I Reign A Small Town King

The Big City

Part 3 of 28

Even as a small town king myself, so often I find myself rejecting the prejudice small town morons have about the Big City, essentially that it’s evil. That goes against my competing small town values of prejudging any case. I had the impartial justice bug even as a kid, anytime I was accused of something. “Take your hands off me, you filthy devil,” I remember saying as a kid to one of my accusers, the school principal. That's what I should've said.

Another way to look at it is, Hey, we’re supposedly small town kings! If that’s what they call us, shouldn’t we embrace our royal identity and live out the truth how we have it over everyone else. It’s an injustice, it cries for legal help, to believe anything else. Although a lot of this language about us being small town kings was likely just a cheap shot by the main proponents of the small town vibe against the Big City. Meaning, yeah, sure, you’re a “small town king,” but apart from the debate with the Big City the message was always, “Don't embrace it as a thing,” or “When push comes to shove, we make the rules, we can change them.” A terrible thing as a kid to recognize. “You set up the parameters of my supposed royalty and you can knock ‘em down. 'We’re the ones calling you kings, We giveth, We taketh away.'"

Obviously in a situation like that, where the propaganda is widely touted even as you see how shabby it is -- like finding that all your birthday presents were just cardboard cutouts of the real thing, or your surroundings a Hollywood set when the director yells “Cut,” are things no kid wants to face. “But, but, you said!” “Yeah, kid,” the cynical adult says, “We know what we said. Stick around, clean your ears, there’s no telling how much more you’re going to hear about your so-called promise. You’re promise equals exactly this: The principal bares his ass and everyone lines up on their knees in lockstep to symbolically kiss it.  These are the insights the typical kid doesn’t know what to do with. Maybe just grow up to parade his own backside around the town, with one of two motives, to expose the apparently false teaching that every small town kid’s a king, or to keep embracing it, with the fear that to reject its truthfulness is to make even the promise vanish. Then what are you left with? Shambles, a small town vibe little better than the hated Big City.

I’d love to find the documentation on this stuff. It could be, given their low opinion of us, they were very careful to collate together all the documents, distributing them at meetings and then storing it all somewhere secure. But it could actually be easier to find than we think. A man serves as mayor or principal or even flunky only so long. I’ve seen how these meetings go, in unrelated fields. “We’re going to collect all the papers, etc.,” and the reality's often different. A guy’s talking and accidentally packs his papers home, they’re misplaced, they’re forgotten. Only to be discovered years later in an estate sale. “What have we here? A Nazi plan to make us think we’re all royalty, when, in fact, we’re peons from the word GO? This is what the exalted small town thinks of us, so desperate to keep us from the possibly true Big City propaganda that the Big City turns out the best kids, the true royalty!"

At the very least, friends, it’s disappointing to grow up and suspect your entire youth was a carefully nurtured lie, and now you're left to counsel a bunch of widowed children in their old age. But I simply got out, and here I sit, now a resident of the Big City. And I've seen one big difference here, they don’t even tell you you’re a king. The subject never comes up! Which explains a lot.

A Thousand Years From Now

Here's a self-help exercise I thought of earlier tonight. Which has helped me put a few things into perspective, so now I'm not nearly as bummed out.

I was really feeling lethargic and even depressed. Everyone has "real lives," and in very short order they can become clogged up with various demands on you, this or that person holding something against you, criticizing you, and basically getting you in a corner. So every damned day seems like it's just dragging along. I'm still a bit depressed, but definitely not as much. Not as long as I'm daydreaming and singing about a thousand years from now!

This little song I started singing dirge-like to a very slow version of the tune of "You're In The Army Now." Thinking ... once again, of those glorious far-off days of a thousand years from now, when everything about me, everyone else, and every problem I either have or think I have will be so definitely forgotten ... it's basically ridiculous to even think about it now.

"A thousand years from now,
A thousand years from now,
Nobody then will even care...
A thousand years from now."

That's the basic gist of the thing, but I'm tossing in some riffing on the words, like "No one will even know my name," "No one will care and that is true," and "No one will give the faintest shit, a thousand years from now."

In addition to singing the song I'm thinking how true it is. A thousand years ago was 1016, OK? And I assume some guy like me, probably pounding out shoes for the horses of a village, was having some problems with others. Couldn't get the metal ... or his reputation had taken a hit; a horse crapped on him during a fitting and he shot it in the ass. Something harmless like that. Well, a thousand years has now passed, and we have no idea about that guy, who he was, who his friends were, what the horse's name was, whether the horse ever walked again, anything! A thousand years has passed and it's all completely forgotten.

