innerpage

Establishments and Bureaucracies

          With each passing day this old world makes less and less sense. A rather simple statement, running counter to what “the in crowd” are preaching
          I have reference to politicians, TV commentators, bureaucrats, experts in THIS, experts in THAT, and all other loonies who belong to the so-called establishment.
          These nuts come into your parlor 733 times daily via that “idiot-box” known as television ( each new season sees this media sink to new depths in the stagnant cesspool, thus a term more debasing than “idiot-box” must be found ).
          And, once in your living room, here’s what these pecans and walnuts are saying: “Well, good news. Everything is hunky-dory out there in your rosy world today, thanks in large measure to our heady leadership. And the future looks even brighter. By next month every family will have not one, not two, but 4 chickens in each and every pot they own. Stay tuned to this station for further morale-building bulletins , uplifting news that will add greatly to your elation and general all-around good feeling.”
          Boiled down, this amounts to a big old pot of hogwash, and anyone who buys such “snow” is a very vulnerable person. Podnuh, not only might you become the proud owner of that famous bridge in Brooklyn, someone will sell you every dang span in the whole Empire State, and all of New England as well. Don’t believe anything you hear, else you could find yerself ownin’ more bridges than than old man Carter has liver pills!!
          Thinking about the “forward progress” in our world, I sat down one day and asked myself a question. To wit: “Do I understand what’s goin’ on?”
          I had to rely on out-dated methods to answer that question. Owning neither computer nor calculator, I rushed downtown to purchase a 29 cent ballpoint pen ( it’s an excellent idea fer folks prone to mistakes to git them there erasable types ) and 27 packs of notebook paper. Quaint materials, but in a pinch one must improvise.
          Six months ago my project got off the ground. I pondered just a short while, then made a momentous decision. And then said aloud: “I need to make two lists. The first will be an itemized slate about things I understand in this modern world. That second list will feature stuff that is wholly non-understandable.”
          And so I got down to the nitty-gritty. Ladies and gentlemen, I spent 3 weeks working on the first list. Lo and behold…a colossal amount of wasted time! It could’ve been finished in 10 seconds!
          Because only a single item was entered, i.e.: “ I live in a so-called enlightened age of human history, yet find myself certain of just one thing…the sun rises in the morning and sets in the P.M. hours.” This concludes my first list, and all interested parties are hereby referred to a second list…the things I don’t understand. It is, in what might be the champion understatement of all time, somewhat more lengthy!
          Soon after my second list was started I had to run another errand, this time to a distributor of office supplies. No retailers keep that many pencils and paper in stock!
          In the beginning my paper scroll stretched from Narz to Roanoke, but is now nearing the mid-Atlantic. It will eventually cross both the European and Asian continents.
          Next chapter, a partial list of my non-understandables…

