Dreaming of Those Beautiful Islands in the Sun.


Dog Poet Transmitting…….

Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there and just because you can doesn’t mean it is.

Every now and then some of those moments comes around and you segue off into one of those exits of the imagination and you find page after page of impossible reaches into some dreamscape. We’re all searching for some sort of serenity. We get the idea it must be, ‘out there’ somehow but… it’s not. It could be out there but you’d have to bring ‘in there’ along because otherwise you get reminded all the time about something vague and undefined that’s missing.

It’s not all that hard to understand the fascination of money, when it can land you in some sparkling oasis, somewhere far away from everything else, in the Caribbean, the South Pacific… the world’s clutter is nearly everywhere you go. It’s also flammable. The combustibility of the material plane is not in doubt. California is burning right now. In the burgeoning urban wastelands, all manner of fiery circumstance is smoldering beneath the paint rags in the corner of that dark basement, that sits beneath all the gaudy Hollywood fronts up top. Some of the fronts are not so gaudy. They are in serious disarray, a kind of torn and tattered dishabille, of disharmonious and threatening cityscapes, filled with brutalized and boarded up buidings and long narrow shadows that move in synchronicity with the deadly disenfranchised of the American nightmare. From Chicago to Baltimore and curling around like the Fingers of Sauron reaching along the super highways to East St. Louis and beyond, reaching on to the low rider Hells of Riverside and everywhere that the psychopathic social experiments of the self styled elite are having their moments of disorder, before desert gets served; some kind of flambe, I’m guessing.

It is a fitting irony that all that intensifying desire and the frustrations of unreachable objects and objectives, would begin to experience spontaneous combustions because of the pressure of millions of bodies, pressing up against each other in  a writhing and twisting frenzy of misdirected need and greed. They aren’t getting anything and they aren’t going anywhere, except back and forth from the apartment to the treadmill. The favored, of course, will have a better success rate. They’ll be knocking them back at those watering holes of privilege, rubbing each other on the back with that ‘hail fellow, well met’ thing, there amidst all of the other slithering snakes of quid pro quo.

Around the world the desperate wanting festers in massive population zones like Karachi, Mexico City, Bejing. You can’t know what it’s like unless you’ve been there. In Mexico City, packs of feral and ravenous dogs eat the unwary.

Because the system is based on separations of class, determined by the fortunes of birth and association, it eventually results in too few in possession of too much and too many in possession of nothing at all. Everything functions, when it functions, on the principle of balance. As long as some balance is retained, some semblance of order exists. This is not to say that justice plays any part in it. This is only to say that as long as balance is greater than imbalance, there is the appearance of some kind of sustainable routine.

In Iraq, the children bear radioactive water home in abandoned Jerry cans and whatever containers they can find. Anti personnel mines and cluster bombs blow up at random intervals, attended by blasted limbs, twisting in the air for a moment, until they land somewhere in the poisoned dust. I close my eyes and see some private island, winking in a turquoise sea. It does not wait there for me. It waits for those who have skimmed and scammed the finances necessary to acquire them. They are a breed apart. I don’t know these people, our lives are so very, very different but… my life is nowhere near as bad as some already mentioned here.

During the horrible Iraq/Iran war with all that poison gas and the millions who went down in the conflict, the rats grew to be up to 26 pounds. There was so much to eat. It was a never ending vermin banquet. Far away from most of us, human tragedies of epic proportion take place and we barely hear about them. East Timor was nothing more than a speed bump on the way to some dark Rothschild Rio Tinto fantasy.

Today, in The Congo, Coltan Fever is epidemic. The conditions are a complexity of bandit hordes, killing with impunity. Before that was Rwanda and all over the dark continent, darkness is in a full blown sway over the flyblown landscape. At the heart of it all is the lust for resources in western culture. Let us not forget The Sudan. It’s hard to imagine the reality of what takes place in these locations. It’s not just Africa. It’s all over the place and because of what is happening there and in countries near about, there is a swarm of refugees taking every imaginable risk, in order to reach some point of safety and I dream about some unattainable island in the Caribbean, when I am already on an island and though my circumstances are generally more iffy than stable, they are nothing like the unfortunate state of so many others. Uncertainty and dire impoverishment might threaten me but neither have actually knocked on the door yet.

I’ve dreamed of these islands for many years; something intensely private and mostly deserted. I think it is more of an inner world that one sometimes visits in dreams, more so than in reality. I’ve lived in the Caribbean. I lived for months on a beach on Andros Island; the least populated and largest island in the Bahamas chain. When I was there it was primitive and desolate. There were towns that were a little more than ten miles apart and people in one town that had never been to the other in their whole lives. I lived with my girlfriend in a tent on the beach where I also built one of those tropical structures out of palm fronds and bamboo, or whatever it was. It was a glorious period and maybe it is the memory of that that keeps returning to my mind but… as I said, maybe it’s just an interior place yet to be opened for residence because I have it right here already, sort of. Of course… there is a lot of that materialism here but you can’t see it from my driveway and you got to drive for awhile before you get there.

In the war torn regions the idea of materialism is their own dream of islands. This is understandable when you are hungry and poor and live under the threat of death and worse at all times and where there is litle in the way of health care and a great deal in the way of pestilence. Follow the money and you know who is responsible for these things and those responsible don’t live there. They live in London and New York, Brussels and Tel Aviv. They are the bankers who print the currencies and they are all the rest of them who live in pursuit of the currency. They are monsters and a sizable portion of them are Ashkenazi Klingons birthed from the hemorrhoidal regions at the ass end of the universe and they have come here because this is their time. Certain lifeforms prosper in certain environmental climates.

Well… I didn’t stay long studying those islands. I’m back here now, on my own island, which is itself on an island, far out in the Pacific and about as far away from anything else as you can get, which is certainly a part of its charm. When the system collapses this will not be the easiest place to get to.

I supppose what I am writing about today is to count your blessings. Never forget all of what is taking place outside of your sight line. Live in comparative awareness and be grateful. Be very, very grateful.

End Transmission…….

I’ll try to get that radio broadcast up for those of you with any interest. Revisit this space later for a link.

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