JIVESTER ON A CORRENTEWIRE

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I will be posting more often at Correntewire than here in my Golden Room of Blather. There are a number of engaging and stimulating writers over at Correntewire, and the site has many features to utilize (I may learn how to use them myself someday).

What will show up here at Mortaljive? I don't know. Maybe Buddha on a bike, or Zeus with a chainsaw. As a jivester I dance where others walk, bark where others moo, and spin where others kneel. I am still learning how to be a human being: how to be this one particular human being that eats and sleeps and laughs and aches and smiles and is pissed off and amused and horny and hungry and tired. I have old demons (non-union) that retreat only to reappear, fresh doubts and all-you-can-eat angst, but I am no different than every other critter whose whiskers twitch as the hunter-owl flies above. The days of mercury poisoning, deforrestation, blinkered spirituality, hurricane parades, melting ice caps and rising salty waters are upon us, even as the Corporate Suits stuff their mouths with all the gold they can eat: this is the truth. To itemize the bad news of a world in peril is a style I am ill-suited for: not wonky enough, I suppose. I come in North by Northwest, and for me to ride the winds otherwise would be folly.

That the world will end someday is inevitable: that this inevitability is being sped up by ghastly, cretinous liars and thieves is galling, and I shall oppose these earth devouring hogs with all my sinews and marrow and battery acids. So what do I do? I take prose against a sea of assholes, and by pretending, end them. La, la...

How our Earthly Dramas will play out is a mystery--will this Republic of the United States stand down the Corporate Beast, who, like Yahweh in his wrath at Job could not feel what it is to be a Human Being (Jung thought that this strange chapter in the ongoing construction of the Middle Eastern God precipitated the coming of the Christ, because until God became Man He could not feel compassion or empathy and was therefore morally inferior to Job, who was hardwired to feel so much--things the old Gods never had to feel. This old God had to be born again, but on earth, not in Heaven.). The Corporate Beast is the perfect wall to die by degrees behind; it uses Religion as stucco patch to hold firm the ever crumbling edifice. God is dead in America: they kill it everyday, hallelujah. Tat tvam asi.

However, vestigial Volcanic Deities, pollution, thieves, killers, profiteers and liars shall not go easily, but go they will, like everything else before and everything that has yet to be. Imagine the tears of a god facing dissolution! No fair, cries the god! No fair!

So, I ramble on. See you around.

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