“This Is The Dawning Of The Age Of Nefarious…”

Anyone else out there remember the late sixties?

(Not that I do- my grandmother must have told me about it-

I would put a smiley here, if I

1. didn’t hate them so much,
2. weren’t raised in an age where you thought about what people wrote, so that you heard the smile in their writing
3. which made you people, not computer, literate.

And please please please never send me those idiot cats that do dumb things-

(I once wrote an old classmate on our class page,

who I avoided in highschool because she was  so aggressive.

And always surrounded by a group of “ladies” who also smoked,

and did drugs,

and were also aggressive.

She made my life hell, to say the least,

And I was trying to get past it,

and bury the hatchet

by telling her about my world,

ie that some musicians have to watch totally what they eat and drink,

especially on concert days.

(Others are teflon)

And that I belonged to the former

and thus had my own recipe for what I can eat that day-

mix a small amount of strong hot black coffee, into

oats, peanut butter, raisins, and vanilla,

stir till it is a consistent mess,

freeze for a couple of hours,

till it is solid.

When you defrost it, it stays solid

and gives me, at least, the energy I need to conduct three to five hours straight.

My ex-classmate

changed the recipe,

told me it was now paleo,

and now better for me,

that I had to change my life to paleo,

proceeded to analyze everything she thought was wrong in my life,

(she belongs to a growing movement here of those who give themselves group names

to justify the fact that

they think they know better than everyone else what is good for you)

sent me a tape of her cousin singing for me to critique,

and then signed it with a cat doing chemistry.

According to her page, she is a scorpio.

(Imagine twelve smilies here.)

Which brings me back to what I was trying to write about.

Not that the age of love and peace was perfect.

There were a lot of riots,

and people shot,

kids on drugs.

Those who didn’t believe in the Aquarius movement

beating up on those who did.

And vice versa.

But there was joy.

And happiness.

And fantastic music.

And hope.

Oh my yes.

The age of hope.

And love.

And the dawning of the age of Aquarius.

Not that I am an astrology fan.

But I did find it interesting

even way back when,

when certain people,

usually wearing astrology tags,

so they would know how they are supposed to act,

actually acted that way.

And there was a certain way of behaving in social situations.

“Oh, so you’re an Aquarius.

That means you are….”

“Yes, but my Rottweiler is a Pisces…”

The conversations were silly.

And broke the ice.

Or told you right away someone owned a Rottweiler.

Or a boat.

“I’m a water sign.

I own a boat.”

Nowadays a picture of the boat is just posted on Facebook.

And people sit at a table in a restaurant,

or any other public place,

texting at each other.

I’m one of the ones who sits quietly,

reading a book,

and smiling,

and then find myself being touched on the sleeve by a waiter

“would you mind not humming, ma’am. You are bothering the other customers”

Clickety clickety click.

“You mean the ones texting each other pictures of the weirdo reading a book?

or a penguin hitting another pinguine and pushing him off a cliff?”

That is what you are thinking.

What you say is,

“of course, I’ll stop humming.”

And then you think of the Tin Drum,

a book by Gunther Grass,

where little Oscar Mazarath,

preferring not to grow up,

stays tiny,

so he can look like a three-year old,

as he plays his little tin drum

to stop the coming Nazi movement,

and the war he sees as inevitable.

And you ask the waitress if it has been a busy day.

Or how her kids are doing, if you know her,

And you tip her a little more, if you can do it financially.

And you go off down the street humming.

The age of Nefarious.

copyright Dunnasead.co 2016