All posts by Michael Winn

I am here as a consequence of something my father said to my mother that at the time they said and heard, they both believed. During my "gestation", my father's secretary happened, and on top of that, the Second World War. I'm happy to be alive. I complain about things I care about. Solutions to problems are achieved by tweaking the system, however, secular art shows why the great churches came into being...and Gaudi's gift. It is both cautionary and hopeful, tweak the system, not the content, the system.

Parking/Driving Between The Lines

Californians do it to avoid bad karma
Unless they’re Mexican and choose to avoid notice
Lines do not apply to people in New York City
As they do in West New York, New Jersey
North Koreans must, to avoid the death penalty
Germans must because Americans don’t
Chinese people do out of respect for ancestors
Filipinos do to get ahead
Norcal people do, when they see lines
Parents should, to set a good example
Italians might if they have a car
Angelinos do in hope their Lexus won’t be scratched
Except low income Mexican Angelinos, whose cars are scratched

Leaving Aberdeen - Photo by Michael Winn 2011
Leaving Aberdeen – Photo by Michael Winn 2011

Vietnamese people do, with reluctance
Buddhists must because it’s not mindful not to
Brazilians aren’t clear on what’s involved
Teens don’t when doing so wouldn’t appear cool
Nonogenarians would when they can see the lines
Jews do, depending on circumstances
Unless they are lawyers and it’s not Yom Kippur
Obese people would when they can
Drunks get DUIs trying to, so don’t if they’re smart
Stoner musicians do when they’re not high
Rock musicians shouldn’t, on principle
Homeless people are wise not to sleep on any lines
Engineers are all about lines, assiduously
Computer geeks often misjudge the spatial data

Sex addicts sometimes do, sometimes don’t
Novelists as a rule don’t follow rules
Composers and welders make a point of following lines
Developers are distracted by paint
Architects will to make sure lines are correctly drawn
My neighbors don’t, for the attention
You can count on Asberger’s people
But Downs and Williams people shouldn’t try
Pilots and courtesans should be tested for it weekly
Teachers aren’t expected to but may if they wish
Veterinarians and farmers are of little consequence
City planners should be buried within lines
Klansmen and Soroptimists will try to avoid paint or ink

African Americans prefer driving at night
Dentists can with gas and a little assistance
Lines are of little value to sailors, Puerto Ricans and miners
Bankers rely on their ability to stay within lines
Bird fanciers and topless dancers are hopeless
Cops don’t need to since they are privileged
Except Mexican cops, who needn’t appear unbribable
Danes do religiously, unless it’s funny not to
Lawyers do only because they don’t have to
Doctors would if they had time
Except German doctors, who follow rules in Germanic fashion

Fashion designers do on their way to the store to buy detergent
Fashion models would have if they’d thought about it
The Pope would but it isn’t his job
Donald Trump does if he thought about it
The U.S. Navy’s view is that it is the lines
Hillary has more important things to do
Obama makes it a daily photo opportunity
John Stewart wants to know what Groucho would do
Hank Bukowski never saw the line he didn’t fuck or vomit on

Some day, somewhere in the universe
Where all the lines converge
John Lennon dances with Gypsy Rose Lee
And Lenny Bruce fucks the vagina that jumped over the moon.

Lenny Bruce - Album Cover
Lenny Bruce – Album Cover

Bukowski’s Ghost, A Murder, A Lawyer, A 2-bit Whore

View from Castle Hills
View from Castle Hills

Bukowski’s Ghost

I’m renting a room that’s big enough for my bed, books, desk and an electronic music studio. The house sits on a hill with a view of the Pacific. There’s a swimming pool and a neurotic husky. My housemates are four men, whose lives are shaped by modest but weird ambitions: a specialist in running shoes, whose room is like a shoestore, a Brit expat slumlord who flies in from Asia from time to time to evict tenants, a younger man from El Cajon with a Charger tattoo on his arm and Norma our landlady, a Wagnerian soprano in her 60s, who obviously was hot in an earlier time.

I’m moving as soon as I finish writing this fucking novel. I want to live where I feel inspired. Panama, maybe, Thailand or Brazil, someplace warm where women are less demanding and I don’t have to deal with a lot of white people. I returned to this city from a hermitage in the Northwest (speaking of white people), but reluctantly. The constant presence of the military here seems strange. A third of the population are living on money from military budgets, and other kinds of government employees: cops, postal workers, hookers…

I’m doing a brain research project. My brain in particular, trying to understand how it is that the pianist that lives next door can’t recall his own name, but sight reads Beethoven sonatas with perfectly nuanced interpretation. Understanding this may reveal how the idiots in uniform running around the harbor manage to avoid blowing everything up with their nuclear toys, which they guard like upset marmosets, while their spouses are fucking civilians or sublimating by shopping, doing yoga and driving silver SUVs. But I digress (they have a right to shop and fuck whomever they please as it’s a free country, in part thanks to the efforts of their husbands.)

Music and writing is my way of sublimating sexual energy. I didn’t intend to abstain from sex, I’m an involuntary celibate;  20 to 50 years older than the typical stimulator of my limbic response and living on Social Security. Panama is the answer. In the meantime, I’m kayaking 50 miles a week, trying to stay in shape. How long can that go on? Besides this motivation to keep my blood pressure in a habitable range, I’m addicted to the feeling of freedom, as I pass Pt. Guijarros, beyond the dogs of war, parked in their aquatic stables.

People here call San Diego paradise because of its mild climate and (compared to LA) clean air. Native Americans had another name for the place; the vag. I can see why when I’m offshore in the kayak. The two hills that enclose the town lie on either side of a steep canyon and extend like the legs of a huge reclining woman opened at an angle of 137°, with the cove forming a vulva where the legs join.

Now that Orgasmic Meditation has put me in touch with the infinite feminine, I can’t avoid the absence of sexual intimacy in my life that compels me sometimes to push past my antipathy for the so often disappointing nature of human beings, to produce something useful for paid publication. But this isn’t why I’m writing about the murders in Del Mar, where I lived before I left to become a hermit in Mendocino. I didn’t know about these murders until a year after I returned to San Diego–quite recently. The murders happened while I was away. I knew both victims; one was a vet I’d brought my cat to and the other a radiologist and exotic car collector, who had trained his cat to jump through hoops. I gave my Alfa Spider to him in exchange for his 325is that my ex-girlfiend used to dog with. The  two murders happened several months apart; they were both bludgeoned at their homes and their corpses were left along a road within a mile of each other and yet it appears the murders weren’t connected in press or police reports, which seemed more strange because the radiologist was found on Squaw Valley Road and the vet’s body was found about a half mile away on Luna de Miel, although his home in Del Mar was a good 6 miles distant.

