...
In 1995, I was busy with my Zen studies and moving out of my hermitage in an exclusive gated community in Stinson Beach, California to Mendocino, to my much missed remove to a very small cabin by a pond in the Redwoods. No internet at either place. Just writing and playing mahjongg or klondike solitaire to smooth out my brainwaves. I didn't know police all over the country were being murdered. I was deep in my inner reaches.
I didn't get on the internet for real until 2005. I'd used it many times since long before the www, but very little of that had been from home, and it was sloooow, and you had to be able to type in the address to get to government agency databases. I got to the EPA for a case about a guy dying on an oil rig, and blew my brains into zapping and fizzing synapses over the shit that was documented there. So when I say the EPA has been useless for decades — captured — I'm not just whistling Dixie.
So, if I'd found out how many cops they were killing, it would have gone hard. I knew a lot of cops. We defended them at the now-defunct fancy ass law firm that drove me 'round the bend. They were almost all great big affable bozos it was hard to hate. We'd get one who'd fucked up pretty hard every once in a while, and that was definitely no fun, but mostly it was guys who had been victimized because people were deciding the best defense is an outrageous offense.
The outrageous offenses are much harder and heavier than they ever were back in the 70s and 80s, and it's just struck me that I have been mostly a hermit for more than thirty years now; this wound from getting my guts blown to smithereens is more like a full time job than any project I've taken on in all that time, except beating the snot out of the timber trust, than any other single thing.
My bathroom looks like the medical supply cabinet at a hospital, and I'm racing through that stuff. I'm almost always only half-covered so I can apply arcane skin preparations and varioua shorter and longer term dressings, depending on the situation. This morning has now turned into this afternoon and I've just swabbed myself with betadine solution to settle down the oozing bits from allergy to adhesive.
I want, of course, to smear it all with Aquaphor and call it good, but I can't. Nothing would adhere. And that would end up either even more seriously embarrassing or cause death from necrotizing torso syndrome... which would at least be original, if too final for my taste.
So, anyway, point being, I guess it's good to have all this miserable news to read while I'm waiting for my various applications to my angry skin and wound are doing their things, but, sheesh, killing cops? Could we cut that out? Wouldn't it be better to boot out the pinheads from whom they take orders?
Why, yes, yes, it would.
pipe up any time....
