did not like Joe Biden. I thought Trump and Hillary both should be locked up in adjoining cells. I think Joe Biden means well, most of the time, but America needs somebody very different in the White House. Jesus.

    Sancho and I had a falling out about his supporting Trump, 

    We had a second falling out over his opposition to covid-19 vaccinations, after he had convinced me that a New York family practitioner doctor, Vladimir Zelenko, had developed a 5-day early stage infection cure, which he explained in a letter to President Trump, who touted the cure as a possible miracle. Dr Zelenko and Trump were hammered by the Democrats and the Medical-Industrial complex, and Trump threw away the cure, instead of making it freely available to all people in America, which would have allowed America to remain open. Dr. Zelenko's letter.

    Sancho was very much against the covid vaccinations, and he got very angry when I told him people who declined to be vaccinated should not be allowed into hospitals. At that time, Alabama's hospitals were flooded with unvaccinated covid patients, and people needing to be in those hospitals for other reasons could not get in. President Trump came to Alabama and told a MAGA rally in Cullman, 50 miles north of Birmingham, that they should get vaccinated. They booed him. Alabama Governor Kay Ivey started saying publicly that Alabama people needed to get vaccinated, so hospitals could take care of people who did have covid.

    Sancho kept including me in email blasts about matters of human concern he felt were important, so I included him in an email blast I sent out two weeks ago, announcing this blog:

    Sancho replied:

Thanks, I’ll check it out. He included a meme and his :

Life is short, make sure you spend as much time as possible on the internet arguing with strangers.

A true lover of wisdom has hands too busy to hold on to anything! He learns by doing and every pebble in the path becomes her teacher!  Oink

    Something got into me and I went with it in my reply:

Oink indeed, Sancho 

A south Alabama amiga I met online after my brother went missing in early 2010, lets me toss around a poem she said seemed from somewhere above her.

“Pigs in mud”

All want the security of the well fed pig.

Horror at the baseness unrecognized.

A lifetime spent in shirt stuffing.

And pen comparison.

Is truth more palatable when honeyed?

Is a stark soulscape less so with the eyes of Monet?

May my affectations always be understood.

    I agree, doing politics, or perhaps just about anything online, is like cloning a clone of a clone of something that might actually be, exist, happen.

    Alas, perhaps before, but most likely after prostate cancer radiation therapy, my pecker don't get excited about anything, except sometimes in a dream.

    I got so many physical ails going toward 81, that just getting up and lumbering to the kitchen and then to the laptop, and driving 15 miles south several times a week to play at the duplicate bridge club and chess with a black country pastor in a public library keeps me pretty tuckered out, no relationship to the fucker named Tucker FOX ditched. 

    Have a small plot in a nearby community garden. All the other gardeners are growing tomatoes, peppers and squash, mostly, while I'm growing green leafy vegetables and edible herbs. 

    I meditate sometimes in the park, which I discovered holds an earth vortex - imagine that coincidence! Some really interesting seance kinda stuff has happened. 

    I live in a 1950's vintage apartment tower, on the first floor, which saves me exercising up and down stairs or getting trapped in a persnickity elevator. I've lived in this building two other times. It's where I seem to end up after I stop running away from home, again. Yeah, in Birmingham.

     Don't miss Key West and the Florida Keys, much, but often dream of being there dealing with something, which turns out to be a metaphor for what i'm dealing with here, or something I need to cover in what I am writing. 

    I'm into writing my 6th book since leaving Key West in late fall 2019. Stranger than fucking ficition, often as not.

    Legs numb from knee to toe, started at toes in 2011. Doctors have no no clue why. Nothing helps. I can walk, but need to be more careful, especially about steps, especially steps going down.

    Maybe I should have bought a bicycle when I got here, but the streets are not nearly as bicycle friendly as Key Way West of Weird. But, then, no hurricanes here, only passing tornadoes. And much colder winters. But tolerable.

