May, 2026
I’m not much for weddings, but always up for a funeral. So when summoned to play a song at Jon Dee Graham’s memorial at the Continental Club in Austin, I didn’t think twice. I never knew Jon Dee well, but he’d been exceptionally kind to me over the years, and lived a tumultuous yet beautiful life. We liked the idea of each other, outlaws if you will, at least in each other’s minds. He’d turned a song of mine (“The Greatest”) into something better than it was, made it his own, and taught it to dozens of other songwriters. The version I do now is more him than me, and when rehearsing it for the ceremony, I felt his presence with every note.
Driving east on I-10, I found myself lost in the past. In particular, a 1986 Uhaul move with my girlfriend’s turquoise ‘65 Valiant convertible in tow. Susie didn’t want to leave LA, she had a solid career and a beautiful art deco apartment right across from Paramount Studios. How I convinced her I can’t remember, but I doubt it was through logical persuasion. Driving through West Texas must have been a shock, and I remember joking that state law mandated we had 48 hours to purchase a firearm. As the Permian Basin gave way to the lovely Hill Country, Susie visibly relaxed. Arriving on a Sunday, we unhitched the Valiant and drove it around central Austin, what a blast. Seeing a sign in a window, we rented a house on Blanco Street in Clarksville for $250 a month, no AC. Our landlord was an 80 year old Mexican who lived next door. I’d wake up hungover and see him up on his roof fixing a leak, with his wife looking on. One of his sons told me his dad came to Texas from Chihuahua in the 30’s, and worked on highway crews alongside Italians from back east. Laughing, he claimed the old man spoke more Italian than English. Clarksville itself was originally a settlement of freed black slaves, but in ‘86 was beginning to gentrify along with other centrally located neighborhoods. You should have been here ten years ago is a constant refrain in Austin, then as now.
Arriving a day early for the memorial, I found an Austin still humming with electric promise. Yes, the skyline had dramatically changed, but the city I remembered was in full display, a funky refuge from the worst of Texas one reads about every day. The Waymos didn’t bother me, but all the black Teslas and monster trucks weaving in and out of traffic did. I had dinner with old friends in Clarksville, had it really been forty years since we all met? Hanging out later in a cozy living room, we were joined by a couple who were going through a terrible ordeal, but had received the total support and love of Austin’s music community. Yes, it’s still indelibly Austin, reeling perhaps from the body shots of real estate vultures and tech goons, but still on its feet.
The memorial itself was a marathon of bittersweet testimonials and plaintive tunes. A complicated life leaves questions in its wake, and trying to corral that in is next to impossible. Jon Dee had a residency at the Continental going back decades. Locals had seen him perform dozens of times; along with expense account emboldened suits, backpackers from Europe, and assorted ne’er-do-wells and otherwise who were lucky enough to catch a night. Many fans had one of his bear paintings or two displayed in their homes or offices. He was an Austin legend in a city that protects its own, but under assault from the relentless pressure of an America gone stark raving mad.
Heading back to Tucson, I stopped at an excellent cafe in one of Texas’ ubiquitous small towns. Fox News was up on a screen, but no one was paying much attention. As the room filled up for lunch, I studied the lined faces and tried to discern what was in people’s hearts. I had no doubt some were good neighbors to each other, and who knows, maybe a few followed the actual teachings of the saviour they professed to love every Sunday. Regardless, fear and hate conquered this land, I might as well have been in 1930’s Bavaria. In an adjacent banquet room, a club of British-make vintage car enthusiasts were finishing up after a morning rally. A middle-aged color coordinated MG owner wandered out and stared at the TV, entranced by the latest bullshit. Paying my bill at the counter, I exchanged pleasantries with two of the staff, and wondered what it was like being Latino amongst such Anglo hostility. Of course, they very well might be Tejanos who voted for the regime, the cafe’s patrons assuring them they were one of them good Mexicans. Getting gas across the street, the mini-mart was run by a very young South Asian couple, busy stocking the beer cooler and making takeaway pizzas. I could only imagine the stories they could tell, eking out a living so very far from home.
