Appetite for Distraction – Another Day.

He wakes up. He barely slept but he did sleep. Perhaps World War III is starting perhaps this will be used in the same way as some argue Second World War ended the depression so too this cataclysmic last hurrrah of East and West will come together in a proxy war in the Middle East to give full employment through the draft and the filling of munitions factories to bring full employment for the youth and meaning for the youth and propaganda and the hideous shaving of the world population through all the wonders that modern technology and the human imagination combined can provide. It is Father’s Day. He does not celebrate it. He has been a proxy father but he is not very good at it. He remembers very little about his own father – a smile, a moment standing in a dug ditch with him and terrifying moment locked in a room when he was outside trying to get in an alarm in a hotel in the dark screaming a possible bed time story reading and a probably bathing and then nothing and whether these are real memories or cobbled together fantasies from stories he has been told and stories he has read and stories he has watched he does not know who that man is and why he killed himself although he has lots of half formed theories and a brain full of half-read books but he still doesn’t really understand nor the continued secrecy that surrounded the event nor the distancing he feels from everyone nor the alternate universe he entered and the different person he became when he found out but life is complicated and perhaps it was the only option and perhaps it was a combination of cowardice and bravery and hopelessness and generosity but there are no answers only questions no conclusions only theories that can never be proved and hypotheses that can never be tested. Not all fathers are worth celebrating not all fathers are good not all ¬†fathers are upstanding citizens most of them have no idea what they are doing and bumble and stumble through every day doing the best that they can with what little talents that they have still remembering that they are the little boy in the playground with the scuffed knees and the black eye and some fathers are abusers and murderers and drunks and bullies and some legitimise murder and some commit proxy murder and some do it for good reasons and some for just reasons and some just for reasons and Assad is a father and Cameron is a father and Obama is a father and Louis CK is a father and Kanye is a father and Harrison Ford is a father and Carlos Slim is a father and Mohammed was a father and Dick Cheney is a father and Mohammed Ali is a father and Jesus was probably a father and Bill Clinton is a father and Mussolini was a father and Stalin was a father and being a father doesn’t make you special and being a father doesn’t make you a monster but being a father isn’t necessarily worth celebrating for it’s own sake. Then he has an everything bagel and again he marvels at a bagel that offers him everything so he doesn’t need to choose and he wonders if this could be expanded to other things like the everything drink or the everything pie or the everything flavoured ice cream and he imagines that these things probably wouldn’t work at well given the broadness of the flavours available for these particular things and the limited number of possible flavours deemed acceptable for the humble bagel. Then he watches CSPAN and then he reads some of his book and then listens to the radio and then he goes for a run. After the short run has nearly killed him he returns home a broken man and drinks lots of water and falls unconscious on the bed but at least it is covered in lots of fresh laundry so it is comfortable to comatose on top of and then he wakes up and it is still light but no one has called him not that he was expecting anyone to call him then someone calls him accidentally and it is not even a real call but a butt-dial so he watches Twilight Samurai which is a beautiful film about fatherhood which almost makes him cry but he does not cry and he eats some rice and has another coffee and draws some pictures and wonders at the scam of Deepak Chopra and then decides it might not be and then he reads some more of The Unexpurgated Code by JP Donleavy and then he listens to an interview with Steward Lansley a man who has written a book called The Cost of Inequality which seems like an interesting book and it is another book to add to the large list of books that he wants to read and then he starts reading some Gore Vidal books because it seems that when Gord Vidal died the common line among all the obituaries was a cavalcade of journalists talking about the meal they once had with Gore Vidal and wasn’t he a crotchety but delightful dinner companion but it seems that the old man had a long career of letters but these letters were all but ignored because he went all Alex Jones in the last few years of his life but he did not start out as Alex Jones but was well respected so there must be something there worth respect so he is going to look and see if that is the case. Then he eats some more rice and wonders if he will be able to manage on his $20 for the week and hopes so because he doesn’t have much of another choice. Then he watches some more Space Brothers and then he goes to sleep.

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The Sleepcoat League

Armchair anthropologist, sometime scribe, freelance philosopher, amateur artist, part-time poet, musical maven, alliteration aficionado.

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