    A friend with tech skills created The Redneck Mystic Lawyer Podcast, when he and I do. We started on YouTube and found it was akin to Pravda too much of the time, and Russia banned us, and then all the Russian federation banned us, and part of India banned us, and we think China blocked us, and the religious and political right kept flagging us, so with some help from a recovering Shintoist in Japan, my friend discovered the Torrent system, and we now have good distribution there, getting around 80,000 complete views per episode, world wide. People who use the Torrent system by-pass national Big Brothers. 

    Tonight we're going to record an episode, which might be called "Dicks and Guns," which might be a bit Freudian and Jungian. 

    Here's a link to our previous podcast.

Humanity's Evolution is Over Without Eve, So Stop Making Babies

    We started out doing an audio podcast on Spotify, which was doing well until Joe Grogan, their cash cow, went way off the politically correct chart, and Spotify kept Grogan and dumped a lot of their users who were doing free, no ad podcasts. YouTube tried several times to get us to let them run ads on our podcast, and we declined. My tech friend put the audio podcasts on Torrent. 

    He also figured out how to get several of my books into an internet library, archive.org, which likes books that are different and can be read for free. People all over the world are reading those books.

    Thanks to my tech friend, I will be shooting off my mouth long after I'm recalled by the mother ship, or by whatever. 

    If a beloved pet ails as much as I often ail, its owner would lovingly get a vet to put the pet down and out of its misery. Human beings, however, are expected to live as long as possible, and to make as many doctors, nurses, physical therapists, psychologists, psychiatrists, hospitals, assisted living facilities, nursing homes, hospices and lawyers as happy and profitable as possible.. 

    I hope you are doing okay. Covid was such a fun time. Kids were kept home from school to protect their far more at risk parents and grandparents, and now kids are sent to schools which have no armed guards, and it's anyone's guess if kids will come home alive.

    I don't think Don Q is quite ready to hang it up and see just how truly boring his life can be.

    Rummaging back in time in my email account about two weeks ago, I found this beauty I didn't even remember writing a few hours before a monthly Key West Poetry Guild reading.

Eve’s Answer

April Fool

Vexing Truth

Life is Poetry,

Poetry is Life,

There's no more to say,

but that would 

make God

a really dull boy,

now wouldn't it,

Eve?

So, Eve,

What say you?

After all,

You have been,

still are, blamed,

for everything that went wrong with

hu - MAN - i - ty.

Well, do you really want to hear

what I gotta say?

Is this one of those

be careful what you ask for

pregnancies?

Well, is it?

Probably, but say

what you wish -

I s'pect you need

to be heard.

Heard?

Funny you mention ears.

Yes, ears.

Such important receptacles.

Yet filled with concrete, 

shit, propaganda, beliefs,

certainties, well,

let's not leave out

SUPERSTITION

and

RELIGION,

should we?

By the way,

where do ya

suppose

God came from?

Or, out of?

And, 

why do ya s'pose

I made Eve

in my own 

IMAGE?

'Cause Adam was

so bored and dull -

so ... predictable

He was BORING!!!

the shit outta me!!!

That's why.

Now

    Shusssssh -

Don't go round quoting me on

any of that -

I've had quite enough of

the religious right

ta last me 

the rest of forever

Sancho replied:

Well, since you are waxing poetic these days, here is something in a Newsletter I received this morning about how the Heart and not the Brain is the real seat of thought/feelings/consciousness, according to ancient writings... I think you might like it! 

    It was a lot of reading and it didn’t dull my knee jerk reaction in few words:

I bet any kid knows the heart has its own reasons that reason cannot understand.

    Today, Sancho emailed YouT/uve videos of Richie Valens performing - AKA, Ricardo Esteban Valenzuela Reyes.

    I replied:

Ritchie Valens, Buddy Holly and The Big Bopper sadly were killed in a private airplane crash. Had they not been killed, perhaps America would have turned out very differently. Perhaps one of them would have become president. Perhaps love and music would have prevailed over war and my dick is bigger and better than yours. 

    Sancho emailed a thumbs up.

sloanbashinsky@yahoo.com 

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