Perhaps this State's confidant and minuteman for handling nutcases has had his head buried so deep and for so long in medical journals in a headstrong determination to log, label and categorize, that he didn't have time for the classics. Perhaps the old adage that if you are not a part of the solution then you are a part of the problem, for him, only pertains to others. Perhaps he could be of better service down sizing his own life-style and others of that ilk so that impoverished valley old-timers, not so unlike myself, can afford to live out their golden years in the only home we've ever known--- "For Sale Can't Afford The Taxes".
In all seriousness and fairness to a small minority of soul searchers, kindred spirits, the true saints, thank you for seeing (talking) me through some insurmountable ups and downs; more so on the psychoanalytic end than on any all encompassing pharmacogenetics, ugly to the bone end. The biggest drawback for giving a damn is the heavy toll on the therapists who acquire the disturbing habit of taking their work home with them; your run-of-the-mill drug lord, the clairvoyants, say try this and if that doesn't work take this--- an offer the committed can't refuse. My first wake up call, a failed marriage, floored me; my first counselor made matters worse still by up and shooting himself and was just the beginning of a long succession of well-wishers. My most carrying and loving "listner" understandably had a nervous breakdown. She passed away in a rest home suffering from dementia that only came to my attention because of what was for me, a very heart-wrenching obituary. What a sweetheart, during my own hospital stay she dropped in almost every single day; I miss you Miss Ryan, you were one in a million!
Enough gosh darn it, get a hold of myself, let it go; too much time traipsing the streets of Ogden; at the Marrion Hotel on two-bit street and in and out of homeless shelters. Too many too sensitive, misbegotten and forsaken misfits; too many insensitive law enforcement agents, pundits and do-gooders; too many lives grasping for a ledge to hold on to whilst hanging precariously over unfathomable depths that rise up in a paralyzing and agonizing, raw and gnawing hopelessness... too much, too many, too little, too late.
Let's hear it for Ogden's little big man, copula; link between churchgoers, subjects, and the General Authorities who predicate their good standing: mayor Godfrey. What about that discombobulating swaraj of his to herd, kicking butt, a hard on the eyes and his monkey-see-monkey-do Salt Lake City coaptation--- becoming another major tourist attraction comes way before caring for the needy--- of purposeless, beyond saving even by astute missionary men standards, vagrants, as far away from our fine city center as politically incorrect and cold-blooded as one can get without raising a stink, covering your own butt, what say you? Warehouse the weary and filthy next door to violent and disturbed adolescents; how convenient; how Christian can one duly sworn Mormon get? This move and suggested privatization venture, how entrepreneurial, could become a joint effort between those overrunning our State and those overpopulating it; anything over one boy and one girl should be considered extravagant; no extenuating nor religious circumstances or excuses tolerated. A Bill needs to be sponsored as soon as humanely possible entitled the Aloof Tax Act, ATA, which would be like killing two dirty birds with one stone by helping improve the quality of the State's rapidly deteriorating atmosphere, ATM ( how many people die annually from breathing exhaust filled air), and disappearing open spaces. Those legal waywards and sisters and brothers who are madly in lovers, need to experience directly, hands on not off, the impact of their rootlessness and frivolity which is having a catastrophic affect on this State's tottering Eco system and the wallets and purses of those responsible enough to grasp the meaning of the old adage that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure--- BIRTH CONTROL... the economy isn't the only thing being stimulated!
