As America Self-Immolates … MrMaryFiddles…

This was written on April 23rd, 2017, perhaps one of the last Earth Days. This  frail memoir covers a particular train of thought fraught with an overindulgence of honesty  and  clear-thinking. I must remind whoever reads these words, that honesty and clear-thinking are in stark contrast to the modus operandi of my time. Despite ours being a global community, just below the surface, unfortunately for truth, we are divided by our races, level of education, language religion and economic standing. What that means is we seek to be comforted more than to know the truth of our current state.

Whatever time, place, planet, culture or country  you’re from what is it like and most importantly how do you pay for sex? Currently, the more frank amongst us can outright purchase sexual services both at certain disclosed and undisclosed locations with local currency. Although in desperate situations  like an uneventful Friday night, it must be stated that sex can be used as currency for the procurement of material goods (houses, cars, steady income)  or temporary psychological satiety (like finally being able to get back at an absentee father who never exercised his right to defecate on your dreams, by fellating strangers in the Burger King bathroom).

Speaking for myself, I’m in a predatory arrangement with a female: we pretend abstract concepts like love and fidelity have any meaning outside of the stories they told us as children to indoctrinate a herd sense of morality. But the main reason why I’ve brought up the topic of sex is because I firmly believe that a culture that can be straightforward and honest about sexual relationships is one that will be honest about it’s relationship with Nature –i.e. the primordial, florally lush vagina deep in the expanses of the infinite emptiness (as far as I know of space) that all life on this planet spills out of into ‘being’, epistemologically speaking.

Rio de Janeiro, January 13, 2016. Thousands of dead fish washed up on the shores of Rio’s Guanabara Bay REUTERS/Ricardo Moraes.

For at least a solid century, we’ve been destroying our planet, probably because it’s easy to project self-hatred than deal with it. Members of our own species are dying as a result of what we’ve done to this fecund cosmic-pussy. As a planet we are fucking with Nature, and though all the indications that we are, are present we still deny it – a strategy that has never worked in our relationships. (As a cultural aside, please notice the fluidity which our language can weave in between the sacred and  profane on route to meaning. To that end, ‘Cosmis Pussy’ is a wordless song created by a famous actress. )

As a reformed scientist, I’ve plotted out all the different ways, whether purposefully or not, the human race annihilate itself. While it may not happen in my lifetime, I’m at peace with living with a pre-Post-Apocalyptic America. Consequently today, for Earth-Day my thoughts focus on purchasing  a fiddle to play publicly while what’s left of America burns. The only negative for buying this fiddle is that I’m unsure how long it will take for me to get back all the money I will spend on the purchase from the quixotic passerby.

For the sake of clarity,let me say that I’m not resorting to busking as my primary source of income. I’m preparing myself for when the current administration either rescinds the totality of my civil rights or instigates another world war through yet another round of and infectiously jingoistic bout of dick-waving i.e. nationalism, so that I am prepared to ‘coon’ my way into a false sense security like Kanye (aka ‘Koon-ye’) in this picture.

I’m glad to see that some things haven’t changed and that joshing for money remains the most direct path to success for most minorities. But to bring it back to the topic at hand, my question – gauging how much I can make entertaining strangers at this moment of our history is more of a mental exercise and  given the obesity epidemic is probably the  only exercise that has taken place in these parts for an extended time.

Admittedly, I do get some pleasure out of the dissolution of society. In that sense, I have enjoyed the current administration, especially all they have done to further harm the environment and precipitate various public health care crises. Speaking of the current administration, by my watch, any minute now Trump’s loyal rabble will have discovered that for decades books have been, for all intents and purposes, a sanctuary city for facts, and act accordingly. I can already see Sean Spicer impressing upon the media that the events that would have just transpired aren’t to be looked as a book burning per se but more so an alternative energy rally.

During the 2016 Presidential election, I found myself alone sharing across many platforms the plethora of lessons learned over my tenure as a somewhat astute student of history. For example, concerning the  I pointed out that Trump’s rhetoric would incite violence and hate towards minorities across the country which is one way to hasten the decline of one’s species. As if that wasn’t bad enough there’s the giant issue of climate change and our unenlightened attitude towards preserving the source of our food, water and air – all integral ingredient to maintaining the balance of life on Earth.

I am optimistic for the planet, however not my species. Ultimately Cosmic pussy is intelligent, nature will; find a way to move on with or without us and our striped toothpaste and scented body washes that do little to alleviate the rank air on crowded city buses. In the meanwhile, while I continue to ponder aloud, how do you celebrate the planet or the chrono-synclastic infundibulum you were born from ?



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