June 6 2009 Letter to Arnie (RIP)

Dear Mister Arnie:

     Is it originally Arnold?                                                            Saturday June 6^th

     I could say that I hate trying to communicate by phone, but use of that word can prove harmful to spirit, or some such. I felt so useless at the mouthpiece of the phone I was using, and was sorry that it could not be in person, where there is enough time to exchange thoughts, ideas, energies enough to come away with not such a sour 'taste' in my mind's eye as phone talk always leaves me feeling.

     Having thought this out and through enough times now to have discovered what it is in me that resists phones so vehemently, I can easily forgive myself for such (seeming, to otheres) a selfish act. It had to do with the hows and whys of my thought-processes being orchestrated at a slower pace than phone-work seems to allow A.D.D. and A.D.H.D. types like me. Although I've never had this sort of diagnosis laid on me by any one, I 'resonate' with all the descriptive passages of this so-called disorder. I do not see this behavior as so much a disorder, but as a result of disorderlinesses that have developed in this society's culture over the past century and a little more, but does not seem to have overly-influenced my base persona to the degree I 'see' it happening in too many, now,my human interactions.

     Short and sweet of it is that my thinker thinks things out at such a slow and deliberate pace-of-thought—that pace at which our pre-motorcar ancestors lived their daily lives at for untold thousands of years now, right? Erasing that slow approach-to-living from the habit patterns instilled in my thinking brain over the eons has proved mostly impossible, for me. So: I haven't had a telephone at my quarters since Feb. of '97! There's a telephone line out in my front yard that wouldn't cost a whole helluva lotta $$s to get hooked up. That not a whole helluva lotta $$s doesn't compute in my ¼-Scot's sense-for-frugality and thrift. I have learned how to live in such a state that only two bills ever come to my mailbox; both for driving privileges from the state of Oregon, in any one year. I feel a great sense-of-pridefulness to have engineered my life into such a state wherein I have no worry/ stress about money; enjoy living as outside of its would be/ wannabe strangling clutches as is within my ability to think up the ways and practice this feat to the hilt as I tell myself—rightly or wrongly—that I am beating the system; and that it deserves to be beat for all what it has done to us poor poor souls for horridly lengthy periods of recorded history, and so on. So : Even the (minimum) $30 a month for basic phone service does not seem to be a necessary expenditure of my limited resources (I'd rather buy pot). And my exceedingly slow thinker is 'saying' yeah, Adam, no phone is good!

     My best friend is older than you and we get along pretty much. His bodily worries, plus other older fellows I've talked with, inform me of my own coming weaknesses, and I worry over this some, at times. Heck: I've still gotta go chainsaw down and up and split, throw, and stack another colder seasons' heating and cooking wood supply/ resource, some five or six trees' worth; and keep my 31 year old Ford truck operational for the weekly necessity to drive the 24 mile round trip drive to groceries, parts, and fuel every 5 or 6^th day. 

     Beyond that, it is all up to what I 'feel' up to or like actually doing for a change or because I am forced to absolutely not be able to put it off any longer, type of restorative work to keep stuff from becoming an absolute trash heap. That's un kind. Adam pile of collectable stuff, hung onto just on the very outside chance that I might need a piece of this or that or part in some future emergency need of even just only 'temporary' repairs until I can get to the parts store, etcetera. I have dedicated the third quarter of this very year to the substantial reduction of my 'footprint' here, so as to preclude the poor judgements of those who might follow me here and be moved to clear away my substantial pile up of stuffs in the event—arg--of my demise. There's stuff 'wrong' with me, I know, but resist doing the standard 'consult your doctor' thing, I just baby it/ them along best I can and mostly ignore what I can. It is getting harder and harder to stay on my legs, walking, especially climbing, when hips begin to complain as well. Damn. Patience, my boy; you're doing alright for where you are in this fabulous life that has been, is, and probably will be yours to live out for some time longer. And it is only important that I be a graceful, gentle, sympathetic, sensitive, shy, recluse who causes no one any negatives. A bit nuts? Heck: I don't know, and probably ought to be the last one consulted for my opinion on who, how, what, or why I am who I am. I just am, as far as I am concerned, anyway.

     I hope you are also in a decent-enough of a space wherein you also can feel a relaxed sense- of-the-pleasurable when you pause to reflect. I have somehow managed to obliterate all the negative-toned occurrences from my memory banks, or re-written them to appear, at least, more neutral in character. A happy-enough compromise with myself and his many differing viewpoints residing within his mental resources. Have turned into the proverbial rare old bird, much to my own surprise; a happy surprise. Today is most definitely n-o-t yesterday! Hey: WE had many fun times, but what's moving your curiosity today? What intrigues you? hat is your pleasure? Pleasure being the key word here. I do not believe that we humans were evolved here in to only suffer and grieve and stress more than barely moderately and for as short of duration as can be managed so that pleasurable stuff has even half-a-chance of becoming your sweet day or night, month-by-month year-to-year. Yeah: Habitual state-of-pleasurable sensations! Let's hear it for them and them only, yeah? I know I'm rambling and must soon quit for this and now. Can I wish grace upon you? Why sure, Adam, go right on ahead, and with my good wishes on the rebound.

     I try with a sense-of-desperation, to avoid thinking along any commercial/ political lines as they all suck and can only cause a souring-of-mood to think. Yeah: The economy sucks, the political situation sucks, so? I am truly about the most helples-of-the-helpless to do any one damn thing about any of it so well? Well, fukkit then, was an expression that I heard from a lot of my old pals from the waterfront days, and I still find myself muttering it to myself now and again, but with a far decelerated occurrence.