||In Dr. Johnsons famous dictionary
patriotism is defined as the last
resort of a scoundrel. With all due
respect to an enlightened but inferior
lexicographer I beg to submit that it
is the first.
- Ambrose Bierce
||RESPECT NOT AUTHORITY
BUT ALL CHILDREN,
SHALL BE THE WHOLE
OF THE LAW
- Bill Blackolive
LAST LAUGH CLVII
I am not remembering feeling ire during the U.S. war on Vietnam to compare with my sentiments in the current Palestinian matter. Yes, it is like material, gone on for generations. In Vietnam, some Buddhist monks were practiced in discipline to sit and calmly burn. Very impressive, and it got scant U.S. press, but what did it do to the Western military old drunk farts, to schizoid sleep. The U. S. is now losing grip on the Earth in a few places, Latin America to start. I think, this is how they are crazier today. The U.S. tuber population gets to me finally, the last half literate population on Earth to know anything.
Their current administration's folly is beyond ignorance, or being stupid. See their prisoners at Guantanamo. Caging these unfortunates at Guantanamo can be analized, from different perspectives, but a single word may sum it, sick. It always got me, how slow the tubers, but this turn of century, clearly mental illness rules the rulers of the U.S. tubers. And, yet, the tubers claw to keep on believing in their rulers. Let it be Little Elian, morality and stem cells, sex, drugs, collateral damage, it is illogic unto insanity. Toss in 9-11 runs parallel to the old story of the slob who was a bit gone to begin but processed into the penal system he is raped by crazed jerks and deranged immeasurably. Try to tell a tuber that state terrorism is killing more kids than individual terrorism ever possibly can, he goes blank. Give him a gun for his fear and the unarmed are in danger. He believes in his Uncle, Sam.
Maybe it was 1966, I was riding an Oakland bus to the Local 70 Teamster Hall to hopefully load trucks, reading the newspaper. This columnist truly reasoned that being we had already wiped out the entire North Vietnam army several times, there could not be many of them left. That was but amusing, at that time.
That was about as amusing as it got, of things said. Funniest visuals was watching Nixon talk, when he was our president, but not to digress, I am believing the turn of century talk from U.S. authority is crazier than during the war with Vietnam. About as funny as it got in Vietnam was at the peace conference, was it in France, anyway the Vietnamese put the Americans through this silly trip about who sat next to whom, at what size, what shape table, because the Americans were this warped, to spend time at this idiot shit when they were 1osing a war, terrible death and suffering happening. But, now, we have had little Elian and the stem cell madness, before 9-11.
Bix and I talk about it. He notes the mean spiritedness, then, yes, well, he concludes there is something psychotic now. Back in Vietnam, our citizens believed for quite some time, their government was defending South Vietnam. U.S. military could blast villages in South
Vietnam, trying to get some Cong, for quite some time, years before many folks in this country were complaining. Today, this can be done in Aghanistan, and it is collateral damage, and most voters in the U.S. don't care. If I am wrong that such as Lityle Elian and stem cell debate show they were already crazier, after 9-11 they are surely bonked. Today, U.S. tubers do not care Israel occupies Palestine and kill far more Palestine kids than Palestine kamakazies can kill in return, because Israel is the ally of the U.S. The Sky God favors Israel and the U.S. of A. WE USE THAT OIL AND wE HAVE THE NUKES.
Observe, Dear Reader, any of your loving and intelligent friends who adopt infants. Invariably, these children will be above average. I mean, observe these children.
Where hypocrisy runs to the schizoid, the child can kill the parent. It is no way natural for a child to kill a parent. Or the race would not be here. Vice Verci.
In ten or fifteen thousand years of the city state with the rulers, priests, the laborers, there may occur this twist on into Fascism. Commoners did not know the Nazis were gassing the Jews. And Gypsies, homosexuals. Most importantly, commoners did not like Jews much, Gypsies, homosexuals.
Hannibal and Rome is long ago. Polar caps are starting their melt. Reagan said it is the trees producing acid rain. He was focked in his forehead and his wife was too idle to leave the kids to their marijuana. 0h well, coke and smack are easier to transport and bring more revenue than petroleum and maybe one of these mega tidal waves will hit the U.S. and nobody will nuke anybody. Possibly. Maybe.
