Winfield, Kansas where you're not in Kansas anymore at the Walnut Valley Festival

If you are a foreign or domestic tourist (scary phrasing in this day and age) I’m about to do you a favor. If you don’t know what the Walnut Valley Festival is, read on for a real Americana treat, even a shocking , yet delightful treat. The locals call it simply “Bluegrass.” If you ask for directions in Winfield, Kansas you can just say, “Where’s Bluegrass?” (Doesn’t work the same way in Colorado.)

I’m going to tell you about the unofficial festival which is just across the street from the official one, but first a bit about what the promoters would want me to say. At this music festival you can attend contests wherein outstanding musicians from all over the world compete for glory and great prizes.

Thurs. 9:00 AM	Stage 4	International Autoharp Championship
Thurs. 3:00 PM	Stage 4	International Finger Style Guitar Championship
Fri. 9:00 AM	Stage 4	National Mountain Dulcimer Championship
Fri. 1:00 PM	Stage 4	National Mandolin Championship
Fri. 5:00 PM	Stage 1	Finger Style Winners (victory lap)
Fri. 6:00 PM	Stage 4	Walnut Valley Old Time Fiddle Championship
Sat. 9:00 AM	Stage 4	National Flat Pick Guitar Championship
Sat. 3:30 PM	Stage 4	National Hammer Dulcimer Championship
Sat. 5:00 PM	Stage 1	Flat Pick Winners (victory lap)
Sun. 10:00 AM	Stage 4	National Bluegrass Banjo Championship

There are the contests; the days this year refer to the dates from September 17^th through the 21^st, but the chart online said 2012 so just know this years festival is Sept. 17-21. Past winners of one or more of the contests include Mark OConnor, Alison Kraus, Chris Thile, and Peter Ostroushko. If you have no idea who these folks are, no matter. Also, look online for the artists who will be performing. The party I’m going tell you about is across the street. If you don’t like to par-tay, scroll down to one of my political blogs! Or, you can search online for the festival info.

You need to search wvfest.com and select ‘camping’ info because I’m telling you too late to get a motel room unless you drive to St. Louis. If you do that you mis the party. Camp. Now, in 2009, there was a flood of rain and I managed to get a motel room because so many people canceled, but the festival went on. (Bring mosquito repellant and coils to burn) You’ll be camping and trust me, you want to camp! You want to camp in Pecan Grove, my partying friend. You’re too late to bring an RV this year, but you can find a place to park a car and pitch a tent. Stake a reasonable amount of space for your tent by placing stuff or stakes around, because on the weekend a Pecan Grove that seemed full all week will swell to half again that full of college kids.

Here is a picture from 2009 that gives you an idea of the funky fun to be had in Pecan Grove. This is not Pecan Grove, they had to move Stage 5 that year due to mud.

Yeah, Stage 5 man! Wow! You want to see and hear three barefoot hillbillies get DOWN jammin’? You want to hear folk tunes on a concert harp? You want to hear songs about drinking? Smoking pot? And, really – songs about killing bad cops? Whoa. Yep, I’ve heard it all at Stage 5. There are bands that sing songs sooo deeeeep in Americana that they must know they have no chance of hitting the big time, but they have big followings in and around the Ozarks. You will see crowds heading places around Pecan Grove. Follow them. They are heading to other stages where a popular person or group is about to play. Stages 5, 6, etc. all began as unofficial projects, but Stage 5 is now semi-official. Let’s say not official enough to be censored. I didn’t specify that this is an acoustic instrument festival – I mean its Bluegrass. They don’t even want a drummer! I wandered into a dispute one year that ended with a drummer getting kicked out of a roadside jam. He took it like a man, but I was drunk and, after another song I called out, “Great, but it’d be perfect if you got a drummer!”

There's a lot of drinking going on, but most people are sober (most of the time). Then there's the dude who yelled, “Play on, I’m just hitting my first wall.” I’ve never drunk enough to get past the first wall, but you will see plenty of more experienced drinkers.

