Sunday, April 25, 2004

Open market for ideas, thoughts, dreams and recycled genetic iterations

Not trying to be clever, really! I'm just wondering what the hell I'm doing spending my Sunday vegging out when I could be doing something productive; e.g. writing a short story, writing a letter I've been meaning to write, creating a birthday card that's overdue, praying for deliverance from this overburdened financial nightmare I'm living inside, washing those funky dishes, trimming my shaggy hair or just plain soaking up the sunlight and fresh air outside rather than sitting inside this darkened room with the boob tube glowing eerily while spilling out nonsensical dialogue that means nothing to no one.

Ah well, Fuggit!

I've been to Berkeley, I've been to San Francisco, I've been to Casper, Wyo., and Maryville, Tenn. I've been to Moscow, Idaho, and Seattle, Wash., as well as Philadelphia, Pa., Lafayette, Big Sur, Monterey, Pacific Grove and Carmel, Calif.

I've been to Jersey City, N.J., and New York City. I've been to Denver, Colo., and Sante Fe, N.M. I've even been to Mexico – well, the border towns – and to St. Croix, Virgin Islands. But I still haven't found a place that feels like home to me, except in the arms of the one I love.

And though I was born in Georgia (Warner Robbins), I've never felt 'kinship' in that historic state.

I am lost to this world, it seems, like an alien forgotten during a picnic on Earth, left to wander aimlessly and get by as best as I'm able, though always knowing I don't belong.

Sounds familiar, eh? Yea, it's the 'baby boomers' paradigm (my theory) and it runs through the minds of thousands, perhaps millions of our minds.

All of us born between the last years of the 1940s and the early '60s have a unique connection peculiarly unlike those connections found in every generation of human communities. We all saw the Vietnam War; we all saw President Nixon and the dirty tricks campaign; we all saw the advent and rise of LSD and its popular use – not exclude 'weed,' 'meth,' 'junk' and 'peyote buttons.

Many of us made that long trek to California in the mid- to late-'60s, hitchhiking or driving a VW bus or barely-running Chevy Malibu (oh yea!). And many of us wondered what the hell we were supposed to do about a government that seemed to alienating our generation with hollow appeals to patriotism and loyalty to the system, which many of us despised for its failures and faults.

Arrogant bunch of misguided bonzos, if you ask me.

I always took offense when some redneck called me hippie (yea, my hair was long) having never embraced that back-to-mother-earth philosophy. Guess I enjoyed steak and eggs too much to go for the tofu and rabbit food diet, though much of what my wise sister DID embrace about diet seems to be proving true today, 30-plus years later.

And now my life has come to the point where I'm counting minutes and days until old man death comes to call.

Every moment is precious, it's true, but to maintain that conscious realization 24-7 is difficult, at best, nigh impossible at worst.

But that's another story.

It is almost sunset and I'm going to take a short drive and watch the last rays of the day's light fade into the night.

Here's wishing you the best of dreams and the good fortune to have those "good ones" come true.


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