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Wednesday, June 22, 2016

They Come to Build a Wall Between Us

I've posted this song before, but it's been on replay in my head all month and I guess wants to be here again. Don't Dream It's Over.

We know they won't win.

Friday, June 17, 2016

Fear is the Lock

I guess the fear of someone or something different is hardwired. Some Darwinian programming. Fear can be handy, but it's easily let out of hand. I see it with the safety armour applied by high-strung parents before kids do anything. I see it when someone new moves into the Shire. We're a fearful society. Personally I blame the Tylenol poisoning for the world being this way. Just as I can pin when the world went to shit on one single day, never to improve again- September 25, 1980- so it's clear to me that everyone's spines fell out their asses the day Tylenol was poisoned.

This begat a toxic churning miasma of insurance corps changing things, the popularity of suing anyone who has ever offended you by deed or thought, and the general paranoia that years of nuclear threats, urban legends, and unreliable street drug quality brought.

And some floating fears became reality. Terrible killers of all sorts, from the quick to the depravedly slow, from the singular to the organized group. Maybe the horrors of what people do was always this widely perpetrated, but we just didn't know so much about it. We know about it in a few seconds now. In full color, real time. And then it's replayed hundreds of times until it's all imprinted. I can recall the falling of the Twin Towers much clearer in my mind than my own mother's face.

Being programmed with this much fear must be paying off for somebody. Nothing in this modern world is promoted without a profit motive. War certainly pays off its investors. Fear is an efficient economical means of control. So the rich and the powerful get to stay that way with a regular injection of fear among the masses. Add that to the run-of-the-mill psychopathy ordinary people live in every day, and there's a steady supply of fear to suit any occasion or personality type.

This past week two killers turned the fear up. The Orlando gunman who killed 49 people in a gay disco he frequented, and the rumored Britain First nut who shot and stabbed a young British MP to death in the street. WTF. These 2 maniacs lost the plot and twisted our reality. And this happens often, not once every few years. It's bound to happen a couple more times this Summer, maybe not the exact scenario, but enough to rip off the scabs that'd just settled. There are few who'd copycat Mr. Rogers, and many who'd copycat The Zodiac Killer.

It's a pretty scary world.

Fortunately we know

At least, when we aren't threatened and not deciding between fight or flight.
I have no answers. Just an idea. Question your fears.

Tuesday, May 31, 2016


Jeremiah Eliot Moody Crompton
Jeremiah Crompton, son of Joseph and Carole (Moody) Crompton of Brattleboro, ended his own life early Sunday morning. His death followed years of frustration, sorrow, rage, fear, boredom, delusion and pain interspersed with times of brilliance and amazing humor.
Jeremiah attended Morningsong School in Putney, Canal/Oak Grove School, Neighborhood Schoolhouse, BAMS and BUHS. His gifts were musical and literary and he was also a sensitive visual artist. His unique voice was always evident in everything he created. He wrote good songs from the age of 9 and enjoyed busking for money in his tween years. School friends remember him as a witty class clown.

Diagnosed in 3rd grade with NonVerbal Learning Disorder, he was, nevertheless, found ineligible for special education services. In high school he was again tested and found to have Asperger’s Syndrome or High Functioning Autism. Jeremiah never accepted this diagnosis and consistently refused medical, therapeutic, social and vocational assistance for the challenges he faced.
In withdrawal from prescribed opiates after a boating accident in 2005, Jeremiah soon became addicted to heroin. He struggled with the effects of this and other dangerous drugs for the rest of his life.

His memory will be cherished by his parents, his sisters Phoebe Crompton-Tidd of Brattleboro and Willow Broaddus of Rochester, VT and his cousins, Ahdi Pillar, Frances and Alex Elliot, Justin Thompson and Bryan, Rachel and Katy Lane and his beloved niece and nephews: Lila Tadlock, Roclin Harris and Parker Tidd. He also leaves many aunts and uncles: Nancy Crompton of Brattleboro, Trisha Lane of Chula Vista, CA, Carrie Crompton and George Elliott of Andover, CT, Cate Crompton and Jim Beers of Newburyport, MA, and Sam Crompton and Charlotte Tabakin of Hadley, MA.