Because a thousand years leaves zero witnesses. They've all moved on. A thousand years from now even Lee Harvey Oswald won't raise any immediate thoughts. But they'll speak his name and a computer will regurgitate something. But it's not going to be mentioning me ... with the relatively little reputation and problems I have. Even though they feel big to me right now. And even though I'm down in the mouth, going through the motions, all lethargic, yawning, etc. A thousand years from now heals everything.

"You did what???" "I don't know. Is it even gonna matter ... a thousand years from now?"

It actually won't matter -- none of it -- 30 years from now. I'm sure it won't. I'm 63, and as we all know I'm going to die when I'm 85. That's only 22 years away! Meaning, in 30 years I'll already have been dead eight whole years. And I find it hard to believe anyone's going to still be complaining about me then. The average guy dies now and you're immediately forgotten after they've scattered the ashes.

You got a problem? Put it in a larger perspective. What difference will it make a thousand years from now? It won't make any difference at all.

Little Old Fantastic Me Strikes Again

I'm remaking society in my own image. Isn't that great! Always thinking, always tinkering with things behind the scenes. Very nefarious, potentially, but always meant, strictly, for good.

On Twitter I've become something of a wild man, casting away all the norms of propriety, and I've struck out on my own. I whittled my "likes" down from something like 3,500 to 40. Making everyone crazy, no doubt. But to me it's fantastic, giving me something manageable to work with. Feeling great. I currently have 81.155555 times more followers than folks I follow, meaning I'm in huge demand, for once in my life.

Lest you think that's simply vain, let me assure you, it's not. Because in my way of thinking, this means I'm on to something, not being content merely to rest on my laurels. Instead, I'm contributing to world progress, happiness, and peace. After all, the more content you are, the more you are able to contribute in positive ways. I continue it today, through my peaceful writings.

You remember my post yesterday, to give an example, how I re-imagined what driving (traffic) could be like, virtually heaven on earth, if only we had something like a commandant/peon system, people like me being the commandants, with freer access to the roads, and peons like 81.15555% of the population, with more restricted access. I came up with that!

Then, as I recall, I also imagined the same commandant/peon system for the adoption of children and pets, both. That's radical, yes, and entirely level-headed at the same time. You can see the efficiency, and dare I say compassion, of such a system in an instant. What I'll be thinking of next, even I don't know. I only know I'm always thinking. And using tricks to jog my memory of everything I haven't thought of yet. See that? That's radical! And level-headed at the same time.

I can tell you a few of my mental tricks, things that give me the edge.

1) Tarot cards. When I get up in the morning, after having about a half cup of coffee, I shuffle the major arcana of my deck and draw a card. Let's say one morning I get the "Temperance" card. Every time I look at it I think of something new. There's a big angel with one foot in the water and one foot out. I'm always secretly hoping the lobster from "The Moon" card might come over and pinch his toe. Put those two cards together and you'd have something!

2) Meditation. One of the things I used to think was ideal was for meditation to empty your mind. Since I could never manage that, I went hog wild the other way. When I'm meditating -- and my exact routine is top secret -- I'm forever delving into some new way to enhance society and make humanity happier. My latest project involves Republicans and guillotines, but I haven't yet fully perceived the fullness of the ultimate goal. Only time, more meditation, and the availability of guillotines will tell!

3) Miscellaneous reading. I pick up at least 25 different books every week, intending to read each one. But I never get far, because the next one always looks more interesting. In this way I never actually finish a book, but I learn everything you can learn from the first 10-15 pages. This generalized smattering of knowledge doesn't do me a lot of good, but in guessing what I might have missed, I think of unexpected things. One plan I came up with for society is stocking the world's libraries with only the first 15 pages of each title, because the library would then be able to hold 100s more books. And if you get them on Kindle, the free sample usually covers the first 15 pages, so it's super cheap learning!

Everything in the world is getting better in every way, thanks to me! Which I've adopted as a daily affirmation, reading precisely like that: "Everything in the world is getting better in every way, thanks to me, little old fantastic me!"

The Forlorn Duck

If I may be so bold, Hello! -- Please don't hit me, I didn't mean anything by it. Please excuse the mood; it's getting kind of severe, this skittishness. . . . The thing is, I've been doing some fairly intense work on my identity, looking for certain aspects of my personality to put forward. I feel like I've sunk a lot in recent weeks -- I don't know why -- A lot of my former confidence and even joy have gone missing.

My self image right now's at its lowest. And the more I do -- the old stuff I used to do for maximum happiness -- doesn't have the same kick as before. I go to bed sad. I wake up in the night sad. And of course I greet the brand new day, pulling open the curtains to see the new day's sun, in a totally sad way. I've become what I never dreamed I'd be, The Forlorn Duck. That's what I'm calling myself, "FD" for short.