I return to memories, school, I hated school. My head interested me enough, then came first grade. I had some asthma, but physical strength. I stood shyly while kids more gregarious wrestled in a heap. 0ne and then another tried testing me and I tossed them off their feet, and I was instantly accepted. The school work, its teachers, were dull...hard.
Funny stuff, in first grade I by and by lost heart in two fist fights, because they had become unpleasant and I am a natural quitter. Well, after that, fights I do not quit, too personal, victory is important. Qne must know victory. I had a father who helped in the concept. Little man whip a big man if he keeps on coming. But, to win in brute clash becomes intellectual. Observe the contenders among professional boxers. It is the brute with imagination. Like Medicine Dog. How the pitbull breed has the instincts of wolf, when wolf in the wild though is not pugnacious, will walk well around scrapes. Anyway.
As a school kid I took the pop culture/ancient myth hero for mine complex. Most people will follow their movie star in such a theme, but in real life do not even attempt to be this, interestingly. They prefer to try the guy with the hero complex, see if he can hang in, school yard, work place, penal system, war, wherever the crowd. If the hero gets intellectual, too verbal, the hero may be labeled insane. Yea, most boys and girls take courage in numbers, to hammer any lone voice. Awk. Awk. Awk. The approach is to deafen. In the years, I understood, guys in the school yard, like guys in the penal system or politics or these general systems of anti mind, hear no reason.
Your dog attacked mine, I saw it. Why did your dog have my dog's ear in his mouth.
It is easiest to shoot the guys and leave the bitches in the dust. Of course. But, alas. Hannibal is gone.
Even were, so certain educated anthropologists said it in the start of the twentieth century, and I kid thee not, Dear Reader, I read it, in my childhood and I am nearly sixty-two, the yellow, black, brown, white races, come out of the orangoutang, gorilla, chimpanzie, gibbon, it is just awfully disgusting to live around all this mindless posturing paranoia, and too the ecosystem cannot keep on keeping on. Bix and I talk about it. How the tubers believe their rulers. So what Hitler and Stalin were maybe the worst past century, give a frat rat who does not care about children in other countries , give any killer of kids enough room, he can be that bad. Bix spoke of the tubers attending church, what can they be thinking. That, for example, they fear death.
Still, it entertains me to watch the gnarled rulers from the security of Lyla's house. Lyla unlike Bix's mother does not follow it, is a bit sharp with me (only with me) sometimes, kind of a B.E. hangover maybe, tells me to not be on the phone long, like if Bix calls, in ten minutes she is irritated, too she is hard of hearing, maybe it is the past B.E. theme that I could be in the way of an emergancy call about something, and she is too fixed in it for me to ask her more on it. But she is doing well. Jackson says I am the best one, most patient, to be here. I can't say that is true. Whatever, Lyla is limping less and recently painted the downstairs walls and ceilings, now rakes leaves for the vegetable garden. She is the one to do these things. Used to when we were camping out she would be raking leaves round the campfire and B.E. and sons drinking beer and he saying honey just relax, sit down a while. She hums, atonal, prefers me sitting at the tube when she is on the ladder nearby, she says her balance is pretty good if she just has something to hang onto with one hand. She sympathizes with my back injury - I have taken a set back, too much shovel work with these fish scraps, several garbage cans worth into the vegetable garden, ought to be a decent garden this summer. Very interesting, flies had laid eggs, and the maggots come digging out of the earth, in fact many are flies, staggering, and other flies come on in. Again, I will try for sweet potatoes, a wide web of oak roots were in the way, hurt the old injury. The flies are in our kitchen and Lyla is poor with a fly swatter, we cripples lose accuracy. But Lyla likes Medicine. He likes her, and she thinks he is funny, tolerates his antics. He will be upstairs getting into a spasm of barking, something he hears, anything irregular, has his heightened senses always. I read pitbulls don't bark much, but there is much written about pitbulls, who are big individuals regardless. Any event he gathers into the eventual plunge down the stairs and through kitchen he bashes through screen door outside. Runs the fence in his roaring. Usually, this is nighttiine, and if Lyla has the yard light on, I turn it off, so motorists or anyone can't tell where he is. He has the wolfish spookiness that is a competent in some pitbull blood I've known, but he has the pitbull aggression. He is complex, troublesome, fascinating, a lanky pit, lanky but pound for pound, I know that. If a fool had him, he would be too smart, and dangerous, I know. people don't know what I know. This pitbull will get scared and flee. But, if he sees to go in, I know, his twitch strength is superb. This strong young black guy where I get the fish scraps had wondered about ferral hogs where we are, to get in the garden for the scraps, and not mentioning we have the fence I simply said ah I have this pitbull who can run off any hog, and the guy hesitated, smiled, well, we have some pretty big ones, and I laughed, yeah, I know, I know.