          People in high places keep tellin’ us they have a handle on the current world situation. A barrage of blah blahs from the idiot-box keeps us so informed.
          These dudes are sayin’ everything is rollin’ along smoothly, all is under control, they know what’s happenin,’ we’re on the right track…Utopia is ours.
          Such information has left me adrift on a “’sea of bewilderment.” Doggone man, I’m completely befuddled.
          For instance, I can’t understand why a Democratic candidate for the White house would call Ted Kennedy in to make a speech on his behalf ( Teddy ain’t too popular outside his home state ). Worse still, the would-be President allows the TV cameras to zoom in for a close-up while shakin’ Teddy’s hand. Political suicide, and a nominee that dumb certainly has no business residing at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
          I can’t understand why people use dope. A treacherous path leading to troubles, sickness, and in just a short while straight into the fiery bowels of Hell itself. Only movie stars and professional athletes can afford cocaine and other type drugs.Ya’ see, “coke” causes all them there bones in yer proboscis to crumble. This unfortunate development leaves a feller with two options. He can accept that gaping hole in the middle of his face as a fact of life. Or he might seek the services of a plastic-surgeon to reconstruct his “organ of smell.” A minor operation costing a mere two-hundred thousand dollars!!
          NBA basketballers and the Hollywood crowd can afford dope and it’s ensuing problems. Residents of Giles County can’t! I’m tellin’ you folks…there’s just so much stuff goin’ on I don’t understand.
          My list of non-understandables lengthens about 4 miles each day. That strip of paper on which I’ve jotted them down will cross the Urals in 16 days!
          I can’t understand why the two most powerful nations on earth have used these past 40 years for a sole purpose…to spend themselves into bankruptcy buildin’ tanks, bullets and bombs (defense contractors and other fraudulent hogs think it’s a brilliant idea. It’s brilliance alright! A brilliant scheme for thieves to engage in their favorite pastime, wholesale stealing. Theft in high places is known as “white-collar crime.” Those who participate are called “shrewd businessmen.” ).
Now folks, I have myself a small problem here. I’m wondering, indeed questioning, our so-called “fair and equal system of justice,”
          Let’s suppose a high-ranking government official is caught stealin’ a paltry 5 million bucks. He’s sentenced to 4 months in a minimum-security prison facility way off down yonder in sunny Florida. Usually this “prison” is a U.S.Airforce installation. No cellblocks, no fences or walls, but lotsa’ pretty green golf courses!
          Let’s take a gander at the flip side of this dirty coin. I’m caught shoplifting a pocket-comb valued at 39 cents, carted off to jail, stand trial and find myself sentenced to 10 years in San Quentin. I’m also eternally branded…a “common thief.”
          Now I’d like to have a chat with people who dispense such justice. Ideally the conference would be held on the forty-fifth floor of a skyscraper. The very first time that G-Man mentioned “fair and equal justice” is when I’d attempt to boot him right out the window to that soft, soothing concrete pavement far below!! What we have here is a widescale and brazen insulting of the little intelligence you or I might possess. I sorta’ resent it, and that resentment runs deep.
          I can’t understand why the ostrich buries his head in the sand dune when the lion approaches. That old stupid bird just stands there with his posterior shinin.’ The big cat takes one look, two sniffs, then takes something else. A big slug out of a rearend belonging to the long-legged dummy
          The ostrich, and people in so-called high places sayin’ all is okay. Peas from the same pod…

          Up until about 10 years ago I knew enough to survive in this old world…though barely. But neighbor, the past decade has seen an alarming deterioration of those necessary instincts, which have now dipped to a terrifyingly low level.
          The opening chapter of this work summed it up nicely…the “Age of Aquaris” is rapidly approaching, perhaps a rational explanation why my sole remaining awareness is that the sun still sets and rises. Each and every day!!
          The onset of my ignorance caused more than a little concern. I became quite worried. Thought maybe I’d “flipped” and gone over the deep end. Reality had somehow slipped away; I’d lost my grip on sanity.
          Help was surely needed. I lit out for the nearest “quack doctor”, a type medicine-man often called a psychiatrist. Rather an odd looking individual, he sized me up with a pair of piercing, hawk-like eyes before asking: “What’s the problem?”
          “Well Doc, the Age of Aquaris makes me uncertain if my problem is major or minor. You see, I’m having trouble understandin’ just what the heck is goin’ on in this here enlightened age. For 18 hours per day my eyes and ears are tellin’ me one thing. Then in the evening hours I read a newspaper and watch TeeVee. Doc, the media and government people are dispensing information that’s clashing with what I’m seein’ and hearin.’ So look me over Doc, let me know if’n I’m out of touch.”
          “Lie on the couch and roll them eyes way back in yer ugly head,” he ordered while closing venetian blinds and dimming all lights.
          “Hey Doc, sure glad you want ‘em rolled back. I once had an appointment with one of your colleagues who, during an examination, wanted me to cross my eyes. I’ve always been sorta’ leery of crossin’ ‘em, fearful they might get stuck. Tell me sir, why would a doctor ask a patient to cross his eyes?”
          “Durned if I know. My profession has some real weirdos these days.”
          “ You see ,Doc. Another non-understandable. How can so many weirdos be runnin’ loose in an age of enlightenment?”
          Came a repeat of his previous answer: “Durned if I know.”
          “Doc, you’ve certainly made my day. It’s indeed a relief knowin’ I have company. You’re the only person I’ve met in 10 years who doesn’t know what’s goin’ on. We’d better learn to get along, cause the pair of us are in this thing together…the only two non-knowing idiots in the whole wide world.”
          “Quiet now,” he boomed while directing the beam of a six-cell flashlight into my eyes. Doggone thing put-nigh blinded me. Then his final observation: “Hmm. Well, all gears seem to be meshing.”
          “Do you mind if I get a second opinion? I feel something is terribly wrong when the only thing I understand is the rising of a sun that also sets. Confound it Doc, ignorance of that magnitude is abnormal in this enlightened age!!”
          “You’re entitled a second opinion,” he said while I forked over 250 dollars fer a 30 minute office session.. Another example! I can’t understand how any man can charge such exorbitant fees for his labor!
          In the following 2 days sixteen more “quacks” pointed glaring beams of intense light in my eyes, each, though somewhat hesitatingly, giving me a clean bill of health.
          Which means I haven’t as yet gone off the deep end. It means I’m just terribly dumb about “enlightened worlds”…

