The next time I met with the Unpaid Internet Content Provider after escaping from my ordeal in the prickly desert while he was taking personal time off to wantonly frolic in the lush green forest of the Santa Cruz Mountains we had it out big time.
“Where have you been?”
“You know where I’ve been.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Regain some balance.”
“Yeah, right, balance out in a desert.”
“I thought it was the valley.”
“Explain to me the difference.”
“This politics business is eating you alive. Is all the filthy lucre really worth it?”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
Sure, I know that base politics feeds like a parasite on crude lies, blame, deceit, and filthy lucre, and reproduces at a slithering low level of consciousness that stifles personal growth, creativity, enlightenment, honesty, dynamism, and freedom on earth as well as in the multiverse, like duh, and demands slavish obedience to discredited dogmas by power mad authoritarian toadies controlled by robots who front diabolical beasts, thieves, charlatans, opportunists, hypocrites, and diversionary clowns. But, still.
I said, “Let’s compromise.”
He said, “Cool.”
“Try this new brown beer I brewed with a dash of cardamom.”
There was no time left for unproductive dilly-dallying while the path ahead remained. The sneaky robots were gaining. They had money, power, organization, and brains. Nothing spiritual is organized and nothing organized is spiritual and robots were busy making hay in the plowed fields by righting curved angles. Those dumb comic book religions begetting cartoon heroes in wars, politics, and governments that were supposed to combat the appeal of commerce to the common man still can’t comprehend what’s sucking the life out of their loins with such a potent choke hold below the belt. Too bad out in the wretched desert they never got to witness a couple of banana slugs in action.
I asked, “How’s that for lubrication going down your throat?”
He said, “Let’s roll.”
We had to continue with no further adieu to get down to the real hard nitty-gritty of political brainstorming that precedes the production of hard hitting speeches to be mouthed by Lt Guv Gav Newsom in order to assure passage in California of the Adult Use of Marijuana Act, AUMA, before the teen twins arrived home from middle school and caused the Unpaid Internet Content Provider to stammer and flee like a clumsy whirling dervish into a sweaty clump. He does not understand why the teen twins make trouble for him like that. I try to stay out of it. Sometimes, it works. Sort of. Contradictions, per norms, abound.
“We can split a pork banh mi combo and mull the issues.”
“Ah, savory and sweet.”
“Try this new brown beer I brewed with a pinch of garam masala.”
Where I knew the Unpaid Internet Content Provider had been while I was suffering my ordeal in the desert that led to a trying period of seriously shallow mouth breathing for the cause of freedom to smoke weed and ingest edibles was waiting in a curvy line of voluntary human specimens that meandered according to a cutting edge algorithm in the Forest of Nisene Marks, a California State Park, along with steadfast banana slugs, grubs, gophers, earthworms, and night crawlers, to an unknown destination in a secluded grove of redwood trees. I wasn’t sure he understood the particulars. I know I didn’t. I’m not sure anyone did except maybe Elon Musk. It was hard to tell in the dank dark forest but the banana slugs appeared to be having blatant unprotected sex.
“So did you get what you were going after?”
“It’s a process.”
The first time the Unpaid Internet Content Provider informed me he had made it onto the preliminary list to continue to be considered for a rare pair of tickets that included reclining bucket seats and dehydrated munchies on an early launch to Mars, I asked, “What list?”
He said, “That’s what I keep talking about. Balance. You’re falling behind.”
“My sensitive ass has been cushioning falls so far.”
Though he felt confident he had those seats securely in the bag, the Unpaid Internet Content Provider was aiming for so much more, an entire pod in which all of the beholden travelers were dependent upon his quirks. That’s not what I was looking for in the area of more freedom.
I said, “You know you can count me out.”
He said, “By then, your small mind might get changed.”
Sure, there are good reasons to go, and be, far out there. Down here alongside the dumps that smell gravity pin-balls in cahoots with sweat and spit and ends up churning out loads of mistakes, the third most basic building block of the multiverse. Once mistakes gain momentum with the assistance of unrepentant gravity, unintended consequences can’t be far behind. And sure, digging up and spilling too much toxic dirt in a zero-sum game faked by billions leads to a dusty home on the range of a small to medium sized planet. Leaders lead those who are fed to be led. Then the game becomes one of keep away, in which armed, tyrannical clowns bob up and down on shifting chairs with wild jerking of knees and putzes, and chaos ensues for a rough patch of of eons. And sure, seed peckers piss off blue jays who stir up woodpeckers who harass crows who gang up on hawks and all the upper shit collects at the downer bottom. Before he died aptly young, Jimi Hendrix maintained that when you are stone free you got to got to get away. And why not when it’s never been easier to become weightless, and you can only act now while you can act? Plus, hands free steering by robots. Easy terms and financing available 24/7.
I said, “I’m having a hard time maintaining focus in my maelstrom.”
“What are your sorry alternatives?”
“You don’t have to get personal.”
“It’s a process.”
“Us against them.”
“Ooga booga wooga.”
Sure, smoking weed and ingesting edibles is about freedom to be here and now, not where and how the killers expect you to be to behave. And sure, politics is about restricting freedom, defining enemies, and taking prisoners. Along with wads of filthy lucre, of course. So why take your selfie smack dab in the line of fire? Unless that’s why they’re called contradictions.
“Okay,” I said, “how does this sound?”
He said, “I am listening.”
“Oh wait, that’s not it.”
I will be happy to wave bye-bye to the conquistador canaries from a safe distance. I might not stand in a straight line but I’ll show up. The pods feature no fault options in color and flavors to blend and smooth oddities that may arise in the form of wrinkles and nodes. I’m sure many scenic planets with gravity that can get it up are lovely in Spring. Let the robots work it out. According to information I have gleaned from the robot who mops my floors, I would be smarter to go. I’m not sure how smart it thinks I am, though. It has a bit of an attitude and may just be trying to get rid of me. Who doesn’t resent doing indentured dirty work?
“Try to spread out and breathe and let it flow.”
“This is as far as it goes.”
“It must hurt.”
I will testify to that. And I will commit perjury without blinking. What I cannot help but feel deep in my coiled soul is contradictions will still be abounding like bunnies not only now and then, and wherever, but thereafter. No time or place holder required. That’s not the reason why I’m not going to Mars, as if I needed a reason, but if I did, in a close call or a pinch, that would be a plenty good enough one for me.