I happened upon the reports of their deaths accidentally, while researching the more recent demise of a lady lawyer that owed me money. It was more upsetting that she died without paying me since she was related to an “unfaithful” former lover. It was double jeopardy. Is fate entitled to both cuts? I came across the notices of the vet and the radiologist in a list of unsolved murders published in the Tribune at the time when my former legal counselor met her end coincident with an election  in which the paper was  pushing a stable of Republican candidates, names are irrelevant, called slime balls because nothing ever stuck to them despite they demonstrated together the morality of a pair of hungry rodents.

With the money gone, as if in the wind with the ashes of the dead woman, I began looking into these deaths, to see what connection they might have, aside from their connection with me.

The radiologist was unmarried, a sexually active bachelor. In my experience, his interest in human relationship was purely transactional. But he was interesting. His family were white collar New England Jews. He was small and athletic and training for the Olympics, a gymnast, and he left school and joined the circus. I knew this about him from our conversations, when trading cars, and also that his only family was a sister in New Hampshire and a housecat named, Tom, that he’d trained to jump through hoops of fire like a circus act. The odds are good my ex had fucked him, too.

The vet on the other hand had a reputation for misanthropy but was excellent with other species and respected for his expertise by wealthy denizens of Del Mar who brought their dogs, cats, birds and reptiles to him but loved by none. My own experience with him convinced me that an ounce of prevention was well worth more than a cure yet I commiserated with him for his misanthropic attitude, given his clientele, the residents of Del Mar, Solana Beach and Rancho Santa Fe, expensive communities that had initially coalesced around people with liberal environmental values escaping from Los Angeles but gradually decayed into a stagnant pond of bourgeoisie and Republicans jealous of each others homes and fearful about dropping a rung on the ladder of net worth as the waves of Chinese and Saudi immigrants bought their way into the United States.

I  learned about the dead woman and began by contacting her daughter. She literally ran, when she saw me coming toward her. I felt there was some undelivered communication.

Make Sex Affordable!

Make Sex Affordable! Subsidize Sexwork!

A majority of men over 50 suffer depression. For many it’s clinical. Many suffer for 30 to 50 years as we grow less resilient and become susceptible to other problems. The economic cost of the consequences creates an enormous burden on society.

Disconnection with others is depressing. Physical intimacy and sexual fulfillment are our deepest connection and necessary to well-being. Intimacy declines in marriages, usually disappearing when procreation isn’t a goal and partners lose desire for each other. Throughout history, Intimacy has been provided by professionals. Today professional intimacy is affordable only for a minority of those who are well-off and not affected by social stigma or shame associated with sexual desire.

Sex work is a demanding, nuanced service, requiring finesse and empathetic sensitivity. This petition advocates a solution that directly challenges ignorance, fear and superstition and aims to produce a dramatic reduction of suffering for tens of millions and savings of billions in medical costs that are indirect costs of depression. More than this, an open conversation diffuses the stigma that causes problems for all ages, with impacts on every aspect of American culture.

I’ve been a counselor to the elderly and visited institutions where contraction in the lives of older men and women is palpable in a visible process of separation that ends in death. The idea of subsidizing sex work seems outrageous now but its far more shocking that we ignore the problem before us. We need only look within ourselves and imagine what the future holds for each of us to see it.

Sign this petition, make a statement about your own future now!

Make Sex Affordable! Subsidize Sexwork!

When I was a child…

White children and children of color
Went to different schools
Kenya was Rhodesia
South Africa was apartheid
Germans gassed 6 million Jews
But not those who weren’t allowed to own homes in California

Dictators ruled in Spain, Italy and Chile
Blacks didn’t play on major league teams
Or wear the uniforms of officers or leaders
Or teach white children how to read
Or get into California universities
Or fly commercial airplanes or be firemen

Nor could women compete with men
Homosexual people were mentally ill
Japanese citizens were incarcerated
Their property taken by their neighbors
Young men were pressed into military service
On penalty of imprisonment

Children recited their pledge of allegiance
Under God in secular public schools
There wasn’t treatment nor prevention
For polio, heart disease, influenza, malaria,
Mental illness was abhorrent
Sex workers punished with imprisonment
Hospitals and doctors wouldn’t serve the poor
Jobless people were called, indigent

In 1997, I fell unconscious into the sea
After heart surgery
My ambitions were irrelevant
I felt I was as good as dead
Material surrounded me,
An accumulation of ironies
That I watched disappear as
Scavengers celebrated their luck

Ten years passed, while I,
Miraculously still walking,
Went off to seek an answer
I wandered, a kindly dull misanthrope,
Taking no joy in the company of men
Ignoring the comfort of women

Fascinated by nature’s extravagant variations
I stopped in sleepy coastal towns and inland villages
In the company of deep-throated ravens
Chuckling at me in detaché observations
From branch to branch,
Perched, rocking in the wind
Of follies and ambitions
Frets and cares of those below,
Living on the fringe of bourgeois desire

I awakened in a redwood forest
To Offenbach’s Can-Can in my ears
Looking for a source, the music was within
Waking me with the dawn,
Drowning in the silence of each night.
To escape the constant Can-Can, I returned
To the place I thought I’d never see, to find…

Nothing much had changed
A few more lanes of concrete on I-5
Poor are poorer; rich richer
Those of color now celebrate the short end of their shtick
Young men still pressed into military service
By lack of other opportunity
Property taken now by Department of Transportation
People powerless in the service of Technology
They speak about as if they owned
Subservient in a social agreement
That dooms them to irrelevance at 65.

And then…I heard the Can-Can
And scales fell from my eyes
I saw concrete crack into powder
Dancing in the dust, I saw that
Orwell’s vision missed the algorithm:
The fallacy of a heart’s design;
Love has no reason and it doesn’t rhyme.

Pt. Loma, August 2015

(For my brother, Jan Charles Myrow, on his birthday)

A Purpose In Life & Sonata 111

I came to this planet as an agent of Grace. I’m an artist. I use images, gestures, words, objects, sounds, music, dance, performance, events using skills of observation and expression to celebrate the beautiful, sometimes unlikely or disguised. I value freedom, for beauty lives in the eyes of beholders and so, beauty is granted by free observation.

