Keeping My Own Counsel

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It's Saturday night again, and I'm alone in my rathole of a house again, and the problem is that I don't really mind if such is so. There is nothing on TV that interests me. Especially on Saturday night. So, I'm writing just to amuse myself because it just always does if I can get on a roll.

There is a program on PBS about these guys trying to locate the remote Buddhist meditation caves. I've seen it a couple of times already. The facet of this adventure that interests me now is that the meditation caves look like the Pueblo Indian ruins out in Arizona in the Four Corners section.

I accepted wot wuz sot before me as far as the American history is concerned ere now, but the resemblance of the meditation caves in the Americas and Asia intrigues me. In consideration of the fact that the DNA people tested the people in both places and they are of the same blood might have something to do with the similarity of their architecture.

The Mormons appear to be intrigued with knowing who your ancestors are. It's usually the Orientals that are recognized for ancestor worship, but the Mormons might have them beat. They told the Indian tribes of the Western Hemisphere they were the lost tribes of Israel. The problem of that is that the DNA tests show the Indians are descendants of Asians.

I doubt if that makes the slightest bit of difference to the Mormons, and it might not make that much of a difference to the people they lied to. Moreover, the Mormons might not have been intentionally lying to the Indians of the Western Hemisphere.

The DNA tests simply weren't available to their prophet, and the fact that he would have needed them to be so certain doesn't say much for his prophecy. I suspect nobody cares. They'll invent some more lies to show they know they were wrong all along, or not.

Religions like the Mormons and the other major religions aren't much comfort to me. I'm just not much of a groupie, and the religions are basically support groups in the same manner as Alcoholics Anonymous or the other Twelve Step groups. I seem to fare better by living alone and keeping my own counsel.

My new prescriptions arrived in the mail today. The only real new one is to inhibit stomach acid. I'm supposed to take one a day. I got a new supply of prednisone, and a new schedule for taking it. I'm supposed to take 2.5 mg twice a day until my next appointment in November. I'm not unfamiliar with this dosage.

Once before they started me out taking 20 mg a day for five days and reduced the dosage over a period of time until I was taking 5 mg a day for about a month. It seemed to work real well. The doctor that prescribed it stated that low dosage had practically no side effects, but according to him, "It really makes life easier for the old folk." I can't argue with that. It's about time someone made some concessions to my age. '-)

I certainly have made concessions to my age. One of those concessions is that I have a different attitude about the future than when I was younger. Reading about famous people dying that are ten years younger than me startles me when nobody laments that they died young. That literally staggers me to know my death is expected nonchalantly as if I were just another passenger on the river Styx. I am is. No blame.

My perspective of time has really been altered from when I was young, dumb, and full of cum. Occasionally I realize in the moment that when I write about stuff that happened forty years ago it doesn't mean much to me because I have experienced fully how time flies when I'm having fun.

That's practically the only way I know I'm having fun is to recognize that I didn't even notice the sun went down until it would get so dark I couldn't continue to do what made time fly. I've used writing to make time fly since I could first write. I wasn't any kind of prodigy either. It took me just as long to learn to write as any of my classmates.

The real difference seemed to be that I started writing poetry and stories fairly early. Nothing genius. Just "roses are red" kind of poems. The difference was that I did it. I did it a lot. I enjoyed making up stories that I could reduce to a short poem. I didn't write anything I liked until my late twenties and early thirties, and nothing I've written so far is gonna make it to the Hall of Fame.

One of the features that comes up a lot on the travel shows I watch on PBS is about stone. Europe is all about stone buildings that were finally built to replace wooden ones that kept burning up... errr... down. Every time I've paused between paragraphs or to reflect a little deeper on what I'm trying to write, I'm looking at the television and seeing tomb stones. Rows and rows of tombstones.

The Europeans seem to glorify death in the way they seem so willing to go to war. That's not to justify the way the United States uses war to invoke terror. There ain't no terrorists more terrifying than GI Joe. In these travel shows they spend a lotta time showing the monuments to their war heroes. So did the Aztecs, Mayans, and Incas. They seemed to love carving rocks and stone.

What does that say about human beings and their love of trying to make at least something permanent. They literally try to do that by writing stuff in stone. It works for a while. Usually longer than the sculptor will. I'm thinking of all the petrography they find on the rocks of remote locations.

A lot of that so-called "art work" was there when the next scripter/sculptor came along to add their two-cents worth. The newbie had to know that most of the pictographs he saw on those walls was done by humans who had been dead a long time, and that he would be dead ere long himself.

With my question being, did he leave his mark for much the same reason as the comic strip character whose wrote graffiti that stated, "Kilroy wuz here." That's the last thing I wanna do. That's why I use a nom de plume, and have since I was thirty years old. I became my own ghost writer.
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