I've been writing this about theory for months now. I certainly hope I'm wrong. It's my opinion that Bush/Cheney will attempt to declare a nation-wide martial law before or soon after the general election, and take over the United States government. That's what they intended when they came into office, that was the entire reason for 9/11, and they have been setting it up before even then.
It's time for me to go get some new glasses. The old ones have served me well. I don't know how many times I've accidently sit on them or bent them all to hell and back, and they still survived. Yesterday, the right side stem broke and I know from experience they can't or won't fix that.
A new vision outfit recently moved to town. It's located in the old part of town right across from the county courthouse. I didn't think much about it until I got some spam from Humana that they had a deal with this company. Early this afternoon I'm gonna take that flyer down to these people and have them spell out what Humana will pay or won't pay. I've been getting my glasses over in Fayetteville, but that's a long trip just to get service for my handicap. I'm not so excited though. These optical companies seem to come and go pretty fast.
I've had a sore throat for around a week now. I gargled with warm salt water and mouth wash, but that didn't seem to do much good. I decided to try an age-old remedy and get some strong booze to nip on and swish it around my throat as I swallowed it. Yesterday my throat "seemed" a little better, but it wasn't that much better. At least the booze burned as it went down my gullet.
I must have been right about it getting a little better yesterday, because when I woke up this morning it was noticeably better. Bacteria may be able to adjust to the various prescription chemicals, but I don't think they'll ever be able to resist a good swig of top shelf booze. I get 'em drunk and they let go the walls of the throat, and down into the acid pit of my stomach where they gotta have real survival skills to make it out of my rectum alive, much less breed.
I'm not above taking a swig of top shelf booze now and again myself for my own reasons. Habit mostly. A salute to the ol' days. I can't do it like I used to in my... well... up until a few years ago... I could put it away with the best of them... and that's one of the biggest lies I ever told myself that ended in such disasters. I can't hold my likker, and I can be a mean drunk to boot.
Like many drunks it's the mornings I dreaded. My dread when I woke up was not just the lousy physical feelings, but the guilt I might have to face when I get out of bed and re-join the dogs that bit me. Sometime I choose to be diplomatic and give everybody a break, including myself, by trying not to be too cranky. I'm got a knack for being cranky even when I'm sober. My sense of humor leans toward sarcasm and the absurd. When I'm fairly sober it can be quaintly humorous. When I'm drunk it's snide and painful. Nobody likes a smart ass.
I get accused of using these cranky attributes to control who can stand to be around me. Nobody has to let anybody that walks down the pike waltz into their lives and take their time about topics and interests that are less than exciting. I have a tendency to nursemaid drunks due to some warped sort of empathy. Maybe it's just another symptom of my sadistic streak.
I was accused of learning to write from books the other day. My accuser is probably the world's worst writer. I never know whether his efforts to describe in the scrambled assortment of words he chooses is deliberate or not. I wrote back that basically I learned to write from writing.
Today, I'm not so sure about that. I still believe that the writing I do online has improved my ability to express myself with words by at least two orders of magnitude. What made me wonder about the veracity of my conclusion that I learned to write by writing is that my accuser has spent as much time writing online as I have, and his writing style hasn't changed one whit, nor what he keeps trying to express.
He accuses me of being like he would be if he wrote the same words I wrote, but for his own reasons and not mine. I'm beginning to think he makes his accusations for his own motives that's beyond my kith and ken. Opinions of himself I couldn't consider ere now. How could I? He should take his own advice. That's my new mantra for Everyman. Take your own advice. Nobody talks to anybody but themselves. We can only address our own idea of what's out there. When you give advice to whoever you see out there... you're only talking to that part of you that you've projected on to the Other. It's not about them. I should take my own advice.
I'm hoping to describe a theory of personal dynamics that nobody will ever know about but me. Everybody else has to interpret what they would mean if they wrote what I'm writing. That's why I persistently write "Nobody knows". Nobody but them knows about their own intent either. They're just as allone as me. The people who interact with each of them either in public or in private have interpret their behavior just like their own behavior must be interpreted. Nobody knows.
That's my new rallying cry. Nobody Knows! I keep writing this because there is something that goes along with the fact that everyman is an island unto themselves. With the question being: Why come do people act like they do know the intent of the other by what they say and do if it's not real. They perceive what they interpret to be there. Not what's there.
A friend asked me if I had explored the notion of using capsaicin:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Capsaicin
It's the chemicals in hot peppers that burn the tongue. They make pepper spray and the ingredients of mace with it. Jalapenos and such. They're using it to numb pain. Like the pain of arthritis.
The point of my bringing that up here is that the article points out that birds don't have brain receptors for these chemicals and they do not experience them as an irritant at all. Bird lovers put ground jalapenos in their bird feeders to drive away the squirrels, but it doesn't stop the birds from feeding at all.
It's an interesting article to browse through. It states that the people in cultures that eat a lot of Capsaicin peppers have an extremely low rate of intestinal and colon cancer. Particularly Thailand and Mexico. Have you eaten at a Thai restaurant? I have to carry a towel. I might do more of it though. Who wants to die of a pain in the ass?
Each of us perceive what we interpret the world to be like at any given moment and act like that's so. A lotta times I don't think what we do with our interpretation of the world around us amounts to a hill of beans. Sartre claims we employ two types of consciousness' . Thetic and non-thetic. Thetic as in theses. Theoretical as opposed to intuitive. Once you learn to count, then adding up a bunch of bananas doesn't employ the thetic consciousness. In some ways the non-thetic consciousness deals with the past. The thetic or theoretical consciousness more or less deals with the future of "what if".
I'm reading Sartre at bedtime again. I'm lucky if I can get through two pages a night. I find myself agog and my mouth agape. Candidly, I never thought much about consciousness having being. The being of consciousness? What a gas, man. It takes my mind off the coming depression and gulags. The future of an old man with bad hands doesn't look bright in the world of Big Brother.
I do not attempt to tell the God's own truth here because I don't know what the truth is or hardly ever. I try to capture the drifting thoughts that randomly appear in my imagination for reasons I may not understand. I don't know if the content I capture with these words is true or false. The Comments settings are turned off to prevent me from having to defend what amounts to little more than fanciful, sometime crude speculation. Great moments in our lives never return.
