I’ve spent some time in the heartland lately, attending to the ceremonies associate with my father-in-law’s death, and also to my wife’s grief. My father-in-law had the kind of life, and death, we all dream about: He died suddenly after a good, long, and full life.
There’s no time like Christmas in this “Christian” nation. The connection between reason and daily life grows ever more tenuous as the empire crumbles. And Christianity’s most holy days particularly encourage disassociation from reality.
I performed a little rudimentary math last week. A little because even a little pushes my limit for math, these days. And rudimentary for the same reason. The outcome was staggering: We’re using oil at the rate of 5,500 cubic feet per second (cfs).
I haven’t watched television for years. My brain’s in bad enough shape without the brain-cell-destroying intoxicants of alcohol or delta waves, so I’ve foregone both for quite a while. Long enough, in fact, that I’m starting to feel as if I’m obsessing about them, so I suppose I should get back on the wagon to see what I’ve been missing.
It doesn’t pay to be a prophet, at least not in one’s own time. I’ve been ridiculed, disparaged, and generally mocked in public, and the email in-box is filled with hateful missives. I’m not complaining, mind you: Every social critic knows how little regard society has for criticism. I don’t much care for it myself, when it’s pointed my way.