Gesture 111  – An Adaptation of L.V. Beethoven’s Opus 111

Work proceeding at this writing as I score Sonata (or Sonnet) 111.  I’m sure to change the last part and I envision unconventional staging I must describe ( while this should work well with conventional orchestra resources for some performances).

By way of inceptional background:

…reading Thomas Mann’s,  Dr. Faustus, written in Munich in 1943 , under aerial bombardment by the allies, it’s a fictional biography of a composer in Germany at the turn of the century and through WWI, a time when autonomous music was in the ritual of life, love and religion for the bourgeois culture. Mann knew music. Between Mann’s  Faustus and Philip Radcliffe’s Beethoven’s String Quartets (1965), I saw a continuity from before Palestrina, through, Bach, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Wagner, Mahler… Schoenberg. The thesis of Dr. Faustus is an extraordinary statement about dehumanization of human beings through culture. Mann’s story draws a distinction about the satanic: in suppressing expressions of our animal nature, bourgeois spirituality makes nature evil. Mann’s man makes a deal with nature, such that he creates a monumental work in music in exchange for his soul.

Examining Opus 111 sonata #32 led me to experiment in this piece with Beethoven’s rhythmic sensibility in musical ideas, motives, etc., that we hear in pieces by Bach, Vivaldi, Mendelsohn, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, and so on. In Dr. Faustus, Sonata #32 is deconstructed to draw a distinction about the nature of freedom and the premise that creation requires transformation,  when a form becomes another form. Piano Sonata #32, Op. 111 was described in Beethoven’s time as the epitome and final statement of what is possible in sonata.
Michael
July 7, 2015

My Screenplay

Saw Ghandi hanging out at Denny’s
Asked if I know Antonio Gaudi.
Dave, the manager, eyes darting arrows of service,
Warmed us up with hot dark coffee.
A hundred million kindnesses later,
Eternally seeking opportunities of love,
A young man, early twenties, quietly left.
Can’t breathe, he said, without a smoke
(Muted trumpet solo)
Life comes with the territory
Inexorably.

 

Here’s the deal:

I did make some movies and I did want to make a feature film. I was really interested in the magical technology of motion pictures. I loved the way the camera interpreted things by eliminating from within the frame of the image and in motion and in sequencing, revealing meta ideas. I felt I knew what I was doing about anything except what I was doing in the moment. It felt this way to paint, make music, write.

I learned to be invisible in school. Imagine a small Jewish child in an elementary school for children of conservative Christian parents, in classes led by teachers whose savior my ancestors crucified. (Is it PC to capitalize, Nazi?)  An unintended consequence of hiding out was that it masked and fortified immensity an artist’s ego. I’m now a phenomenon; freak of nature, for-mí-da-blé. In some ways.

Pages from the screenplay:

10 A Man and a Woman and a Man and a Woman and a Man and.. (dragged)

11 A Man and a Woman and a Man and a Woman and a Man and.. (dragged) 1

12 A Man and a Woman and a Man and a Woman and a Man and.. (dragged) 2

Jesus In Therapy

JesusJesus went to his weekly session with Mel, a  therapist from New York that he’s been seeing about his difficulty with intimacy.

“When Mom told me about the virgin birth, I couldn’t grasp it. In the first place, the relationship of genitals to reproduction wasn’t clear to me at all. I was twelve years old and I woke up with a hard-on and didn’t know what to make of it. She gave me the low down on sexual reproduction and, when she came to the part about, “that’s how you were born”, she said, “however, in your case,” etc.

I questioned her about this virgin birth idea. She then told me that it isn’t authentically true for her to say virgin, since, although the masculine part was provided by the holy spirit, however, it was embodied, a kind of coitus took place, whether or not a hymen was broken in the process.

She didn’t go any further with this conversation. My father, Joseph, was embarrassed, when I brought it up. It may have been then that I decided it was my fault that my real father, the holy spirit, wasn’t showing up in my life, because something was wrong with me; that I’m not worthy of his love, that I’m not enough just as I am and it was this decision that compelled me to prove myself worthy of his love and guided my every step, literally led me to the cross.

Citizens Unite for Subsidized Sex!

30″ Radio Spot:

ANNOUNCER: Everyone needs intimate touch. Sex pros could make this possible for you for a few hundred or thousand dollars. Intimacy should be affordable for everyone that needs it, especially older men and women on fixed incomes, who face neotony in the sex market. Subsidize sex work! Donate now to Citizens United to Subsidize Sex* Help CUSS put a smile on every [adult consenting] face in the world. 

… End of Announcement …

 Campaign for positive sex positive activism

Even when sex positive activists speak about sexually repressive political policy, media sensationalizes this sex geekdom as if it was a sect opposing middle class values rather than the expression of middle class materialism at apogee.. Reactionary rhetoric about freedom, justice and equality just isn’t enough to enroll our culture in growing up and sexually we’re as if stuck somewhere in pre-adolescence. To shift this, we must talk about the real possibility of sexual freedom instead of polarizing sex ideology. This is the one thing we have to learn from the success of a  poorly written and less well informed sensationalist novel that has done more to inform a popular movement toward open sexual communication than has the work of all sexologists since Kinsey.

Arguing for the validity of sex work is the same as arguing for breathing.  We must bring advocacy to supporting sex work. This is critical to causing a  sex positive cultural transformation. To inspire support, we must enroll people in a possibility that they can get their sex needs met. For this, we must address the economics.

A quality sex worker is the most costly personal service imaginable. Sex service is more demanding, artful and costly to provide than are services of most medical practitioners, lawyers and your average rock star. It would interest those outside the circle of sex friendly activists to understand why sex is costly and we need to enroll them in a more powerful place about this in terms of their needs and values.

I’m not inspired to support an industry that provides services only to the wealthy by entrepreneurs who are naturally dismissive of those those who can’t afford their fees because they feel called upon to defend the value of their own bodies. But the cost of sex, however justifiable,  discriminates against all people on a budget, for instance, the elderly, the majority of whom are in dire need of intimate contact and many of whom suffer depression as a result of isolation that could be ameliorated by intimate physical contact.

For the mainstream to be moved to invest more than fascination with anything sexual, the sex industry must address this economic disparity and advocate for making sex economically accessible to any person who needs it, providing always that it’s a client’s responsibility to enroll a provider in serving them, even when money is no issue. The efficacy of this idea is demonstrated by affordable internet porn.

Were money not an issue, the sex industry would expand, and so would freedom of sexual communication. There would be more interest in sexual relationship workshops, especially about how to successfully enroll a sex partner, whether for pay or not.

