A happy and prosperous New Year to all decent and civilized people, to all men of goodwill, and alas, yes, because God demands that one be compassionate to the stupid, the willfully ignorant, the brain-washed, and even evil-minded, to the primitives on Skins’s island too.
If franksolich had his way, the primitives would’ve driven themselves into extinction a very long time ago; it’s always been pretty obvious they lead wretched, miserable, angry, hate-filled, bitter, pointless, lives, and one wonders why they bother, when the way out is so simple and easy.
But I don’t have my way; there are forces and powers much greater than franksolich, and such forces and powers apparently have determined it’s best for humanity that primitives continue existing. I dunno why; perhaps to punish decent and civilized people for our own sins—and best to pay for one’s sins in this world, than in the next.
And so yeah, a happy new year (uncapitalized) to the primitives, although one
really wishes they’d all drop dead so that others may have a place at the table of the banquet of Life.
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As the lurking primitives probably haven’t noticed, being unperceptive creatures, I didn’t do the Top DUmmies this year, due to incapacitation from a massive heart attack suffered over the weekend of Mother’s Day nearly eight months ago.
Such was the fruit of 37 years of compulsively chain-smoking 2-3 packages of cigarettes a day, a habit I’d picked up as a fifteen-year-old, so as to ameliorate the stress and tension of being a deaf person in a hearing world.
I haven’t had a cigarette since then, and oddly, there hasn’t even been an urge, a longing, for one. Not once. I dunno why not, but it’s almost as if I’d never smoked a cigarette in my life. This is
not to say such urges, longings, won’t happen in the future, but it is to say that an eight-month run, at least to me, seems a pretty good run.
I don’t regret smoking, nor the thousands of dollars spent, nor all the people turned off by it, nor the heart attack, because yes, it did make life considerably easier nearly all my adult years. It’s an unfortunate fact of life that many things that are good for one’s well-being are at the same time bad in other ways.
And surprisingly, despite cessation of that habit, I haven’t gained an ounce; franksolich remains the only guy even sissy-boy Atman on Skins’s island could beat up, in fact pound me into a little red spot in the ground.
My larger—and more realistic—fear however remains that one day in Omaha, it might happen that the big guy, upon seeing franksollich and in an eager haste to express his gratitude for all I’ve done him, might suddenly slip and fall on top of me. In which case the guys with the ambulance would have to pick me up with a spatula and deliver me to the mortuary on a cookie-sheet.
I was very fortunate this past year, 2015, and anticipate being at least equally lucky this coming year; and happy days should come again provided the American electorate recovers its marbles.
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Finally, there’s this, 10,000 Japanese—singing in impeccable German—performing Beethoven’s
Ode to Joy--although the primitives won’t like it, as one has to first know God, to derive joy from something, and the primitives don’t want to know God. Even though God never did them any harm, and would do them much good, if the primitives would allow it.
https://youtu.be/xBlQZyTF_LYAs a deaf person “hearing†this, I must say the body language of the performers is deafening in its vigor, its enthusiasm, its high-spiritedness. It’s a joy to see a conductor truly exuberant about his music, and it’s obviously contagious. But the guy with a mustache freaks me out; I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a Japanese, either in real life or in a picture, with a mustache.
