We need a massive lockdown . . . NOW!

How can any sensible person be against lockdowns?

What is a lockdown?

‘Lockdown’ is a prison term. When the inmates get unruly and there’s the threat of an insurrection, they “lock down” the facility, restricting movement and preventing collective violence against their benevolent jailers.

So, we are being told we have an “insurrection” being mounted against an orderly life and the greater good of the people of the world, by an invisible enemy — aka the coronavirus — which despite having a curious resemblance to the invisible terrorists which were lurking behind every tree after 9/11, now is the only matter worth being mentioned or discussed by our spectacle-friendly, melodrama-driven media and health-conscious government.

Well, I agree in part with that assessment. We are under violent attack by an invisible enemy — one which in fact is hiding in plain sight — and certainly does present an existential threat to the entire human race. In fact, this invisible threat is the one which spawned the coronavirus itself, the response to the coronavirus, the justifications for panic and fear of everything related to the coronavirus, is pushing a balls-to-the-wall vaccination campaign, and originally initiated and now enforces all of the lockdowns across the globe.

And I agree. Absolutely! The only way to deal with the dysfunction and chaos of our present circumstance is A THOROUGH, MASSIVE LOCKDOWN!

But here’s the problem. And it’s a VERY BIG PROBLEM!

Right now, the wrong people are being locked down. Innocent people who are not the problem, not even partially responsible for the problem, people who if anything would LOVE TO FIX THE PROBLEM, are being locked down. And the malicious, manipulative control freaks of the world who created the conditions for the outlandish, misdirected, cruel, oppressive lockdowns are not.

THAT’S what’s wrong with these current lockdowns.

We saw the evidence of this con from the start.

For the first time in history, instead of isolating the sick to protect the healthy, they LOCKED DOWN EVERYBODY. Statistically, nothing about this coronavirus business passes the smell test. As fudged and manipulated as the numbers are, we are not facing an epic world health crisis. Even so, typically when large numbers of individuals become sick, it’s the healthy people who keep things going, who keep society functioning, so that resources can be focused on keeping the sick alive and making them well again. This time, everything was shut down. Everyone was forced to stay home. Not only did this make normal functioning impossible, it compromised the health of the healthy, making them more vulnerable to possible illness, not just from the coronavirus but from other medical challenges. Moreover, heart patients, diabetics, people with high blood pressure, cancer, obesity, psychological issues, NO ONE COULD GET PROPER TREATMENT. Thousands have died. The horror and disgrace of this willful negligence gets little to no attention.

The whole approach to the “pandemic” has been so irrational, counterproductive, so opposite of established protocols and responses, there is only one conclusion. It was intentional, callous, arguably punitive and malicious. Those driving the response to the crisis — whatever it really is — had either lost their minds, or had and continue to have some extremely disruptive, oppressive plan. I personally think it’s entirely about money: short-range profits for pharmaceutical companies, long-range profits for those who now have everyone under their boot heels and can extract the last few drops of blood from us.

There’s no other conclusion that holds up to rational analysis. Those at the helm of this monstrous assault on the established structures of society and the just, orderly conduct of everyday life know exactly what toll this is taking. This is going as planned. The monopoly capitalists, the puppet masters of technological tyranny, the insatiable, arguably insane ruling elite are jumping for joy in their gated communities and virtual star chambers.

The inescapable conclusion is . . .

The people who should be locked down — and locked up — are the predatory capitalists, the greed-driven monomaniacal profit seekers who put their own enrichment and that of their elite class ahead of everyone else.

Those who would despoil the planet, pollute the air and water, drive species extinction, multiply wealth inequality, use racism as a weapon of social and political control, THEY should be locked down. They should be quarantined and not allowed to circulate among us, spreading the filth of their self-promoting, self-enriching, self-aggrandizing, amoral, predatory pathology.

Those who are restricting and eliminating what few freedoms we now have, who violate our privacy, who insinuate themselves into our homes and the sanctity of our marriages and family relationships, should be LOCKED DOWN. Those who would further isolate and marginalize good, decent people, should be isolated and immobilized before they entirely destroy the fabric of a functioning society.

Those who see everything as a commodity, who see human beings as only producers and consumers, who view every moment and opportunity in life as just another chance to extract more wealth and achieve more power, then use it to exploit and abuse the rest of us, THEY SHOULD BE LOCKED DOWN.