On CNN I like Wo1f Blitzer, but very much do I Christiane Amanpour, the tall foreign looking woman with British accent who acts like she is least concerned about losing her job, a visibly compassionate, intelligent person. At MSNBC I am liking Ashleigh Bancroft more and more. At PBS I like Ray Suarez. These people are smart and kind and each has style in getting around their chickenshit networks. Amanpour, and Bancroft, take on projects of Israeli/Palestinian peace movement. I may only theorize why U.S. media for many years now is slow about the peace movement from within Israel. Now, leaks break through, from the entire rest of the world. The U.S. media is the chickenshit school yard crowd who go for the numbers, leaking on through.
We have to wonder about the grand mindless pretension. Jesus would never bomb anybody. Tell a tuber his/her president is an imposter, one draws wrath, or a blank. A11 U.S. presidents called themselves christian and had people killed, whenever killing took less money than diplomacy. If reason had prevailed early and slavery never been allowed to early settle in for the cotton picking, nor anyone let finance the two world wars...Lop off murderous greed fast enough, stop the corporate fat men, take the money out of war, there would not be war. What are U.S. presidents? Stupid.
How do they get there. How do I know, I'm an anarchist, waiting for a saner epoch. Tossing away paragraphs of drunken babble, sometimes I do a keeper, a sentence, one time.
I never write for the tubers. They are imposters too yet fragmented as shifting sands, schizoid...lost...sheep...of the fold. Whose fold, what? Sheep? The fold? No fucking shit. Bipolar? In denial? Such words. A nation on prosac, smack, crack, booze and potatochips. They believe in celebrities. This they believe. Their Pres is a jokester. If a U.S. Pres can make a few quips, it is acceptable he has whatever neighborhoods in other lands bombed.
The U.S. main media jumped onto John Walker Lindh because they conceive he is a hippy, and the tubers their bill payers have this grudge about Vietnam. Lindh a young seeker got caught in this situation he had no means physically to get out of. But craven tubers do not like seekers. Remind
tubers how trapped their minds, their unhappiness becomes fear and loathing. Recall Bush senior talking about Lindh's dirty hair. Lindh has broken no law, but, talk was first....execute him for treason. Thus far, the country is too "free" to execute the dirty longhaired hippy for treason, but, it is thus far OK he took some torture. After, being wounded and enduring small hell, he was blind folded and strapped down three days to get him to confess to treason. He did so, confess. Note, in this photo from Newsweek, it appears his penis is strapped. I showed this to Bix, and he too said it looks that way, hard to say exactly, incredible. This is a tough twenty year old kid, just trying to find a take on this world, and I wish him all fortune. Kelly thinks he will get out of it because he has not done anything against any law, but, I don't know. Due process means less each year now. In this extra subscripion to timid Newsweek Kelly has sent to Lyla, I cannot find printed any letter to remark on this fantastic photograph of John Lindh strapped naked blindfolded three days making him confess to treason.