The need for public support of sex is unquestionable. Sexual expression is directly related to mental and physical well-being. Physical illnesses arise from depression and sexual fulfillment  empowers high self esteem. Nearly half the men in America over the age of 60 suffer depression and this rate is highest for African American men.  It’s inarguable that healthy sex can turn this around and it’s apparent that virtual sex (pornography) doesn’t deliver.

Physical intimacy is more empowering than virtual intimacy (pornography). Porn may have  therapeutic value, but it’s no substitute for real interpersonal relationship and physical touch by another obviously offers something substantially different.

The argument for decriminalization of sex work disappears within a conversation for supporting sex work. But there’s no integrity unless we insist that sex for pay is accessible to those who need it, regardless of economic circumstances. Universal medical care and education wasn’t always a commonly held position. Access to opportunities for sexual expression should not be limited by affordability to the economically privileged few and we must begin this conversation now if we’re going to change this.

Citizens United for Subsidized Sex advances the conversation for free sexual expression to a possibility of putting puritanism in its proper place in America–16th century New England.

Financial support for sex work questions the absurdity of the underlying stigma because it unconceals the way the status quo, with its economic disparity, supports the mystique, glamour and narcissism, rather than the inherent value of intimacy.  Making sex activism positive undermines the conservative strategy to denounce political leaders through innuendo about their sexual behavior.

Superstitious, ignorant and sex-phobic psychologies will be awakened by the notion but unless we put the question of paid sex work on a positive footing by making it progressive rather than reactionary, these phobics will continue to focus on hyperbolic moral rhetoric and sex positive spokespersons will continue to react. Isn’t it ironic that the most sexually repressive culture in the world today offers the possibility of sex with 90 virgins to reward it’s heroes, while this culture criminalizes sexual transactions.

We have state gambling concessions (lotteries), cigarette and alcohol taxes that support government programs and education. We have an increasing national debt because of our support of hugely costly outmoded weapons systems. We are still building freeways for automobiles in the face of global warming and the rising cost of energy production, electric, nuclear or fossil fuels. We are able to afford the cost of addressing the sexual needs of our population.

There’s another benefit to having this conversation:

Valuing sex more appropriately substantiates the economic aspect of all sexual relationships, including monogamous marriage. People naturally want to get what they pay for even when the transaction is called, marriage. Divorces result from economic issues associated with breakdowns in the sexual transaction as well as shared cohabitation expense. In this paradigm, the idea of a spouse as a chattel in a relationship is realistic because ownership comes with obligation. The only way to change this is economic support so that spouses who “fall out of love” can get their sexual needs met without leaving partners and children behind in broken homes.

The sex positive community-speak has assumed a high moral ground of meeting the needs of people in their communities. This aligns with and supports sex workers, who argue justifiably for their own needs, it is only coincidental that their needs involves sexual freedom.  Justifying the needs of clients puts integrity into the rhetoric.

Is it possible? Will it work? It doesn’t matter now, whether or not a ballot initiative to fund sex work would win: a public conversation about the possibility of supporting sexual fulfillment is about sexual freedom for the mainstream, aimed at serving needs regardless of the ability to pay, just as we do with medical care and education.

By leveling the playing field, the CUSS proposes to create a conversation for new measures of value in gender differences. It places the economic value of a vagina in consideration of the owners’ point of view. Supporting sex work can do more to stop illegal trafficking and victimizing and discriminatory laws. The process of accomplishing this will transform views of sex and of women. A proposal to subsidize sex work speaks to the rights and needs of adults with clits. Equal pay for equal work is just so much talk. The economic value of vaginas is far superior.

*Comments or questions:  michael@michaelwinn.org

…………………………………………………………

(I am an artist. The minute I take money to compose for some purpose, I’m a commercial artist. Though I bring my talent, passion, knowledge, heart and soul to a project I’m hired to produce, the product is compromised by priorities for which I’m paid and though there is quality in my commercial music, it isn’t a good piece for concert because there is no compromise in music composed for listeners. And this is the only question I will ever ask of the whore I adore.)

Controversial Dangerous Idea

Small children excepted, we are always afraid of the idiot, the person who blows our cover, revealing the hypocrisy or our own narcissism or the slights of hand in our enterprises. Ironically, the best or worst idiots are narcissists. Like Dostoyevsky. Call me an idiot.

Men in monogamous relationships should know it’s their right to have whatever extra-marital intercourse they run into and they’re at fault if they regularly fail to do so. There are no excuses. Everyone is personally responsible for their sexuality. There, I said it. Heresy.

If you set aside the issue of integrity, not even the most jealously self-righteous of unfaithful wives can complain about her husband’s peripatetic sexuality, since the image of a husband who is desirable to other women reflects well on a woman. The same thing is said about men whose wives sleep around. The cuckold is lucky. Meanwhile, the appearance of sexual incapacity, even though a husband honors his vows, if he fails to take advantage of an opportunity for consensual, safe sex, reflects poorly on the spouse,  slut or saint.

This is the reality of sex in  relationships after shedding all the rhetoric. Don’t worry if you aren’t or haven’t been tempted. This information is only useful when you are or after you have been. The only problem with it is psychological and then only from cognitive dissonance and you can easily resolve it by changing your agreements with your spouse or drinking when she decides to disclose her own perambulations and voilá, open communications.

Giving rise to polyamory. If you’ve got nothing more pressing to occupy your time. Poly agreements are not necessarily the same as matrimonial commitments. They can be. It’s relevant since children are nurtured by bonded relationships and benefit when those relationships are with their real parents. Foster and adoption is still all good. It’s just different for the children. How this plays out depends on the commitment of the foster or adoptive parent but there is an important aspect to the genetic ties.

I haven’t heard anything cogent about this in the rhetoric of the poly community. I’ve seen more shifting of partners than I anticipated, possibly a consequence of favoring emotional detachment, and talk is always about juicer content. Promoting polyamory legitimatizes common practice but it also promotes all sex-related enterprise.

Everyone needs to make a living. But belief in monogamy is a lot like Santa Claus. Kids are paid with gifts to accept a patently absurd idea. It costs husbands who cheat, if they aren’t careful, it costs half of everything they own and more. But unlike with Santa Claus, there are many who don’t and can’t conceive of being unfaithful. On principle. And they’re so sexually frustrated that they’ve made porno a multi billion dollar industry. And it’s sad that it’s about their sexuality and not a rolly polly man in a red suit stuck in the chimney. Oh well, it’s not our problem.

More sex positive talk can’t be harmful but I don’t know what to do about Islam or Bandon, Oregon. There’s a conflict.

