Quarter after one in the morning.
Most people are rather ignorant, not realizing that Shakespeare, the Renaissance icon, was bisexual. Living in North Eugene isn’t much fun for a person who has some humanity and culture. Here it’s nothing like the Renaissance, where the people were fully human in a flowering of love, understanding, and beautiful things. Being human itself was a religious experience during Shakespeare’s time. If I had the strength, I would build the New Renaissance here on American soil and forget Jerusalem. Eternal life that is circumscribed is less desirable than a mortal life of liberty and happiness. The ideal thing is to be just what you are. As I’ve been saying for six years, people needn’t give each other hell when it’s equally possible to share heaven that lasts a lifetime… My brother used to tell me never to argue with an idiot because there’s no percentage in it. Today I see an epidemic of idiocy, yet I still fight my battle of words to liberate the human spirit from its prison of prejudice.
I just felt like adding something to what I already wrote this afternoon. Maybe I should write a post instead? Anyway, I’ve been thinking about my family tonight, and how they have responded to my mother and our grandmother. Quite frankly, Mom was more intelligent than Mimi and a lot more complex; not at all conventional or run of the mill, and she was literary. The family resents intellectual people; they feel very anti about it, and unfortunately, my mother happened to be a woman also. She grew up in a world where it was not okay for women to be smart; where the ideal woman was someone like Marilyn Monroe, a dumb blond but secretly very intelligent. Mom was confused about her role for her whole life. So now I look around at my family, my sister and my brother and their families, and really don’t like them very much. Polly isn’t very bright, as I’ve known for many years, and Jeff is an incurable alcoholic who hates me. It’s basically a white working class family that has no time for beautiful things, only the hamburger, the meat and potatoes of life. And of course it makes me feel pretty angry at their incomprehension of me and other people like me. Whatever. I don’t know what I started out to say. The family has made an icon of our grandmother. Mimi had talent in music and in art, but otherwise she was rather ordinary, and self righteous about being dull and dim witted. I was eight years old when she died. I can remember her stupid obsession with people being selfish and so on. You weren’t supposed to think about yourself; but she didn’t know where her ideas came from. And then my mother parroted the same stuff to me, although she was clearly quite confused on the whole thing. Well, I rebelled against that policy and I did very well in college because of it. Polly continues the tradition of not thinking about yourself, etc. It originally came from Mimi’s mother, a very ignorant woman. And before her, who knows how many generations echoed the same silly ideas on the ethics of so-called selfishness, never knowing where it came from?
Everything you hear from the media sounds like a scare tactic. It uses fear to control us— because it works. I’m sick of playing this game. I’m not the only one who feels that way. The guy I heard yesterday in the waiting room was whacko, and yet the feelings he expressed were universal. Who is the tycoon in charge of all this? Surely he is jerking our strings, making us put on a mask in perfect uniformity. But now I sound like a whacko too. Everyone says how crazy the times are, but no one knows who is responsible. Maybe it’s just human nature to want to blame somebody… I remarked to Michelle that the market is running out of food. She said there’s a shipment coming in Wednesday. I guess Raj hasn’t been satisfied with the Portland distributor, so he switched to another one. Michelle said it didn’t make any sense. Anyway, I got my run to the store done early to beat the heat. Hopefully the forecast is inaccurate… I heard more weird conspiracy theories in church last night, regarding the postal service. The madness has to stop somewhere. Somebody with some sense must sort it all out for us. Frankly I’m tired of the church group as well. We’re all equally ignorant about what is happening, so stop dreaming up things. We should mind our own business and just hang on until a better day.
Five o’clock 🕔.
Summer heat is no fun unless you’re a young child. The best advantage to the season is lower utility bills, but otherwise forget the summertime. When I was a kid I used to play with my neighbor friends down the street, not knowing any better than the Batman tv series and Tonka toy trucks except for the interesting comic books that were available. At Darlene’s funeral in March, her daughter gave me a stiff hug but didn’t speak to me or look at me, for our paths had diverged so much over the years. Nor do I blame myself for the way life went. Our destinies were discrepant, even contradictory. I imagine she thinks I am a snob, that typical Oregon ways aren’t good enough for me. And in a way she would be right, because redneck to me is like being suffocated with outing flannel. For some reason, of the three West Coast states, Oregon is the forgotten one. Washington and California have big cities to redeem them, but Oregon only has Portland to keep it sophisticated. But the odd thing is that people keep migrating here from other states, I guess because the cost of living is cheaper here, plus Oregon has a lot more natural beauty left unspoiled by human greed. The land here is beautiful and the people are the natural expression of the countryside. Rednecks are hewn from the very mountains of Central Oregon and the Pacific Ocean provides their lifeblood. Then what makes me different from the landscape? How am I above my blood? From comic books to Tarzan books and on to James Joyce, it’s been an adventure in letters. Some people pursue the trail of words, and others are still on the Oregon Trail…
Quarter of eleven. I forgot my Vraylar last night, so I will take it again pretty soon. I don’t really know why Polly isn’t talking to me, but it’s probably something childish and stupid. I had a dream about my nephew Ed a few hours ago, but it didn’t make much sense. I was on the phone to Polly while driving or walking on the Beltline where there was a wreck and a fire 🔥. I was saying something about the gravel quarry next to the highway. I often dream about that section of the Beltline Highway. And then Ed was in the dream, and we met in the same location. It was evening time before sunset. But I don’t remember what we talked about or what the issue was. I only know that I felt like the bad guy, and there was reproach in the look on his face. In reality I don’t know Ed very well except for his ignorance and his sexual morals, which are excessive and conservative. His morals in general are simplistic and judgmental. And yet he drinks too much, and even drives drunk 🥴 or with open container. So then what issue would he have with me that I would dream about it? Poor Ed. He just isn’t very smart. Maybe I feel guilty about that? He seems to be Polly’s successor as the moral leader of the family. Very strange. And of course I am on the outside of all of this. So much time has been wasted since we got along okay. But no, not wasted, because I wouldn’t want to be uneducated like them. I guess I left my family behind a long time ago. No sense in regretting it now, whatever I may dream. There’s no blame to be had. I did what I had to do, and sacrificed my family for wisdom. Still, my unconscious regrets that it couldn’t be different…