This raises the question – bring the kids? Hell, no, but people do. I guarantee you that no one will change their set list. They’ll still sing songs like Suck My Balls. Fights? I wouldn’t worry. Cops? Yes, enough, but they have backed off a lot. The festival lost money during years when the police were overzealous about arresting people. It’s so much a let-your-hair-down event that one year I even questioned things. A young woman left her drunken man after an argument. He drank on, yelling shit. We were camped by the river. He yelled, “I’m gonna kill someone.” Then there was a big splash. “Fuck, I fell in the river!” The cops came, talked to him and left. His friends spent the rest of the day baby sitting. I commented to a friend, surprised he had not been arrested. The regular attendee said, “You see that camp? All cops off duty having fun. You see that one? All firefighters. That asshole was just al talk.” The firefighters were taking turns hitting each other with a swat board (like in old-time schools). “A young woman called out, “You made a welt!” I don’t think she minded that much.

Well, this crap is not why I would want to go so let’s move to music. Do you play? Guitar, banjo, mandolin, acoustic bass, fiddle? Just carry it with you as you stroll around anytime day or night. There will be a jam session going. Join in! I jammed with a band called Whistle Pig (a word for, I think a groundhog). Three mind-bogglingly good musicians man, I hung on by the seat of my pants. Sometimes I play softly on the outskirts of a jam until there’s a song I know. Then, I get louder, maybe get nodded to for a solo, “You want one?)  Fun, fun, fun until Daddy takes your T-Bird away.

Here’s a thing. Years before I attended there was a tradition of some large camp putting up a façade that looked like it came from “Streetcar  Named Desire.” Folks began standing front of it doing their best Marlon Brando. “Stellllllaaa!!!!!”  So, I’m  sitting with a new friend, somewhere in the distance we hear “Stella” and he tells me the story. The façade hasn’t appeared for years! It’s just that some old-timers still yell out “Stella!”

There you go. Will one more thing – all the other campgrounds are for normal people so you can camp there and just go slumming in Pecan Grove if you don’t drink too much to find your way back to reality.

Oh, yeah, I am, after all shamelessly promoting my music and my son’s. I’m a Winfield Winner! YeeeeFuckingHaaaaaa! I won a category of the song contests (across the street) and, new contest that it is, the only prize is getting to sing your song on an official stage. That was enough for me. I overcame my horrific performance anxieties (we won’t talk about my humiliations in the dulcimer and autoharp competitions- “How’d you do?” “I sucked.” I heard you practicing, you’re good!” “I sucked – donkeys.” “Oh sorry man, here have a beer.”) and did good! That was the highest high of the year for this old man! Here is a link to my picture onstage. The guy copyrights his work so I won’t paste it here.

 And here is my Winfield-Winning song, as recorded in Texas with Big John Mills and Sterling Finlay. The song category was “religion/spirituality.” The gospel truth is that I was runner-up, but There Bible (yes) couldn’t attend so I won.

Oh yeah, one more thing. I mean you will be right next to Missouri so people of color might want to know - you'll see hip Japanese tourists, hispanics, and some black folks. This thing is very white, but I'll bet you will not experience any racism. In fact, this year I bet people will go out of their way to make you welcome. Come for the bluegrass and not to gawk. Gawking would raise hackles. Don't come to laugh at people. Come to get crazy and/or jam. You may even get kissed by a libertarian. Many local attendees might have right-wing leanings, but they ain't there for political or religious reasons. What happens in Pecan Grove stays in Pecan Grove.

My great grandfather was a great exporter, he took a load of syphilis out of Italy...

Sins of our fathers. In Adams fall, we sinned, all. This song has been misinterpreted as a complaint. Oh, no. It’s a statement of fact.

When my son Forest Arturo Dunn (middle name for Toscanini) recorded with me, I think for him it was a way to make up to me. He had little to make up, but the last time I left him, his mom, and his sisters he was in high school. He challenged me, “old man,” to fight him. It was one of the several times in my life I let my ego go. I just stood and looked at him. I thought, “This is really the end. He hates me. His mother hates me.” I made no threatening moves and we did not fight, thank God.

Oh, those sins of our fathers. I remember once when I was small and had a new bike, my Dad took me to Sam Houston Park in Amarillo, Texas. I took off riding. Dad was sitting on a bench. The park had many sidewalk paths and I went around and around. Very soon I realized I didn’t know where my father was. Unknown to him, I was not riding ‘round and ‘round enjoying my new bike. I was looking for my Daddy.  He told me later that I rode past him several times and he thought I was having fun. He should have said something as I rode past, no? My father was a depressed man. I was an depressed man. Damn it, this nature/nurture thing ain’t easy, huh?

