Plague Journal, A Day To Start Again
A lively discussion last night, about “rules,” the many uses of rules, the origin of all rules, and considerations upon breaking rules. The discussion was wide ranging and sometimes passionate. Passion is natural, rising from a variety of motivations. Let’s be honest that fear often motivates many an impassioned soliloquy. When I suspect that the unknown, that vast unexplored continent of the world which surrounds me, in principle cannot/will not be mastered by “reason” — I then mount my soapbox and hold forth. Like any number of my fellow citizens at Washington Square Park, Chicago arriving with “a word” for humanity. From Wikipedia:
A registered historic landmark that is better known by its nickname Bughouse Square (derived from the slang of bughouse referring to mental health facilities), it was the most celebrated open air free-speech center in the country as well as a popular Chicago tourist attraction.
Are we not all inhabitants of this asylum, a rolling hairball of reason and the irrational?
Our meeting of minds, albeit a virtual presence, each of us was a postage stamp sized pixel image on a screen, — was provocative, satisfying. We are aware of a multitude of problems which trouble all of us who inhabit this planet, Nature itself is roiled by the effects of human civilization. We simply must find “treatments” for these impasses, for the sake of all life on this planet. One of the few things I am certain of: a way forward will arise from dialog, a sharing of insight, communities of racial, of gender, of cultural distinction discovering that different angles of view to be a resource for making systemic changes, for changing/breaking the rules…
There must be a song, an anthem to reflect our love of life, our care for this world, and our intent to be the resistance! This one by Billy Idol, gets the job done. White Wedding.
There is nothin’ fair in this world, baby
There is nothin’ safe in this world
And there’s nothin’ sure in this world
And there’s nothin’ pure in this world
Look for something left in this world
Start again
3 thoughts on “Plague Journal, A Day To Start Again”
Blessings Philosophers;
Thanks for the memories. I remember Bughouse Sq. and went there many times. There actually were guys there, standing on soapboxes and crates to give their voices and rants more volume and distance. I discovered Bughouse Sq. during my senior year at Lane Tech, after the realization that they wouldn’t kick me out if I kept acing the tests. All they could do was give me ‘zero’ and ‘tenth’ period ‘discipline’ and I didn’t go to those either. I look back with a sense of perhaps misguided pride that I graduated a National Merit Scholar, in the bottom 20% of my graduating class. A job well done, and perhaps Sundays spent at that great center of discussion and the free flowing of ideas, provocative and exciting to my young mind, as I stood there, shaded by the summer leaves, and basking in the intellectual promise of the august façade of the Newbury Library, played an important role in my rising rebellion.
It was increased gang activity that ultimately intimidated the purveyors of ideas and truth away from their audience.
In search of new pleasures’ I would then head east on Addison to a Cubs game, free if I had cut school and gotten a free Grandstand seat the previous game and had hung around after that game to put up backrests and crush paper cups for a grateful grounds keeper who would reward us hard working truants with free grandstand seats for the next game. (I know, timeline error, but hey, I’m on a roll).
Good memories indeed, as I and others of my kind embarked on a journey to make the world safe for Earthshoes and massage parlors, enjoying all that began to unfold as the great Going Away Party for the Piscean Age unfolded.
Om Shanti, Shanti, Shanti
Al, your story is a testimony to the truth that education is not limited to the classroom. Learning takes place wherever, and whenever one desires to take away a lesson. Be well my brother! Looking forward to lunch at the golf club.
Indeed