Objects in the Mirror may be Closer than they Appear

Now, I may be even dumber than I’ve been led to believe, but it seems to me that there is good cause to believe that killing of people on a massive scale and the obsessive control of the minutiae of other people’s daily lives is not in any way necessary to survival, especially not for the elites. That ethos is probably more pertinent to gang life in the inner city ghetto, or in certain war-torn parts of the third world. And, the scale on which the wanton global destruction is currently being conducted may actually lead to economic disadvantage and the real risk of self-destruction for much of the elite and their preferred habitat, not to mention general chaos for everyone.

Surely the elite could maintain their positions of wealth and power, and even enjoy the fealty of much of the gullible masses if they were simply even marginally more just and equitable in the conduct of business between and within nations. Certain benevolent despots in eras gone by used to conduct themselves this way, and civilization actually seems to have advanced at those times as a result.

But that m.o. doesn’t suit the current crop at the tippy top. They seem hell-bent on spreading destruction all over the planet. Just look at the predations in Iraq. Just look at the shit that passes for info-tainment or entertainment on the tube. It’s a shit swamp in flames, and these guys are all carrying flame throwers. I mean, what the fuck?

No, it’s not so simple. Their minds are tainted, infected, corrupted beyond recognition by average mortals such as we. Even Genghis Khan and his heirs did more to promote the sustenance and development of the human race in the wake of their massive destruction and predation than the current crew. These guys are traveling down a different hole, a very dark passageway that others have traveled before them, like Caligula or Hitler, only worse.

Look at the way the Western nations and the UN sat on their thumbs while Lebanon burned last summer for two months, as just one small example. It’s not even the first time that has happened. No, there’s more to the story than simple lust for power. The gratification of blood lust itself as become an end as much as a means to these guys.

Sorry, no popcorn and candy this time.

She Said Her Name Was Peaches

Of course. It had to be. Either that or Pickles.

But she was sweet. Definitely a peach.

And the fat man's name?

Tiny. Of course. Had to be

At least that's what everyone in the place called him, except for the waitress.

Now, as for the waitress, Peaches, well... some of the names she called him I can't repeat here. I think I heard her call him Big Al once or twice. But she said it with such derision that it fell off her tongue like a bad piece of meat she was trying to spit out. To me he was just a geezer, a hash slinger. I'll just call him the Fat Man.

Turks Bearing Gifts

The other night I was on my way from Chi-town back to L.A., driving my old '75 Falcon beater when I started to nod off at the wheel. Since I preferred to stay alive rather then meet my maker in the form of a face to face with an International Harvester semi hauling a double box, I pulled off the road into some little Podunk and found my way to the only greasy spoon open at that hour.

The waitress had some pair of long sweet legs and a silk scarf around her neck. She served me the hottest cup of joe this side of a McDonald's tort claim. While I was stirring an ice cube into it I overheard her and the cook arguing about something to do with religion. I can't really tell you what it was about completely 'cause I couldn't hear everything.

And this geezer cook, well I say geezer because with his greasy fat belly overhanging his stained belt, he looked like 102 in the shade. But when I stared him in the peepers he seemed as young as a child, almost like a baby. He had the gaze of a dumb puppy. Hardly a shadow of awareness in it. I've seen lampposts with more of a glint in their eye.

But here's the thing. He gave me some kind of look like he thought we were in cahoots. Like I knew exactly what he was trying to say to the strange bird with the nice gams. Like he thought I must have agreed with him completely.

Go figure. I concluded he must be drunk.

I happened to have a piece of paper in my wallet with a poem on it that I'd gotten from a Turkish tailor I'd just paid a visit to in Chicago. I've been trying to track down his brother's ex-wife to give her some bad news. He had his daughter bring us some Turkish coffee while we talked. When I left he gave me this poem. He said I'd know what it was for when the time came.

So I left the coffee waitress a sawbuck wrapped up in the middle of it as a tip.

Seemed like the thing to do at the time.

Can't imagine what she made of it.

This was the Turk's poem:


NECESSARY LESSONS

Do not advise those who are not in love.
The unloving, like the insentient, cannot understand.

Do not distance yourself from the wise,
But avoid the shallow instead.

The ungiving disappoint God.
They cannot see his face.

Do not waste time on drab pigeons,
Who consort with moles,
Who avoid the deep diving loon.

Falcon and King, each praises the other.
Even a small falcon is a falcon still.

And if you wash some dark stone for fifty years,
You won't really transform it.

The hidden sun changes appearance.
Some say it ceases to be.
It never does.

Yunus, don't be stupid.
Mix with the mature.

A fool who talks of spiritual things is still a fool.


~Yunus Emre, Turkish poet, circa 1300