The family extends deepest thanks to all who helped Jeremiah, deepest apologies to any he hurt, and deepest sympathy to all who will miss him.
A Celebration of Jeremiah’s life will be held at the Guilford Community Church on Bee Barn Road in Guilford, at 11 am on Thursday, June 2, 2016.

Donations in Jeremiah’s memory may be made to Families First, which tried to help him manage his final days, and to the Neighborhood Schoolhouse where Jeremiah spent his happiest years.
Let Jeremiah’s life remind us that the “safety net” for those who suffer from mental illness, especially those with a dual diagnosis needs substantial weaving and mending.

Monday, May 30, 2016

The 3rd and Worst

They say, and it's been my experience, that death comes in 3s. For the 3rd Saturday in a row, and now hoping the last, the Reaper came.

This is by far the saddest. My friends, the Muffinpants family, have lost their son Jeremiah. He had been suffering with schizophrenia for many years, and ended his life on Saturday. He was found, hanged on Harris Hill, Sunday, by hikers. He was 27, I believe. About 2 years ago I saw him downtown, and he looked terrible. He was a brilliant, talented guy, had written and produced a CD of music when he was in grade school. He was a watchful, silent child. Some 11 years ago he was in a horrible boating accident that left him close to death, but he came thru. That's where his love of opioids came in, and his downhill spiral followed. It's just hard to believe he's gone.

I hope he's at peace now.

Friday, May 27, 2016

Accepting No Substitutes

For years, I've avoided painkillers. Some may remember the great cold turkey of the Winter of 2011. Opiates are a prison, like love/sex magick. It seems so good, but like all insanities, comes to an ugly end of slavery.

There is now a huge Heroin issue in my area. Surprising to me, because opiates were out of vogue for so many years. As a kid in the 60s, junkies nodded out on stoops or in doorways in Brooklyn. We poked fun at them, made up songs and stood there singing them while they dozed and nodded in front of us. Some were only a couple years older than us, too young to go to Vietnam, and some were just home from Vietnam. Heroin was the drug of the day. Coke followed in the late 70s and early 80s. The age of coke is over now; these things go in cycles as the government allows. We're away from making war in South America where the coke is cheap, and in the East, where opium is cheap.
Yes, I've had Heroin. When you first do it, it's like falling in love or great sex that first time with someone. It's beyond intoxicating, it's bliss. It's beyond all care,  total peace. That's why I was so cautious with it and never did it much. But then came prescription opiates when my body broke down in my 40s. I was in pain and told I could keep working while I took them. It became a need, then a norm, then a nightmare. There was no bliss, just demanding need, and not even much pain relief, but you're too fucked up to know.

It was 8th grade, I think, when I saw that Heroin poster about "loving it more than any mere human", in my Guidance Counselor's office. I spent a good part of 7th and 8th grade in that office. And in all my years that's the sharpest description of heroin I know. But calling that need "love" is part of the problem. It's something that can fit comfortably into the life of someone who doesn't know what love is. It can make life ok when all you feel is pain of some kind. It can make everything go away. or not matter, and be just fine again. It's not love. I think that's why it's made a comeback. We live in a time of almost no love anywhere, or exacting love where you must meet requirements or are deemed not worthy. Which is poison... and the whole point is lost. We've forgotten how to love without agenda.

Maybe I should refine that. People don't know how to love because they haven't gotten any. Or haven't fallen in love with anyone who's not abusive. There are so many ways we're taught to not love. We're taught to be conditional in giving love. We're taught to reserve love for our own "self worth" or "self image" or "self" whatever. If you put "self" in there, you've lost love. If you live in conditional love, you won't know love.

And that's where we are. A world of scariness and despair, or trying to not be scared and despaired. And that's why there's so much drug addiction, acting out, violence, cowardice, cutting of ties, depression, anger. We've lost love.

Oh life is one stupidity or conundrum after another.
Enjoy your Memorial Day weekend. Don't forget what it's about.