So if you've never liked me before -- it wouldn't be so hard to believe -- please like me now. This Forlorn Duck stuff is worse than you'd think. It's so bad, it's like the experts say, It's hard to get out of it. So part of me says, "Just give up and give in. Be the Forlorn Duck." Part of me counsels resistance, "Put up a good effort of resistance." Then the old me, the confident me, checks in before quickly checking out again, with this, "Stand your ground as the strong confident person you used to be. Gotta run!" My old me apparently doesn't know much about counseling. He needs to hang around a while and do some validating.

I go places, and I see other Forlorn Ducks, by the way not to be confused with Hangdogs or Sourpusses, although I don't want to get sidetracked on technicalities. I see all of them, but it's the Forlorn Ducks I'm interested in now. The biggest problem with Forlorn Ducks is our vulnerability to every little thing. If you know anything about "The Ladder of Easily Helpable Self Images", a chart which I'll scan and post if I can find it, then you know Forlorn Ducks tend to flock in the "Healthy below average" range.

Looking at it that way, it's not as discouraging as it could be. I really think I might be able to overcome enough of it to work my way into "Healthy average." Again, if you like me, then maybe give me even a little encouragement, and I just might make it. And here's something. Even if you don't like me, and don't give me encouragement, I might be able to convince myself that you would have if you knew me better. That theoretical statement could be enough to raise me a few rungs. (I don't know where the Ladder chart is right now; I'd love to double check it.)

I suppose while I'm in this FD funk I should learn as much about it as I can. I'm big into the science of self images and all. I believe this is true, that FD-types, while not desiring contact with other FDs, must have something like a DNA override, an internal attractor/reacher-outer, for mutual protection. And that's why I'm suddenly surrounded by FDs. I need to get out of this quickly, lest the override sticks in place. There's another reason for you to like me. I need your heartfelt consideration, but as I've seen in anguished Facebook pleas for liking, I know that only 2% of the non-FD population will respond. Thinking of that -- 2% is basically low -- it's hard to be encouraged. Yet I am still heartened that it's not less than zero, for where there's 2%, there's hope.

This is horrible! I just need to get a grip! I am more, much more than a Forlorn Duck! What's this? I feel something ... Muscles are returning to my arms? My shoulders and jaws are suddenly squaring up? My solar plexus is starting to flicker, then shine? My feet are widening? I'm standing solid? Yes -- what is this? -- I'm standing solid! One foot up, one down, one up, one down! I'm stomping! I'm stomping again, me! Stomping again! Stomping victoriously! Now I'm turning, twisting, moving in a circular motion, like a human tornado, a powerful whirling humanado, picking up steam and ... emitting a lot of wind. With confidence again! I'm moving with confidence! More, more, more! Pointing my index finger, like John Travolta in the '70s, with all negativity falling away like dominoes, all of it collapsing in a gigantic heap!

The Forlorn Duck has passed away! With this simple exercise, writing up an inventory, that's all it took. I'm already up a rung on the Ladder, all the way to "Healthy average"! With super strength, alive and kicking ... meaning, now I am able once again to help others ... with a renewed push toward healthy self images for all demanded of me! ... We're on the verge, my friends, of a new Drive for Pride!*

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*Drive for Pride was a major self-help series of this blog in 2009-2010, for those with a failing memory.

I've Always Been Impotent

The older you get, the more you reflect on your life. What has it all been worth? What have I really accomplished? Is there anything left to be done? Or, like the wise men of old, like Socrates, should I simply be content to live out my years with whatever happiness life affords?

I can certainly tell you -- after bitter years of endless striving, most of it apparently pointless -- that the world as a whole doesn't think much of me. Just the other day there was an article in the paper, full page, about all the impotent men of history who've visited or lived in our town. The only ones I can remember now were Jesse James and Jack Benny. But they're great examples. Jack Benny was a funny guy back in his day. And Jesse James was one hell of a criminal. Of the two, obviously both were impotent, but I think it's a shame that we pay homage to a skunk like Jesse James. While I'm sitting here ... overlooked.

I don't mean I'm angry about being overlooked. Really, who cares? The glory of the world is so fleeting that it's meaningless. "What have you done for me lately? More, more, more! You must be this high to be ride the roller coaster, with all its ups and downs!" The world's glory is not worth having. And that gives me a great deal of peace of mind. Because I can do exactly what I want without striving. Like everyone else -- everyone with wisdom -- I can hide in my home, hoping that modern day skunks of the Jesse James stripe don't get me. Or identity thieves at Target.

