A few weeks ago I got out to the central coast. It doesn’t take much to rejuvenate my batteries when in need of a charge and this particular spot does it for me. If you’ve lived in the Golden State as long as I have, despite its mass, finding the slightest disconnect from shitty humans is not as easy as it may seem. But I’ve learned quarantining away my own peace of mind is a necessity for survival, something I know many have zero clue on how to accomplish, and there’s certain places I nestle into my heart for those moments.
On this particular weekend I took the time, as I typically do, to visit my favorite winery. I’m grateful for the fact that it’s still relatively unknown, and no, I’m not telling you where it is because I don’t need you mucking up my piece of peace. As was the case, there were already far too many people for my liking when I got there, but like I said, it doesn’t take much to put me in the mental sphere to disappear.
I did my member-free tasting as I always do, already aware of the menu but totally willing to give into the pleasure of benefits, got my favorite bottle on ice, and headed outside. I’d love to describe to you the beauty before me, but I’m not as, again, I ain’t down with you wrecking my peace and turning my small heaven into Disneyfuck, but let’s just say the setting was glorious. They tend to have a local band play on the weekend which was just finishing up their setup and testing mics as I found a lovely table off to the side. There was a baby shower taking place that I found both lovely and odd: lovely for the fact that these ladies were getting together to celebrate our future and the hope that whoever was to enter this world wouldn’t turn out to be another horror in the form of Trump or Hillary, ’cause Lord knows there’s already one too many of those assholes; odd because there were one too many ladies looking like they were on the hunt for dick. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m all down with ladies wearing whatever they want, but I’m also a firm believer in time and place. To some degree, I consider this the old school British mannerisms in me and the idea that modesty can be useful, it’s also probably why I’m such a firm supporter of Muslim woman who honor their tradition of veiling, and no, I’m not talking about the full black ghostly figure walking along a dusty road. But than again, if that’s what she wants to wear, than get it girl, all the power to you. I guess my point being, finding that middle ground between the demonic voicing of ‘I need the dick now’ and ‘none shall pass’ is an art.
Anyway, the band soon began to play, the graceful sounds of children running around flooded my ears, families and friends lit up with smiles chatting about whatever was bringing them joy. I got my peace on taking it all in and doing my best to emanate that peace outwardly. And then the crazy decided to meddle its way into my consciousness. I don’t know if it was the wine or just the general state of affairs, but I began thinking ‘I wonder how many people here are Trump supporters?’ Statistically speaking, I assumed there has to be at least a few and then began trying to point them out. After a few minutes, I felt confident I had identified the fools, along with the numerous Shillary-bots. And then I was frustrated, realizing our shitty as fuck state of political affairs managed to up and ruin my peace. I forced the thought out of my head. Thy will be done, but my will, right now, beauty.
A few minutes later an older gentleman, obvious boomer, and his wife wandered into my neck of tranquility. They came to take the table just behind us that had recently become available. Their look, pure Trump. I forced the thought out of my head. Everything in this moment is good, everything is beautiful, I need not create mental havoc. The band played. The children giggled. The smiles flowed like the chilled wine before me. Heaven.
I then had a thought I never had before. I wondered if you pee in heaven. I could only figure, if that’s what my heaven was needing, than piss I would. And that’s what I needed to do right now, and off I went.
When I returned I noted the older gentleman offer a kind smile as I took my seat. I smiled back, nodding as if to suggest, “pretty damn amazing, isn’t it?’ He appeared to nod in agreement. A minute later he leans in and quakes my consciousness, tumbling my town-square mental clock stating, “Isn’t it crazy?” My brows furrowed, “Sorry,” I queried.
“Somewhere out here is a Trump supporter.”
In an instant, my brain began to scream, “WHAT THE FUCK?! WHAT FUCKING FUCK FUCKITTY FUCKING FUCK DID THIS OLD MAN SAY?!”
I let out a discernible quick exhale from my nostrils as if to laugh, “Umm, yeah, not ten minutes ago I had actually had that very thought.”
“I wonder how many of them know about Jill Stein,” he then states.
What the fuck is going on, I think. “I’d like to hope at least one, but unfortunately for us, the likelihood is slim,” I respond.
“Yeah, that’s the problem with Liberals living in their fantasy world, it’s so hard to break through their sanctified skulls.”
And with that, he and I went off. We spent the next hour chatting about the great fuckeduptitudes of Murica throwing off this fact, following it up with this stat, interspersed with this research, melding it all together like we were the only two souls in a world not addicted to fentanyl laced Four Loco.
