The Post-July Stagger-Laugh (Dispatches from the Underground)
Today we look back at our forecast at the beginning of the month to see how we did, wish millions of blessings upon dear betrothed friends, and go to a protest and feel weird about it
At long last, we come round once more to the point at which we review the month of July and how our lived experiences matched up to the outlook I shared at the beginning of the month. And when I so much as think about looking back on July, my initial reaction is something along the lines of AHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHA OMG JULY AHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHHAHAHAAHAHHAHA — and I know that’s crude, but I think you get what I’m saying and even with the whole of the English language at my disposal I know not a better way to say it.
Look, was it the worst month of my life? Absolutely not. Was it a good month? Absolutely not. Was it easy or restful? Well, now I’m about to just start typing hahas again. Since last December, favorite astrologer Austin Coppock has been calling the June-July one-two punch “the meat grinder” because of how bad the space weather was looking. Coming out of June — as I said at the time — I did not honestly feel I was in the middle of or had been through or was approaching any such meat grinder. Coming out of July? Well, there’s that urge to type out laughter again.
It’s July 31 and you may hereby consider me ground meat at long last. I tried my best to outrun it, but it turns out nobody outruns 2019.
Should I really be complaining? I helped facilitate two outdoor sound meditations, had a great long Independence Day weekend spent with Kellie and many other wonderful folks, went to a delightful show with some dear and very old friends, experienced a mind-blowing sacred mountain climb, and right now as I type I’m finishing the month in the middle of a family vacation that rates far, far above average. Somehow I even gave up cigarettes. I almost wonder if, but for written records such as this that I leave behind, I would recall this month as a really great and epic time.
Hell, maybe that’s for the best. Maybe it’s not even untrue! Just the other day as we drove back to our little ski lodge in Bartlett from Santa’s Village, I smiled, thinking with great certainty how I know that these really are the best days of our lives. That’s become a frequent thought for me, honestly, even and especially in a bumpy year like this one. Perhaps that’s the real lesson here — that these difficulties are fleeting and rarely if ever what’s really important that’s going on. I guess I should consider it good that I’m able to understand this at least some of the time.
But if I can pry myself out of my thousand-yard stare here, let’s take a look at what I actually wrote for a forecast. In June, we waited for spiritual rain we craved that wouldn’t come; in July, I promised that, in contrast, the rain would be dumping on us, and not at all in the way we were craving. Don’t even try telling me I got that part wrong.
The overall image was one of exhaustion, something I felt palpably nearly as soon as I hit Publish on that piece. I’m beat up and I’ve been feeling that very acutely this entire period. Not only were we promised weakness and weariness but also the strength of our enemies. I can’t speak for you, but my enemies have been living large. I hate that.
In response, I had advised us all to do what we always ought to do when we’re exhausted: rest. Rest up as much as possible, anyway. I suggested that, at all times, we ought to focus on a willingness to bend in order that we do not break, and that, right along with all of this, the absolute best thing that we can do is to remain cheerful no matter what comes our way. This time, I think I can say I at least partially followed my own advice.
With my own words fresh in my mind, upon the initial onset of the unexpectedly ratcheted-up level of exhaustion, I did allow myself to rest — at least more than I normally would. I blew some things off. I took weeks longer than intended to write that Bob Dylan piece, although I’m pleased with the result and glad I gave myself the time to do it right. While I am technically a very inflexible person, I did my very best to bend as much as possible and I’m happy to say that even if my bends may have seemed insufficient, I have not broken.
Did I stay cheerful? Wellllll. I tried. I remembered that I was supposed to stay cheerful, which I think definitely made me more cheerful than I would have been otherwise. I’m not sure I had the strength of will to control it as much as I would have liked. I enjoy being cheerful in July. Especially late July. But, shit, maybe I’m just being overly critical. I’ve been having a lot of fun and aside from a lower-than-average level of patience and kindness, I’ve been mostly in a good mood. At the very least, I can (and will) say I’ve been trying.