Make no mistake about it. We have a horrific disease spreading across the planet, a plague of unparalleled dimensions, a killer of unprecedented destructive power and lethality. It is a disease so dangerous to humans, so toxic to our families and communities, so in total opposition to the nurturing and growth of healthy individuals, so foul as to kill the human spirit and vanquish the spiritual and emotional lives of all sentient beings, we need to immediately take drastic and decisive action.

No energy should be spared. No action is too extreme. Hesitation when dealing with such a grisly threat is not an option. It may be too late already.

The lethal virus we are now facing is called GLOBAL NEOLIBERAL CAPITALISM!

We have no choice. There’s no longer a margin for error. Its viral super-spreaders MUST BE IDENTIFIED AND LOCKED DOWN. These psychopathic criminals are so aggressive, so relentless, so obsessed and possessed, so convinced of their right to inflict themselves on others, we have little choice in the matter. They must be rounded up and sequestered.

It will not do to “send them to their rooms”. They must be locked down in tomb-like, hermetically-sealed chambers, cut off from all communication with the world — their breath, their words, their world view, their fanatic sense of entitlement are all equally pathogenic — left alone with their mountains of accumulated wealth: stocks and bonds, spread sheets, jewelry, derivatives, diamonds, gold and other precious metals. They must be locked down in cocoons of lavish isolation to hoard and treasure all their worldly booty, to reflect and gloat on their affluence and importance, to relish how exhilarating it feels to deprive other less fortunate people — that would be “we the peons” — of even an hint of their splendid opulence. 

Yes, lock them down, put and keep them and all their glitter out of sight. We don’t need to be reminded of their avarice, gluttony, selfishness, pride, arrogance, contempt. Bye-bye to all of it! Lock these predators down — DISAPPEAR them — so we can get on with our lives. So we can hug each other again and enjoy sunsets and watch our children grow and delight in a simple meal at a restaurant and visit our friends and listen to music together and gather to worship and dance and play tennis or join a book club. Put the monsters out of sight and out of memory so we can live our lives without having to endure such loathsome miscreants, or fear they are watching us with their condescension and contempt, sneering at us through the mirrored windows of their skyscrapers or from behind the tinted glass of their stretch limos.

LOCK THEM DOWN! . . . NOW!

LOCK DOWN those who prey on others for profit.

LOCK DOWN those who promote endless wars for profit.

LOCK DOWN those who promote endless lies and false narratives for profit.

LOCK DOWN those who make us sick, keep us sick, then exploit our incapacitation for profit.

LOCK DOWN those who incarcerate people of color for profit.

LOCK DOWN those who promote debt slavery for profit.

LOCK DOWN those who promote privatization of the public commons for profit.

LOCK DOWN those now accelerating wealth inequality to destroy the lives of middle and working class people.

LOCK DOWN those who use everyday people as cannon fodder to protect their portfolios, property, and privilege.

LOCK DOWN those who have silenced the voice of the people and destroyed democracy in America.

LOCK THEM DOWN, because at least for now, the alternative is too distasteful. 

The alternative is termination.

There are sites in Nevada devoted to storing the toxic byproducts of nuclear fission. For example, Yucca Mountain was being prepared as a massive depository for life-threatening waste. It’s time to reinstate funding for this project and get it ready for a new form of toxic sludge. It’s huge, far from anything or anyone else, just waiting to be put to good use. 

Perfect, I say!

The perpetrators of our oppression deserve their own truly “private space”.

We deserve to be free from their pathological obsessions and devious manipulations.

It’s practically the definition of a win-win proposition!

We should spare no expense nor any speed. Lock them down now! Let them take it all with them. Ship their yachts and private jets, their stores of wealth in every transportable form, send it all packing, dump it all in those spacious Yucca Mountain caves. After all, if this wonderful stuff is so important to the wealthy, who are we to deprive them of the pleasure of wandering through their piles of caviar, vintage wines, mounted animal heads, fine art treasures, tuxedos, evening gowns, pheasant-under-glass, diamond belt buckles, polo horses, and gold-plated sex toys?

LOCKDOWNS . . . YES! 

But this time let’s get it right. 