One evening on C-SPAN a small audience of Japanese and U.S. citizens listened to a group of U.S. and Japanese speakers talking about the atom bombing, and nuclear world terror, or threat the U.S. may indulge. It was a grim bunch, but for one rather nice soul, this survivor in childhood of the Nagasaki blast. Or to put it, he had been enough off the edge of it, now being led past multiple charred bodies as a little kid he had seemed to not be in shock but regarded the matter as being not awfully extraordinary. He said, rulers mislead their peoples, and we ought to get control someway, being world civilization now can be distroyed. But the host speaker, a guy, said something. He spoke of Truman, who knew people in Japan were reaching for surrender around those warlords wanting to kamakazi, that Truman disregarded Eisenhower, MacArthur and other U.S. Generals, who advised against the A-bombs, as Japan was whipped and its people suffering. Post the terrible fire bombings, Harry Truman chose to give the Japanese population the terrific finale, collaterally vaporizing a lot of U.S. prisoners with it. Harry Truman always said he lost no sleep over it, had gone on to his bed. Then this bedeviled host speaker asked the darkened small audience, would they expect W.in his late threatening to have any more wisdom than Harry Truman.
Blank. Dark stares. Nary a mutter.
Around this time, last days of April in 2002, I also caught this brief call-in thing off C-SPAN with brave Gore Vidal. What I got out of that one is Vidal thinks these few years will bring us to martial law.
Mebbe so. It is kind of spooky, though I see the civilization's technology/sociology to be running faster than police. The internet is amuck. Just a few Chinese teenagers are too innovative for cops already, next Arab kids coming on, South American kids, African kids. Huzzaw, this is anarchy. Respect not authority, but all children.
Blackolive keeps forgetting how to turn on a computer. Technology shall soon catch the simple man.
I had the above amount of this chapter, and that evening caught a two hours on TV about lost civilization. I do not remember this fine fellow's name - middle aged tall white guy with British accent and his wife and photographer is a beautiful black woman. I am not to argue his case, but I believe it, which he presents on his computer. Ancient ruins about the Earth are pointing to positions of the stars ten thousand five hundred years ago. The ruins are older than what had been official. When officially city states were thought to only have been getting going, there was a world wide civilization cognizant of the size of round Earth and the movements of the constellations visible to man on Earth. Now, this guy is not alone. He has a bunch of folks with him. He is smiling, calm in his passion. He rattles the school yard of those who have not passion but vanities. I in these two hours could not heed details, but enjoyed the sound man had the math, the pith, in his demeanor, on his computer.
Which reminds me, another program I came upon went against today's superstition, some days before I began this chapter, was on starfish. I sit at Lyla's punching hither thither at the tube, have whole thing to myself, Medicine Dog has whole couch to himself. Starfish, like headless chicken walking among other chickens, have been thought to have no minds. This unofficial scientist has video taped activities of starfish on the sea bed. They move very slowly, but when he speeds the video, they are snown to be aware of one another, to be social. They dance about, wrestle.
0ne leverages his power competively against another. What, this is but chemical reaction? Feh.
The guy studying oldest stone ruins with his computer for the stars, believes the ancients have left us a message. He means to decipher the message.
Would not it be dreadful were the stupendous universe but bent into presently acceptable dogma. Unbelievable, too, too weird. Whew. Gads, wonder is we have not had more frequent Henry Kissengers and Sons of Sam.
||Take me to your heathen
And should I drink their wine
I shall lend me yours
And bring them thine.
Newsweek April 15, 2002
|ºThe more damning, later aspects of his supposed confession came only after he was denied a request to consult a lawyer and was stripped naked, blindfolded and strapped on a stretcher for three days in a closed, metal shipping container. It was only after Lindh's time in the container that he signed a form waiving his right to a lawyer and gave the more damaging confession. Even then, his lawyers now claim, he did so because he was told a lawyer was "unavailable" and feared going back into the container until one could be found.
º The government didn't tell him that his family had hired a lawyer-star litigator James Brosnahan-who was anxious to go to Afghanistan to talk to him. In fact, it now appears clear that the government even refused during the days he was kept in the container to let the Red Cross deliver a handwritten note from his father stressing his support and telling him about Brosnahan. While the Supreme Court has ruled that police don't have to tell a suspect that his lawyer wants to see him, it is not clear whether they can deceive a suspect into waiving his right to a lawyer by telling him, or implying, that a lawyer is not available, or that the lawyer he'd get is whatever legal
(Penis strapped. Newsweek does not say so. HOW did Newsweek get this photo?)
