January 62 Degrees
Previous Post: A Jumping Question Mark
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Lobo states benefit of cold climate - it’s contribution to intelligence, perseverance… read him on the details, he articulates better - but look at the field of study on this… Cold Winter Theory in general. To the 19th century. Samuel Morton, Paul Broca then what Lynn did... The latter of which declaring
“I am deeply pessimistic about the future of the European peoples because mass immigration of third world peoples will lead to these becoming majorities in the United States and westernmost Europe during the present century. I think this will mean the destruction of European civilization in these countries.”
Nor judge or executioner but sharer of the ideology of another Human and because I’ve gone down a rabbit hole on this, for posterity sake I’ll share another, more volcanic quote.
“This is the first time in the whole of human history that a people has voluntarily engineered in its own destruction”
Dirt walls caving in.
Tightly gripping the dirt around the top of the hole. I climb of it as the rabbits watch me leave their home of curiosity to go into the world and enjoy the spring day.
In front of the makeshift standing desk in my shack and to my right is a 30x48 mirror with antiquity drizzled framing, dull golds but ornate, really four different frames in one as each carries it’s own design. I look into it and see my own eyes and am at once inspired by my own sense of Agency. I can make my reflection dance by, first, dancing myself. Other things around too but I’ll let the lore build on multiple posts: What’s next?
Where’s the .38?
They should think of making a gun that doesn’t whisper to you… And I’m standing here cracked out on Cheri Cheri Lady a real good ole blister of a tune!
I’ve got pain in my heart
got a love in my soul
easy come, but I think
easy go
I need you so
All the times I move so slow
Cheri Cheri lady….
Other facts contributing to this buzzing. Coffee of course. Of which I’ve decided is imperative to A GOOD LIFE. Civilizations were built on this stuff.Yet every day I debate giving it up. Define : Sovereignty.
The weather, at weeks has sat in a freezer of 20s, 30s, all over that icy zone where barefoot, shirtless, tan, seasonal fruit running down chest- pull it back Winston, pull it back- are nothing but a lost dream from a lost time and: when looking forward as one should do: a full hope, a light at the end of the tunnel, Love at the end of Debauchery, we see the weather warm.
That’s happened today. A gift in the middle of Winter.
So he finds himself in the same scene of the same type of warm spring day that has, for centuries, driven genius insane and in the air is Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring so that all senses can go mad. He thinks maybe he should calm himself down… some Silver Age Blok maybe? But remember his words "All sounds have stopped. Can't you hear that there are no longer any sounds?"
Thus I decide this to be a horrible idea.
I walk outside. Look to the sky. Declare “I am snorting sunshine, high on life, thrilled by opportunity, ready to Make The Most of It All.” Until the chill reappears and he’s thrust back into week long NIGHTS.
Today it felt like this and he refused checking the weather to see if it would stay.
It’s here right now and He tried once to capture lightening in a bottle but it charred his hand so much so that the wound still shows. I’ve watched masters work. Gifted genius individuals who delicately combine both inescapable foresight and ever-present gratefulness. It is a magic. It’s the sirens howl on the rocky cliffs. I hear it, get seduced, and try to jump over the railings of my own ship to reach that seemingly tasteful place. I try with the concentration of poolshark to experience a sunny Friday without letting the idea of a rainy Saturday steal the light.
Some say that being present is a full time job so I asked about the salary and was told “you don’t get it yet.” And I laughed. Walked out of the interview. Undid my tie. Thanked God for the Spring day and finished by asking him that tomorrow be the Same and if it’s not, please grant me the ability to grab the horns of those 24 hours like a cocained bull rider, white knuckled, enjoy the winter days… the Summer brings it’s own heat.
