Posted by: Artsy Squibbles | August 21, 2006

Repeat After Me… Bay-Bee-Booooo-merzzzzz

Yep. I be one. Tail end end of the game. The beginning of the materialistic creative mad rush to consumerism. What once was a play ground test of skill, agility and wit, a flow of creativity combined with burning off all that excess energy between classes has now become a maudlin sit on your arse in front of computer existence…with KFC, Pizza Hut, and McDonalds with a Saturday run to Walmart.

King of the Hill, Crack the Whip, Scrabble, Twister, Hoola Hoops, Barbies, Ken and GI Joe, Chatty Kathy, Trigger, My Friend Flicka, John Wayne, June Cleaver, Ricky Nelson, relay tag with the boys, and all that playground stuff is gone. Stuff that dreams are made of? Bill Clinton? George Bush? Hillary? Condoleeza. What were these people like as children? What were their playground games?

I remember playing The General during a round of Army in a neighbor’s back yard, the boys, evil creatures that they are, built a latrine behind some inconspicuous bushes. Did they get in trouble for urinating? No. Did I? Yes. I still hold a grudge! Ha! Women’s lib? No. Parental “out of control” context, disillusionment… what have you. Yes, fear. And so we were deep in the Sixties as I grew up running havoc in the back yard while my parents watched News ingrained with fear. Predisposition of my adopted family and their desire to protect me from the riots, racial changes and Vietnam, my viewing was quite limited. As were table discussions. That’s an entirely different blog. I was allowed to view Disney, fiction, westerns and NASA events. Was I being set up for consumerism?

Where did it all begin? Scientifically we know the answer. And logically we know the reasons. But really, who planned what and where, or was it even planned as so many people like to believe and in doing so relieve the self from responsibilities. Real response-ableness, thus tying up our spiritual resources in preconceived and constrictive thought. (I’m the spoiled baby of this…brought into this world via the product of lust after war equals…)

Walt Disney! Where are your offspring!
Geeze. I was adopted folks. So really, what were my biological parents doing? Creating a new generation is certainly not what was going on in their minds during the moments of conception. I think desperation might have been the key momentum. And lack of restraint.

Should I take a fatalist approach? Should I take a religious stand?

Neither. I am, and this is enough. I must, and this is enough.

A baby boomer? A bay-bee-boo-mur. Repeat this several times and it begins to resemble Steven Speilberg’s and John William’s musical work from Close Encounters of a Third Kind. Think about it.

The Age of Aquarius?
I just saw a front word article on Windows “Working Clothes, what you wear and what it says about you”. What the heck would a nudist be? Local exhibitionist or a free thinker? It really is a matter of personal “precieved” ideals. I’ve got better things to read. Like the late great Shel Silverstein’s “Where the Sidewalk Ends…”. Or do.
We all must look up to someone. Otherwise we are looking around or down. Something to think about. When we are down, depressed, pressed for energy, when our existence fails to enlighten us, there must be some thing that pulls us up and away…escapism? I don’t think so. Some one told me that I am being watched. Yes? Cared for, watched over, and nurtured into becoming. The best damn word in the world. Becoming. So many directions inside of three syllables. And a reminder that there is no turning back. First the I Am. *Then…

The evening Sun is pushing her warmth into my shoulder, and I think of winter arriving soon. Our lives in cycles, circles, hoops will return to an order of energy. My mind does another loop de loop. A roller coaster? Certainly, it’s all good if you like rides that make you scream and leave your lunch on the Fairway of Freewill-dom. Choice has it’s advantages. Accepting responsibility for these choices is the tough part of the game that Parents of Baby Boomers are going to sleep on now. What will we sleep on in another twenty years when our eyes begin to flicker like a sputtering candle?

Back to my sculpture. I’ll add a few pics when I get some cut from the video file that’s too big to upload to You Tube. Damn.

An additional  thought came to mind so I repost. Also to let you folks that read this blog know how grateful I am for your participation in this area of my life.

*First the I AM. A thought occurs that maybe in the becoming  we are all I AM’s. And so this idea, probably stated in some booky thing somewhere on this planet, that we are because we are, and the I AM BECOMES through us…possibly. If allowed to become. Like a flower. A garden, or a well spring? Be-come-ing. All verbs. All action. Thus shouldn’t we be better off helping others become.


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