by RIP RENSE
(July 12, 2010)
When I look out my window,
many sights to see. . .When I look out my window, so many people
to be. . .And it’s strange. . .---Donovan.
the cat looks out the window a lot. I mean a lot. She
parks herself half on my scanner, and half on the sill, folds
her paws in “cat position,” because she can’t help it, and
Me, I try not to watch.
Trixie watches the
thundering garbage and recycling trucks as they screech and
ka-boom, the cars that roll through stop signs, the hulking walker
screaming profanities for undoubtedly good reason, the hostile and
raucous little kiddies walking slowly home from the nearby high
school, the psycho neighbor who impresses everyone as “such a
I’ve seen it all before.
Oh, I sometimes join her
in watching a
hummingbird, or a butterfly, or the squirrels playing on the
roof next door. These are my lifelines to the real world, the
non-human world, which humans have largely traded for
Angus burgers, and
Lady Gaga. So I have Trixie to thank for this reminder.
Truth be told, and it
seldom is, I can barely stand to look out the window
anymore. For that matter, I can barely stand to go out among the
humans. But don’t tell anybody, or they might get the wrong
idea. Like I’m an agoraphobic or something. Hell, I like rabbit
wool sweaters, as long as no rabbits are harmed in the making of
What’d he say?
I’m sick of writing. I
think it is of less consequence than farting. Farting, after
all, has entertainment value, let alone arguable impact on
global warming, especially when performed by cows. Especially
when those cows are fed massive amounts of genetically modified
corn in corporate slaughterhouses in order to fatten them up
supernaturally so as to quickly be transformed into corporate
Angus burgers. In order to be badly digested by corpulent humans
who will then fart nearly as much as the corn-fed cows.
(Billions and billions served.) Who will then become
addicted to Prilosec and other antacid “medications” for
temporary relief of minor heartburn pain. Which will fatten
up pharmaceutical companies whose heads will unleash
metaphorical oral flatulence in opposing any/all sane health
care proposals by government.
Writing is of no
consequence. Well, if you want to stretch a point, nothing is of
any consequence. We don’t know what we are, where we are, why we
are, how we got here, where here is, or why dogs aren’t bothered
by the smell of each other’s asses. But that’s beside the point.
What is the point? Hell if I know. But I do know that writing
only means something to the writer who might get an egotistical
or monetary reward from the act, and to the reader who is
stimulated to some intellectual or emotional response. That’s a
pretty impotent closed system, don’t you think?
Don’t you think?
Now there’s a good all-purpose rejoinder to drop into
conversation. But do it slyly, so the recipient is not aware of
the double meaning. Just tack it on to the ends of sentences
spoken to blowhards and dunderheads. They’ll never catch on.
Yawn. Somebody just sent
me a bunch of links about that shooting trial involving that kid
on the BART train in Oakland. One of the links goes to Youtube
video, where some dumb (white) transit cop allegedly thought he
was going to “tase” the (uncooperative, black) suspect, but
whoops---wrong gun! Suspect dead. And there were lots of links
to angry “Black Panthers” saying lots of angry Black
Panther things. Yawn. So sick of racial crap. It’s endless. A
cancer on the society. It will never, never get any better. People
write about it, and write about it, and write about it, and yack
about it, and pass laws about it, and yack about it some more, and write
about it and. . .it doesn’t ever change. I don’t want to know
That’s really it. I no
longer want to know. Anything. I know enough. Or as Edward G.
Robinson and Humphrey Bogart and countless other actors must
have uttered in B-movies, “He knows
What is the point of knowing all the things you can possibly
know? Party conversation? What is the point of arming yourself
with all the news and commentary of the day? Schmooze
ammunition? Okay, hey, have a ball. But I think people are
spending way, way too much time knowing things, and jabbering
about them, and knowing more things, and jabbering about them,
than is healthy. I think people should be content with what they
know, and mostly shut the fuck up.
writing. All pretty much a waste of time. I mean, people
write, and write, and be a villain. Which is to say, nothing is
affected or changed much by writing these days. Everything is still acrimony. The Internet,
in fact, has made acrimony official. The world is shrouded by
the cacophonous yapping of irritated humans. Almost literally.