Quarantine the truly diseased and dangerous, those who are the real plague upon us.

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Life In Japan: Tondo Matsuri

Tondo Matsuri festivals are held all over Japan, the second weekend of the new year, at all levels. There are major festivals with thousands of people, as well as more modest local celebrations. The central feature of the Tondo Matsuri is a bonfire, much appreciated since it tends to be cold in January, thanks mostly to the sub-zero winds that blow our way from Siberia.

This year Tondo Matsuri was held on the same day as Coming of Age, a national holiday celebrating every person turning 20, a welcome to full adulthood. Thus most people had the day off from work, making attendance convenient. Of course, the coronavirus “crisis” is cautioning people across the globe against large gatherings, sneezing on one another, licking door handles and one another’s eating utensils, and the most notorious disease spreader of them all, French kissing.

My village of Noma here in Tambasasayama wasn’t daunted by the threat of viruses. We got together, and granted, our bonfire didn’t leap 20-30 meters into the sky, as is common practice the major festival sites, but we still managed some truly heartfelt camaraderie and warmed ourselves against the winter chill in splendid fashion. Our bonfire was next to Benten Shrine where many similar get-togethers take place.

Once the Tondo bonfire is going, there are two key rituals.

One is burning the decorations, talismans, rakes, arrows, amulets, wreaths, blessings, and other votive goods, from the previous year, to be replaced over the new year with new ones. Many of these are items bought from local shrines and temples to bring good fortune and health. They are tossed onto the fire. After they are incinerated, each family collects some of the ashes, which are then taken back home. These ashes are called shimenawa — しめ縄 — and are considered sources of good luck and positive developments for the coming year.

Very light paper banners, with sayings and wishes written in beautiful calligraphy, are thrown onto the fire as well. They instantly burst into flames, then are caught in the updraft of the bonfire, soaring heavenward as they turn to ash. This takes the messages they contain up up up, and makes them part of the invisible energy of the universe. While this probably is more just silly superstition than a serious spiritual exercise, it reminds me of the prayer wheels of Tibetan Buddhism, which in a parallel fashion send into the divine ether the thousands of prayers the wheels contain on scrolls hand-written by the monks, usually pleas for peace and harmony in the world.

The second ritual is cooking mochi — 餅 — by placing it near the fire. Mochi are rice cakes and there’s absolutely no equivalent to them in the West. When grilled, they are thick and gooey with a crispy exterior, and incredibly delicious, especially with sweet red bean soup or soy sauce.

Yes, the food is very unique here, for sure.

So . . . that was our Tondo Matsuri. There were no fireworks, parades, or 21-gun salutes. The Blue Angels aerial acrobatic team didn’t fly over. No sign of a marching band or baton twirling cheerleaders.

But we still had an outstanding time!

Did I mention? . . . I love Japan!

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Life In Japan: New Years 2021

No, we didn’t have baked ham and mashed potatoes for our New Years celebration meal.

In fact, Masumi-san cooked for THREE DAYS, preparing absolutely amazing traditional Japanese foods for our feast.

No Images found.

Usually, we have a huge feast at Masumi’s mother’s house, with sisters, in-laws, cousins, grandchildren, aunts and uncles. But this year, there were only six of us for the annual feast, and it was held at our house. Still it was a phenomenal way to start this new year. Perfect company and excellent food. Yum!

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Listen to the music of “Sex, Lies & Coffee Beans”!

Oh wow! Not only can you READ the worst book ever written, now you can LISTEN to the worst songs ever written to go along with the worst book ever written.

Standing on the shoulders of the great psychologists who laid the foundation for her revolutionary work, Dr. Joy was aggressively eclectic. She took Women Who Love Too Much to greater heights with her song “Men Who Love Too Much”. I’m Okay You’re Okay was rescued from sentimentality by her anthem “I’m Okay You’re the Pits”. By far Dr. Joy’s most popular song, “The Rut Less Traveled” was inspired by The Road Less Traveled.

Listen to the music and read the lyrics. And don’t say we didn’t warn you. These songs are infectious! You’ll be singing them in your sleep, then seeking shock therapy in the morning!

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Dr. Joy . . . genius or con artist? You decide!