Woe to our beloved middle class, the caught in-betweeners and the backbone of what is left of America and that are fast becoming a dying breed. Once their numbers have dwindled sufficiently I suspect we will see a dramatic rise in unemployed sports gurus and moviedom stars. The media monoliths are going to have to come up with something a little more original to pacify the multitudes of washed up has-beens; I have been noticing a spike in faith based opportunism. It all can't come soon enough for me; there's nothing more embarrassing than to see your otherwise average Joe or Jane splashed acrossed a jumbo screen jumping up-and-down like a raving, waving, the old crowd pleasing wave, lunatic; what they mistakenly like to call rooting for your hometown team from Timbuktu. Reveling in the victory, some sort of transfiguration occurs that leads to the elated throng's own exaltation. And then, as if all this wasn't ludicrous enough, youv've got the players' staged theatrics; all those antics that escalate into relentless bravado; the hanging and swinging on the hoop like a bunch of monkeys and the kindergarten playground, playaction end zone shenanigans. Mr. Miller and Stockton to Malone must have a pretty good laugh, at our expense, every time they take their millions to the bank to cash in on their double indemnity. What if those multimillion dollar contracts were contingent on a team making it to the finals and failing this a draft notice from Uncle Sam would be forthcoming; that should cool their jets. And what about the basics, is there anything new, something that we all haven't heard and seen before that would account for the draw and astronomical ticket prices; all the hubbub? There's only so many ways to throw, catch, shoot, hit, kick and dribble a ball so what's the pitch: the old curveball... we will entertain, sustain and detain you; uphold, embold and infold you; help ease that guilty conscience that arises from your dog-eat-doggedness that dogs you; and the catch: you must be willing and able to stoop even lower in your cooperation and manipulative ingenuity in keeping those poorer than poor drudges' grudges within bounds--- Big Brotherism and Heroism at its finest.
Enough syntactical rhyme and reason, rattle and prattle; the decisive question is what sort of impression if any will you be left with after reading this; will it be lasting or fleeting, Solomonic or infantile, parabolic or incongruous; is this an explication de texte or a rhetorical subterfuge; a genetic, rapid-fire synapsing of an extremely irregular convolution and perturbation of a warped mind or a drug enhanced euphoria; a rash and sty of hogwash or is it the open up your eyes stuff that Pulitzer and Nobel Prize winners like to try and dream up? Impressions... there is someone who has left an indelible one on me; someone who named me Sam, A Boy Named Sue; someone whose prowess in the fields of basketball, horsemanship, cattle ranching and in a supervisory role working for State Youth Corrrections, might never be excelled. He is the most diligent, hard working man that I've ever had the honor and good fortune to have become acquainted with and who just so happens to be my temporal and very corporeal father--- also my Achilles' heel owing to the fact that I will never be able to fill his shoes--- who if he has told me once has told me umpteen times that if you give up your dreams then it's all over. Broken dreams and torn relationships; scattered homes and lives without any roots; a disquieting and forever searching expanse that is as wide and deep as it is narrow and shallow; where avarice, effrontery and largess are alive, thrive and abide. And my most cherished dream God willing: to sure up my footing so I can contribute to and be an asset of my beautiful, ancestral valley; my home away from a chaotic and contemptuous way-out there realm--- dream away... the stuff of fable and myth--- that could be, if given half a chance, a virtual garden in Eden; a tightly woven and close-knit community; a Halcyon heaven on earth if everyone would just settle down and settle in, stay put; lighten-up and open up to their neighbor, and the most difficult appeasement--- LOVE THEMSELVES!
AHhhh... Glory Be--- GRANDIOSITY; to Stand Up Proud and Tall and Refuse to be put in your Place. I choose to step-up and step-in line behind a staunchest of staunch orthodox Christian: the base and yet oh so aspiring Fyodor Dostoevsky along with his heroic underground man's adamant refusal to settle for a "hen-house" for his "mansion"and to "live simply to keep out of the rain". And this holier-than-thou "edifice" of the truly homeless and clueless--- God only knows who they our and Christ would never buy into preemption only redemption--- , their 'Palace of Crystal', which suffices for their need of a place "where one is not able to put out one's tongue or make a long nose on the sly", will eventually be their and their imaginary foe's undoing; the impetus for yet another crusades to gain that higher ground; that Holy Land; a segregated Zion--- their own celestial pie in the sky.