The mother of my children and I had one hell of a rocky marriage. I was always leaving and coming back. I never, ever failed to send money. No child support needed to be demanded from me. Those times I left Frances after we had children, I sent money home. I used to be angry when I heard men talk about not sending money to their children. In my mind, I was a superior father because I paid. Dads, let me tell you if you don’t know. Sending money has no emotional impact on your children. It doesn’t count. What counts to them is that Mommy is ALWAYS there. The money won’t count when it comes to winning their love. To win their love you’ve got to BE THERE.

On this song, as usual, I play guitar and sing. Forest plays a 12 string guitar for lead, organ, bass, percussion, and sings harmony. This song has not been sweetened in a studio, but it comes through. I wrote this around 1973 when Forest was a baby.

Music of Forest Arturo Dunn and Burl Dunn - part 2 - Williwas

My son Forest Arturo Dunn had a fine guitar teacher in Amarillo, Texas named Frank Hardcastle. At Glendale High in Arizona he had one of those outstanding band and orchestra teachers whose name escapes me and I can't find online. This man got Forest playing a sousaphone in marching band, upright bass in orchestra, and electric bass in jazz band. The lessons and schooling topped off a natural talent that exploded when Forest began recording his own songs on computer.

There is no praise too high for a school district in a city that funds music education. I'm not sure Forest would have finished high school without that incentive. He would have had these chances in his beloved Amarillo, Texas, too had we stayed there. I almost added, ‘as we should have,’ but there are few things that can tear up one’s mind better than the “would’a, should’a, could’a” thing. It’s harmful enough, but if you do it over a lost child it can drive you to suicide.

In the wake of Robin William’s death, no one needs reminding that money and talent, children and a wife are no guarantors of happiness. I’m not hinting that Forest committed suicide or that he did not. There are some things that hurt too much to pursue. I’ve only asked his older sister and his widow. It was a drug overdose. No note. I’ll stop there to avoid causing pain in my children, his widow, or his mother in case they read this.

Forest began multi track recording right after high school on a Teac four track cassette recorder I gave him. By the time he worked with me on some songs he really knew his stuff. I’ve put together some pictures and my song Williwas for you. Forest is playing a cheesy keyboard and singing. He never in his life had a piano lesson. Willie Was is based upon my experiences on the Bering Sea and Bristol Bay in Alaska. Forest was conceived in a cabin in the woods near Juneau, yes in a forest.

Forest Arturo Dunn, a great Musician

Forest Arturo Dunn of Amarillo, Texas, Glendale, Arizona, and Tucson, Arizona was my boy. Forest was the musician I always wanted to be. (He died in 2008.)  He learned instruments quickly. He performed in large venues such as Club Congress in Tucson. He was in bands. He could record albums in which he played all the instruments. He was sociable and could fit in with any group of people whether or not he was totally comfortable.

For two years I could not control my pain and anger very well. I learned that keening is something that naturally occurs when one cries long and hard enough and that sometimes the only thing that can make a person stop crying is the pain in one’s face.

After those two years of misery it took another couple of years before I could even look at his pictures without breaking up. Only this year did I begin to remember moments spent with him without misery. Now I can have a pleasant memory, but they all end with a tug at my heart. That’s okay.

This is the start of perhaps a number of blogs in which I wish to keep his music alive. So my main goal is to celebrate his talent and the fine music he left behind.

Here is a picture of him in his last year of life.

Do you see pain in his eyes? I do. You know it reminds me of the look in Robin William’s eyes in so many pictures. Here are some pictures of Forest taken a few months before he died. We were at my parent’s house for Thanksgiving and he asked his sister Sarah Rene Sharon Dunn to take some shots. It is my belief that, as he posed, he knew he was making memories for us because he knew he was going to die. 

I am going to take his widow’s advice and “just do it,” that is put his music out as I have been doing with my own. Right now what I have that is internet-ready is music he made with me, some of which is available on my albums “Texas Dance Songs” and “Texas Socialist Infiltration Dance Songs.”  Please give a listen to Bar Talk. 


