I Suffered Ten Thousand Cuts Docetically Unscathed

Like many people, I suppose, I watch the obituaries on television and the web with a glancing blow. Not much moves me anymore. Too many thousands of deaths each day to mourn. With the huge increase of information being thrown at me from all directions I've had to develop an even thicker skin. That's hard for an old person for any reason. Thin skin comes with the territory.

George Carlin's death stopped me in my tracks. I was a big fan for a long time. I knew that. My automatic response to his death sorta showed me that I was probably even a bigger fan than I thought. Ninety percent of my odd sense of humor involves an appreciable degree of sarcasm to carry the day. Much of it appears to go right over most people's heads. They miss the irony and take offense instead. No blame. George Carlin's sarcasm seemed to have the master's touch that brought a more desirable response to what seemed like to me a kind of common effort. He might not have agreed with that.

I didn't really know what death meant until I was about 19-20 years old. What heros I had as a little boys were dying of old age well before then. I didn't have many heros directly because there was so much less public information available then. Limited radio listening. No television at all for as long as I lived in my parent's houses. We lived in small towns that hardly qualified as villages the entire time I lived with my parents.

We didn't live in an area that had it's own movie theater until I was eight years old. By then we had lived in four different towns in two different states, and even my choices for local heros were a moving target. My father was the most constant model for maleness in my formative years, but he won't easy to worship. He was a living example of the virtual Old Testament God himself in living color. Spare the rod, spoil the child. He oughta know. No blame.

His cruelty to animals was a much anticipated pastime, and I was just another animal to be managed along with the succession of cows, horses, pigs, chickens, rabbits, and less domestically, various and sundry poisonous snakes, black bears, rabid foxes, and bobcats.

It took years and years for me to finally comprehend with some degree of fairness that my father's ridiculous fear of snakes was that he was afraid they would bite his children or animals. I was a daily witness to my father's treatment of his animals. He brought his work home with him. I lived in constant fear he would treat me just as indifferently, and indeed, the bruises and scars on my little body wouldn't let me to justifiably create romanticized versions of my father to make my mimicry of each facet of his way of life a moment to remember.

I guess I heard from both parents that my father was a spoiled brat nearly every day in some way from early on. It's as if that fact justified all his fits of temper, and made it impossible to stop himself from lashing out at the nearest trembling entity. At home, that is. It was murmured that he would cut you on the street. Maybe under the cover of a white sheet. I was afraid of my father until the moment he died, and I checked to make sure that he was.

He was born after his siblings were pretty much adults to a relatively old, worn-out man and woman (Aha! Really? Not the illegitimate child of one his purported "sisters", and claimed as their own by the parents for fear of the shame of it? We always stayed with the same aunt when we visited Mississippi. I just made this scenario up from my vivid imagination, didn't I?), who turned a lot of his upbringing to his older sisters.

It was said that my father played with his nieces and nephews as a child because they were the same age. His parents were getting on in age, and so he just took over everything at the home place his siblings visited with their own agendas and bags of personal garbage. He had his own colored boy named Walter from the time he was six years old until he left home for marriage at the age of 33 years. That would have started around 1911-1912. I heard all the stories. I was being prepared to live the same way, but by then it was becoming unfashionable, and was soon to be illegal. That was the way as if nothing had changed during World War Two. I couldn't follow in my father's footsteps because his way of life had been criminalized by an act of law by the time I was of legal age at twenty-one years of age. So, I got married and tried to get my wife to be my boy, and it sorta worked out until I eventually had to run for my life. That shit don't fly with educated Aries women.

The indoctrination was set too deep with practically no resistance. We moved too often for anything odd to get noticed. Wherever we went our family was newcomers that had their own foreign ways and people in the South were more likely to mind their own business as long as they were white and followed the way.