The presidential debate; what about this minnow feeding frenzy in shark infested waters; this media extravaganza; this playing around with one's emotions; this pressing issue of raising up a supposedly indentured servant; this excessive, bordering on obsessive, self-gratifying voyeurism to see which candidate meets up to one's own deeply engraved expectations, the expectations OTHERS so feverishly expect, will rise to the top and which candidates, a much more lowly class, will sink into obscurity--- what say you Soren: A crowd is untruth. And I could weep, or at least I could learn to long for eternity, at thinking of the misery of our age, in comparison even with the greatest misery of bygone ages, owing to the fact that the daily press with its anonymity makes the situation madder still with the help of the public, this abstraction which claims to be the judge in matters of 'truth'... The crowd is untruth. Therefore was Christ crucified, because although He addressed himself to all, He would have no dealings with the crowd, because He would not permit the crowd to aid Him in any way, because in this regard He repelled people absolutely, would not found a party, did not permit balloting, but would be what He is, the Truth, which relates itself to the individual."
As for your outgoing Pres and all his grave and forlorn misgivings; what would be a proper and fitting send-off for this yahoo; this cap gun welding, heavy-handed, golf-carting cowboy as he motors off into his horizonless oil field? Would it be beneath us, heathenish, if we were to come up with a solemn fare-thee-well for the time being but reserve the right to load him up with not only TLC but also 10 lbs. of TNT tucked away in his saddlebags and set to go off at the first jerk to shirk his duty if and when we're deployed in another strategic seek and destroy mission except for the oil fields; call it reaping what you sow. Then with a congenial horselaugh and a good firm pat on his arse: hee-haw, giddy up you ill-mannered and temperamental old fart of a war-horse--- "A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!"
Oh twiddle de twiddle dum; like caricatures in those satirical and oh so telling nursery rhymes; maligned features all screwed up and out of proportion with layer upon layer of protective and concealingly camouflagic clothing and in the background the un-a-void-able, looming abyss... the hereafter. Think back... feel and peel; who was there to catch you; to hold you; to comfort and console you when confronted with the unthinkable, your mortality--- Anyone? Who or what are we leaning on today... riches, fame, a title, an occupation, procreation and recreation, a new house, a government, a heady philosophy, a church, a prophet, martyrdom, philanthropic do-gooding (tax write off), movie star charisma, an Olympian stature... et cetera et cetera--- what say you? "And again this means that every man should be chary about having to do with 'the others' and essentially should talk only with God and with himself--- for only one attains the 'goal'." Oh Soren, something's wrong in your Denmark; you were leagues ahead of your time and place; if you could only see us now; oh we of such little faith. Even an English author of children's books, Rudyard Kipling, was able to decipher the hieroglyphics on the tumbling walls when he penned religion is religion and politics is politics and never the two shall twain; like OPEC oil and watered down Christianity... or something to that affect.
Baby steps... change will never come with something as herd oriented as flocking to the polls and that is so provocatively misleading, sheep following their leader over a cliff, as the election of yet another puppet president to take the blame for whatever ails us or our Country. No! Right Here! Right Now! It all starts with YOU--- "THAT INDIVIDUAL"!
