I assume this fellow is a gastroenterologist explaining to a passersby the working of the gut biome and the effects of fermented foods other than alcohol. The woman looks a little distressed, so maybe he is working on relieving her constipation. I don't really know. I was just passing by.
And that's all I've got. Writer's block? Nah. I can't write about the things I want to here and now. But you should read my journal. All the dirty little secrets are kept there for the present. This here is the sanitized version. Or non-version. What can I tell you? I'm not even posting the photos I like. The world has gone rotten for the likes of me, and I'm not looking to be its victim. I wasn't brought up to be one.
I know many who were.
I read an article this morning about Gen Z and their unhappiness with life. It was a fluff piece. The author reported that they are sad. Why? They don't feel a sense of purpose. They want a "meaningful" life. Really? Wow. It's an existentialist's horror show. You would think they grew up reading Kafka. But in truth, statistics show, they were not reading much of anything at all. Other than tweets, that is. Their family was their social group, they say. Isn't that something? I mean, their parents were helicopters. They told them they were special. They wanted to be their friends.
I have to quote the last two lines of the article here.
Gen Z puts a lot of effort into skin care and mental health, but bad sleep means looking tired and feeling badly, Salas said.
“If you are serious about your health, prioritize it,” she said.
Isn't that something? I guess it's true. They are beautiful and they want to stay that way. Beauty matters.
Let me reiterate: They don't feel a sense of purpose in life. But I get it. Getting old and ugly is playing hell with my mental health. It's bad for my well-being, I think.
But what can you do? They'll figure it out.
I also read this morning that thousands--that's right, thousands--of festival goers were using hallucinogens when Hamas terrorists attacked. I don't know why that astounds me, but it does. I have images of a GOP led Cracker Force attacking festival goers at Burning Man. We must remember, I guess, why the military was researching hallucinogens in the first place. They were thinking of using it as a weapon to put into the enemy soldiers' water supply. If you have forgotten that, apparently Hamas has not. Have you ever fought somebody who was tripping? Oh, man. . . that's an easy victory.
I don't know why I am surprised, but I am. I guess I thought it was only disaffected Americans "seeking enlightenment" who were tripping and crying with broken-hearted ecstasy at the sunrise.
"It was beautiful, man."
One of my friends, a good and generous fellow, has been to every Burning Man. Of course, he doesn't limit himself to festivals. I like the guy a lot, but he is losing his grip on the present. Time has somehow--somehow?!--gotten scrambled for him. He has become fairly atemporal. Maybe he has achieved something. Maybe this was what he sought all along. It seems that he has now "passed through to the other side."
But he has a wife and children to look after him. He wouldn't be of much use in a terrorist attack. But then again, I probably wouldn't be of much use, either. And I, too, may have lost track of time.
I think about it when I am driving, though. Now that pot is legally available almost everywhere, people are vaping or eating gummies all the time. They live in a constant state of "enhancement." I think half the people on the road are in an altered state. They have to be. They sit through green lights, change lanes without warning. . . all while looking at their phones.
It is terrifying.
But. . . if I had to choose between this and life in Afghanistan (or the coming MAGA world). . . .
As I say often, I want to live behind the white picket fence, but I want to go to Zone 13 once in awhile, too.
I'm afraid that's all I got. Nothing in my life is worth reporting at present unless you are interested in my coming website. I haven't given up on that. I am working at it. It is coming. There is no amount of self-abasement I am not likely to commit. And so. . . .
As-salaam 'alykum.
No comments:
Post a Comment