V-Day Carnival Brazil!

Celebrating V-Day 2015

It’s 2:53 a.m. It’s a hot night and a coyote outside is having an orgasm. Body parts I didn’t know I had are hurting. I went in over my head again.

A sex councilor named Kat showed me a few pelvic exercises and I went to an Ecstatic Dance Friday night to try it with music. I found a Capoeira Samba there instead. A female body in a red feather bikini, followed by five others convinced me to stay. A woman in the band sold me a $25 ticket for the annual San Diego Brazil Carnival the following evening, V – Day.

After coffee the next morning, I called the club. A guy with a Portuguese accent told me to let people at the door know if I want to be in the samba contest for a free trip to Rio. It was like Jesus spoke to me.

The Carnival Of Love
The Carnival Of Love

I drove down the hill to the costume store where a woman that looks like my aunt, the one with a dirty secret, hands me an indigo sequin shirt. I find a headdress with a silver and gold sequine cap, beads hanging down. Black and white feathers form a big circle above my head like the sun.

Before Carnival Sans Skirt
Before Carnival Sans Skirt

Only feathered thing I could find for below the waist was a short black skirt trimmed with a purple boa. A wide leather sash went around my waist, with gold chains hanging in front that swing in and out with my hips. Black Bally jazz shoes, and purple faux pearl beads on my ankles. I’m ready to samba.

Purple Boa

Other contestants are twelve mostly luscious females in elegant feathers, glitter makeup. Waiting in the wings, my limbic system was over-stimulated. In the context these ladies created, my strange outfit seems strangely reasonable. The women are stars of samba schools. The event manager gives me a chance to gracefully back out; says I didn’t pre-register for the contest. After the experience at Poly Palooza, I wasn’t about to be stopped by technicalities. I’m doing this. I dance or I get $75 for the costume rental.

She put me at the end of the bill so I can watch each dancer perform, see how they work with the bateria (or not) and the audience. They had an asset I lacked, their bodies. I needed a plan. For two seconds after my name was called, I wonder what the f—k I’m doing. The insistent rhythm of tamborims, caixa and surdos clarifies it.

Finding myself climbing the stairs to the stage, let ’em wait for it; picking up the rhythm, slowly moving across the stage facing the bateria, with my back to the audience, rotating my hips in the tight spiral Kat showed me, left, then right, making eye contact with each percussionist, brief eyeball to eyeball conversations with each one, there’s an accelerating crescendo as they synch up and my spiral gets wider, exaggerated. A break then a down beat and I’m thinking what the hell,  jump turn and face the audience as if we’d rehearsed. It worked.

Glad I didn't notice judges.
Glad I didn’t notice judges.

Audience got it and we had f–ing crazy fun. At times, I admit, I wondered if I was going to die up there. I had open heart surgery in ’97. What a way to go! Decided to keep my heart rate down by settling into a crescent hip to hip movement, low energy. The the caixas come out again, take control. I’m off the floor, flying. The crowd goes wild. The girls come onstage and we rocked for a few minutes, when I noticed Acacia, a dancer from Oakland.

Acacia Hurrican Samba
Photo courtesy of Acacia Hurricane Samba

 

After the intro, we’re off stage. Several women in the audience ask me for pictures and autographs. Everyone is dancing, samba schools performing, Capoeira guys flying around like hippy gymasts and now contestants are called back onstage. I’m expecting an award speech. Instead, one by one dancers drift offstage leaving me and Acacia.

Photo courtesy of Acacia Hurricane Samba

We danced together maybe 10 minutes, audience screaming, copping moves like Gene and Ginger. Acacia’s compact, fiery, energetic, “I got that, what you doin’ with this?” She dances to tamborims, while I ride the shakera then switch or pair up, accelerating tempo while giving dirty dancing a new name. I’m back to the crescent, slow the heart down, breathe, bateria gives me some space. Acacia takes my attention again. I pick up and we hit it together on the beat.

Afterwards some contestants congratulate me. More photo ops. A dance hall hero in V heaven on V-day! Thank you, Jesus!

I’m going to Samba school.

Super Sonic Samba School
Super Sonic Samba School

Mea Culpa

I thought our brains experience in the same way at a physical level.

Evidence points to the opposite: male and female brains work differently and we understand the electro-chemical processes. We don’t leap from this to expect that brains will be different in the same ways due to cultural and ethnic differences but again the results of peer-reviewed laboratory science  shows that mutations can occur over just one generation and the implication of this is that people with similar cultural experience are likely to show similar differences in the way their brains process input and cognition. More interesting, however, is that while we distinguish similarities in cognition and behavioral phenomena in conditions of schizophrenia, depression, autism and neuroses, we don’t understand these phenomena as physical differences and view it as illness, while we do view gender orientation as a difference in physical brains.

I know there are differences in the way my brain works from others and immediately spot people with the same functional difference no matter what their gender, ethnicity, age or culture. We expect a brown cow to be essentially the same cow as a black or white cow but of a brown color; we know that color doesn’t distinguish cowness. And when we see a human being, only their behavior tells us where they are on the autistic spectrum. We expect them to be the same kind of human being and have the same relationship with their world as a human being with a brain without this function. But unlike the brown cow, they don’t relate to the world in the same way.

We also view variations from that which is typical as imperfections and assume the normal model human being is perfect. Media stereotypes have given this greater meaning during the last century. The effect of this stigmatizes those who show up with a different mental skill set from the normal, for instance, those toward the brighter side of the autistic spectrum. Since approval of peers became the primary source of core value absorption in predominant societies, when we perceive ourselves as different, we feel the need to apply “make-up,” dress differently, get a haircut, lose weight, buy a car, play tennis better and harbor  a deprecating self-view, all of this exacerbated by fear of having our differences outed, leading to being ostracized due to differences we are powerless to change. Marketers take advantage of this psychology to advertise products that supply this need. It’s such an immense part of our lives now that we don’t notice how strange it is to be in an Apple store among a population of people salivating over technology for this reason.

After a few experiences of traumatic peer disapproval, a child, whose brain differences show up as on the autistic spectrum becomes sensitized to nuances of alienation and without knowing how and why they are physically different, can only conclude that the difference is unique and personal, that there is something wrong with them. The threat that they may feel this way is enough to trigger defenses that “normal” people may see as instability.