Four hours later, I rented a room at El Oso Flojo Lodge in Balmoreah, quite the classy refuge. Unfortunately, there was to be no swimming at the state park natural spring, with rain pouring down and plenty more on the way. Checking out after a restful night, I made the mistake of asking the helpful young woman at the desk “De dónde eres?” She looked up and softly replied “El Paso.” It really has come to this, a country living in fear of itself, detention camps and data centers multiplying like Starbucks. We’re all so tired, but it’s only the beginning. A few miles west of Van Horn, a 70’s Chevelle SS blinked its lights and passed me travelling at a high rate of speed. Surely it was Jon Dee Graham, heading to the border between this world and beyond.
January, 2026
I remember when I first heard the term “homeland” used to describe the USA. This was right after 9/11, when the entire country went into a collective meltdown. Uncle Sam got punched in the face, and suddenly it became quite reasonable to murder half a million Iraqi/Afghani civilians to exact revenge for three thousand New Yorkers. The Homeland Security Act of 2002 was a bloated mean drunk of a bill, creating the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) and Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). The word homeland was a shock for many, myself included, and it still irks to this day.
The United States has always been a nation of immigrants, forced upon the native indigenous population. Most came willingly, others did not. There is no homeland, it makes no sense, unless you are a Native American. Groups like The Daughters of the American Revolution were mocked and ridiculed for their elitist pretensions. After all, the most “American” of us are those who have just arrived. Personally, I’m the son of an immigrant, as is my son. My neighbors on one side are recent immigrants, and on the other a few generations in, after fleeing the Mexican Revolution. Even in the whitest, most conservative parts of the country, a quick glance back a generation or two reveals immigrants in every family. The current president’s mother was an immigrant, his grandparents were immigrants, two of his three wives are immigrants. The Secretary of State is the child of immigrants who fled Batista’s Cuba, although he pretends it was Fidel’s. I could go on and on, you get the drift.
As far as undocumented immigrants, three states have the most. California has already tasted the ICE jackboot, but red states Texas and Florida remain relatively untouched, at least publicly. Both have governors/legislators that lick the president’s ass, and plenty of white trash voters who can’t get enough of misery and cruelty, as long as it happens to the right people. Texas and Florida also have large Latino populations that went big for MAGA, many of whom currently have serious buyer’s remorse. Better then to pick on Minnesota, whose voters rejected the president three times, and has a large immigrant population from Somalia. The fraud allegations rocking the state are valid, but Covid era shenanigans happened coast to coast. The amount of dubious federally funded Covid business loans is staggering, many held by members of Congress. So this is nothing particular to Minnesota or its Somali community, in fact, the main ringleader is a gringa. Meanwhile, the administration is actively recruiting white immigrants from South Africa, who “have been treated unfairly since the fall of apartheid.” Substitute any southern state for South Africa, and slavery for apartheid, and there you have it.
So what’s to be done? Until the midterm elections, which may or not happen, the civil disobedience we are witnessing is the most peaceful option. Whistles, signs, and shame against the full power of the state. Yeah, good luck with that. Remember, a third of the country not only approves of the goon squads, but would like them to go even further. These not-so-gentle citizen ghouls are a significant part of who we are, who we have always been. The Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 is just one example. The failure to adequately teach our own history is one of the main reasons we are in this moment. If human baked potato Joe Rogan’s eleven million followers gives you pause, remember that fascist admirer and rabid xenophobe Father Coughlin 1930’s radio broadcasts drew three times as many listeners, with half the population. Coughlin started as an FDR fan, as Rogan did with Bernie Sanders, then went over to the dark side. In a bit of cosmic irony, it was Coughlin who coined the term “social justice.” History is full of nuggets like that.
As for me, I’m just waiting for the dog to pass over the rainbow bridge so I can ramble. He too is an immigrant, from right across the border. A collection of short stories was stopped dead in its tracks with this last election, and I struggle with enjoying even the minor pleasures of life. Still, I have it better than the vast majority of people on earth, and perhaps a reckoning is due. Empires come and go, but the human condition is eternal. A republic if you can keep it, Ben Franklin said, currently up for grabs.
