Sunday, February 2, 2020

I don’t know how the weather is wherever y’all are, but today’s one of those days that almost makes rural Northeast Mississippi worth the effort, even if it’s just in knowing the summer’s going to be a booger. Even now, it’s going be nasty before the week’s out. But for the nonce, let’s all just enjoy it.

Believe I’ll take Otis out for a walk after my nap. He gets to stay outside all he wants until bedtime – usually around 8 p.m. unless I’m writing – but it does a dog good to get new scents up his nose. A quick walk around the property line, and he’s good for a couple days. I don’t trust him to be let off the leash outside the fence, much less just on his own.

He’d go after my cats. He knows he’s bad but he can’t help himself. The first one, he thinks, he gets free. After that, it slips into obsession and he knows that I don’t like that. But he can’t help himself. And since he’s more a danger to himself than he is my cats out here in the boonies, he stays in the fence or on the leash. This ain’t New Orleans, people don’t give a shit about your dog.

Wired-&-inspired and fully aware, let’s have some fun. Maybe I’ll knock something out and take the Sunday off or maybe I’ll come back to it. I don’t know. Let’s see how it works.

I’ve been playing on Tumblr since yesterday. There’s thisthis, and this. Oh, and this. No particular reason…wait. Forgot this. Okay. As I was saying, no particular reason, apart from the whole “Liberals hate Leftists who hate Liberals because neither group knows what the hell its talking about” thing that’s currently, and by “currently” I mean “never-ending” bubble-up going on one that particular end of the political spectrum. We must all hang together or we’ll hang separately, sort of thing. Yes, I do think Trump is that big a worry and, no, I’m not inclined to discuss it.

 

Now.

I doubt it would surprise any who’ve done the merest bit of research, but I gladly admit to being a cynic, both in popular usage and the classical philosophy of Diogenes and Antisthenes, if you’ll excuse a little snooty bullshitting on my part. People have always considered me a cynical sort, but it’s only relatively recently that it’s become an overwhelming aspect of my personal philosophy. The cynical Matt of youth was knowledge of the philosophy and a smidgen of inclination padded with an affectation of cynicism because of massive insecurity and lack of a personality or acting like everything is shit is easier than actually thinking.

Middle-Aged Matt, however, has cut away most, if not quite all, of the bullshit, and just like I’m comfortable calling myself an Absurdist, an Anarchist, a Humanist, and a Materialist, I think being a Cynic is apt. It’s said that inside every cynic, though, there’s a disappointed idealist. Apparently, George Carlin said that.

He’s not wrong about that. I’ve always been an Idealist, as well. You know, as an aside, problem I’ve always had with latter day George Carlin is his insistence that he doesn’t care. During the same bit, though, he’ll say how “disappointed” that humanity – which didn’t include him – had “squandered their gifts.” I just don’t think its quite that deep, though I understand why he has to deliver the bit as he does, the ranting funnyman who doesn’t give a fuck. Man had kids that still speak highly of him, so I don’t buy that.

Really, what bothers me are the dullards who take that as Gospel just because the ranting funnyman who doesn’t give a fuck said so. I’ve always wondered what he thought about what people lay on him as a combination prophet and philosopher. I don’t imagine he gives a fuck. Doesn’t stop them from being annoying, but that’s like blaming every Jason Aldean fan Hank Williams.

Anyhow, I’ve wandered from my point, whatever it was. Ah. Cynicism, why it’s okay and where it comes from. Killer. See, unlike Carlin, I’m not so much disappointed in Humanity as I am completely confused that we insist it be this shitty way, for either everyone or, more usually, everyone but us. Maybe it’s the result of growing up under the ever-present threat of nuclear annihilation followed by a militaristic future than never developed culturally past the late 20th century. I don’t know.

I’ve said elsewhere, and I imagine I’m ripping someone off, but there’s no reason this country, indeed this world, shouldn’t be a never-ending 24/7 rock-&-roll party where everyone has fun like they want while still being cool to and with each other. People tell me it can’t be done, I don’t believe them. We have supercomputers in our pockets and we’ve been to the Moon. We’re just not interested or inclined to try that hard. It’s easier being a butthole, or at least we think it is.

There’s where the cynicism comes in. Even so, I prefer to think of it as realism, a cognizant, reasonable way to look at reality. It doesn’t have to such but we’re going to put a little effort into it not sucking. But it probably won’t work out that way. Despite what I say I want, futures like the Federation or whatever ’80s Buck Rogers was give me the willies. It’s a thin line between that and Blake’s 7 or Starship Troopers, movie and book.

Okay, that’s plenty for now. Good talk, lots of fun there, but I think it’s time for that nap. I wonder if that’s an aspect of getting older. Writing tires me out more than it ever did. I guess that makes sense and another reason to be regretful for wondering away for so long, but I don’t think I’ll dwell. In any event, middle age is a bummer but there is something to that wisdom born of both increased experience and observation that comes with aging.

Least ways, that’s what we’ll roll with.

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