We recorded Bar Talk on an early model Roland digital recorder. I took it with me to the Woodshed Studios in San Marcos, Texas and had Big John Mills add a rocking telecaster lead. You can hear Forest on bass and Hammond organ. The drummer was his great friend Rick Moe. This story is incredible to me – Forest played the song on guitar to Rick to give him the idea. Then he somehow communicated silently with Rick as Rick played that drum part FIRST with no other music playing! Yes, Rick Moe laid down the drum track with nothing to listen to! What kind of talent is that! After laying down bass and organ Forest had me play acoustic guitar and sing my song.

Once when I was at my job Forest laid down bass, percussion, piano, and back up vocals on a song he hadn’t even heard since he was a little boy! I came home and played and sang my part to a perfect arrangement. I won’t be sharing that song and a lot of others because the recording quality was not up to snuff. Why? Well, this digital recorder used a zip drive and, at the highest quality level only held a few minutes of music if you overdubbed. And, man, Forest overdubbed the hell out of songs! And all the hype about digital quality turned out to be bullshit – as tracks were bounced around sound quality went down with each bounce. We had to bounce because the machine only had eight tracks and Forest used many tracks for background vocals, so those songs are for family.

Here is a song I wrote in Nashville when I was a teenager. The album cover was Forest’s creation. Forest is on organ, bass, and piano. Big John Mills added the tele part in San Marcos. This song is also on “Texas Socialist Dance Songs” so obviously the album is not all politics. I just couldn’t resist the title when it occurred to me. (Burl is my middle name. "Larry" is too common a name so I dropped it.)

Well, there is an intro to my son. Remember him, please.  Forest Arturo Dunn.

Ferguson, Missouri, the front line of Homeland Security (money)

As he walked out of Constitution Hall, a woman asked Benjamin Franklin, “What kind of government have you given us?” He replied, “A republic, Ma’am, if you can keep it.” Interesting that he did not say ‘if we can keep it.” I know that militaristic America assumes that our government is always at risk from the outside, but, especially considering the old man’s respect for the early days of the French revolution, I think he might have had in mind the internal threat of the rich. In our worship of all things related to the “Founding Fathers,” we often forget how few Americans the Constitution was designed for. Only land-holding white men could vote in federal elections. The Senate was elected by state legislatures. Everything else we consider to be American democracy had to be bitterly contested over many years. True the anti-Federalists insisted upon the Bill of Rights and got them. I’d say we’ve pretty much lost those rights and the second amendment (guns) is a misinterpreted, twisted menace to peaceful society. The icing on the cake for the Federal power grab, however, was the Marbury v. Madison decision in which the Supreme Court decreed that it could nullify actions of the legislative and executive branches. I admit that the arguments put forth by the Marshall court at the time are as convoluted to me as some of the philosophical arguments I used to read. Only lawyers, philosophers, and theologians can get so almighty worked up over words! The argument seems to hinge on this: you can’t have separation of powers unless the Supreme Court has this power. It was intended by the Founding Fathers, they say. Strange, isn’t it that such a powerful force was not written down in the document? After all, we have historical records of the detailed arguments that led to the compromises. Where is the proof that the Founders argued over this? The entity (nine people) in question claimed, ‘they meant for it to be this way; they just didn’t write it down.’ Gosh, I’m pretty sure that my parents meant for me to inherit their house and car, but they failed to write that in their will. How far would that argument get me in court? I remember Rush Limburger, that radio guy, spewing back in the nineties, “It’s the Supreme Court. That’s where it’s at. We’ve got to have our guys there.” Well, they do now. It makes me so mad I could spit, as my Mom would say. Mad that Senate Democrats voted in young Clarence Thomas for God’s sake! Now, the Dems cry, ‘You must reelect us or risk the damage a radical-rightist Court can sow.” We the People are faced with so much ground to regain and every step of the way Democrats have provided enough votes to carry the radical right’s agenda. The dismantling of the New Deal economic justice measures, the give-away of our public airways to big corporations, the hundreds of millions of dollars that our corporate political parties say we must spend each election cycle for advertising, the crippling taxes levied to benefit spies and their Military/Industrial/Secrecy/Prison Complex, to name a few others. Joni Mitchell sang, “You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone.” So much is gone and gone without a fight. At least Mr. Jefferson and others did their best to fight John Marshall in the early 1800s. Now our leaders and media pundits seem surprised all the time- ‘gosh, who could have seen that coming?’ The creation of Homeland Security combined with legislative pork barrel spending has put military equipment into the hands of the police. They don’t need to call the National Guard to quell internal situations. How could politicians and the media fain surprise that police in Ferguson, Missouri have and use military equipment? There should have been an element of control in the distribution of Homeland Security monies and We the People have not risen up against the rise of the police state. How many Americans even know that there are holding cells in many of our schools? There are some things that can’t or won’t be undone. No one is going to take back the military weapons from rural and city police. There is a mad scramble for guns and bullets in America and, if we ever enact sane gun laws, no one is going to collect those arms. The police state is set to act at will. It’s out there. We didn’t keep it well, that Republic, Mr. Franklin. Most Americans still don’t know how much they are going to miss. And so much is gone.
An after posting edit:
Here is a link to a superb article on opednews.com. David Swanson NAILS it. Here is a brilliant excerpt outlining reasons for the militarization of local police in the US:

