Humiliated And Shamed By My Own Stupidity

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For some reason I've been thinking about when I worked on that shrimp boat outta that little town west of New Orleans. Nobody on the boat spoke English very well, and they only spoke Cajun French to each other. I walked up to where they were docked and asked the Captain if he needed any help.

We made a deal, I thought, and he put me to work cleaning the bulkheads in the engine room. I got filthy, and stayed filthy for the entire time we were out fishing because I didn't have a change of clothing with me. We stayed out a week, and when we came back in port at Brownsville, Texas , he fired me and then refused to pay me a dime. His brother was about 6'6" and weighed three hundred pounds and was a uniformed cop. Humiliated and shamed by my own stupidity, I moved on.

I went on down the road and found me a overpass bridge to sleep under and sulk about my misfortune. That's not easy to do around Brownsville. They got more Border Patrol and federal g-men and undercover people galore in any of those border towns than in Washington, D.C.. Big waste of money for the taxpayers, but the cops are lining their breeches with the huge graft mojo they working. They talk about it openly in the bars around town.

My parents, particularly my father, tried to fill me with wholesome ideals, and expected me to make a living being a chump. They thought them were doing the right thing by me, but they didn't know any better themselves. They were both raised so far back in the sticks that they had to pipe in sunshine.

Their ethics and morals came from going to church on Sunday as children and listening to a series of self-interested preachers that told them what they oughta be like, and they believed them. Then, turned around and taught me the sa-me thing. The big lie. There are a lotta people who devote themselves to acting like the big lie is true in order to gainsay it.

I gained nothing by saying it as if true, unless saying the big lie wasn't a lie worked out better for me, than telling the truth of what I subjectively knew to be not truth, but confabulated fancy. Aye, and thar's the rub... and the nub of it from childhood... I would rather have had the sagacious and useful advice of Long John Silver.

It was even meant to be told as the truth in the Christian bible, but the Catholics changed the truth of what is actually going on to it's literal opposite. Here's the original idea in the Gospel of Thomas:

55 Jesus said, "Whoever does not hate father and mother cannot be my disciple, and whoever does not hate brothers and sisters, and carry the cross as I do, will not be worthy of me."

http://users.misericordia.edu//davies/thomas/Trans.htm

I don't usually write these blog entries at one sitting, but add and take away from it all day. Even when they're published, and maybe more editing takes place after they're published than during the writing period. That's one of the lovely conditions writing on Blogger provides. It's very easy to return to any one of the entries and re-edit as much as I like.

There lots events that can interrupt my flow when I'm writing than just typos and outright ludicrous descriptions. That is, if they get corrected, and there is obviously no guarantee the mistakes, typos, and tasteless descriptions with be edited or even recognized. I don't do this for money. Mostly because anybody in their right mind wouldn't pay me to do it.

During my last break from writing I ended up looking at a bunch of satellite photographs of earthly events like hurricanes and forest fires. Some of the more interesting photos are of plankton blooming in the various oceans at different times of the year. This convenient newspaper web site has 10-15 NASA photographs of the surface of the Earth for each month that's easy to click through.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/series/satelliteeye

I got fascinated and looked at about half of them. I began skipping over the hurricane pics due to the fact that I've seen so many of them and lived through so many hurricanes their beauty doesn't deceive me any more. The volcanic islands of the Pacific are easy to fantasize upon.

I've been to many of those volcanic islands during my first stint in the Navy. Scenically, they're all as beautiful as Hawaii. Each in their own way. It can be a siren littered trap to lure seamen into the islander's clutches. No blame. Everybody oughta be took for a romantic fool occasionally.

In a speculative turn of mind, I sometimes reflect on just what I "perceive" when I'm astral traveling. It's certainly not what shows up in these satellite photographs. One incident happened that sort of indicated how I inflict social categorizations on my astral sojourns to be able to recognize (if at all) the political nomenclature of a "place" I astral travel over.

I was deliberately going some place in South America, and something unusual appeared on the surface of the Earth as I was flying over, and caused me to wonder where I was so I could read the news for it later. Immediately, a wispy abstract image of the dictator Noriega showed up to my left, and that's how I knew I was flying over Panama.
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