I think this may be some sort of universal about war, and it's a pretty stupid way to do things when the problem is reflected up. When men win a war and want to teach that culture not to mess with them anymore, they usually kill the males and impregnate the women with their own spawn. But, children are like stem cells before they take a specific form. It's the women who preserve the culture by teaching whatever race of species of child that pops out of their belly how to adapt to wot's sot before them in order to merely survive. They teach them the same hated cultural beliefs that make them the enemy of their own blood fathers. The two Bush Presidents are living proof. The older Bush fought Fascism in World War Two, and the younger Bush became a Fascist himself in order to pubescently defy him.

Here's a perfect example of why I don't let people get me too pumped up about writing stuff for a living:

http://health.usnews.com/articles/health/living-well-usn/2008/06/23/time-in-the-sun-how-much-is-needed-for-vitamin-d.html

If you've read the stuff I wrote about the web search I did on Vitamin D after I'd read a bunch of articles on the topic, and then read the article I linked above, it's easy to see that the author of the linked article performed a much more concise assessment of what's being passed around as significant these days.

I just read this article myself because it covered the same information I had familiarized myself with in a much more comprehensible fashion. It seems like the aspects of this information that intrigued me, also intrigued her. It's about what it means for the Sun to interact with human skin, and how the adaptations the skin has made to the various locations all over the world to the ambient sunlight ruled how the skin appears to the beholder. I'm now realizing this inability of the skin to make Vitamin D in the Northern climes because of a lack of enough UV rays to make it happen, and the native's not knowing to take supplements is the reason they move to a sunny place like Florida, California, and the Gulf Coast to retire. Many of the aches and pains of old age are due to a lack of Vitamin D, and when they go to places where there's lots of UV rays all year long, they are able to remedy their Vitamin D deficiency and feel better.

I have written copiously about my idea of how white people became white because they lived for long periods in caves. In the Slavs (slaves) case, it was probably as much to hide from their pursuers as it was to stay warm. Admittedly, it because difficult for me to make this case because of my cultural background. I could be accused of doing the equivalent of a cultural comb-over to cover up my racial prejudice. I'll apologize now. It's too late. I can't reframe my childhood to ease your social fears of keeping up with the Jones.

This Vitamin D publicity makes it easier for me to write about what I originally intended to write about in the first place. I had never considered before this reading, that even in the United States, there isn't enough sunlight for human skin to create enough Vitamin D for homo sapiens to stay healthy in the winter, without taking readily-available supplements. The point that impresses me is that the people living in these Northern climes really have to take those supplemental forms of Vitamin D (usually fish or fish products like cod-liver oil.) or they usually get sick. Worse, it's usually some sort of cancer or bone problem, and sometimes both. What a drag, man. It's not cured by eating yo' veggies.

I'm glad to find out about this. I've been up for three hours, and I haven't walked out into the sunlight yet. I usually don't. I'm fine with taking supplements. I just didn't know what and how much. Now I do. And another thing. The salmon we get around here has gone from bad to worse. It's difficult to find desirable fresh fish around here to eat. Much of it's trash fish that don't have much Vitamin D in their oil anyway. It takes deep-water fish or fish from the cold, arctic waters. I can just take these 2000 IU pills once a day and forget it.

They curb my appetite. I've been eating stuff willy-nilly that might have the Vitamin D in it to soothe my abused body. Now that it's getting an abundance of Vitamin D from me swallowing these pills, it doesn't have to eat everything in sight in the hope that something/anything will do the trick.

I've written about how both of my ex-wives looked different from me when we lay naked on white sheets side by side. I married some real white girls, and I'm fairly white. But, I went around practically naked from early Spring to late Fall every year working in the tobacco fields of the coastal plains. My first wife was raised in the high foothills well in sight of the Blue Ridge mountains. My second wife was raised in the suburbs of Cleveland. Both had considerable German blood in their genetic make-up. Their attitude about being outside and exposed to sunlight was totally different from mine. They sun-bathed. I was comparatively a feral beast. In more ways than one. I should have known better, but I'm much too selfish for that.