Don't get me wrong. There's plenty of good impotent people out there still. Forgive me if I don't give examples. Our society is so polarized that no one can agree on anything. Like global warming. Yes, it might kill us but we're going to be obstinate. We can only be thankful that hurricanes, tornadoes, mudslides, and house fires have a long established legacy, lest our stupider fellow citizens deny their existence and we all die tomorrow.

I spoke of my age. I have a birthday coming up in the next few months, at which point I'll be over 60. Pretty old, huh? It is, but with years comes wisdom. Especially with someone of my intelligence (I have called myself "The Brain" on more than one occasion). A big part of that wisdom is simply the intelligence to be content with myself. To tune out the rest of the world, as much as possible. And accept it -- even insist on it -- that to me I am the most impotent man in the world! There, I've said it.

I don't read celebrity news, gossip columns, or watch red carpet bullshit like Joan Rivers and her daughter, Dick Clark (RIP), or Ryan Seacrest. To me, Rona Barrett and Kitty Carlisle are just has-been, dried up prunes and I don't care what they say. The world's A-list of VIPs, to me, are just a bunch of nothing. And the only autographs I want are on the signature line of a check. To me, none of them has any impotence beyond simply their impotence as a human being in their own right.

This mindset is of great help to me. I recommend it. The Very Impotent Person of the absolute greatest impotence is me -- me, myself, I. I will go where I want, I will do what I want, I will drink what I want, I will hoard incandescent light bulbs if I want, and I will take in stray animals and eat as I choose. In short, when I look for "What's impotent?" and "Who's impotent?" I will never look anywhere beyond myself.

Plus, now I can look back and declare, I've always been impotent ... I just never knew it!

I'm A Gentleman And A Scholar

I was the recipient of a rather great honor the other day. In one of the picture-sharing social-media sites where I have an account, I complimented a guy for one of his pictures, and he messaged me back, "You, sir, are a gentleman and a scholar!" Read that again ... It's awesome!

Of course I was floored. I honestly never heard anything so nice, in addition to it being unexpected. I probably don't need to say it, since it's something you can obviously guess, but I've thought about his statement over and over ever since. Remember, this is a guy who's never actually met me in person, and somehow, some way, he was able to capture something of my essence and compliment me in such a great way.

Really, it affirms some of my own thoughts, even though, as they say, we're always our own worst critics. And it's true. I'm always getting on my own case about something. Maybe I left something undone, or I put off a needed task, or I let my usual perfectionism get in the way, blah blah blah. I'd love to be two separate people in those moments, at least split myself off temporarily, so I could kick my own ass. But then, whatever criticism I might offer myself, when it gets right down to it, I'm also an unabashed fan. I stand back and survey my accomplishments and think, "Good God, man, you've truly got it going on!"

But to have some other person like that, someone I complimented for a photo -- I think it was a colorful sunset, or maybe a rustic oak barrel snapped in black and white; it was something -- to just come right out and lump me together with two classes of extraordinary individuals, gentlemen and scholars, that's really quite an extraordinary honor.

Also, it actually came at a point in my life where I was feeling a little down. I have regrets about childhood. I was such a typical kid, playing outside, having a good time with friends, riding bikes, messing around at the creek, fishing, etc., that I didn't always have time for academics. Rather, I didn't take time. Looking back on it, I really wish I could've been a prodigy, like a kid they promote out of kindergarten straight to college. Brainy like that. That's a scholar!

So what was the problem? I guess the honest-to-God truth is I was very much a typical kid, with the average intelligence of a kid about my age. You could probably say I was even lagging behind where I should've been. In sixth grade I probably had the mentality of a fifth grader. Then in seventh, a sixth grader, etc. So about a year after graduation, I went, "Oh, that's what they meant in 12th grade." If I was a scholar, it was very much hidden, buried, a hidden potential.

As to being a gentleman, that was my upbringing. Saying goodbye to people when I left. Saying please and thank you when there was a pressing need, like when someone needed to get the hell out of my way and finally did. As I recall it, I always got high marks for being a gentlemanly boy, then teen, then young adult, then older adult, and now, as I am, standing at death's door. There's no reason to be a bad ass now!

OK, I thought you'd like to hear about the compliment I got. And if you have any other compliments for me -- like if you think I'm a third thing in addition to being a gentleman and a scholar, you can leave it in my comments. But what could it be? A gentleman, a scholar, a great blog writer, a friend to animals, a compassionate person to the down and out, a live wire, a coffee-lover, or all that and more!