          My list of non-understandables goes on and on. Never will this one end.
          Picture this scene. A group of NASA officials fly up to Washington. Appearing before a congressional committee, their spokesman is blunt and straight to the point: “We want 400 billion dollars.”
          An inquiring Senator, Chairman of the distinguished panel, peers over his glasses to ask: “What fer?”
          “We’re planning a little trip to Mars and need some cash for fuel, food and lodging,” replies the would-be Birdman.
          “Oh, I see,” The Chairman looks around at his colleagues, hollers to wake half of ‘em up and says: “These here folks need some cash fer a trip. Can we write '‘em a check fer 400 billion?”
          “Don’t see why not,” chimes in the senior Senator from Massachusetts. “Where’d you say they were going?”
          “Not to Boston, Mr. Kennedy…not to Boston. Thses good people want a tour of Mars.”
          Metzenbaum of Ohio interrupts: “Teddy, is that in Massachusetts?”
          “Kennedy glances over to where his ultra-liberal, bleeding heart cohort is seated to remark: “No. It ain’t near Toledo either.”
          The senile old buzzard from Ohio swivels in his seat to face the NASA crowd: “Are you sure 400 billion is enough? We got the stuff burnin’ holes in our pockets. No need fer your group to run short of spendin’ money.”
          “Senator, we believe that small sum will get us to Mars.” The chief of the space-agency delegation pauses for a moment, then adds: “However, when we return we’ll need 19 trillion bucks to journey to the stars.”
          “No problem,” the pair of liberal Senators answer in unison. “Glad we can help.”
          There you have it folks, a typical business day in Washington, a town that’s been most generous in contributing to my long list of non-understandables.
          I simply can’t understand. Why must we go to Mars? Surely we can ask: “Is this trip necessary?”
          I believe we oughta’ leave the Red planet alone. Don’t clutter that pure orb. Don’t mess with Mars! Sure as shootin’ our peaceful neighbor is gonna’ be tainted if’n we get our dirty paws on ‘er.
          Besides, I question if it’s good business goin’ out there. We spent 40 billion on a trip to the moon…got two burlap sacks full of rocks outta’ the deal! Man, even a moron can figure space travel ain’t too profitable ( we’re gittin’ short changed. Let’s demand NASA bring back 10 sacks of rocks, plus 43 bushels of Martian sand. And at least one little green man! ).
          Eh…goin’ to the stars?!! Well now, let’s dash that silly notion with a bucket of ice-cold water right here and now. Mr. Carl Sagan gives the best illustration of some itsy-bitsy problems with interstellar travel. This here universe is one helluva big place. Friend, you can’t even begin to comprehend!
          NASA vehicles to the moon travel at 25,000 mph. But listen pal, gittin’ out there to the nearest star, Proxima Centauri, is a cat of a vastly different color. That star is 4.3 light-years from Earth, meaning one would get there in that amount of time if he could zip along at the speed of light…186,000 miles per second! Yeah, put-nigh 8 orbits of Earth in one second!!
          Well podnuh, we’ll need a spacecraft faster than the one Armstrong rode to the moon. I mean, 25,ooo mph jist ain’t good enough.
          A few facts about going to Proxima Centauri at 25,000 miles per hour.
          Tell ‘em Carl ( Mr. Sagan is speaking ). “At that snails pace we’d arrive on Proxima Centauri in 60,000 years! To the nearest star, right down the block! Course now, several extra fuel tanks will be needed on spaceships goin’ to Rigel, 910 light-years distant. Now hear me friend…I can’t understand any of this!
          Ladies and gentlemen, I ain’t about to walk out to a launch pad and say to a NASA crew departing for the stars: “Call when you git there so we can know you arrived safely.”
          Hell man, I’ll be too feeble to git up and answer the phone…

