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The Supernatural Metaphysics of Childhood

That’s the Sears Tower stealing the show. I took the picture during a flight home from Las Vegas.

Chicago from the sky is an encounter from another world. Downtown fits inside the peephole of my thumb and forefinger. Imaginations burst forth.

The Sultan of the Indies on a magic carpet. Bellerphone on Pegasus. Mount Olympus.

Moments like that really get me. It’s the sensitivity of childhood retained as an adult. Most people have dispositions that block them from experiencing such things.

During my novelty buzz above Chicago, I turned from the window and looked at the passengers. No one was joining me. No one looked at the breathtaking view a mere window shade away. Not even the children parked in window seats could be bothered. Pixels on a digital screen, small talk, a nap; these were the attractions that won the attention of the passengers. The royal blue enormity of Lake Michigan from the perspective of a cloud? Don’t waste their time!

If you’ve reached adulthood and (like myself) regularly get the excitement chills, you are a very unusual person indeed.

I mentioned novelty as a cause of this heightened state of being. And it can be. But if you’re like me, it takes very little for you to become lost in wonder like you are a child again. It’s like walking around in a semi-permanent state of what I can only describe as a sort of spiritual Stendhal Syndrome.

Do you remember the mind-bending joy of Christmas, back when Santa was real? You were so thankful to live in a world where there was a Santa. I feel that same joy and gratitude now.

The low sensitivity of adults is obvious from their conversations. I noticed this first in my twenties. Most people have no desire to have spiritual play with others. Most adults have no desire to share their inner world. Their inner subjectivity – the only thing that really makes them THEM – is forever inaccessible to absolutely everyone but themselves. And they’re fine with that!

The way that most people blithely accept – CHOOSE- their own Locked-in syndrome-esque isolation is a creepy reality of human nature. If you’re of a certain temperament, it can fell intolerable.

Most people only have small talk. Most people never get serious about the transcendent. Glibness is the water they drink. I once chalked this up to lack of explanatory abilities. I used to think that people enjoyed rich inner emotional worlds hidden away. Most people just can’t put their soulgasms into words is what I thought.

I don’t believe this anymore. Most people never experience these feelings. At least not since they left the happiness of childhood. But probably never at all. They are excited by status, money and sex, and blind to all else. You can read it in their faces. You can see it in their eyes. They don’t get it. Nor do they want to. They are spiritually autistic.

What’s that like I wonder? What keeps them going? Why travel the world if you’re numb to it’s splendors? Why do anything? What gets these lizards out of bed in the morning?

Thank you, God. Thank you for making me a kid forever.

Thank you for giving me eyes to see heaven above.

Thank you for making my imagination my home.

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I Can’t Go On

Please tell Tom Clancy that technical details about weaponry and submarine mechanics is not story telling. I’m 200 pages in and half of what I’ve read amounts to military tech porn.


This novel had potential. A Soviet submarine captain goes rouge, defecting to America, after an incompetent, communist (I repeat myself) doctor kills his wife during botched surgery – awesome! 


That’s an enjoyable yarn. But I’m not going to slog through hundreds of pages of what reads like an instruction manual for an underwater radar system to get to the interesting plot points.

I imagine this sort of thing is catnip for a man with a systematic engineer’s mind. Not I. I did try, though. This book ain’t for me.

Super Hero Popularity As Symptom Of Cultural Failure

Do you remember when super hero lore was a fringe hobby for invisible dorkuses?

Those were the days.

Back then, if you saw a man wearing a Batman shirt, you assumed he had a learning disability. You felt sorry for him.

Praise be the day superheroes return to the ghettos of entertainment and pop culture where they belong.

Thought #28

Ability before understanding.

You’ll notice that individuals of low human capital don’t understand concepts like property rights, private ownership or small government.

Providing valuable services in exchange for money is an alien idea for these people.

For the feckless and incompetent, the right way to build wealth is to take money from others. The right way to keep wealth is to kill your victims when they try to get their money back.

Losers don’t develop skills, because they can’t. Losers don’t understand the concept of human capital, because they can’t. So, they just keeps it gangsta.

No ability, no understanding.

Pray For My Palate

I knew I had the China Virus when I woke up with no smell or taste in November.

Two months have past. I still haven’t regained use of my taste buds or fragrance sensors.

The only way I’m able to smell is by lowering my nose into a container of spice and inhaling deeply. Even then I’m only picking up a faint sensation. I can’t smell strong alcohol. Today, I was sniffing a bottle of Scotch to try and jump start the snout, and it was like apple juice.

So, the fun has been let out of eating. That’s a bummer, but it’s not the end of the world. What feels like the end of the world is that I cannot enjoy cigars. Not really anyhow.

Fine cigars are my anchor of evening relaxation. Smoking aged tobacco is a spiritual and wholesome fellowship with nature.

At least it was until the China Virus killed my face holes.

The nicotine euphoria of a cigar is still a good nightcap. And if I close my eyes and really search for the flavors notes, I’m sometimes lucky enough to pick up some light wood or a dull earth. But the complexity, the richness, the sweet release of the retrohale – dead.

I’ve been smoking budget cigars everyday. Why waste $15 sticks on a comatose tongue? So, each day I walk past 150 premium cigars aging and looking delicious in my cedar box humidor. I’m reading stories of supposedly permanent China Virus-related taste and smell loss.

Please pray for my palate’s safe return.

Boomer Parenting #23

The consensus of my children is that I’ve held them to high standards while offering little feedback. Apparently, they wish I’d been warmer and less quick to minimize their opinions.

In related news, the consensus among my new water ski instructor and I is that my children are high-maintenance pests. So, fire up the boat, Alejandro. Those ingrates won’t ruin my weekend water sports!