We hadn’t scientifically recognized differences between human beings related to differences in the way our brains work when I was a child. We also thought there’s something wrong with with people who had physical differences; who had hearing deficiencies or couldn’t hear at all or who are blind or blond or black or homosexual. This type of assessment was commonly portrayed in media and extended to views of gender as well as gender orientation, age, ethnicity, language and other cultural differences. The mainstream population still views others in this way, in part, because the way we view things has been inherited, in part because of the language and cultural attitudes implicit in jokes and in part because there are economic advantages to being included in groups that require maintenance of xenophobia, in other words, excluding others on the basis of arbitrary differences. Scientifically, this view of human being is mistaken but media constantly reinforces it with stereotypes.

However, the problem with autism is exacerbated by the fact that autism shows up as a difference in degree and how each individual relates to it is shaped by the way their autism was understood, respected and nurtured during childhood. Some are capable of the focused intensity of Adolph Hitler or Napoleon, the linguistic power of William Blake or Virginia Woolf and/or the visual acuity of Vincent Van Gogh or Jackson Pollock but a common trait of each of these people is a difficulty with intimacy and feeling love.

Something about autistic brains is structurally, electro-chemically different, analogous to differences in the operating systems used by a computer processor. In every other respect we can vary in appearance like anyone else. Short, tall, black, dwarf, male, female, gay, straight, whatever. But theres a similarity in the way our brains work differently from most people, which impacts our lives depending a great deal on our experiences as a child, because human beings are social mammals and the way our brains work with autism, among other things, is associated with emotions.

People with autism are not to be pitied. Empathy naturally drives us to such a concern. Compassion is laudable but to what end is it appropriate to pity a person whose body developed differently, for instance, if they are dwarfed or giants? Or to patronize a person because they are blind, deaf, old or gay? Or to segregate children in schools because of their color, intelligence or ethnicity? On the other hand, the sensitivities of a person on the spectrum requires that they must be treated with conscious carefulness because if they are not, their emotional trigger immediately distances them.

Traditionally, the social purpose of ostracizing and alienating those who are different is to homogenize and force cooperation. These techniques drive away people who are on the spectrum.  Cultures are defined by what they don’t tolerate and although it wasn’t done on purpose, a bi-product of promotion of homogenous stereotypes in media is that people with autism are not tolerated. Even if we could give autistic their own state as we did with the Jews who were chased out of Europe, this would have a worse effect on our culture than did the exile of the greatest minds of the century from Europe during the Nazi holocaust because the positive side of people on the spectrum is the creative power of their particular brain anomaly.

An analogy to this is the intolerance expressed in neoconservative biblical literalism.  Biblical literalism isn’t about spiritual values, it’s intolerant of diversity of experience to a degree that limits the ability to adapt to a narrow band of thinking.  Today, due to the methods we are using to maintain the growth of  the human population, we are confronted by global climate change that could evaporate the atmosphere of the planet over a relatively short period and at the very least cause catastrophic waves of destruction, death and possible extinction.  We need to think outside the box.

Ways of thinking that are common with autism are not only creative. We possess an ability to sustain the imagination of vastly complex ideas while at the same time, absorbing and accommodating new information in real time, making global changes in huge networks of images, sounds and ideas “on the fly.”  Among those in the mainstream “normal” population, many have a facility for driving cars, flying airplanes, surfing, playing video games, but a line is drawn between this ability and the facility for synthesizing and sustaining an intuitive grasp of complex systems outside of language, while still maintaining analytical functions that allows autistic people to intuitively predict the probable future location in time and space of hundreds of objects moving at different velocities and directions.

While we commonly think of autistic focus in terms of Rainman maths, but when this ability is applied in music, you get a Stravinsky, Coltrane, Monk, Messiaen and so on, individuals who feed their hyper-cognitive brains with harmonic relationship data and synthesize complex systems of music and then reduce this to notation on a page. Similarly, the ability can be nurtured in sciences and any of the arts and even spirituality. The area of great difficulty for those who are sufficiently colored in the spectrum of autism, is emotional hypersensitivity. We learn to protect ourselves by avoiding intimacy and group situations in which political gaming is commonly practiced, aspects of life in our culture that are primary themes of motion pictures and television soaps and sitcoms. The downside can be experience of separation.

Although my view of this is prejudiced by the fact that I identify as autistic, please, bear in mind that I do so in the same way as another might identify as gay. I’ve never had to face placard waving gangs of homophobes or laws preventing me from forming a domestic partnership but like many gay people, throughout my life, I’ve hidden my autistic nature to avoid stigmatic references as it is was a crime of which I should feel ashamed. I learned early on as a child to tolerate the derision of schoolmates and my own family and to bear without understanding why they should fell this way, the pity of  parents who saw peculiarities as an imperfection of my brilliance instead of what it really was, the source of this brilliance.

Like my neighbor, who identifies as a lesbian, I’m not suffering from a mental illness but I do feel sometimes, the separation.

Coyote Blue: An Ethical Adaptation

Coyote Blue is a cynical collection of stereotypes that you put up with because you think there’s going to be a punch line, characterizations  an informed 21st century writer would avoid in a serialized melodrama addressed to preteens or other semi-literate readers of graphic novels. Ironically, a naturalistic adaptation of the subject,  minus stereotypes, would make better sense of the native American’s magical view of the spiritual world. Simply put, the book exploits but demeans the spiritual reality of the native American.
Since my background related to this kind of media has something to do with this judgment, a few words about where I’m coming from:
I watched melodramatic media evolve during the 20th century.  I avoided commercial entertainment media for many years while I was making documentaries, educational media and commercials. Whenever I tried viewing popular shows, I lost interest in minutes. Now, my pursuit of an MFA in music for media had required that I view mainstream melodramatic series and films that found a popular audience during the last half century, while I was busy making movies. I’ve seen a dozen or more episodes of popular mainstream or indie shows a week for fifteen weeks at a time. Fifteen on, twenty off to recuperate. My view of these things differs from my classmates, who grew up watching them in the evenings.
My first direct contact with audio and audio/visual equivalents of serialized pulp fiction was in the mid-1940s. From 7AM to 5PM, my mother was at work at the U.S. Naval shipyard in Philadelphia. I hadn’t started school yet and our comfortably stout “colored maid”, Laura, listened to soaps that were broadcast at ten and eleven on weekday mornings, for instance, “Ramona, The Romance of Helen Hunt”. I had no idea what these voices were talking about in their elegant dialect that was the same as voices in movies of the ’30s and ’40s but I remember feeling their passion, amplified and resolved by organ stabs and signature themes and I recall the mesmerizing voice of the narrator because of which I’m still tempted to buy Ivory and Lux soap bars when I see the packaging on the shelves at RiteAid or CVS. On weekend evenings, I listened to series of Our Miss Brooks, Fibber McGee and Molly, Jack Benny’s melodramatic/comedic skits, Sky King, The Shadow, Green Hornet and so on.

