2nd try at posting this: WTF?

The Chilean Miners, Trump, and Death: Three Dismountable(?) Horsemen

Six years ago today, turns out, was when my life temporarily lost any hope of anticipating ‘all-is-well’ sleep-time calm. Hearing that men were trapped underground by a South American mine-collapse, with, at the time, scant hope of their rescue was, to me as a fellow human, a one-time underground excavator myself, and worst of-all, an ir-redeemable claustrophobe, an emotional Death Sentence. Initial reports mentioned, optimistically, a slight chance for a rescue… which could require 6 months. I actually , tell no lie, lived on a bread-crust a day for a period, out of curiosity and empathy, meanwhile glued to any news source. And tried not to think about life after, god-forbid, all hope had been officially abandoned.
But, as I’m sure everyone knows by now, Fate, tons of equipment, cash, love, luck, and techie-stuff did, in the end bring them all up to the surface.
So… one win so far.

(Claustrophobia did attack me again just last night, in a car on the way south to Israel’s ‘Maktesh Ha-gadol’, a geological depression in our Negev Dessert, where we went to view the Milky Way.) You may, , sadly, have last seen the tremendous splurge of stars crossing the sky from horizon to horizon decades ago. Junk lighting at night has almost completely wiped this view of our Galaxy end-on from the memory of whole generations.
At any rate, I was trapped, on the way there, for an eternity (ten seconds at least) by a malfunctioning seat-belt system. I’m sure my fellow passengers will now be forever convinced that I am probably insane, judging by my hysterics. I did, in my agony, recall the above miners though, wishing I could have emulated their heroic resillience. My seat-mate finally pushed the magic button and I was saved!

Ok, moving on, and speaking of insanity:
A remarkably similar sense of hopelessness has darkened my heart in the last few months. No, not the ‘big ‘C’… no… ‘The big ‘T’. I was contemplating thorazine, stelazine, diazepan, and Ethanol already by the mid-primary season, consumed by my manifest inability to handle having a joke like Trump as the President of my former country. I watched aghast as the shaky soil ‘over-burden’ shook, shifted, and settled onto the heads of my metaphorical ‘miners’, the American citizens and electorate. Until lately it appeared that we were doomed. I clutched at any polls suggested a happy ending.

And only this week do I finally feel less frantic, capable of perhaps reducing my anti-anxiety dosage a percent or two.
It appears, depending of course on the commentator, that perhaps I may not need to brace myself for the nauseating shock of seeing this orange-mopped bozo’s profile pix hanging above the Passport Control lines at JFK on my next visit. A gratifyingly large porportion of both politicos and thinkers has this week come to the conclusion that Trump-horror.com can and must be somehow derailed. P.T. Barnum’s one/per/minute estimate may account for the stubborn support among mad, white, low-info males, but we are lucky in having plenty of minutes left for the birth of decent and rational Americans, who without any profound love of Ms. Hillary none-the-less can still easily identitify the lesser of two ‘evils’.

Which leaves Death: the final frontier. I include it here as a common bond, not so much because it was the obvious ‘try not to think about it’ theme in Chile, or even because Trump’s bizarre, (and revealing) question to an interviewer :”If we have nukes, why not use them against ISIS?” foretells mass death-by neutrons during his god-forbid-it watch, but because..:
Because I’m not sure I can take this madness, this tension, much longer. Sure, at one point I ate green leafy vegetables mainly to up my chances of watching the first manned mission to Mars live, or, with larger portions, being around for first-contact with our brainy-but reptilian-looking pan-universal life-forms.
I’m kinda over that. And not ’cause I’m sick of spinach.
With 93% of pedestrians on my street here transfixed into zombies by their holy smart-phones, with the daily record-setting high temperatures failing to convince hordes of cognitively-challenged deniers of the need for immediate and drastic action, with the cultured world functionally catatonic in the headlights-glare of ISIS atrocities, and…. and with my big-picture realization that a trip to Mars will ask more follow-ups than it will answer.. (read: more lettuce for moi, ugh) I might as well cut my losses and exit the theatre before the climatic horror-scene turns the flick into what the critics, if any survive, will have to call ‘an epic tragedy’.
Thus, I may indeed tomorrow schedule, 20 years too late, a preliminary blood test. Dr’ Google will give me some feeling for what’s ailing me. My policy, you see, has always placed a priority on ‘die young, and leave a good-looking corpse’. After all my euphoric successes in life, for me to go out as a submissive ‘patient’ with a number on the back of my exposed rump is for me a deal-breaker. The only smart move is to know how long I may have… to erase files, to box up my awards and artifacts, and to go out proudly, under the Milky Way.
Hmm.. melodramatic much? IDK, having saved the miners, and possibly the American electorate, Victory over Death on my terms may be… um.. do-able/ JS


9 thoughts on “2nd try at posting this: WTF?

