Morning Campers,

"I never did figure out what it’s all about."

Mark Twain quoting an old intellectual friend who was on his deathbed.

You been doing that?

Trying to figure out why the hell you’re here and it matters?

Oh, most people don’t even begin each day with a general goal of coming home alive having check all the boxes that fulfill their basic responsibilities for the sunrise to sunset thing and go no deeper.

Not Socrates tho.

Or, dis Dawg.

Don’t get me wrong.

I’m not Socrates.

But, I give a shit for some undefined reason and as my comrades die like Twain’s friend, I still haven’t put together an explanation to just what the fuck’s going on.

Enuff to make a plan, Stan.

I think we’re all immortal.

Our consciousness anyway and that’s all that matters.

I think that life is a Game.

Of what I’ll call, ‘Angels and Demons’.

A changing shift of let’s just call em little critters whose job is to offer you decisions and how you decide on those calls at the plate determines your score in the Game of Life.

I really an a ‘Stream of Consciousness
Idiomatic
Satirist’

So, your calls at the plate, determine your scores when compiled deep in some file room in Heaven or Hell.

That work for you?

It means that you have to teach yourself …

Deeply ingrain yourself! …

To PAUSE

Before you take any action …

Because you are being graded on every move you make.

Should I give the old lady with the big bag of crushed cans on her way to the Recycle yard my seat on the 9X?

That one’s easy.

Should I push a button and start a nuclear war?

Another easy one.

Should I volunteer to pick up trash thru Manny’s Sunday mornings or sleep in?

They’re getting more difficult.

Should I take the last jelly donut at the office Mess?

Now, that’s one that seems the least consequential and you’d be wrong to think that because in my ever evolving view of the Rules of my Game of Angels and Demons that’s the one that is worth the most points because it’s the dynamite on the rail underneath the elevator of shells headed for the Guns of Navarone.

It’s the innocuous little buggers that send you to Hell.

So, you gotta be on your toes with every decision.

Do I bend to pressure from, not Mayor Breed, but from the forces that made her mayor and vote to tilt the scales in favor of the rich?

That’s tougher cause she appointed you to do what her puppet masters desire and if you don’t they won’t let you have more power to crawl further up the ladder and help the poor and insane and rehab the criminal?

Yeah, you can justify your votes with thoughts like that but you know that they are simply rationalizations for committing crimes in the eyes of God.

Little bitty ones but in the end that donut’s gonna cost you.

You may be asking yourselves …

"Ta fuck’s h.ranting about on TGIF and disturbing my rest in the Matrix?

Well, I woke up live again today and on the bright side that’s the secret of a our struggles to achieve a long life.

Seriously, the secret to being assured of living a long life?

Wake up alive in the morning.

Then, do it again tomorrow.

Just keep putting those wins together and before it you’ll have lived a long life.

Which is mother fucking meaningless unless you do something positive with it.

So, as suggested someone whose name I forget, make a plan, Stan.

On paper, type it into your electronic ones and twos box or just keep the steps in your head.

Such as my goals for today.

Go take a picture I meant to at the time but realized after I missed it when it was in front of me that it was an important chunk of objective correlative that would explain better than I’m able in words the message I’m working on.

The pic is around 2 miles from em at the Safeway at 30th and Market.

It’s of a new rack of wire shelves around 6 feet tall full of laundry and bath soaps and other items in small enuff sizes that they can fit inside a backpack.

There are signs all under the shelves that carry the signs for much thought and they all say the same thing …

FREE

Uh huh.

The latest attempt (really clever) to keep the Desperate from stealing from the store and causing attendant problems.

In determining that I should go back first thing this morning I am admitting that a picture could indeed be worth a thousand words and since I just learned to take pictures two weeks ago and upload them I’m gonna try using this new tool to aid in my progress which is to save mankind all by myself or aid in same as a guy sitting on a park bench said to me yesterday.

Laugh out mother fucking loud.

Naw, but I could save ‘my’ world by following the impulse from that Angel instead of rolling over and going back to sleep.

A simple thing, getting up and riding for free thanks to David Campos …

People ask me what the fuck did Campos ever do for them?

I dunno but he got me free Muni and did it for school kids too and I use it damned near every day.

Thanks Campos!

And, thank his dog, ‘Nacho’ too.

Why?

Shit, I don’t know.

I just like dogs.

Now, what time does it become relatively safe to ride the 14 Mission?

Don’t want to cross paths with the ‘Desperado’ victims of systemic failure.

That line drew a thunderous applause for Matt Gonzalez’s memorial comments for Adachi.

Why did a room full of people smarter than me get so excited about Gonzo’s Found label?

"Systemic Failure"

Well, I’m gonna take this sucker one bite at a time and try to go get that pic of the rack that admits to our Systemic Failure.

Shit, that really is idiomatic.

But, it works!

My natural style draws an audience.

Not a large one, mind you, but one that I want to influence positively.

So, let’s take the clown apart and look inside to see what makes him funny.

Geez he’s not funny anymore?

I’m confusing myself.

Got an impulse to go to the fridge and east that last donut before someone else get’s it.

I’ll post the pic if I can get it before that Demon on my left shoulder interferes.

And, may you be in Heaven for ten minutes before the Devil knows your dead.

Says that on most Irish shot glasses.

But, I wouldn’t know much about that these days …

go Giants!

h.