Until her untimely death in a freak accident at a lesbian orgy island resort in 2009, Dr. Joy Smothers revolutionized modern psychology!

Her songs, her books, her uncanny insights, her unique and powerful healing methods are as relevant today as ever.

It was the early 90s. The usual number of people were suffering from plunging self-esteem. For the past decade, the book shelves had been bursting at their pressboard seams with every conceivable fix.

Psychiatrists were booked up for months. Gurus were turning them away at the door. Lifestyle coaches were rolling in dough from workshops, book sales, self-help tapes, videos, tête-à-têtes, seminars.

High priests, low priests, monks, ministers, astrologers, palmists, psalmists, phrenologists, hypnotists, aura readers, astral pocket jockeys, harmonic wave surfers, all were the rock stars of a new age of enlightenment.

But the zaniest of all of the obvious signs that the world had gone completely mad and people would embrace just about anything or anyone in a desperate attempt to conjure up the NEW YOU, was the lady we will meet in this book. Unorthodox? How about Alice in Wonderland strange. Weird. Off the charts. Barking mad. Totally whack. We’re talking about … Dr. Joy Smothers, the folk singing psychologist.

The thing is, you can’t argue with success. And tens of thousands of people whose lives were in shambles, whose ability to understand the world around them and relate in a holistic, positive way to others, swear by this lady. They believe in her gifts for healing, embrace her unorthodox teachings and methods, and unquestioningly ascribe to her almost supernatural powers.

So . . .

This is her story.

This is how it all began!

You decide . . . was Dr. Joy a genius or con artist?

[ Author’s Note: Granted, this is a slight change of tone from my previous posting. The point is, the literary merits of my book are not relevant to discussing the emergence of one of the most controversial individuals in the history of psychology — a woman no less, in a field as patriarchic as the National Basketball League. It’s only fair that you judge for yourself both Dr. Joy Mania and her putative impact on individual and family therapy. Of course, this begins with your buying at minimum ten copies of Sex, Lies & Coffee Beans and sharing them with family, friends, even passing strangers. Then think about it, talk about it, write about it, make this the core purpose of your life for the next six to eleven months. I personally can’t see any other possible course of action. ]

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The Worst Book in the History of the World!

I’ve put the finishing touches on the worst book ever written.

Scheduled publication date is December 18, 2020 — a day that will go down in infamy.

This book will offend everyone.

The woke crowd will find it so politically incorrect, they’ll only stop gagging long enough to upchuck screechy memes about gender bias, misogyny, and homophobia.

Normal folks will find it beyond rude and insulting. They’ll see themselves in the story. It’s not a flattering picture.

Critics will resist even pretending to look at it. The plot is one long flat-line, the characters one-dimensional, the premise facile and implausible, the message superficial and without any redeeming qualities.

I’ve warned my friends and relatives to stay as far away from this piece of literary garbage as possible. If curiosity gets the better of them, I accept no blame and take no responsibility. They were warned.

Why would I write something like this?

That’s easy. In the world of digital publishing, in this age of internet mania, click bait, and mindgame porn, the #1 priority is to separate yourself from the crowd, stand out, get people talking. As an author, there are only two ways to do this. Either write the best book in the world or the worst. I took the easy route.

I’ve achieved what no other author has achieved, or even tried to achieve. This book is so bad, it’s in a class by itself.

It’s a sure #1 at Amazon in … 

Literature / Contemporary Fiction / Psychological Dystopia / Euthanasia / Brain Freeze / No Refunds

I’m asking each and every one of you out there to immediately buy this book. I don’t know most of you personally but I want your money. And you don’t know where I live. Don’t come looking for a refund.

Come on! Get on the bandwagon. Sex, Lies & Coffee Beans will give you something to talk about with every one else standing in the checkout lines at Walmart or waiting to get tested for Covid-19.

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Life In Japan: Silver-san, aka Jinzai Centers

I keep saying that every day brings new surprises and discoveries. I credit my brilliant wife Masumi with bringing to my attention this fascinating item.

Jinzai — 人材 — means human resources. But Jinzai Centers and their silver-san workers are a very special feature of life here in Japan.

