Found this yesterday on bigpinekey.com’s Coconut Telegraph (CT), which I figure sent the Sloan-haters there into another rabies convulsion:

I know Sloan personally and have had many conversations with him. Even though I find Sloan to be quite eccentric, I will say again, as I’ve done in the past, I consider Sloan to be a genius! All you “perfect” people out there that try your best to ridicule him have no idea. This just shows how prejudice, biased and ignorant many of you can be. I support Sloan and always will. Sloan for President!

School Board member Duncan Mathewson, who lives on Little Torch Key, a haven for fools, appointed Larry Murray to the Audit & Finance Committee. Duncan told Larry and me day before yesterday, at different times, that we should run for the School Board. Duncan said he might run again, too. Comparing notes yesterday, Larry and me agreed it’s not a job we relish having. We also agreed anyone who wants to be elected probably shouldn’t be.

However, if Larry did get elected to the school board, the folks in the school distrtict who don’t like School Board Chairman John Dick’s ongoing efforts to bring fiscal sanity to the school district would suddenly find themselves thinking John Dick is Jesus Christ and would beg John to save them from the devil – that would be Larry Murray. Larry lives on Big Pine Key. Plenty of fools there, too, as the CT happily demonstrates daily.

As to Sloan for President, I kinda imagine that only was meant to further incite the rabid ones and nothing further. Why would I want to be President of a country that is so broke, in so many ways — if you don’t believe me, just read “From the Right” on the CT for a few days – that in God we trust cannot even come close to fixing it, nor any political parties I ever heard tell of.

Even so, if I woke up one day and found myself somehow President of USA, zero chance of it happening any other way, what would I do first? That’s not too hard. I would order a nuclear strike on Washington D.C., when Congress is in session, to put me and the country out of our misery and to give new headless America a chance to start all over. Meaning, I had ordered a nuclear strike on Wall Street, too. If you think there is any other way for America to turn around, short of a gigantic meteor strike which shifts the planet on its axis so America becomes the North Pole, you are seriously out of touch with reality.

The gigantic meteor strike actually might not be all that bad. What Muslim terrorist would want to leave his or her warm desert habitat to go to the North Pole for any reason? After living in Santa Fe and Boulder for ten years, I don’t even like seeing snow and ice on television! Polar bears would have a movable feast, if they could find their way back to the new North Pole after the axial shift had relocated them to the vicinity of former India, which had relocated to the South Pole.

I suppose such a defining planetary event just might create some shifts in other countries’ short and long range outlooks, as well. Imagine northern Europe and Russia ending up inside the new Tropic of Cancer. Imagine China ending up near where Australia used to be, Australia the new South America, and South America the new North America. Maybe the Middle East would simply disappear. One can only hope.

After the religious right came around to seeing it wasn’t the second coming after all, maybe they would, and maybe they wouldn’t, burn all their Bibles and Korans and try to reinvent themselves. Right, you should by now be getting the sense that the gigantic meteor strike is my preferred solution to dealing with the mess homo sapiens have made of themselves and of this planet. Well, the person who wrote into the CT said I was quite eccentric, didn’t he? And didn’t someone write or sing somewhere that genius is pain?

Making no claim to genius, even a fool on Little Torch can see America is so SNAFU-terminal that writing about it on the CT, or talking about it over breakfast at Coco’s Kitchen on Big Pine Key, or studying on it in an American history course at Sugarloaf School is a serious waste of time and energy. Might as well talk about proving the Bible and the Koran are the literal word of God. Talk about fools, fundamentalist Christians and Muslims are leading the charge. The only charge I care to lead is toward the bathroom to take another dump.

And the horses, centaurs, dragons, broomsticks or whatever you all rode in on, too.

Meanwhile, here’s something I was moved to write the other day, which I only posted to goodmorningbirmingham.com.

heartstrings

I had a lovely, longish talk last night with my brother Major’s daughter by Gayle. Named after me, Sloan calls me from time to time just to talk. Maybe she calls because she knows she can talk with me about anything and I won’t give her a hard time. She’s pretty darn funny to talk with, not much she won’t say. Must be my Bashinsky genes that she ended up with, and maybe her Uncle Leo’s, my father’s older brother. Wasn’t much Leo wouldn’t say, although he usually limited cussing to when no women were around. Most often, he seriously cussed when he was fishing and hooked a big one and it got loose.

Sloan Elizabeth (named after Major’s and my sister, too) and I only started getting to know each other after her dad went missing last year. We started talking more as her mother’s final illness progressed. Sloan is having much the same heart wrenching over her mother’s passing that I had after my son died. You live with it, you cope. Time helps you get over it, until another grieving has its way with you. You never really get over it, but you get on nonetheless.

I send Sloan copies of my posts and she says she reads some of them. I don’t know her well enough yet to know if she shares my trait of looking at situations and sizing up what is working and what is not, and then going to work on trying to straighten out what is not working. You see that in everything I ever wrote, starting with Home Buyers: Lambs to the Slaughter? in 1983. And in the nineteen or twenty ensuing books, and on the goodmorning websites, which themselves are books of sorts – approaching 1,600 chapters on the oldest website – goodmorningfloridakeys.com.

I wondered yesterday if my propensity to go after what is not working was why, in early 1987, the angels acccepted my prayer for help and my offer to be used for human service? I can think of no other reason why they would do that. For truly, a propensity to break new ground, to challenge the status quo, to get ice water dumped on your head, to be burned at the stake or nailed to a tree, is essential to working for God.

My father’s widow, Joann, holds forth that she is close to God. I wonder how she would like having Jesus, Michael and Melchizedek standing on her neck 24-7, 365? I imagine she would like that a lot less than she likes me, which ain’t a whole lot. Irony of ironies, after he passed over, my father started asking me in dreams, the son he would not receive, to try to straighten out what he had left unfinished. I tried, even though I felt only God could straighten out his affairs. I still feel that way.

Throughout all of the upheaval between my father and me, I never stopped loving him. He was the parent with whom I had the heart connection. On receiving news of this death in late August 2005, I burst into tears. Not because he had passed on, but because we had not reconciled in this life. The late fall of 1995 was the last time we sat down face to face. In my dreams after that, he was the best father any son could have hoped to have.

I usually can be reached at keysmyhome@hotmail.com.