Hurry up and slow down. We have all the time in the world as long as we get it done yesterday.
Yes. I feel the rush.
I have been writing my memories in a roundabout fashion — The Long View From 1964. Not really memories exactly. Perspectives. And why I see what I see.
I am getting on in years but I still have many more to torment my family with. So what’s the rush?
Well. Maybe it’s the shit show we are living in.
For some it may seem like business as usual. For my generation it isn’t. We have seen too much, lived through too much, and recognize too clearly what this particular shape of darkness looks like.
I have said this too shall pass and it will. The days of Trump will become a distant memory. Night time stories told to frighten naughty children into behaving. A Halloween costume that blends right in with the other goblins and monsters without any additional effort required.
So what’s the hurry?
It’s the papa bear syndrome.
Get away from my children. Don’t spread your poison near my family. Don’t dare come near my grandchildren because I am there. And I am a bigger meaner son of a bitch than you are.
I am not senile yet.
So that’s the rush. That’s the hurry.
When asked recently what he had learned from the Iran conflict about the limits of presidential power, Trump replied:
“I haven’t learned that lesson yet. I know there are, but there are no limits.”
Even if you believe you are a god — your flatulence are not miracles.
You are deluded. You are done. The days of Trump are over.
And do you want to know who ended them?
Go look in the mirror.
I am Johnny Appleseed out here planting seeds, tending the orchards, waiting for the trees to bear fruit. But also very aware that the root rot must be controlled, the fungus prevented, and the diseased and mutated culled before the garden can be truly healthy.
I won’t live to see the final fruit from the seeds I hope to plant.
But I sure hope I see the garbage taken out before it spoils what may come.
I have my children and my children’s children to worry about.