Thanks for the LL. I've enclosed $10 for postage of past mailings and a few future ones.
I sent History As Mystery back with my dad, and I just finished reading What Uncle Sam Really Wants by Chomsky. I wish I had written about History As Mystery while it was still fresh in my mind, but it was eye-opening nonetheless. Chomsky's writing made me want to overthrow our government. I use to see Bill Clinton as a decent example of what our President should do, but now it seems that anyone who becomes President has already sold his soul just for the opportunity to reach that position; not to mention the fact that the job requires the committing of war crimes on a weekly basis while in office.
I don't have much time to write at the moment, but I have a few thoughts to share. How much responsibility to we (ordinary citizens) share for what our country has done to other countries? Is the betterment of our country worth fighting for? Where in the world can anyone go for a life of purity; meaning, is there a location where people can feel untainted by the choices our ruling government makes?
It's too depressing to sit and worry about these past crimes without any hope that things can be improved. On the other hand, how much time do humans have on the planet to fix things? We could all blow each other up in the next thousand years, which wouldn't allow enough time to change the direction of mankind. If our past leaders were so evil, how evil are the rest of us? I can't help but think we're all capable of committing similar crimes if we had been put in the same situation(s).
Keep up the good work. I've found LL to be quite useful.
The Madman of Guantanamo
The secrecy surrounding prisoners at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, lifted ever
so briefly in early May. Washington decided then that a 25-year-old Afghan named Abdul Razeq, held for six months, was not actually a terrorist, but mentally unstable. The Pentagon dispatched the hapless fellow to a military hospital in Kabul with a six-month supply of medication. But it still won't say why Razeq was detained or why it took so long to diagnose his schizophrenia. "They took me to America to treat my mental problem," Razeq told NEWSWEEK in Kabul, adding that he hated life in a cage.
U.S. officials will say this: there are 384 prisoners from at least 33 countries at Guantanamo Bay, including just over 100 Saudis and a sprinkling of European nationals. The Pentagon has asked home governments to take custody of at least a third of those held, but most governments have no judicial authority to detain the suspects. U.S. allies think the captives should be treated as POWs under the 1949 Geneva Convention, which authorizes detaining them until the end of hostilities. But the Bush administration, while providing humane treatment, has refused to accord the captives POW status. So the detainees effectively have no rights. "There are no clear charges," says Najeeb al - Nuaimi, former Qatari Justice minister, who represents the families of 70 detainees. "There is no definition of legal detention. These people should have the right to defend themselves." Madness may be the best defense.
ROY GUTMAN in washington with SAM YOUSAFZAI In Kabul
Go to Newsweek.MSNBC.com for an interview with the released prisoner.
NEWSWEEK MAY 27, 2002
Got your letter today, thanks for dropping me a line. Sorry to hear about your back troubles, however, I'm sure that if this is something you've been dealing with since 1967 then you know how to take care of yourself.
Yes, I think you're right, we probably do have like thoughts. And yes, it would be nice to sit down, throw back a few beers, and "talk at leisure" (as you put it). You know, when I think back to that fateful evening in NYC, the part I remember most fondly is sitting in that snitty pizza place and drinking Negra Modellos (sp?) with you and Jack.. To this day, every time I have one of those beers I try to relive that moment in my mind -- it never works.
In a way, I guess that is the one thing that gets me down about this whole zine thing .... I get to correspond with all these cool people who share similar views and philosophies, but I never (or hardly) get to actually hang out with them. Bummer.
Thanks for the kind words about my "employment woes" but you need not worry, they aren't too severe. In fact, if I had to sum up my work day in one word, that word would be boring. I HATE being chained to a desk all day, it pains my very soul! And if that wasn't bad enough, I have to brave 45 minutes of the most horrific rush hour, bumper~to-bumper traffic just so I can sit there and stare into that stupid glowing box. I don't know how people can spend their whole lives doing this. As God (or whatever) is my witness, all I can think about when I'm sitting at my desk is, "This isn't right." Existential malaise, I guess. Anyway, I'm presently trying to get out. Applying for anything and everything that doesn't involve sitting down and still pays enough to let me make my mortgage payments (ahh, the classic dilemma!). Well, enough of this talk, it's making me dread the coming work day.