Half way through our conversation, I couldn’t help but to think, there’s no way this is happening. The past week I had marveled over the DNCs propping of shit-sauce as their candidate of choice, forcing the American people to choose between a Desert Eagle that the Republicans have decided to point at our heart and the acid the Democrats now insist on pouring into our eyes. This can’t be happening. There’s such a small percentage of people who are this knowledgeable about what’s going on, and the percentage of Boomers who obviously hate the Democrats and Republicans as much as my newly found Wonder Twin, is statistically smaller. And here I am, getting my peace on away from home at the coast, at my secluded winery where in every other instance was never more than eight people on the entire grounds, today, around fifty. This dudes gotta be stalking me. He’s a mole from one of the 17 intelligence agencies trying to probe me on how much bullshit I’m aware of. I let the thought go.
This is an outlier.
Before we departed, I thanked him for reaching out. He thanked me for my knowledge; it seemed to me like an odd thing to thank someone for under the circumstances, but I thank him for his and wished him and his family peace and blessings.
After we departed, I intent on meeting again in the next lifetime, it hit me. That shit happens. Those rare moments of synchronicity where like minds connect. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. I know there’s no “scientific” evidence to prove this…yet…but these rare instances of sublime connection happen, and have happened to me all my life. It’s also what provides me hope. And trust me, I need it, because the future I see for civilization from our present state is not bright, in fact, I’m a firm believer if we don’t begin to change now, humanity will be lucky to survive. And were it not for my study of myth and religion, I’m certain I wouldn’t hold a candle of hope.
I’m not gonna sugarcoat what I see around me. My close family and friends know not to take up the conversation of politics and religion with me unless they are either needing validation of how fucked up things are, or suddenly dare challenge accepted dogma intentionally foisted upon the masses, the latter of which rarely goes over well. This isn’t intended to suggest like I’m some know-it-all because I know I’m not, but at this point in my life I do know I’m knowledgeable on substantive subject matter that the average and typical has absolutely no clue about. So when I come across those rare individuals whom I instantly connect with in ways that would seem impossible to ever occur, it no longer surprises me.
You see, here’s the thing, America is filled with dumbfucks. I fully know, because I’m one of those dumbfucks, and if you’re reading this, trust me, the likelihood of you being a dumbfuck is practically a statistical certainty. How do I know this, because if you weren’t, you wouldn’t have time to be reading this. You would be out in the world actually doing the shit needing to be done instead of reading about it, let alone writing about it. Now don’t get me wrong, by no means am I attempting to suggest that this makes you a bad person, because it doesn’t. You, like myself, are merely a product of our surroundings, intentionally limited in our ability to affect change.
Fifty-five percent of Millennials support Hillary Clinton. It’s the highest statistical support of any generation for that wretch. Thirty-four percent of this generation support Trump; that’s 34% of straight up generational fail. Combined, that’s a shit load of support for national fratricide. I know Millennials want to believe their the next great thing and I truly want to believe it. I often see our dear Holly rightfully pointing out all the great things about her generation and the fucked up things going on around us, and these are things to honor and support. But she, and the circumstances she speaks on are outliers. Holly Wood, like my Wonder Twin at the winery is an outlier. If this wasn’t the case, she wouldn’t need to say the things she should be getting six figures a year for saying. Well, technically, I don’t know if this is the case. For all I know, she’s the real Wonder Twin to the old man who felt the need to connect with me about a topic were he to breach somewhere in the mid-west, my guess is, he’d be murdered. But on the psudo-pinko central coast of California, instead, he randomly has the nerve to reach out and connect with someone he would tell me, he just knew was a like-minded spirit — where’s science when you need it?
I want to hold faith in American Millennials being the positive change to come. But it’s so hard for me to see. My home town is known as a veritable petri-dish for consumerism, and they, like the rest of the cities population swallow it with pride, only to be gobbled up by the rest of the nation, and eventually globalized world. The overwhelming majority of Millennials that I’m surrounded by are self-righteous, narcissistic, vanity driven, cabbage seeking progeny of trickle-down we do what we want, bitches. And no, I’m not saying all. But statistically? Overwhelmingly? Yes, they are a product of fuckeduptitude with zero knowledge on how to affect change, much less, even aware of the need, let alone care for.
There’s no getting around it, there are no words to describe how fucked up this election season is, and I totally get why people wish to not pay attention, or, put all their eggs into their own selfish desires by choosing between the lesser of two fucktards.
Yet, despite the wealth of retardation, undeniably over the past 40 years wrought into our collective Murican consciousness, I still have hope; hope in the outlier; hope in that rare moment of synchronicity when the light of goodness floods through the darkness and you walk away knowing love for beauty, love for peace, love for the joy of children playing in a bit of heaven, love for family, friends, and the collective communing in harmony, love for the sake of love becomes manifest. Because if you aren’t believing in this, if you aren’t attempting to practice this in every moment of your life, don’t be surprised when civilization comes to a crashing halt, because I promise I, or some other outlier will be sure to tell you you were one of the dumbfucks who helped to make this happen.