Freedom of Squeaks: 2008

My Books

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Financial Matters

10:03 AM Reporter: Unknown 0 Responses

I was reading the newspaper this morning and had a thought: when we're kids, we believe in Santa Claus, but when we get older we believe in capitalism. For every person who actually gets rich, hundreds of millions work their entire lives, doing as they're told, being good boys and girls. "He knows when you've been sleeping, he knows when you're awake..." It sounds like Big Brother, because it is!

It's not the working that leads to problems, it's the believing. The fantasy of great wealth is always what causes collapses, and what causes people to avoid solutions, drawing them out forever until their suffering is finally greater than their greed. We cling to that fantasy of Santa coming with a big sackful of toys; when any sensible adult would stop, look around at how things are, punish the guilty and protect the innocent. But because we all believe in Santa and know how silly that is, how can we punish somebody else for believing a little too much?

But Santa doesn't exist, it's just your parents working behind the scenes. And capitalism is just one kind of arrangement, not perfect, maybe the best one, maybe not--not finished, y'know? It's alright to believe in Santa, until somebody's feelings get hurt. Then it's time to grow up.

I'm regretting this already

10:35 PM Reporter: Unknown 0 Responses

I just read over yesterday's post. Christ, what a softie I've become. "Everybody should hold hands. And after that I'll buy the world a Coke." I blame Southern California. And my meds, of course.

Listen, I'm never going to be able to pull this off if I start looking over my shoulder. That's why I could never write anything except in gobbledygook--too self-conscious. Now we come to one of the prime benefits of being John W. O. Private Citizen: I can be, do, say whatever I want. It doesn't matter anymore. It never mattered, but we all thought it did.

Now, if I think something, I can just say it, whether or not it's consistent with my image. Any image is a trap, even "total honesty." In some ways that's the worst trap of all.

Slumdog Millionaire

10:41 AM Reporter: Unknown 0 Responses

In my experience, India is to funky smells what Paris is to perfume. Even up in the mountains, you get some sort of rank whiff. "What the fuck is that? There are no people around for miles!" I think so many people have lived in India for so long--farts have to go somewhere, you know.

Anyway, during the whole movie my memory was running its own version of John Waters' "Smell-o-vision." A trash heap, an outdoor shitter, a burning body...Not to say I didn't enjoy it, I did. But I'm a strictly first-world kind of guy (do they still use that phrase? I never could figure out where the "second" world was). I can't handle seeing the suffering though--I feel it. Starvation takes the fun out of room service.

India's problem can be summed up in two words: Kama Sutra. If they'd never written that bloody book--if they had a proper English view of marital relations (short, sharp, and with enough alcohol to prevent any memory of the event) there'd be about twenty-five millions in the whole country. It would be the Italy of Asia. But noooo...

You can't watch that movie without seeing yourself in the characters--which I suppose is the test of any good art, be it a movie, book, or pop song. Somewhere in the middle I was struck by a thought: if we were still doing concerts, I'd like to start and end them all by having the audience stand quietly and hold hands with each other--a bit like what the Catholics do, "Please Be With You." Touching is good; it's powerful. It'd be a way to remind everyone there that we're all One, to dissolve the artificial boundaries between us that cause all the trouble. And people would do it, if I told 'em to. We could've gotten them to do anything. "Okay, now all the chicks take off your shirts."

Of course, if we had them all touch, then one thing might lead to another as it often does, and soon the whole world would be Mumbai. So there you are.

Hello hello--is this thing on?

5:23 PM Reporter: Unknown 0 Responses

Just checking to see if it all worked--Mike tells me it's easy but I don't know if I believe him. What if Blogger doesn't trust anyone over 30? I'm using his account, just in case I break the internest.

Every day on this date, I do something really scary, just to prove to myself that I'm still alive. I can think of nothing more terrifying than communicating in public again, so here I am. Blogging. At 68.

I gotta go--one of my kids is in town and is taking me out to dinner. But I'll post here again as soon as I can think of something interesting to say. Meanwhile, tonight let's all live a little, for all the people who can't.

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Freedom of Squeaks

Financial Matters

I'm regretting this already

Slumdog Millionaire

Hello hello--is this thing on?