AHhhh... Glory Be to Be or Not to Be; the heavens and the earth were created and complete on the seventh day and now seeing how this work has taken way over seven pages of type and depleted my own backed-up reserves and drained me utterly dry, I feel the time has come to declare that it is good and to call it quits--- to let it rest. So now I lay me down to sleep and pray to God my soul to keep in such a hostile, irreproachable and supercilious theocracy. Whether it's behind its bars or in one of its many loony bins or irrevocably entwined in the only escape allotted: the systems systematic and oh so heavenly drug induced nightly slumber... stupor. Oh and Father, I almost forgot, where would I and all of Your other downtrodden be without the sacramental tobacco, our cigs, our peace pipe and Your holy firewater which cleanses the mind and opens up the heart? Yes, Thy will will be done; albeit this rite, smoking and drinking up a storm or I should say working on calming a restless mind to attain that heavenly and tranquil equanimity so much sought after, does exact a toll: the ageless 10% tithe from one's purse strings but that is more than compensated for by giving the dog-eat-dog challenged who only want to try and fit in, without jeopardizing their wherewithal or inviolability, an outlet. We are also blessed with the strength and the humility that sustains and upholds; prevents the meek from choking those mettlesome and needling camels into the oblivion and hellfire their mentor and constant tormentor so judiciously proscribes. Thank You dear Lord and never no never will I forget my valley, Your Garden of Eden and one's chance of a lifetime. And if I should die before I wake I pray to You Your precious little valley, once upon a time a "Close-knit Community", the really true outcastes don't forsake and less we forget, Your blessed teachers, like La Verna, don't teach, they sooth and comfort and open up the imagination unto which that poor student Einstein said was more important than knowledge. Yes, let us broaden Your horizons and leave the driving to grey and always hounding, gloom and doom for nonconformists, chuches and those with political clout.
PS Have a happy 24th but you might think twice, say a silent prayer, for those who died fighthing, were incarcerated in jails and reservations and locked up in mental wards fighting against the cookie cutter cause of a prejudicial God and Country; who dreamed of a much more all encompassing cause with a good and natural effect, the "Good Fight", the only truly Holy War: one's Individuality. Take a moment as you celebrate and enjoy the standard fireworks show with those out to have a blast to honor your more serious and low--keyed souls. As the Big Boys say, don't think about it Just Do It... walk a mile in their moccasins; the downtrodden; the mentally dis-at-eased; the nobodies. When we don't learn from life's little lessons history repeats itself; from an un-perspective and persecutive Saul to a Christian Paul to what we're seeing now--- EXTREME GALL! Think about it... we condone the violence for a gas fix and yet abhor the violence of gang members with no chance of ever obtaining what our system, we, would recognize as a worthy identity. We are the land of the free and yet we can't build prisons fast enough to house the criminaly insane who can't lick'em but ain't about to join 'em: those who can't spare the rod or is that an ain't I ain't suppose to say? Hell Is For Children so God bless you Mrs. Newey you were one in a million, no I take that back, you were just you.
As hard as I tried, Lord how I tried, there is no ending this without quoting a somebody, without that great analogy to something powerful in the past, without waking up from a nightmare symbolizing how I and this is just a bunch of trash--- head stuff. Here's what was going round and round in my LITTLE mind: The only true Church's founding prophet, Joseph Smith, compared himself to Christ because of what he was doing and had done for humanity--- similar to another Joan of Arc. Good Mormons are all well aware that he, Joseph, came from a very poor and unsettled family and of his tremendous courage and faith throughout his traumatic leg operations and perceived persecution. But what is sorely overlooked is that the only begotten Son was conceived out of wedlock and at a time when you just didn't do that; theologians can only theorize as to why Mary wasn't stoned. Because the angel told only Joseph of Christ's origins the townspeople's unbelief prevented them from knowing Him for who and what He is now preached to be; to those who knew Him best He was A Boy Named Sue and hence no miracles were forthcoming. But his eternal Father, the Father of Fathers, is said to have said I am what I am and His Son reportedly said I am sent Me. Who reportedly sent You... how do you perceive yourself? Think back, feel and peel... "And Your old men will dream dreams" and as a very sinful father told me umpteen times: "if you give up your dreams then it's all over"; the miracles cease; like the cry of a newborn baby on the dawning of that new day... that new beginning wherefore there'll be no end.
At dawn the cock crowed three times and a delirious son layed himself down to sleep and prayed to his Father in Heaven his soul to keep because things here on earth were far from Immaculate and everyone was missing the mark too often for this Boy Named Sue... HOW DO YOU DO?
Kerry Fuller
4697 E Creekview Dr
Eden Ut 84310
710-1044