• A culture glorifying militarization and justifying it as global policing.
• A federal government that directs roughly $1 trillion every year into the U.S. military, depriving virtually everything else of needed resources.
• A federal government that still manages to find resources to offer free military weapons to local police in the U.S. and elsewhere.
• Weapons profiteers that eat up local subsidies as well as federal contracts while funding election campaigns, threatening job elimination in Congressional districts, and pushing for the unloading of weapons by the U.S. military on local police as one means of creating the demand for more.
• The use of permanent wartime fears to justify the removal of citizens' rights, gradually allowing local police to begin viewing the people they were supposed to protect as low-level threats, potential terrorists, and enemies of law and order in particular when they exercise their former rights to speech and assembly. Police "excesses" like war "excesses" are not apologized for, as one does not apologize to an enemy.
• The further funding of abusive policing through asset forfeitures and SWAT raids.
• The further conflation of military and police through the militarization of borders, especially the Mexican border, the combined efforts of federal and local forces in fusion centers, the military's engagement in "exercises" in the U.S., and the growth of the drone industry with the military, among others, flying drones in U.S. skies and piloting drones abroad from U.S. land.
• The growth of the profit-driven prison industry and mass incarceration, which dehumanize people in the minds of participants just as boot camp and the nightly news do to war targets.
• Economically driven disproportionate participation in, and therefore identification with, the military by the very communities most suffering from its destruction of resources, rights, and lives.