As I was getting ready to send this missive out, news came in of another ICE murder up in the cold of Minneapolis. This homicide is clearly documented from several angles, yet the immediate rhetoric from the White House is of a domestic terrorist looking for trouble. I won’t bother to quote Orwell here, you know the line, but we’ve surely entered the Germany post 1933 era of autocracy. Later that afternoon, I joined a group in front of Tucson’s Federal Building, and held a homemade sign that simply said MURDERERS. As I teared up a little, it started to rain, and a chode on a Harley expressed his objection to us with a couple of vroom, vrooms, before losing control, dumping his bike, and rolling three or four times on the pavement in front of us. Protestors immediately jumped into traffic to redirect cars, while a few medically trained saints comforted him until paramedics arrived. Instant karma indeed, but let’s not forget what happened to John a few hours after signing his killer’s copy of Double Fantasy. There is evil in this world that cannot be assuaged, that must be confronted and defeated, no quarter given. Here in the supposed promised land, God’s Country as some like to proclaim, the fight has just begun.
November, 2025
A year or so ago, I dropped off of social media. I had nothing left to hustle, and the platforms felt compromised beyond repair. I’ve never looked back, although I do worry I’ll miss something vital about a distant friend or relative. The utopian promise of the web has failed, and Dead Internet Theory is real. Smart phones shortened attention spans and widened social divisions. Screen addiction is endemic, and mostly unaddressed. The ability to proficiently read, write, and think has been discarded as a basic fundamental skill. A half century past, some nerds outta Akron prophetically declared We Are Devo! Now their leader wants into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, disheartening to say the least.
For decades I’ve felt disconnected from American pop culture. I never watched The Apprentice or other Mark Burnett produced fare, never saw an episode of Friends or Sex and the City. Saw Star Wars at a drive-in theater and shrugged. Read Tolkien while stoned in middle school, enjoyed the books but didn’t think they were a map for life. Consumed comics at Serfer Hollow, but how Marvel and DC rule Hollywood now is beyond me. I could go on and on. It’s not that I feel above it all, more like crushed by the awful weight of mediocrity. Maybe it’s my own, dunno, but I suspect otherwise.
A writer I haven’t read but should, Michael Chabon, revealed that in the aughts he took the ridiculously reclusive Thomas Pynchon out to eat at a NYC Steakhouse. A conversation ensued about made-for-TV movies of the 70’s & 80’s. Chabon thought this odd, but it makes sense to me. Those movies of the week were barometers, measuring societal pressure. Plots ripped right from headlines, taboos shattered. Go Ask Alice (drug addiction), Born Innocent (juvenile justice), The Burning Bed (domestic abuse), America tuned in. Middlebrow or not, these films were on a muckraking mission. Broadcast television was a powerful unifier, propaganda or not. Walter Cronkite at CBS routinely got 30 million viewers a night, a fraction of that now wins the ratings battle. I quit watching CNN the same day I deactivated Meta, and miss it even less.
My late dad liked to tell a story about us walking home in the snow after seeing Klute. This would be Sweden 1971, I was ten years old. He asked what I thought of the film, I replied I liked Jane Fonda because she was part of the movement. Sweden was where I was first confronted for being American, personally responsible for the Native American genocide, slavery, not to mention Vietnam. There wasn’t much to defend with Nixon in charge, who would soon win reelection in a landslide. Watergate was still months away. His impeachment, threat of removal, and subsequent resignation created a seismic shock through the culture. Karma was indeed a motherfucker. Nixon’s USC frat boy staff got cut down to size, some even jailed. None of it seems real today, someone like Republican Howard Baker working with Democrat Sam Ervin to hold the executive branch to account, unthinkable now. Watergate created the modern political era, with the GOP promising never again. Indeed, fifteen years later, the Iran-Contra Affair failed to take down Reagan, even though the criminal operation was run out of the White House basement. Democrats were out-lawyered again in 2000, when Bush pulled the rug on Gore. The current SCOTUS is stocked with veterans of that obscene legal victory. Imagine a different timeline where George W. goes back to Texas and his watercolors. President Al Gore listens to the intelligence community and prevents 9/11, then focuses his administration on climate change. Someone should make a movie.
Which brings me to the recent No Kings protests, seven million strong. Median age: well over 60. Main concerns: the autocratic takeover of America, and the gutting of medicare, medicaid, and social security. Edginess factor: zilch. Creative input: 8/10. Violent incidents: virtually none much to the chagrin of MAGA. Effectiveness: to be determined. Young folks demanding a general strike forget the Taft Hartley Act of 1947, maybe the most harmful legislation ever enacted. Not to mention today’s unions are full of red hats, even though Biden did more for the labor movement than any recent president. We’ll see how the brotherhoods feel when the tariffs kick in, along with job destroying AI. Maybe they’ll forget about who uses which bathroom and concentrate on supporting free trade and reliable supply chains, but I doubt it. There is nothing rational about MAGA, it thrives on absurdist notions and imaginary slights, just like the reality TV shows that birthed it.
