Thursday, July 19, 2018

Shades of Grey Zane

Despite blindness, Slackjaw Knipfel sees perfectly and speculates on 4 plausible causes of America’s ongoing Civil War and probable affect on him personally. He speaks modestly for vast majority. Lockstep conservatives attack public with depraved arrogance and lurid disinformation, flinch only at truth, yet publish anything that might sell in an unregulated market. Liberal losers brace for battle, circle their wagons, and micromanage message, more likely to censor moderate commentators. Anyone alive should feel anxious and uncertain in this battle for one’s soul. Action and mayhem, mirroring life, have never been more popular on screens. Every American owes $150,000 in public debt; few have that much in savings, most know that they have to pay share for indigents and marginal earners, and more than not blame government recklessness and can’t envision any fix. Of course: Intentionally isolated when only collaboration stands a chance, you’re expected to endlessly pay and silently stew. Instead of dangling a destination as if a carrot on a stick, why not improve everyone’s journey?

Those who complain risk being branded as malcontents or traitors. Journalism no longer exists after Dubya retaliated against Mapes and Rather for breaking true story of his dodging military duty, thereby describing a seated POTUS as an example of undeserved privilege. Fox infotainment, finding calamities where none exist, dominate state reportage, while real news has been vilified as fake. Insiders denigrate those they deem inferior or threats, while those whose agendas they further slink about exclusive haunts like pests behind the wainscoting. When perception equals reality, professionals must feign phony guise of game show host. No champion protects folks who just scrape by and pay for everything, though plenty claim to speak for them. Capitalism crashed. Democracy died. Social justice is a sordid joke.

Last several posts In part tried to justify this blog. Cannot convince self. A later ah-ha only serves as a lesson learnt, not so a great comeback or instant reaction that vaults you over oppressors. Must diligently dance and stay sharp or suffer consequences of being own fuzzy threadbare self. After 10 YEARS, anniversary today, have to say book and blog in no way found any following, though welcomed infrequient encouragement and rave reviews from published authors. Popularity only comes into play when one expects to make a living off creative output, as did prolific western romanticist Zane Grey. Grey, a dentist, got a late start but gradually became the first millionaire author having produced nearly 100 titles including The Last Trail. No Painless Parker, frontier tooth extractor, who hired marketeers to promote his wares, Grey migrated further west and worked as a hand at Wilder Ranch (note single track mishap at 8:25) in California before settling in Oregon Wilderness. Trying to draw readers has always been like pulling teeth. The proud and rich don’t give a damn what readers think. Yet ignominious obscurity may be evidence of a self directed monologue. Can’t fault content here for quality or quantity, only failure to gain attention, something any teen who’s staged a tantrum has already seen.

Age consumes and retirement looms. Why continue any cachinnation for a nation of cretins? About time to pass baton to another bicyclist and ride off into a purple sage sunset. Not giving up altogether; assuming other projects, making self available for lectures and parties, pedaling more on own bike, and writing less. Let B&C be your open source foundation for extending investigation into bicycling culture, which, if you hadn't noticed, provides a veritable expressway towards understanding everything anyone needs to know. By comparison one culture reveals another, sort of an entrance ramp to contemporary anthropology. Question is, will bicycling culture continue to emerge in this information age? Or will virtuous pedaling revert to totally virtual indoors technologically?

"Some trails are happy ones, others are blue. It's the way you ride the trail that counts. Here's a happy one for you... Until we meet again, happy trails. Keep smiling unto then." Dale Evans, single, RCA Victor, 1952, same year Painless Parker passed away.

Friday, July 13, 2018

Took from AIN

“Summertime and the living’s easy...” May be somewhere for someone. Nowadays, it’s when insurance premiums and property taxes come due, property maintenance and vacation spending occur, and utility and water bills peak. Must make hay and work overtime to cover savings hit. You save not for rainy but sunny days. In dead of winter where would anyone be without a warm memory of some primetime odyssey?

Anyone who's the least bit aware of current events already has PTSD. Systems based on humans suffer fatal flaws. From daily interactions one derives many a small insight, might even flesh it out with facts, form paragraphs, pen essays. Fakes scholarship truly but sounds pretty good to those desperate for certainty or security. Who's fooled? Change, violent at times, has always ruled. Agents of chaos and mayhem constantly surround. You only navigate around potholes, never fully alleviate anxiety’s tolls.

Free and wild, aboriginal people fulfilled every necessity themselves, didn’t take survival for granted, moved inland during summer to gather and hunt, shoreline in winter to harvest shellfish that cold kept from spoiling. Refrigeration reversed this perennial migration. A 1971 anti-litter campaign depicted a native chief shedding a tear for what motorists had done, though it was all a ploy aimed at a public shamed for imprudent habits so corporations wouldn’t be blamed. For a while some states did demand bottle and can recovery, pennies and nickels upon return. It didn’t keep America clean, only made a tiny opportunity for homeless trash pickers.