Ein paar Fakten über Marihuana in Colorado

Colorado Marihuana-Industrie ist das Ergebnis der extrem gute Planung. Sie werden nicht von Unkraut läuft. Jeder Erwachsene überall im Staat Marihuana besitzen, können sie wachsen, und verwenden Sie es, alle nicht nur durch Gesetz, sondern durch ein Verfassungsrecht - die 64. Änderung der Verfassung Colorado. Das ist weit entfernt von lediglich erlaubt Läden zu Topf in bestimmten Bereichen zu verkaufen. Nun wird der Freizeit Verkauf von Marihuana eher langsam verbreiten, so dass alle die Nachricht, die Sie über die Steuereinnahmen gehört haben, haben sich auf der Umsatz in sehr wenigen Orten basieren, wobei der größte Markt Denver. Telluride hat vier Freizeitstellen. Pagosa Springs gab grünes Licht vor kurzem, aber die früheste sie Verkaufs starten könnte, ist Mitte August (2014). Durango ist noch in Planung. Ich traue den ganzen Informationen, die ich habe online vor, so ist es eine gute Idee, überprüfen, bevor Sie auf der Suche nach Freizeit Einzelhandel Verkäufe gehen auf eine bestimmte Stadt.
          Ich will nicht in den medizinischen Marihuana-Gesetze gehen, da, die nur für die Bewohner Colorado, und Sie können alles darüber erfahren, nachdem Sie eine Colorado-Führerschein zu bekommen. Es genügt zu sagen, dass Colorado medizinisches Marihuana erlaubt sind leicht zu erhalten und können vor allem mit Genehmigungen zu kaufen und zu halten großen Mengen.
In der Freizeitspeicher können eine out-of-state-Shopper kaufen nur ¼ einer Unze pro Tag. Das kann Tage dauern, natürlich. Ich habe nicht auf Backwaren und andere Esswaren erforscht Mengen. Die Qualität schwankt von gut bis Out-of-dieser Welt groß. Es ist eine gute Idee, um das Produkt zu suchen. Sie wollen alle Knospen und Knospen Sie mit sichtbaren Härchen und Harze möchten. Einige Geschäfte schneiden Sie die starke Harze zur Verwendung in anderen Produkten. Bummer. Ich bevorzuge Unkraut, das in Schmutz organisch gewachsen, aber es gibt einige Magier da draußen erstaunliche Dinge mit Hydrokultur.
Bei der Eingabe in die Welt der Hash Dinge komplexer. Es gibt Hash-Typ-Produkte, Butan und CO2 in der Verarbeitung verwenden. Diese sind konzentriert THC-Produkte und ich vermeiden. Ich kann nicht für CO2-extrahierten Hash sprechen, aber die Butan Produkte machen durch Lungen fühlen sich schlecht in einer Weise, die ich noch nie in meinem Leben erlebt, und ich will nichts mit ihnen zu tun. So kaufe ich Hash in einem wasserbasierten, oder Eis-basierte, Verfahren hergestellt. Ich habe gehört, sie setzen das Unkraut in eine Waschmaschine für das Verfahren. Es kommt heraus, sah ein wenig wie dünne Dörrfleisch. Es kann dann in Klumpen unterschiedlicher Größen hergestellt werden. Die meisten Hash Entscheidungsträger durch Blätter und Kot aus der Pflanze links nach Knospen geerntet werden. Das kann hochpotenten Harze, die von den Knospen auf die Blätter unter ihnen fiel gehören, aber ich bin auf der Suche nach Hash, der aus den besten Knospen gemacht wurde. Ich bin sicher, dass jemand es tut.
Ich hatte schon Ergebnisse mit Esswaren und Produkte für Trink ändert. Ich habe getrunken Limonaden, die angeblich eine hohe THC-Dosis zu haben und fühlte sich sehr wenig. Ich habe Gebäck, die meine Socken weg geklopft haben gegessen. Ich habe noch nie in einem Geschäft, das um mich zu informieren und warnen mich Potenz gescheitert war. Ein 25mg THC-Dosis in einer essbaren sollte man ersten Dosis sind, es sei denn Sie Grund sehr vorsichtig zu sein. Wenn Sie ein leckeres Gebäck, das 400mgs Sie besser entscheiden, wie groß ein Biss Sie es wagen, bevor Sie aufstehen Geschmack gewickelt und übertreiben Sie es enthält zu kaufen.
Die hohe von einer essbaren kann sich auf Sie zu kriechen. Es wird nie so schnell, das als das Rauchen sein, und es kann auf unter Ihnen auch höher, nachdem Sie eine erreicht haben halten "Höhepunkt." Ich habe auf einem Schokoladenprodukt nieder. Es ist in Rechtecke der kontrollierten Dosen aufgeteilt, so habe ich gelernt, was zu erwarten ist und wie viel die aus verschiedenen Gründen zu unterschiedlichen Zeiten statt. Die hohe Sie von Esswaren erhalten können, ist einen Besuch wert.

Die Idee, die Sie jederzeit und überall rauchen kann, könnte Sie in Schwierigkeiten geraten. Raucher Ihre rechtlichen Unkraut wird, um zu beweisen restriktiver als Alkohol zu trinken, aber es ist ein gutes Werkzeug für den Vergleich. Sie nicht trinken und fahren, und Sie besser nicht rauchen und zu fahren. Sie können nicht durch den Park gehen rechtlich eine gemeinsame Rauchen. Wenn Sie auf Bundes-Land gehen (Nationalparks, BLM Land) Topf ist illegal durch Bundesgesetz. Colorado ist nicht Haight-Ashbury, aber es fühlt sich so, nur nicht erlöschen in la-la land und Wind im Gefängnis.