Strategically sound, the gray haired pro-democracy resistance is not leading with its fringe, although all are welcome. What’s coming is anyone’s guess, but it won’t be pretty. SCOTUS is considering denying 2A rights to marijuana users, and the White House has labeled protestors domestic terrorists. Citizens are disappearing into privatized gulags, with the undocumented jetted to oblivion. Despite the terror, a tangible sense of community and shared values is emerging, nowhere to be found online. If successful, the movement could reignite the cultural idealism I felt so deeply as a kid. Indeed, the off-year November elections were victorious for the resistance coast to coast. We don’t have to live like this as AOC likes to say, hell, any major dude would tell you.
October, 2025
Charlie Kirk? Rejected by West Point, then dropped out of community college after one semester. Raised affluent, Dad was an architect, mom a commodities broker in Chicago. Radicalized in high school listening to fellow college dropout Rush Limbaugh. Started a “professor watch” with virtually no tertiary education experience of his own.* Later took a few online classes from The King’s College in NYC, a private Christian nonprofit now closed after funding dried up. Under-educated for the task, Kirk made higher ed curriculums and the professors who teach them a main bone of contention.
Lucky break? Meeting marketing guru and right wing activist Bill Montgomery. They founded Turning Point USA together and went knocking on doors. Wall Street vet and pretend cowboy Foster Friess was an early supporter, as was rabid reactionary Ginni Thomas, wife of the Supreme Court Justice. Bill Montgomery died of Covid in 2020, followed by Friess in 21, but the pandemic was a godsend for Kirk, with ten anonymous donors providing millions for his purported nonprofit.
Strategy? Turning Point focused on replacing local GOP precinct leaders nationwide with “stop the steal” MAGA partisans. There was to be no internal debate, everything flowed down from the top. Kirk became a celebrity with his podcast, which impressed Trump no end, who values fame over all other accomplishments. Kirk was credited with getting young white males to show up and vote in 2024, encouraging them to fight to retain their supposed God-given privileged position.
His assassination? Like the Trump attempt in PA, it’s sort of a mixed bag of motives and consequences. A good question is who benefitted? Certainly MAGA’s narrative of being perpetual victims got reinforced. It’s interesting that the alleged shooter had his own struggles transitioning into higher education, and seemed adrift before the act. My own reaction was the same as when George Wallace got shot in 1972. As a precociously informed kid, I despised the racist Wallace but thought the act problematic. Karma is a nice idea, but reality suggests the law of averages is more of a force in human affairs. After all, 130 people die of gunshots every day in the USA, the same as car wrecks. Kirk took one for the team as it were, having said the carnage was worth the right to bear arms, even after Sandy Hook and Uvalde. If he didn’t get what he deserved, he at least got what he accepted.
His legacy? Few care outside of MAGA. There are thousands and thousands of video hours of him opining on everything from abortion to the Maui fires to Gaza to horse de-wormer. There’s no putting the polemic genie back in the bottle. MAGA wants their own MLK, but the absurdity of that notion is apparent to all outside the cult, and produces hostility within for the comparison to a black man. One thing for sure, his widow and former Miss Arizona will have a difficult time preventing Turning Points’ half million donors from getting poached from other right wing organizations. To paraphrase ol’ Ben Franklin, a good grift if you can keep it.
*Full disclosure: I myself am a college dropout with little expertise in anything outside of the best way to boil eggs and when to go to a 5 chord.
August, 2025
One of the more amusing foreign suppositions about America and its current sociopolitical horror show is that people are blindly attached to one party or the other. Just like Brits opine that Americans don’t get irony, there is a belief that Keats’ concept of negative capability is beyond us. One look at the polls and this nonsense dissipates into thin air. Recent Gallup numbers show that six months in, the president’s support amongst independents has fallen by half. Remember, self-described independents are usually embarrassed Republicans, your “socially liberal, fiscally conservative” crowd. At the same time, approval of the Democratic Party is at an all time low. Sure, Democrats hate the criminal president and his sleazy cabinet, but they’re also enraged at their own party. Talk of a new Elon party splitting Republican votes is all the rage, but it’s the Democrats who are far more likely to fracture.