Everyone has become a writer and jabberer, and despite a lot of
very smart, very knowledgeable writing and jabbering floating in
the ocean of verbal cyber-sewage, none of it changes the
acrimony. In fact, the acrimony just gets more acrid. Whoops,
got to be careful. That’s almost "writing."
So stop the jabbering. I
mean, what does “talk radio” accomplish? What, you are better
informed? So what? What changes due to being better informed?
Everything not only stays screwed up, but it becomes
exponentially more screwed up--- from all the talking. Here’s
some reality: governments beholden to invisible corporations
that usurp the environment to keep SUV’s rolling while millions
of children die of AIDS and millions more are born to contract
AIDS while space junk circles the earth and women are stoned to
death and whales and dolphins
suffocate in Gulf oil and futile wars are fought out of lies and
paranoia and incomprehensible greed and banks pay billions in bonuses while skilled people
who have worked long and hard can no longer get jobs. Do you
think that being informed, and jabbering, and writing, will
change any of this?
Pardon me while I make a
sound like a dying rooster.
Perhaps you think I am
being facile, or a reasonable facsimile. Well, all the
jabbering and writing that took place before BushCheney’s Iraq
invasion did nothing. It was widely and definitively reported
that there were no real grounds for invasion. Yet the largest
protests in world history did zip to stop it. That’s about
as compelling an illustration of the futility of “discourse” as
I can conjure.
Whatever power there was in
jabbering and writing has been rendered inert by the Internet.
“Marginalized,” as the popular expression goes, if not
trivialized. If everyone is a jabberer and a writer, who is
listening and reading? Other writers and jabberers. Who, in
turn, will be prompted to write and jabber. No one’s right if
everybody’s wrong, to quote Buffalo Springfield.
The media, the
mass-produced/dumbed-down/force-fed “popular culture,” the
demographers, the marketing rapists, the avatars of
political correctness, the hustlers, the "icons," the “entertainment
industry,” the supragovernmental corporations---they all have a lock on global everything.
Children---babies, almost---are programmed by “popular culture.”
Primed to accept the brought-to-you-by reality, primed to
consume. How hilarious is it that “individuality” and
“self-expression” have been co-opted by corporate
mass-marketing? Want to express yourself, kiddies? Get more
designer shoes, get more tattooes---just like everybody else.
Definition of that monolithic marketing phenomenon, “cool:”
conformist. Try substituting conformist every time you say, or
hear someone say, “cool.” It’s all a done deal, a rigged game, a
Pavlovian orgy, and it isn’t
likely to change, no matter how much jabbering, no matter how
Everything is a forum for
everyone to run their little games, mostly. That's about all.
From pundits to presidents to Prince to BP.
But you just ignore
me, now, and keep smiling, and keep tuning in that KPCC and
all other important talk shows full of important
topics hosted by important people so you can be better
important informed! Know the minutiae of all those important
issues that have no direct impact on your life whatsoever, and
that you are absolutely powerless to change! Get informed about Iran and
Israel! Get informed about illegal immigration! Get informed
about Afghanistan and Hezbollah! Argue about it
all with friends! Get that important “dialogue” going so you can
know what is going wrong with the world, or your
community, in order to have exactly no effect on it at all!
It’s really a lot like
soccer, or football, or as the entire bozo planet now pronounces
it, “foop-ball.” People run around like mad and try to control a
ball without using their arms and hands. (Now there’s a humorous
idea for a sport.) Ninety-nine-point-nine percent of every foop-ball
match consists of this ridiculous, chicken-without-the-head bloogledoogle.
Fleegledeegle. When a goal is scored---an analogue of
change!---it is just shocking. This, of course, is why people
love sports. There are definitive changes, and real outcomes.
And so, as the west sinks
slowly in the west, I leave the looking
out the window to Trixie the cat. She likes it, bless her. Yes,
it’s quite a show, to her eyes, judging from the hours she
spends watching. Me, I’ve seen the show. I’ve done a lot of
writing about it, too, though hardly as much as many writers.
Yet I’ve learned something that many other writers either don’t
learn, or override with drugs, booze, ego, or paycheck: there’s no
point. What's more, the more I think, and the more I am
informed, and the more I write, and the better I write, the less
peaceful I become. I’m in favor of peace on earth, so you see,
my contribution must be. . .less writing. Maybe no writing!
That’s it. What is the greatest thing I can contribute to
ongoing “discourse?” To quote Edwin Starr in the great song, “War”.
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