Money grubbers find gobs of drudgery; those who can rather pay someone else to do onerous chores in sweltering heat. Glorious explorers got bankrolled up front upon lure of riches, which resulted in Columbian Exchange that nearly wiped out AIN (American Indian Native) nations through disease, genocide and habitat destruction, though since last ice age they had thrived against animal predators using stone tools under harsh conditions. Americans today squirm in desperation; most scramble to make ends meet. Few care that Le Tour de France has begun. Science and technology over centuries improved quality of life, yet they demand constant renewal and surveillance lest they become a nuisance. Who more exemplified independence or merited a holiday?

Why not do projects for neither compensation nor credit, just because they’re interesting? Later, when others reap rewards, underpaid contributors resent them, too stressful and unsettling for many including millennials. Internships and volunteerism slyly renew slavery. Stubborn souls do just do stuff, pursue as if a hobby, shut up about it, then turn professional due to experience. In collaborative teams, writers used to produce reams being hopefully speculative, it seems. But times have radically changed. You can’t live well scraping up pittances, only by scoring on successive pay days. Patience gets you nowhere; you’ll die before patrons notice or reward your initiative. Does that matter? Getting by will always be a basic goal.

Independently wealthy? You’re free to do whatever pleases your fancy, reciprocate kindness per noblesse oblige, spend a decade updating an unread blog, or such. Even then, situations can quickly complicate, serve nobody’s needs. There’s no idling at an island timeshare for very long. Pleasurable excess catches up and creates a mess, one would guess, steam hissing off your trauma express. Anyway, chasing lifestyles of the rich puts you in opposition’s crosshairs. Must choose among bravery, drudgery, misery or skullduggery, life’s only options. With a right to pursue happiness, you’re offered no guarantee of achieving it.

When you enter “bicycling culture” into any internet browser, you’d think this 10-year blog would come up immediately. No, you get Bicycling Magazine’s Culture tab, Biking USA/EU from Reliance Foundry (bike locker/rack manufacturer), and other commercial references. Eventually you stumble across video Veer (Greg Fredette, dir., 2009), which documents five individuals involved in Portlandia’s hilarious bicycling culture, narrated by actor Matthew Modine, famed for role in Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket and resident of New York who chooses to commute around city by bike. You might never discover that Tomb Raider (Roar Uthaug, dir., 2018), the Lara Croft (Alicia Vikander) origin adventure, explains she was an East London bike courier before declaring dad dead and inheriting his millions. What better way to toughen up for nonstop action?

B&C hasn’t undergone search engine optimization and never carried advertising, so garners no notice despite its main focus. Has always avoided being characterized, pinned down, or readily dismissed. Going by bicycle means being immersed in everything, sights, sounds, vegetative life exuding fragrances. Pass a cemetery or church, religion begs attention, or spirituality sticks. See others on streets, clad in bikinis or skintight spandex, politics intervene and sex smolders. Whatever you do requires cash and duty. Big 3 taboos - money, politics, religion - appear integral and ubiquitous. When does freedom occur?

Blacksmith Pierre Michaux just up and put pedals on a velocipede in late 1860’s. A century later relative and world traveller Henri Michaux won a French National Literary award, which he didn’t accept. Private and reclusive, Henri’s notoriety came from asemic writings that mimic oriental calligraphy, represent nothing, yet suggest semantic meaning. His nonfigurative abstractions resemble cave paintings, Pollock canvases, Rorschach inkblots, tipi symbols, visual vocalise, or wallpaper patterns. You sense a struggle between being lost in noise and expressing self aloud. This “bigly” reverberates with Labann, who began devoted to vocabulary’s soundscape and wonders whether B&C was worth all its effort. One must satisfy self or nobody.

If artists create crevices into which audiences can plug themselves, they garner a following. Impenetrability repulses everyone, but then hardly anyone bothers you. You never know beforehand what’s manifest in you will blossom into, reason enough to stay on course. Your ancestral tribe may be extinct, yet your totemic spirit pedals you onward beyond troubles and worries.

Had enough of being serious. Top things to enjoy include familiar moments, great meals, live concerts, lush poetry, recorded films and songs, sexual relations, smart art, and sporting events. Besides bicycling and creativity, anything else constitutes a mundane chore you might abhor, crawls out of darkness into crepuscular light of dawn, and wastes too much of your limited lifetime. Regret 16 years of school, which shunted into 45 of desk jockeying and personally finishing tens of thousands of projects, up to a dozen a day. Education should enrich, not enslave. Might have been better off collecting welfare, doing nothing, entertaining self, going fishing, growing produce, leaving projects to some sucker interested in such nonsense, reading more and sleepwalking. Only favored groups can claim such a status. Yet industrious folks do make for warm memories.

Fondly recall a holiday town with building facades next to a rideable small scale train. Fun for kids! Construction crews would restore for a few months each Fall to everyone's delight. Under your Christmas tree might be gifts of cowboy duds, feather war bonnet, and 2 cap six-shooters, presumably to replay tragic hostilities. Authors recreate mirth to raise hope that such attractions will recur, but failures to repeat, lack of skills, or lapses in funding typically disappoint. Only the alert or lucky get to savor solo ephemera and transitory thrills. Partially explains why TV networks revisit Christmas every July, propaganda to urge later spending upon which they rely.