One unavoidable reason is Israel and its psychopath prime minister, in power for over three decades now. No one is naive about Hamas, but genocide is genocide and that is the word for what Israel is doing in Gaza. Duplicitous politicians like Cory Booker have lost all credibility; AIPAC shock collars affixed before the first check clears. Chuck Schumer, the feckless Senate minority leader, recently stated that his primary job is to keep the left pro-Israel. What the fuck? Hakeem Jeffries in the House ain’t much better, cowardly putz. Enough already.
Second, the idea that DNC political consultants have any connection to the working class and “main street” is absurd. The endless focus groups and targeted digital messaging mean squat in a society as depressed and cynical as ours. I get a dozen texts a day asking for money or my opinion on this or that, it’s all so fucking lazy. Even Kamala Harris, who used this approach exclusively after a highly undemocratic usurpation of her cadaverous boss, has proclaimed the system broken. Well no shit, I guess allowing unlimited corporate money into campaigns was a bad idea. Reversing the Citizens United decision should have been the Democratic Party’s number one issue these last 15 years. Instead, they chose to go along to get along, hence the “uniparty” criticism.
Then you got the deer in the headlights effect, or as Harper’s recently put it: “Playing Dead Or Really Dead? The Democrats’ Disappearing Act.” The answer is both, or more accurately, alive but soulless, the zombie party. Sure, there’s signs of life like the preacher & state rep James Talarico and fearless Congresswoman Crockett in deep red Texas, Bibi defying Senator Ossoff in Georgia*, AOC and her growing political sophistication, and above all Zohran Mamdani, the young, bright, and articulate Democratic nominee for mayor of NYC. The problem for party leadership is none of the above have much use for the DNC and their Silicon Valley/Wall Street puppet masters. California governor Gavin Newsom does know how to troll the White House, and is seriously confronting their redistricting agenda, but he also has some problematic uber-wealthy friends. A few other 2028 presidential hopefuls like Arizona’s own Ruben Gallego are trying to straddle the ideological fence, a very bad idea with autocrats in power. Midterm blue wave? Until the soft and desultory Democratic old guard is removed, wishful thinking, especially with gerrymandering and a proposed mid-cycle unconstitutional census on the horizon.
People want more than to vote for the lesser evil, they want to feel hopeful about the future. A poet explained to me once that the Democratic Party was all about a soft landing for empire, i.e. a gradual and graceful end to the American Century. Fair enough, but what about tomorrow? Right now, there’s little to no faith in American institutions and it’s getting worse by the day. SCOTUS is deeply mistrusted by the majority of Americans for the first time in my lifetime. Fascism has arrived, not only wrapped in the flag and carrying a cross as the saying goes, but filming itself for millions of TikTok followers. MAGA is the epitome of the Alan Keyes Constant, here to stay in one form or another. Meanwhile, “the internet of things” and its AI brain are the eyes and ears of a vast surveillance state. Hop into the wrong robotaxi and it’s straight to Alligator Alcatraz, or much much worse.
Recently, I was at a Tucson civic event where the future of a proposed Amazon data center was on the table. It was a real democratic exercise, and the unruly crowd was having none of it. Sure, some of the screaming kids were cringe, but a few ancients brought receipts and asked questions that could not be answered by the developers and technocrats with any certainty. The process of approval had been sketchy as hell, and just like the movie Eddington, it was elected Democrats operating in the shadows, controlled by dark money. Opponents to the ghastly scheme ran the gamut from eco-hippy to doomer-survivalist, there was no clear partisan divide. Even the construction union members in favor looked pretty sheepish. Water determines everything in the West, and carpetbaggers are generally despised, we’re funny that way.
Later in the week, what was supposed to be a 4-3 city council vote one way or another was 7-0 against, the people had spoken. Of course AWS will just go to plan B, and build the data center in a nearby county where the locals aren’t so picky. It’s not that the “Magnificent Seven” and their repulsive CEO’s want complete control, they already have it, and man did they get us cheap.
Whether the democratic greater good can ever wrest power back is the question of our age. I’m not hopeful, but not sulking either, stranger things have happened. As a friend reminded me, the history of the United States is full of dark and miserable decades, but somehow we have persevered. This time feels different though, absurdity competing with depravity, a reality sideshow of a nation that still has the means to take the world down with it. “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves” Keats’ favorite wrote long ago. If only The Bard were alive today, he’d rip us all to shreds.