We are the cannon fodder, the future collateral damage.

Hillary Clinton is campaigning against Barack Obama's foreign policy. I don't remember her ever campaigning against George W. Bush's foreign policy, do you? She wants more American involvement in the world! Yeah! I'm so tired of all this isolationism. Get those troops overseas poking at ever more hornet's nests. It's worked so well for usI realize lately that I am utterly at a loss, not for opinions, but for the will to express them. I can tune into the Colbert Report online and get my ironic dose of sanity. I can replay George Carlin on YouTube. What I can't get going is any sense of optimism. Of course, George was no optimist, but didn't we revel in his nihilism while still retaining our view that it was humor, not utter truth? I think it was utter truth and that's no joke.

You can't trust the Government, but there are still positive aspects of government. Many elements of our government do good work. There are counties and cities with progressive attitudes. There are agencies with positive agendas. but over all is the Military/Industrial/Secrecy/Prison Complex and neither Republicans or Democrats are motivated to tackle that. Well, they are that.

So, at age 64 I sort of feel I have other things to blog about. One thing is to get right with the Power of the Universe. Both heaven and hell exist within us; I want more of heaven right now. But don't worry, I'm not going to blog that. That's for living out.

It feels as though my generation is in its death throes so why the fuck don't the young rise up politically and kick our asses out?! Oh, well, we were the Baby Boomers, the vast army of the young and look how we changed things! Sexually, culturally, yeah. Pot and blow jobs are plentiful now. Politically? Too many of us went the Abby Hoffman route instead of the Martin Luther King route. Our generation's radicals provided the scare that helped take Nixon and his evil spawn (Reagan, Bushes, et. al.) over the top.

I can't think of too many countries that had a revolution before its people were in misery. (The United States was arguably one in 1776, but that's another blog.) The revolutions of 1989 certainly come to mind. The United States has still a long way to go before enough people are poor enough to realize that we have a common interest in overthrowing the status quo. The Democrats, as a national party, just argue about how to fuck with the world, not IF we should fuck with it. Ron Paul was a ray of light, but his heir Rand is waffling on what appears to be the BIG issue - the unblinking financing of Israel's military. Hell, we're not even paying the bill for our own wars, yet we rack up more debt to finance the Israeli hawks.

We back Saudi Arabia, the homeland of radical Islam, with God only knows what devastating future results. We just keep poking those hornet's nests. I truly believe that, just as our leaders tell us to go shopping when the economy is down, our leaders provoke war just to feed cash into the war economy. The vast industrial might of America has corporate-raided - you know bought by vast wealth so it can be dismantled into its component parts and sold to the highest bidder. And the highest bidder so far is Communist China! So nothing makes any sense anymore to me.

America is not about to rise up and throw off the corporate yoke. We're more likely to descend into gang-like warfare. Or, our public voices will be stifled by the ubiquitous presence of guns at our political rallies and voting stations.

See, I'm a curmudgeon, and if I can't be a great curmudgeon, what's the point? I think there might be hope in a political party, call it the Eisenhower Party, who appeal to common sense - bring back the tax rates that paid for WWII and built a great infrastructure, bring back the laws that oversaw a strong and diverse media presence - but then, I must admit one thing. The man who named the Military/Industrial Complex did not stop it. He did not name names. He may have been the last person who could have stopped it.

If I were rich enough I would move my family out of the US. I wonder, what did people think about those first Jews to flee Germany? Unpatriotic? But at some point the same action became smart. America is at that point. Some people will say I am disloyal, but I say look at the super-rich. They have taken their tax money outside of the "homeland," they have residences outside the "homeland," they could walk away from any disaster. That's the foundation of super-richness - we are above it all. 

They are above it all because they own the government. We are the cannon fodder, the future collateral damage.

Now, here is the point where I want to pontificate my solutions which I've already noted are pointless.

An exercise in futility.

You know what is not futile when you are 64? Going outside. Breathing deeply. Playing with grandkids and dogs (whichever are at hand). Pursuing that dream, no maybe not the get-rich-quick one that eluded you for 64 years, but the one that is spiritually rewarding. Don't spend your inheritance. Leave it to the young. The world was made for the young.