Well, I gotta wrap this up soon, but before I go, I want to extend to you a note of thanks for keeping me on your mailing list for LAST LAUGH. I want you to know how much I enjoy receiving it. I get a lot of shit in the mail, but very little of it is as engaging as LL. Why do I like receiving LL so much (you might be wondering)? Because it's real. No bullshit. It should come wrapped in plastic with a red banner across the top that says in bold letters: BILL BLACKOLIVE INSIDE! 'cause that's just what it is, a clear view into the everyday world 0f Wild Bill. It's the zine equivalent of an old blues man sitting on his porch and playing a beat up old acoustic like the bad-ass motherfucker that he is (and knows he is). No apologies, this is my world take it or leave it.
And that's why I like receiving Last Laugh.
Rock on Bill!
words and music by Spencer Perskin
A killer instinct is a must if you can avoid the bust
feel my breeze and eat my dust, bring out the dogs, you'll never get me
the morning light is in the trees. listing with a southern breeze
I may end up on my knees, but dead or alive, they'll never forget me
Desire rules this world of fools
Destiny nears this vale of tears
Hit the bank and grab the loot, leave the pit and take the fruit
ride the line and don't get cute, go with the flow, the hiway is calling take the dirt road by the creek, whisper cause you dare not speak
scared to stretch the winning streak, the body is numb but the spirit sailing
second best is second worst, running like my heart could burst
all the way from last to first, resist if you must, I will come and take it
disconnect and discontent, that's where all the money went
when all your days and nights are spent, it's real what you feel. you don't have to fake it
Dancing Through the Night
words and music by Spencer Perskin
and so I'm dancing through the night
although my dreams seemed real they prooved to be
made out of moonlight
but I know how you like to dance
moving with all your charms
I just wish you were with me
dancing in my arms
dancing in ecstacy, dancing wild and free
just like this river running to the sea
the water is swift and wide, you're on the other side
river give my lover back to me
words and music by Spencer Perskin
Bound to come true, it's up to you
but that's just half the story
know you're bound for glory
you'll be so much more than who you are
Watch what you take, make no mistake
this land is full of silence
also badly pron to violence
everyone just wants to serve himself
o baby don't tell me, the promises you make and the risk you're gonna take
oh no don't tell me, the promises you make and the risk you're gonna take
oh no don't tell me the promises you make and the risk you're gonna take oh no don't tell me, the promises you make and the risk you're gonna take
Give love to you, give love to me
pardon us for living
with a heart so unforgiving
see your hours, how they fly away
stand in the wind,smile in the rain
this world seems made of sorrow
though you may cry again tomorrow
the morning light will shine the tears away
Spencer & wife Suzie of Sheva's Headband (first psychedelic rock band in Texas) are in Texas Hall of Music and are great singers and Spencer is genius fiddle in Texas Gang audio. We need smart rich man.
Madrea wanted me to come to her high school graduation of May 16 and Bonnie got me these tickets, of a flight out of San Antonio. Kelly wondered why she forgot about getting me an Austin flight, where good old Stuart Magness could drive me to and fro, but I drove to Seguin for Kelly to get me to and from the San Antonio airport.
It was a successful quick journey, three nights in Dixie County. To and fro both had stopover in Atlanta, where thought came, a politician or movie star who did not own an airplane would have to go through this congestion, this waiting.
A pleasant friend of Cynthia's, Andy, a widower in his sixties whose wife Cynthia had been close with, used his van getting me from and to Gainsville, which is maybe fifty miles from 0ld Town in Dixie County, mid Florida. Only Madrea was with him, her mom back at property getting drunk with a female buddy. Cynthia has many friends, mostly beerholic cigarette addicts like herself, usually potheads like herself. Andy, transported yankee, uses nothing anymore, quit smoking and drinking years ago, though his wife was a pothead. Dixie County is generally even more trailer folk than is Aransas Pass, similar but they smoke even more cigarettes and dip more snuff, from junior high to old ladies in their cars going to the grocery store - these people are at least as drunk as Aransas Pass or Port Aransas and using needles and everything. Andy is educated and amiable and has been abroad and around and with now Madrea interested in studying archeology and anthropology he and I in ride from Gainsville airport got into some of this a bit, or after a stop for pizza and groceries and Guinness and case of Corona for my ex who most days drinks cans all day. Madrea brought out a reefer.