*The RNC just announced they’ll be running a college football coach against Ossoff, a tried and true tactic in the Deep South.
July, 2025
Hoping to experience my own hot commie summer, I recently traveled to two hotbeds of leftist agitation: Oakland CA, and Astoria NYC. Oakland, ostensibly, was to catch Major League Cricket’s debut tournament at Oakland Coliseum, the deserted home of the Raiders (NFL) and Athletics (MLB). An old music pal picked me up at the airport; recently retired as a DNA criminologist for the state of California. He doesn’t talk much about his career, and when I asked about the emotional fallout from years of seeing the worst of humanity, he replied “to be determined.” This was to be his first trip back to the Coliseum following the betrayal of the A’s, off to Vegas by way of Sacramento.
Betrayal is everywhere you look nowadays, in the USA and across the world. The “new modern fascists” use the accusation just like the old vintage ones did, and attract the same folks seeking a return to some sort of classical glory. In the States, that can run from keeping wives barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen with no access to birth control, to segregated schools, parks, and grocery stores achieved through economic/class warfare, to eliminating Obamacare and the fantasy of paying a country doctor in eggs and moonshine for that huge shot of penicillin in the ass that cured everything, no vaccines required. Of course, they’re happy with their tax exempt mega-churches, where filthy rich pastors preach prosperity gospel and instruct their flocks who to vote for, always the GOP funny enough. Oddly, what Jesus preached is mostly ignored, all that love thy neighbor, turn the other cheek, and shelter the migrants stuff. I mean that shit is weak sauce as the kids say. Was Jesus a goddamn pussy, or have the radical left lunatics twisted his words using that book-learning crap that started with the Gutenberg Bible?
The cricket was a blast, the stadium a quarter full with South Asians and a few pasty Anglos sprinkled in, probably Brits or Aussies. The quality of play was rather suspect in my view, although fans informed us some ringers were sprinkled in. Regardless, Major League Soccer started the same way, if there’s any one thing driving this league it’s certainly not greed. Sure, give it time, but right now it's one quixotic quest. We didn’t see them compete, but The San Francisco Unicorns have the perfect name. Instead, we watched Texas kick LA’s ass. One would think Texas would lose on purpose, to protect their reputation. I mean, what sort of swarthy bastard plays cricket on American soil, or even worse, pays to see a game?
The rest of my time I wandered Oakland’s embarcadero, not as famous as SF’s across the bay, but interesting nonetheless. A huge homeless camp had just been cleared out, its denizens scattered to who knows where. Developers want to “revitalize” the waterfront, cut off from downtown Oakland by the atrocious 880 freeway, a common Robert Moses type mistake. I admired Jack London Square, where his cabin still stands, and wondered what he’d think of the rainbow of humanity enjoying the fabulous weather. My buddy suggested BBQ, where I was teased into ordering more food by the ample waitress, totally at ease with herself and her community. Unlike SF, African Americans are still hanging on in Oakland, comprising 20% of the city. Anglos and Latinos are the other largest groups, with Asians at 15%. The gastronomic possibilities are endless, and it’s hard to discern who is influencing who culturally. Driving through Fruitvale, I immediately got a working class Mexico City vibe, and imagined myself hidden away in a studio apartment, click clacking on an ancient Smith Corona typewriter.
Astoria, a few weeks later, was even more diverse. The restaurant next door had an enormous fluorescent sign proclaiming HELLO BANGLADESH. Queens was my favorite borough when I lived in the forgotten one, never to be mentioned or set foot in again. NYC in the aughts was an unhappy affair with 9/11 and the financial crisis, along with Bloomberg bringing classism back with a vengeance. On this trip, however, I fell in love with the city all over again. The buzz of the hive was invigorating, migrants from every continent doing the real work everywhere you looked. I started each day with coffee and an arepa at a Colombian bakery, then by train or foot made my way up to Steinway and my son and girlfriend’s apartment. Maybe ‘cause I’m old now, but the median age seemed younger than I remember, like early 30’s. These are the voters that are behind Zohran Mamdani, and when you realize that 150K a year for a couple is barely adequate to survive, it’s no wonder why.