As a reader/listener/viewer, I experienced evolution of the audio/visual serialized melodrama from its beginning in newsprint, the adaptations to radio and in motion picture theaters, where “Westerns” and Movietone news preceded each feature. I was disappointed when these serials disappeared, replaced by animated cartoon melodramas. Movietone news disappeared at about the same time, replaced by commercial television. Dramatic melodramas like Paddy Chayefsky’s appeared and inspirational comedies by people like Jackie Gleason, Art Carney and Audrey Meadows, Loretta Young, Lucille Ball, etc., followed. I later learned about the writers of these shows and I knew these men and women all must have had some direct form of relationship to the horror of WWI in the same way as I was touched by the bombing of Vietnam.
They lived through the “impossible” horror of WWII, survived the global economic catastrophe euphemistically known as, the great depression’ people had witnessed direct reports of the engineering thoughtlessness that resulted in the Hindenburg disaster and the sinking of the Titanic. They or their parents had directly experienced the exploitation of child labor, women, miners and workers as a class. They knew the disaster of the dust bowl and daily, routine violence against women, Jews, Irish, Italians, people of color, and so on. These writers could have had no illusions about the capacity for thoughtless cruelty when people act as a mob. This was a culture for whom Arthur Miller had successfully written The Crucible, for which work he earned the love of Marilyn Monroe our highest icon of the feminine. These writers were also aware of the potential for media to produce mass hysteria. They’d knew about the riots induced by Orson Welles broadcast in 1938 of War of the Worlds and Goebbels effectiveness in mobilizing masses for the 3rd Reich.
On live televised hearings of the U.S. House of Representatives Committee on Un-American Activities (HUAC), I saw Senator Joseph McCarthy and his assistant Richard Nixon, verbally demonizing these same writers, directors, actors and producers, accusing them (and I assume now, naturalism) of treason. Later, I learned about the Hollywood Blacklist but I didn’t actually see the effect of it until I saw the election of a man that I’d seen on television a few years before, confessing in tears to a felony for which we normally jail offenders. Having met Adlai Stevenson and Estes Kefauver (who was central to exposing McCarthy and dismantling HUAC) and having analyzed Nixon’s jingoistic rhetoric, I couldn’t avoid seeing the effect of audio/visual media in rewriting history, creating the mob-think that George Orwell described so well in 1984, not by writing lies but simply by omitting the truth.
In 1962, I was a Yeoman in the U.S. Coast Guard, when JFK announced a demand that the USSR remove nuclear missiles from Cuba. I was given the task of typing mobilization orders for all Coast Guard reservists in the 11th district. I saw and felt the possibility of WWIII and felt an enormous burden of fear lifted when the Soviet Union backed down. When the U.S. administration, with JFK as its spokesperson, diverted funds from the military and war to the Peace Corps and education, I felt hope and inspiration. I saw a surge of optimism and hope expressed in media and I saw this destroyed in an instant, when JFK was murdered in broad daylight with national television coverage (coincidentally on my birthday). Since that moment, I’ve seen the output of audio/visual and print media has increasingly become more sophisticated conservative propaganda so that, even though content appears to become liberal, the core values reflected in the media are not consistent with ideological principles expressed in the foundational myths of American culture as described, for instance, in The Universal Declaration of Human Rights and, while our melodramas pay lip service to these values, the stories consistently promote resignation and cynicism and I saw that it now does so through a form of faux naturalism.
Although “reality tv” is more obvious about this, a book like Coyote Blue exemplifies it perfectly. On the surface, the book presents native American culture in conflict with spiritual materialism. However, by avoiding natural character and presenting stereotypes,  it classifies reality and the result is a story that could be viewed as earnest and responsible but something critical to this is missing.
Great stories are not produced from analysis. Analysis is something we do after the fact. In adapting a book like Coyote Blue to the screen, my analysis allows me to understand and thereby transcend the faults of the book by breathing life into otherwise dead characters even though the writer cast them as shallow forms. So, I can potentially exploit the popularity of the melodramatic stereotype. However, I can also see the difference between this kind of adaptation and the much greater task confronted by Von Stroheim, McCullers and DeSica in adapting, respectively, GreedThe Heart is a Lonely Hunter and In the Garden of the Finzi Continis. It seems far more demanding, for these books stand among the greatest works of art in the literature of western culture.

Fine Art of Tax Fraud

Grow houses in  and around San Diego are helping the real estate market recover.

With millions of dollars to launder, they disguise income through property management companies rather than buying properties, which would required recorded transactions.

For a year, from July 1013 to July 2014, I unwittingly shared a residential house that is one of many being used in this way.

My Name is Odysseus

My name is Odysseus; it is my birthday today and I have much to be thankful for.”For a long time, I felt I couldn’t add anything to what has already been said in books, poetry, fine art and cinema by predecessors. Not knowing my listeners’ lives and experience, how was I to relevantly inform them? I spoke accurately and openly of my own experience in my work, hoping, I would at least allow others to see how I view similar experiences of happiness, pain, joy, grief, hatred, love and God. I made commercial films and films used in schools across the land, made paintings, sculptures and some documentary films, which few people have seen but those who have seen them have been important to me.”My reticence to speak of things about which I had no direct knowledge, to people, whom, in their own ways might have more knowledge than I led me to go into other fields, for a while, building homes for poor families that respect their pride and developing infrastructure and technology that respects the environment. I authored a book explaining computer and telecommunication technologies and how this will change our communities. And in my personal life, I struggled to understand the emotional underpinnings of the way I and other human beings intimately relate. Then a perfect storm of personal catastrophes occurred all within a short period.

“First, my aortic valve gave out; it was an earlier model designed for shorter spans of life than we enjoy now. During the corrective surgery, I awakened for a minute, while my chest was being sawed. While recovering from the surgery, my fiancé left me. I’d lost interest in nonprofit work and my attempt at private development ended in losing my home and I left town in an old Ford truck with Sammy, a cat I inherited from my mother and my good dog, a pomeranian called, Bear.