Madrea does not like beer, wine is OK, suddenly she is smoking a lot of pot herself. She and past two boyfriends and couple more of her friends do not smoke cigarettes, which settles with me, and, too, her mom. These past two boyfriends are local intellectuals, from normal drunk/addicted families, but both guys not smoking even pot. The former, Dave, whom I had a good phone conversation with from property, barely enabled to graduate last year from high school, but knows all of computer moving technology - told me the technology is slowing down in the smaller scale but still moving in the larger scale. Dave, Madrea had told me, had not wanted her to smoke pot nor drink wine, nor of course eat cow paddy mushroom grow there. Dave is wry and laconic, has literary sensitivity. On phone was saying Madrea hates him, is why he had not come over yet, and I laughed she does not hate him, only says he has no ambition. Cynthia nearby overhearing yelled across that I think this is funny because I haven't any ambition. Dave claimed he has ambition but Madrea doesn't know him very much. We got along, I understood him.
The present boyfriend from Dixie County background is Damon, age 26 and going for his Bachelor's in something, I forget. Or it was something to do with the literary, though he has all this information of the international or historical, for example has read some Noam Chomski along with it all. Damon is loquacious when on his material. He saw I did not mind hearing him out, and after the graduation ceremony, at the party on the property (Cynthia said all the parents liked her letting the kids party there instead of running drunk all over Dixie county)(Dixie County is a bunch of trailer settlements with post offices and supermarkets and gas stations and a Walmarts and a prison (exactly), the kids all getting drunk and stoned round the campfire, Damon would run out of anything to be doing and come over to me in my chair and instantly carry on his rap. Sit down, Damon, I gestured to the steps of the porch. Else he would have carried on and on standing.
Cynthia has managed her little kingdom, two and a half acres of tall trees inside a chorus of insects, couple trailers built into their house, in the day anytime squirrels are visible. She sells her wood sculptings, has all these power tools. The chemical cigarettes and cans of beer all day have her face now in her forties lined and swollen, but at five seven and one twenty-five or thirty, she is heavier than she looks, lean with strong work hands. She had said to Madrea how would you like it if I got you a little brother or sister off papa this time. I had but wanted to sleep in the hammock, which was great this time in a lack of mosquitoes, as there has been no rain. But rains must come. At a point out of Gainsville, abruptly amidst the pine woods grow palm trees and palmettoes.
The high school graduation ceremony was long and American silly though I did not find it purely boring. Held on their football field, a kid would get his or her diploma and or whatever scholarship, and those friends and family of that kid would hoot and whistle. The class was well over a hundred, I forget, and there were several black kids, and in quantum sudden the United States is running past racism. Too there is more program to help kids with better grades get to college. Madrea had been taking college courses and has a scholarship to this nearby junior college. She will be able to keep living at home, drive her clunker but do much off her computer. She's had the clunker a short while and I gave her a hundred to fix it better. I wish I could have stayed longer, really.
Madrea looks better than ever. Recent years she had been diagnosed with low blood sugar, and next arthritis, and I have been advising. She is to eat a lot of protein and work out and I had given her dumbbells, though she could always do pushups and pullups. She is now better. She looks like an olympic athlete and said she is not even working on her legs. But she moves about and has inherited this lower body power I and my brothers have. She is five two and curvy and around one twenty, small waste, little fat. Can punch better than most hundred twenty pound men. Cynthia can be the drunken queen but Madrea is in control and all the adults know it. Right now they have run off all males and live safely with four barking dogs. Their locked gate is perhaps about a hundred winding yards off, and anytime any vehicle comes by on the dirt road the four dogs charge the gate barking. They have a female doberman from dogs Andy has, a male minature doby mix, and two females of different strains where I could believe coyote and pitbull in either. Any couple drunk crackers would be coming to the wrong place, less they were friends of Cynthia's.