On the 4th of July, I was surprised how many POC were sporting patriotic garb, but not of the MAGA kind. Conversations were awkward, with the usual “where are you from?” avoided. I mean, who can you trust if masked ICE Gestapo are snatching law-abiding people right off the streets? A pizza joint—owned by a Mexican woman who had bought it from her old Italian boss—had a small framed picture of La Virgen Juquila on the wall. When I pulled the same image from my wallet, she smiled and told me she owed it all to La Morenita. I replied that living in Oaxaca had changed my life, and I was grateful for her too. What a strange, wonderful encounter.
Still, the old Greeks with their social clubs, churches, and tavernas are hanging on. I got a lot of hellos from other older Anglos, and I wondered if they greeted everyone that way. Coming back from Astoria Park, I noticed a dude with a “blue lives matter” shirt walking his Great Dane a half block ahead . I looked down just in time to avoid a huge steaming turd his dog had obviously just shat. I gained ground and watched him turn into his red brick house, a jet black classic VW bug with gold exhaust pipes parked in the driveway, and Old Glory flying from the porch. I wanted to yell at him to clean up after his dog, but was not prepared for a beat down. It was a good metaphor for where we’re at as a country, and I hope I have the courage to confront these monsters when it matters most.
May, 2025
How we got here is a topic that frequently arises, both in the empirical world and online. So many theories, so many inflection points. I don’t bother anymore, does it matter? We’re in it now, that’s for sure. My fellow citizens at demonstrations all have opinions. They hold up signs with different concerns, the words often jammed together and impossible to read. Many wear no hats, and carry no water, in the desert no less. Maybe it’s a form of penance, for letting it all disintegrate, like a public beach eroded one grain of sand at a time.
From my wide kitchen window I often gaze upon the loop, the bicycle and pedestrian path that circumnavigates Tucson. Every day I see people walking and even riding bikes while staring at their screens. Clearly this is an addiction. Driving my beater SUV around town—a Jeep Patriot of all things—I wait to turn left at a green arrow while the driver in front scrolls their feed. A gentle beep nudges them back to reality, a blast of the horn too dangerous in a state so heavily armed. Soon our cars will be driving themselves, something I was recently very much for, but now fear is a road straight to the concentration camps.
“The centre cannot hold” is how Yeats put it, a century or so ago. I think of that center as the sun, with all us planets criss-crossing each other in different orbits and trajectories. What unites us is the illuminating warmth: love, family, friendship, food, refuge, health. Politically, the center proves elusive, those that claim to be moderates seldom are. We are flawed, fragile creatures in a harsh world, easily duped by our own innate survival mechanisms and biases. Cowardice is rewarded more than courage, discretion the better part of valor proclaimed Falstaff, excusing his own pusillanimous nature. Go along to get along, don’t rock the boat, the nail that sticks up gets hammered down. There are far more aphorisms advising submission over confrontation. The desire to conform is paramount. Voltaire knew this well, and the power of persuasion. Our brains can’t keep up, the online amperage is unnatural, a speedball of facts, fallacies, and conjecture. We’re all strung out, including the dealers, high on their own supply.
I would be a terrible dictator, to litter a capital offense. A long time ago, I expressed a desire to sail around the world. My bandmates all laughed and agreed that to be trapped on a boat with me would be a nightmare, the van was punishment enough. A truly righteous leader is a very rare thing indeed. The Enlightenment imagined virtue could be cultivated, encouraged, taught, but the opposite is true as well. Many of the current crop of political monsters were groomed from a young age, nurtured by the forces of disharmony, avarice, and greed. Most consider themselves Christians. It’s obscene, an abomination. How does one confront such blasphemy? As an atheist, I have one arm tied behind my back, but others might be more emboldened. Divine retribution is a nice fantasy. I would never stand in the way of some good Old Testament style retribution for these folks, livestream that shit. Like I said, I would be a terrible autocrat, as would you. That’s why we have legislatures, courts, a separation of powers, all under attack by the very worst of us. “A peaceful revolution if the left allows it to be” one of the architects* said. Not by a longshot motherfucker, nos ad te irramus.
So here we are, together alone. I can tell you this, five minutes holding a sign on a street corner is worth five hours online. The solution is out there, just waiting for us. Community and courage is to be found amongst your fellow citizens, in the real world. Whether it’s too late hardly matters, resist or perish. Bring plenty of water and a wide-brimmed hat, it’s gonna be a long hot summer.