          An irreversible decision has just been made in this corner. The story you’ve been reading ( or maybe enduring ) will come to a screeching halt here and now, this week. We’ve been discussing “non-understandables”
in a high-tech age. A territory utterly alien to me.
          For several years now our world has moved at breakneck speed, a dizzying pace that has left me far behind and scratchin’ my dandruff-filled head. I might as well be somewhere in the Andromeda Galaxy; fer durn sure I can’t understand a durn thing that’s happenin’ here.
          Therefore it’s useless to continue because this story might easily last thru all of eternity. Or at least until Gabriel drops down to play us a few tunes.
          All stories should be written in a clear, concise and coherent manner. But how is this possible when “non-understandables” are the topic? A moron who stays on unfamiliar turf will succeed only in adding to the mass confusion of the already overly-confused populace. So then, a couple more “puzzling incomprehensibles” and we’ll wrap ‘er up.
          I can’t understand why any person, except in self-defense, would want to inflict violence and bodily harm on a fellow human-being. Seventy-five percent of our population is packin’ six-guns, cannons, baseball bats, hand grenades, bow and arrow, AK47 assault rifles, sticks, stones, knives and spears. Now another “dimension of terror” can be added to the list…that deadly weapon capable of propelling spitballs thru the air with tremendous velocity and unerring accuracy.
          We look at our fellow man and say: “Back off pilgrim, or I’ll zap you!” Frightening times, an era of history in which I admit to complete ignorance. But I suppose this is how one is supposed to act…in an ENLIGHTENED WORLD!! Still, after thinking it over, I sho’ ‘nuff don’t want to maim or multilate anyone.
          AIDS, fraud, a nearly complete loss of morals and ethics. Gunning down strangers on sidewalks, blowin’ airplanes outta’ the sky. Pornography, abortion ( murder pure and simple ). And the biggie that is our Pandora’s Box and rapidly causing this once great nation to crumble…a drug epidemic out of control and gone totally mad. This, not Russian H-Bombs, is finishing us off!!
          Being a person who doesn’t understand, I can only assume this is normal behavior for a “highly enlightened and civilized society.”
My final non-understandable is perhaps the most puzzling mystery of all. This one can have a fella’ scratchin’ his head till doomsday.
          It’s common knowledge that a drought has plagued planet Earth for 15 years, with the last two summers being especially harsh. Our world is bakin’ like a tater in an oven.
          New River is 6 ft. below it’s normal level. Wolf Creek is trickling away, springs that have gushed clear cool water for millions of years are drying up and are no more.
          All the above facts notwithstanding, at 6:25 PM a stupid weatherman invades our living-rooms, looks out from “the screen of idiots” and says: “A great forecast tonite. We can enjoy beautiful sunshine for the next two weeks. No clouds or rain are in sight.”
          Turning to his fellow newsmen the goofy jerk adds: “So get out them old putters and tennis rackets. Head fer your parched golf courses. Meet your friends on the paved courts where the temperatures are a pleasant 96 degrees farenheit.
          This moronic weatherman is actually telling us that prospects for a continued dry spell is good news!
          I’m gittin’ off of this here highway. Too many vehicles comin down the pike I don’t recognize, or understand. They’re on reckless and dangerous courses, headed for undesirable destinations. Don’t believe I wanna’ go there…

The End

M. L. Wilkinson

December, 1985