  1. solberg73 Post author

    Why’s dis sh*t always happen 2 me?’ I posted this two days ago: It refused to appear on my blog. And yes, I clicked on everything even remotely possible as an explanation.
    So here is a brute-force workaround. While I search for the demon responsible…

  2. solberg73 Post author

    Theories so far:
    1) Trump secretly owns Word-Press?
    2) I shoulda titled it: “33 hungry men trapped underground! You won’t believe what happened next!! Donner Redux! Click if you are brave enough!!!
    3) Like Xanga: Free accounts are being phased out?

  3. eleanorio

    Almost 10 years after receiving my first notice to do so, at the government’s instigation and expense, I still have not had a mammogram. There’s a combination of good genes, clean living and denial at work here, but I also cannot pick up a telephone to make an appointment because I simply do not want to know what stowaways might be making themselves at home in my body and what havoc they are wreaking. It has been several years since I last saw a family physician (mine retired and left no forwarding address) and, this being Quebec, I will only be assigned a doctor if, the gourd forbid, a mammogram comes up positive. So I applaud your desicion to take your health in your hands and be proactive. You’re a better (smarter? less lazy?) man than I, Gunga Din.

    1. solberg73 Post author

      El, I’ve still not acted on my (transitory?) resolve to see what the docs think of me. ‘There’s always tomorrow’, I could keep whistling in the dark. Or next week/ next year.
      Immediate goal at present is to see the meteors this thursday night, and to muse on the big picture, which has me staring *down* at some point from the Milky Way.

  4. punkysleek

    Oh no! You’re commenting on your own post. Be afraid. Be very afraid. You’re starting to sound like me. Ok, Trump is still scarier. But please don’t … whatever you think you’re going to do that sounds like an empathy that would have me, or anyone, not read new posts from you. I know, I know. But still.

  5. somewittyhandle

    I have a terrible confession, that I have occasionally been secretly enjoying the comedy value of Trump. I acknowledge that, if I were American, it would not be so damn funny. Even as a US alien that I am, the more responsible thing would be for me to worry about the devastation he may wreak.

    I believe all information is good, health-wise. Better to know.

    3 years ago, I had a bit of a scare. A mysterious lump and obstruction in my abdomen, accompanied by rapid weight loss, caused me to seek medical attention from our glorious National Health Service. The wee boy with the stethoscope shared my worst suspicions, and referred me for a barium-contrast CT scan. I fretted for a week until, one morning after coffee, I delivered the most monumental bowel movement of my life, and all was well thereafter. The appointments for the scan came up 10 months later. Thanks again, NHS.

  6. solberg73 Post author

    I often re-read my daily record-books from years past and find forgotten references to OMG-this is the End medical symptoms, each one having ‘gone away’ by itself without intervention. Thus I do feel immortal, which may be ‘the death of me’.
    The ‘Drumpf’ unreality show is likewise for me a fascinating obsession: 2-3 hours a night reading countless commentaries. Tragedy having lately become Farce is a partial relief, yet a precedent has perhaps been set for manchurian crypto-maniacs. Evil is indeed banal, and needs only the silence of responsible actors to win an election. Thank god for the 4th estate, I say.

  7. happierheathen

    I last saw the Milky Way… decades of seconds ago, from our deck. 🙂 Saw a fine meteor, too, spanning at least eight degrees after it scooted out from behind one of our enormous poplars.

    Don’tcha worry ’bout a thing, my friend. The gopher from Caddy Shack will not be elected president. Nor will that putrescent malignancy growing from his furry ass. We have people for that.

    Be of good cheer. The military-industrial state will soon collapse.


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