‘Silver-san’ refers to workers who are over 65. They have retired from the jobs they held over the years but want to keep working. Often it’s just wanting to attempt something new, something completely different from what they did most of their lives. Jinzai Centers offer training and then assistance at finding employment for these folks. Working as a silver-san provides new challenges, allowing seniors to learn and apply skills they may have had an interest in over the years but never had the time to pursue.

Here is a partial list of silver-san jobs: tree trimming, gardening, accounting, carpentry, child care, single parent support, cooking and baking, shopping (for those who are house bound or physically unable to), home repair and maintenance, shopkeeping, the entire range of computer-related activities, vacation home care, agriculture, animal husbandry, maternity and newborn support.

This is not usually about money. Pensions here are typically quite adequate. Japanese people — in contrast to many in the West — just don’t like sitting around. They prefer to keep active. Staying busy, both physically and mentally, contributes to overall health, optimism, sense of value, and is likely a significant factor in the longevity of the Japanese. Life expectancy in Japan is 84.6 years81.25 for men, 87.32 for women — contrasted with 72.6 years for the entire world.

One thing for sure. These older workers are not stealing jobs from younger folks. Japan has a shrinking population. Thus there is increasingly a shortage of hands on deck, and jobs often remain unfilled waiting for someone to come along with the right set of skills.

Incidentally, more than 29% of the population here is over 65.

I fit right in!

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Life In Japan: Shirakawa-go

There are some places in Japan that are so magical, the less said about them the better.

Shirakawa-go is one of them.

I will, however, give a little background to shine valuable light on the historical/cultural significance of this breathtaking spot.

Shirakawa-go is a village of thatch-roofed houses. The use of thatched roofs — kayabuki no yane (茅葺きの屋根) — goes back thousands of years. They are replaced every 30 to 50 years, a procedure known as yanefuki (屋根葺き), meaning roofing. Thatch comes from Japanese silver grass.

There are over 100,000 such traditional houses in Japan. In fact, in Tambasasayama, my home town, we have several.

This particularly charming traditional village is located in Shirakawa-mura (白川村), Gifu Prefecture, and is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

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Life In Japan: My Pergola

No smashed thumbs so far!

‘My Pergola’ is not to be confused with My Sharona, a 1979 song by The Knack.

According to Wikipedia: “A pergola is an outdoor garden feature forming a shaded walkway, passageway, or sitting area of vertical posts or pillars that usually support cross-beams and a sturdy open lattice, often upon which woodyvines are trained.”

This is a story which will not make it into my epic new book, Live From Japan!, officially coming out Valentine’s Day 2021.

I’m merely posting here to “blow my own horn”, which according to the online Free Dictionary means: “To boast or brag about one’s own abilities, skills, success, achievements, etc.” I think that sums it up pretty well.

Last summer, I spent four weeks putting together a structure which provides in our very modest yard a pleasant place to relax, have fun, read a book, drink tea, eat lunch or barbecue.

Why did it take four weeks? Not making excuses, I improvised this the whole way. I had no blueprints, never even stopped to make any drawings myself . . . just made it up as I went.

This was actually fun! Seeing what I was imagining in my head gradually materialize was a real hoot. The downside was my having to make probably 40 or 50 trips to our three local home supply center/hardware stores — many on my bicycle — as I discovered along the way I needed some new bracket, set of screws, bolts, braces, tool, etc.

Since all the wood I bought was raw lumber, probably the most tedious chore was applying two coats of weatherproofing stain to every surface before assembling this monster. I call it a monster, because just the floor — as pictured at the beginning of this article — weighed in at 104 kg (229 lbs) and I had to get a muscular friend to help me move it to the spot in the garden where I would assemble the pergola, piece by piece.

Anyway, here’s what it looks like. Now we just have to see if it survives winter and typhoon season. Stay tuned!

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“Outside The Box”: Does it pass the sanity test?

My insanely weird short story “Outside the Box” is featured in the most recent anthology from SCARS Publication. Apparently they liked it, since they named the entire collection after it.

It’s written in the first person, very unusual for me. I’m not sure why but I typically feel more comfortable writing in the third person.

