That rumble and bumble in your head, that's your conscience. Maybe it shows up as a tightening in your gut. You came from the factory with some sense of right and wrong, some degree of what we call empathy. At least most of us do.
The Google road to empathy is congested lately, with searches for Musk and psychopathy, Trump, social security and vaccinations. Don't try to get there faster by searching for "easiest countries for immigration" or "rental costs in Portugal" either. Jammed!
I wish I had sound advice for you.
Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.
Any day that you don't die of the plague should eventually be considered a "good old day."
All those dumb jokes about not buying green bananas and now I think twice about ordering any large size bottle of co enzyme q10. Take your wisdom from any source that presents itself.
Can you imagine the ego of the folks who think that they're in charge of this world? The preachers, the politicians, the performers, the athletes. Most of us wouldn't wear a pope suit to a costume ball. If I tied a red, silk ribbon around my dog's neck, she would rip it off in a heartbeat to reclaim her dignity. Somehow the evening news today will be filled with grown men with red silk ribbons tied around their neck and not a shred of dignity.
Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.
When I was a kid and TV was new, it was easy to tell the good guys from the villains. The heroes wore white hats. They were polite to the ladies. The bad guys came in all kinds of getups- Nazi uniforms, black hats, peroxide blonde hair, red pointy tails and nails-through-the-noggin. There was nothing subtle about it. You were with the good guys or you weren't.
By the time I approached puberty, lines blurred. Walter Cronkite told us that we were losing the war in Viet Nam. Somebody killed our beloved president and his brother and our civil rights leader.
Suddenly all those stories about slavery and lynchings and brothers killing each other in a horrible civil war and internment camps and smallpox blankets swirled in a heartbreaking stew in my struggling brain, already trying to make sense out of a world that was far more complicated than the one I knew.
Now I'm in England, far from the circus that I read about every day in the New York Times. I don't hear much from anyone, certainly not the ones that I was in close contact with in the US. The villains couldn't be more obvious to me. Half of the population that I left behind agree except that they seem to have a different idea of the good guys and the bad guys.
I surely hope the good guys win.
Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.
After a lifetime of fumbling to screw up the courage to ask a girl to dance, I seem to have finally solved my problem by avoiding dancehalls, juke joints, discotheques and nightclubs.
I don't mean to brag here, but if the average male thinks of sex around nineteen times a day, as scientists claim, then I'm well above average.
So, here I am- a shy Lothario, a clumsy Casanova, a stammering Valentino. My imagination is x rated.
Why worry about trade wars and nuclear destruction when an anvil could land on your noggin at any moment and leave you flatter than Wile E. Coyote, deader than rock'n'roll.
Once you're born, the end of the story is no mystery. The chapters between birth and oblivion are up to you. Sorta'. Less if you're not white enough, female, poor, unhealthy in any way or just geographically challenged.
Having been brought forth into all of the lucky categories, during the time of Elvis and the Beatles, I'm more or less obligated to acknowledge my fine fortune and I do.
All you need while you're here is love. That's what I've learned.
Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.
That's right! Congratulations. Everybody's a winner, everybody gets a prize.
For folks who believe in ghosts, there are ghosts. Those who believe that everyone's out to get them better opt for two factor authentication to log in to all their internet accounts and get some sorta' doorbell with a camera. Don't even think of getting hitched without an ironclad pre-nup, unless of course, your beloved has more stuff than you.
I've usually been poor enough to avoid spending too much time worrying about security. Oh, I've lost some hubcaps along the way and I've been shortchanged a time or two for services rendered. For the most part, I've always gotten a fair shake and more than my fair share.
Somehow, I can't help but believe that there's a golden age on the heels on this sad, dark period of history. Oh, I may not see it, but I'm living a dream here and now. I'm more than happy to share my reality with you.
Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.
There comes a point where I'm worn out commenting on the collapse of the culture that surrounds me. I remember my lack of patience with old fools who spouted off about Elvis and JFK and BB when I was at that point in life where you know everything.
There are, of course, opinions and philosophies that I will stick with:
Kindness brings happiness.
There has never been a good war.
All you need is love.
Girls rule, boys drool.
Don't pay any attention to me. I get my ideas off t-shirts and bumper stickers, not some high tech structure like tiktok or a sacred text written anonymously centuries ago, changed several times conveniently by kings, suggesting plucking out eyes and threatening eternal damnation.
Maybe I never walked five miles in the snow to school but I did meet Jackie Wilson.
Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.