The good-ish news? July’s outlook promised that we were on the edge of the new day — the better day — to follow. We were promised that the wheel will move on, that our enemies’ day in the sun is rapidly coming to a close, and that what’s in store bears little resemblance to the awful food processing we’ve been experiencing for far too long now.
We’ll see. Tomorrow, we’ll take a direct look at my forecast for the month, and then…well, then we’ll just have to live it out, won’t we?
I want to extend a sincere, hearty, and soulful congratulations to my very close friend — and frequent Monadnock Underground contributor — John Palmucci and his now-fiancee Mina Buonsanto on their engagement. Let’s all extend our blessings and love to these two wonderful souls who deserve nothing but the utmost happiness — and are already well along the road to it.
They’ve also promised to visit New Hampshire for a weekend before winter, which will unquestionably prove an event to shake the old tectonic plates around these parts. Appropriate notifications will be made.
One of the other unusual things I did this month, something I haven’t done in at least a year, was go to a protest. It was local, just down the streets on the Town House steps, and it was a protest against the concentration camps on our country’s southern border. I have a really hard time with protests these days — which is why I haven’t gone to any — but immigrant concentration camps just seems like something that really should be protested. I was conflicted about it, but I felt like I couldn’t not go.
My issue with protests comes mainly from having gone to many of them. I’ve found they do serve the purpose of allowing the attendees to “make their voices heard”, which is sometimes helpful and occasionally necessary. These “detention centers” have become something I want to be on the record as being against, so in this case I felt it was necessary. Most of the time, however, protest in the US in 2019 (and, really, for most of the last half century) has mostly served as little more than theater performed by and therapy provided to its participants, with little to no impact on anyone outside of the protest, never mind in terms of actually achieving important aims. There have been exceptions, of course, but for the most part this includes the kind of protests where people are blocking highways and busy intersections, doing high-profile banner drops, and/or many other seemingly visible tactics.
The protests happen — usually for some good reason — the pageant is acted out, people go home, everything goes on. I don’t think that’s a good use either of my time or of political energy. Generally, I feel the same way about things like letter-writing campaigns on the more tepid side but also more interesting and impressive “direct action”-type episodes. The political situation only gets worse. Class consciousness (I’m a Marxist, at least nominally) is nowhere to be found. Labor strikes are on the rise, in theory, but most have an air of Last Stands — even in victory — than any sort of forward march.
If none of these things work, what ARE we to do? People ask me this, usually with some measure of anger, especially when I tell them I don’t think electing Democratic majorities should be a high priority, and for largely the same reasons — track record. It is a thing that’s happened before and it doesn’t seem to work. So what brilliant answers do I have?
None, actually. I’ve spent the last six years working in multiple socialist parties and organizations, believing — as I still do, in many ways — that a mass socialist party of, by, and for the working class is the only way to make true historic political progress. But that’s mostly just been banging my head against a wall — no disrespect intended to any of the hard and really phenomenal work that’s been put out by myself and many of those around me. I’d be a hypocrite if I denounced all the other things I see not working but pretended like I have something viable. I don’t.
I’m in a terrible position politically. I have explored and tried many political avenues in my adult life, all with the common goal of a better world, all at least partially out of a sense that every person has a duty to civic engagement. They’ve each taught me a lot — some of the lessons repeating themselves, some brand new — but none has given me much insight as to what the way forward is and how I should be contributing to it.
I need to be okay with not having these answers, and it’s not something that comes easy to me. Maybe it’s the sort of thing I’ll spend a lifetime wrestling with. I’m not opposed to that. I think it’s worthwhile. I hope I have that long. Today and tomorrow, though, I know for certain I will wrestle.
I’m glad I went to the protest, even if it’s pageantry. I’m also glad I left before Beto O’Rourke showed up to steal the show. Maybe it didn’t do anything. But maybe sometimes, the place to start really IS in publicly coming out against something unjust and inhumane. We just have to take it somewhere from there.
Maybe we can figure it out together.