*Kevin Roberts, The Heritage Foundation. It’s worth investigating his transformation from historian academic with a deep knowledge of American slavery to far right ideologue.
March, 2025
It’s a few minutes before 5pm, and I’m waiting a moment before going outside to drink a beer, eat some peanuts, and watch the sun set behind the Tucson Mountains. It has been another shamefully terrible day for the United States. After a decade of preparation, it took Hitler only 53 days to subjugate Germany, and this old/new American administration is right on schedule.
I live on the east bank of the Santa Cruz River, where the Tohono O’odham had their fields. Life changed fast when the Apaches arrived, then the Spanish, followed by the Anglos. Each brought different types of aggression: terrifying raids, suffocating domination disguised as beneficence, or outright racial contempt. The O'odham are still here, all around me, in person and in spirit. My neighbor says his ancestors protect me, and I want to believe him, but I have my doubts. Maybe there’s something in me still waiting to be found, the courage of conviction regardless of consequence. You know, all that foolish Hollywood stuff that romanticized what a “true American” is. Certainly, I’ve lived an incredibly soft and privileged life, so we shall see.
I’ve never owned a flag of any nation, but I recently bought one. It’s not Ukrainian—although that would be a good one to display—but American, and it flies upside down facing the river and “the loop”: the bike and pedestrian path that circumnavigates Tucson. From there it’s easy to see my house, and the flag of distress hanging from my clothesline.
The loop gets a good cross section of Tucson. My favorite regulars are the walkers: solitary, in pairs, or families. There’s one guy, he looks like the late great Canadian actor John Candy, and he strides purposely, determined to save his life. He doesn’t know it, but I cheer for him, and he’s shed at least twenty pounds since I first saw him. Next are the bicyclists, number one a gal who takes care of her stabled horse at my neighbor’s corrals. I admire her dedication, and her choices of transportation. I invent all sorts of narratives for her, she’ll surely wind up in a short story. Of course, the homeless come and go in different states of despair, their shopping carts full of lost dreams, and snowbirds with silly grins on e-bikes going twice as fast as they should. Last on my list are the low to the ground fancy trikes, usually powered by grimacing boomer males, who fly banners spouting various patriotic drivel. That they are utilizing a civic amenity largely funded by federal grants is amusing I guess, but I’ve lost a good chunk of my sense of humor since November.
For my sanity and civic duty, I’ve been to a few protests. The first was at Saguaro National East, part of the National Park system that has been devastated by cuts to its budget orchestrated by an unelected ketamine fueled billionaire and his crew of far right edgelords. It was windy as hell, but I found smiles and joy, real people outside in the physical world, making some good and necessary trouble. Most of the cars entering and leaving the majestic park honked in support, but the look of hate from a silver haired shrew giving us the finger is frozen in my mind. Afterwards, I went to a birthday party for a five year old, the bi-racial daughter of a nephew. They live in a middle class northeast neighborhood, not far from where I grew up. I was struck by the rainbow of families there, the Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion so vilified by a loud and powerful minority, who now control all three branches of government. Sixty years ago, when I was her age, the gathering would have been predominantly Caucasian, even in the most liberal of families. Positive change has happened, and with it, hate towards those who have benefited. The other side of the coin is economic, with Reagan’s trickle down theory (previously known as horse and sparrow) forcing more and more people to fight over an ever shrinking pie. Class war, culture war, take your pick, ugly doesn’t begin to describe it, and it’s all many young people have ever known. Can you blame them for being so lost and susceptible to brain changing algorithms flooding their senses? Makes cocaine seem like child’s play.
Right now, I cannot imagine what sort of world my grandniece will grow up in, or whether there’s a future at all. Of course, I did not say any such thing, but smiled and laughed and enjoyed a slice of cake. We have to pretend to live, even as Rome burns. One thing is certain, there are millions of others who are as angry as I am, and will not roll over and play dead. What that will look like is anyone’s guess, the Democratic Party is currently worthless, with a few exceptions in their ranks. It will be up to us to save ourselves, to find a way through the wilderness, and emerge battered but not broken by the worst sort of leaders mankind has to offer. We are not afraid, despite the clickbait headlines. It’s the bullies who are cowards, that much never changes. We shall overcome, get ready you bastards.
To be continued….