“For four years, I traveled from town to town, anticipating I would find a community, where my creativity could be a contribution, where I would feel included with the love, respect and brotherhood essential to life. I lived on a modest pension from my nonprofit development work and occasional gifts of strangers of a place to park my truck and social welfare program I’d learned about in my previous work. One summer, when I was managing an undeveloped public campground in a redwood forest in Mendocino County, in exchange for a campsite, Sammy died from Lyme’s disease. A veterinarian told me it was a deer tick. A week later, Bear succumbed as well. My despair was infinite.

“My response was apathy, however, and that opened a door to my return, which is a story for another time, about Telemachus and my wife and how my unexpected return interrupted their revelry. Such stories are interesting and instructive but this is my birthday and this story is about what I’m thankful for, which is something I can contribute to those of you who aspire to write stories for plays and cinema: what I’ve learned from life that is relevant to all fiction and screenplay writing, which can empower you in manifesting your aspiration.

“When I started making radio plays in college and later, as a professional, films for children, commercials and documentaries, I was lost in the excitement of discovering how it works. It felt the same as, when opening the door of a kiln, I saw how fire transformed my handwork. As I learned more, this excitement dissipated and I grew more critical about content. The question, “Why this film?” grew more relevant as my capacity improved. I could see no reason why my work shouldn’t be compared to that of any writer or filmmaker whose work I admire. This led me to read, and to read again, the literary fiction of the last few thousand years and to read what others had said about them; to visit great museums of Europe and view fine arts; see hundreds of plays and cinema and listen to music of enduring value, all with the purpose of learning what about them has made them endure. This odyssey is what I call, my life.

“If I could sum up an idea that will empower your odyssey, it might be the name, de MaupassantWhy this writer in the galaxy of talent in all civilization? Not for his style, which is beautiful, nor originality of metaphor, which is lively, nor his technical skill, on a par with any great writer whose work has endured, but something more relevant to a particular issue. You are aware of congressional debates about media promulgating warfare and desensitizing the population to gore and morbidity. When you are considering a war story or gore, sexuality and morbidity in your work, you might first read Guy de Maupassant’s story, Epiphany. Another example, where de Maupassant is brief and poignant about sexual fidelity and sexual politics, which are go-to themes of mainstream as well as independent TV, stage plays and cinema, you might read de Maupassant’s A Wife’s Confession when you approach the subject.

“I point to de Maupassant about “Why this film?” rather than many other good writers, whose work I respect love and respect as well because of his economy. The poetry of his language, characters and stories isn’t lovelier than I see in works by Cervantes, Homer, Gilbert & Sullivan, Madeline Kahn, Dahl, Mann, Dostoevsky, Dinesen, De Sica, Chekhov, Williams, Faulkner, Hesse, Shakespeare, McCullers, Marquez and so on and so on. You may worship other stars and that is good, but the pleasure you take or that you’ve learned something from them is beside the point I’m making. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Wisdom is another matter.

“I’m grateful for the work of all these predecessors and honored to stand with you among them.”

Stereotyping of Aging In Media

When I was a child, people of color were commonly characterized in stereotypes that are no longer tolerated. The growing intolerance for racial and ethnic slurs in the media wasn’t the result of altruism on the part of the economically dominant white Christian population but quite the opposite, it was the result of the efforts of organized movement with leaders like Martin Luther King Jr. and others, who opposed the basically selfish and/or ignorant prejudicial attitudes of white majorities who control the media.

In the 1960s, when I began producing media for schools and television, in pursuit of some ethnically egalitarian standard, ethnic diversity was a requirement in casting and black, brown and Asian minorities had to be proportionately represented in school films but not native American. In commercials, however, this kind of balance was unnecessary since the media targeted a narrow demographic—the Lego commercial to be shown in African nations used black talent, except for South Africa, for which, black talent was excluded, and so on.

When we’re really engrossed in viewing a good movie, unless the story is in part about issues, such as, Raisin In The Sun, The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter, etc., children and naive people generally will not notice that their expectations are being shaped about people of color and all other stereotypical categorizations. Stage plays of the 19th and early 20th century regularly and fairly consistently characterize women as weaker and scatter-brained, poor people as ignorant and stupid, actors as lascivious and immoral, clergy as moral and upright, older people as infirm and incompetent, sex workers as depraved; on and on. It is significant that this stereotyping is less true of the literary and fine art works that endure through centuries.

Although demands for social justice in the civil society and demographic targeting by commercial advertisers began to force more balance in ethnic and gender representation in media, the opposite of this has occurred with regard to age stereotyping as a consequence of similar forces; e.g., since younger people are considered more susceptible to media advertising, over the last few decades, pejorative characterizations of older people and aging generally has increased. It is taken for granted that it’s fine to represent aging with symptoms of Alzheimers, dementia, infirmity..

The effect on black children of showing them racial stereotypes was that they grew up learning to view the possibilities of their lives differently than did white children. Now, examine how we grow up learning to view the possibilities of our lives after we reach the age of 60 and you will begin to understand something of great importance to you personally.

Had someone asked me to consider this thirty or forty years ago and if I’d had the sense to listen, I’d have done a few things differently because my expectations of my future would have been better informed. Here’s a few facts about your future that could be improved if the characterizations of aging in media you consume is corrected in the same way we addressed racial and ethnic slurs:

  • Unless you have a life-shortening condition of some kind, if you take reasonably good care of your body and your mind, you will be physically and mentally fit for about 100 years.
  • You are likely to be unemployed and “unemployable” for the last thirty or forty years of your life having nothing to do with your ability but rather a consequence of competition from younger but less able people.
  • You will find that people half your age have replaced you at work and they will regard your wisdom and experience as useless and irrelevant or simply, quaint.
  • Statistically, you may have some health issues, including some that impair your mobility, sight or hearing however, most of that will be the result of your health practices when you are young and risks due to genetic inclinations that could be managed early on.
  • All but a few of you will have greater mental capacity, ability to focus and your ability to understand and assess situations will be greater as you age.
  • Your children and grand children will treat you as if they think you are a doddering fool since that is how older people are characterized in the media and games they play.
  • You will experience prejudicial discrimination that is sanctioned in your community.
  • Provided that your hormonal balances are maintained, you will have a healthy sexual appetite but most people that you’re attracted to won’t be attracted to you and when you express that kind of interest, most of those who are younger will be embarrassed about it and some will be unconsciously rude to you.
  • You will suffer from depression as a consequence of all these things and statistically, your chances of suffering clinical depression are one in four if you are white, one in two if black. You will acquire other health symptoms as a bi-product of depression
  • You are likely to be expected to live outside the community of your family and go off to die in an assisted living facility rather than being a burden to your children and grand children. Depending on your resources, this will deepen your depression.