I can’t say what inspired it. I’m not using hallucinogenic drugs. As it says on the back cover of my book on life here in Japan, which will be out early next year, I feel like I’m living in a fairy tale. Other than the complete disintegration of my homeland, the prospects that climate change will make the Earth uninhabitable, the class warfare being waged on the vast majority of us by the sociopathic ultra-wealthy — which apparently now even includes mass extermination to “cull the herd” — and what is increasingly looking more than likely, the annihilation of all life on the planet via a nuclear war, I’m as happy as a butterfly in spring on Bora Bora.

Here’s the real skinny on “Outside The Box” . . .

This is how my brain sometimes works. I make no excuses, offer no apologies, and certainly lose no sleep.

Celebrate it, condemn it, put out a call for intervention or institutionalization, whatever floats your boat . . . it’s what I do.

It’s what I like to do!

While I recommend you buy the anthology itself, if for no other reason than supporting independent publishers like this seems like a good idea and truth is there are some other great pieces in this collection, I’ll save you a few dollars. Yes, you can read my story below.

Have fun with it! Or skip it and go rollerblading. Your choice.

_____________________________________________________________

OUTSIDE THE BOX

I was surprised how easy it was to find the grave, and that it was unguarded.

I dug up the body, dragged it to just the right spot.

Then I kicked the shit out of Hunter S. Thompson.

He didn’t stand a chance. I punched, pounded, kicked, scratched, twisted his limbs, applying the most excruciatingly painful wrestling moves.

I kept this up until I literally fell over from exhaustion.

After resting a while, I rolled Thompson back into the grave, then shoveled the dirt back over him and left.

Of course, no one could know. And without it being public knowledge, I wasn’t sure exactly what advantage my cathartic corpse thrashing might achieve.

I guess I was thinking more spiritually – you know, big picture.

And let’s face it. We really don’t know how these things work. Sometimes we just have to let fly and hope for the best.

I have always felt a strong connection with Hunter S. Thompson. Especially when I was vomiting from too much to drink.

But it was deeper than just binge camaraderie.

I could feel his giddy acid in my veins. I guess my arteries too. I can’t imagine him without a sneer. And I can’t stop sneering.

So what was with the need for my posthumous pugilism?

Simple. The old bastard was becoming a thorn in my side. Holding me back. He was like having a brother with elephantitus. Or a sister who fucked the whole football team.

I didn’t stand a chance. My karma was like belly button lint in an ancient mummy.

People didn’t ignore me. To ignore someone, you have to know they exist.

Luckily I figured out exactly what had to be done.

I needed to settle the score. Level the playing field. Credit where credit is due.

I needed to beat the shit out of Hunter S. Thompson.

Think I’m crazy, right?

Well, suck on this: It worked!

It was like the Beatles … the fall of the Berlin Wall … MTV … 911 … Trump.

Everything changed!

Well, for me personally it did anyway.

I stopped at the dry cleaners to pick up my laundry. A shirt and a beach towel. I gave the lady a ten. She gave me change for a twenty. I kept it. Not my problem.

I noticed in my rear view mirror I looked conspicuously more handsome than usual. Others noticed too. A pretty girl, maybe mid-20s, pulled up next to me at a stop light. She looked over, smiled, winked, then made a jacking-off motion with her free hand. A come on. I just laughed. I would have loved to but too many STDs around these days. Never know where something like a simple hand job might lead.

Then I got a text message. Aunt Elizabeth – poor old soul – finally kicked the bucket. We’d been waiting forever. I already knew I had over $23,000 coming to me from the long-past-her-expiration-date spinster. She’d been in the hospital for over a year-and-a-half. What a relief!

The real game-changers were in the inbox of my gmail account. I could see on my iPhone I had messages but waited to read them on my computer at home.

Holy shit!

Three literary agents were interested in my novel, 50 Shades of Pubic Hair. They even attached contracts to their messages.

Granted, I have much better novels than this gratuitous piece of garbage. But you go with the flow. Maybe a little commercial success would grease the skids for next year’s Booker or maybe even Pulitzer.

I’ll skip all the rest of the glory details for now. It’ll just make whoever is reading this envious.

Besides, I’m running a little late. I’m speaking tonight at the Washington Press Club comedy roast of Julian Assange.

Never saw that coming. But why not?

All thanks to you, Hunter S. Thompson. And my taking charge of the situation.

Sorry about caving in your eyeball socket. Not that it should matter.

You were never much one for glamor and glitz.

Never a member of the glitterati. Me neither.

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