Journal: November, 2016. Post election

I finally got a couple hours of sleep.

The rage has dissolved into tears, and the tears into grim resolve. It’s time to wipe the tears, to do what must be done… and then… to laugh, a laughter sadder than tears.

Do I bother to draw water to drink? Do I prepare food to break the fast? This pen, and these brushes? Is there any reason to pick them up, to make marks on this paper?

How many times I’ve wondered–what was it like, in Germany, 1933?

I think about the people who voted for … I will not write that name, or let it pass my lips… the ‘good Germans’

I will not be a ‘Good German.’ I will not be a ‘Good German.’

No more, the prattle of the ‘realists.’ No more talk of following those who ‘get things done.’ There is no longer any reality worth living, but that which we take up and create for ourselves.

Love, Solidarity, Imagination…RESISTANCE!

 

The Class War is Over…

What I think I’m seeing, is a stage where political power has become uncoupled from the economics that created it, a point where general prosperity, and the wealth it generates, is no longer an incentive for the ruling Class, but just the opposite. Why? –because they think they’ve already won the class war, and with that, would come a decrease in centralized power. A more democratic society. It makes more sense, appears less complicated, to jack up the State machinery of control by force.

Like ok… we can add billions to our wealth, doing nothing to provide for the general welfare–so why bother? We’ve already won the Class War. Now it’s just a matter of stomping out resistance from lower classes.

I think that’s where we are now.

Catching up…

Not since 2012 have I made fewer that 8 new pieces in a month… hope this will be coming to to an end.

Siatica sucks.

Like, I shouldn’t complain. It’s only sent me to ER once. Just makes walking… (and sitting)… kinda unpleasant .

Yeah, I’ve seen Youtubes of 85 year olds who work out 7 hours a day with body builder bodies… but who the fuck want’s to work out 7 hours a day! Jebus Fuck a Duck dudes! Get a LIFE!

For 79… I remind myself every day, how lucky I am, to be in the condition I am (never forgetting that I can lose all that in a minute)… but for now…

I can walk 10 miles in a day–even with the sciatica (though I’d rather catch a bus). I cook my own meals–no Moms Meals delivery pre-Nursing home fare– I can remember where I put my fucking keys hours or days after –IF I WAS AWARE of what I was doing at the time and not fumbling with packages and trying to get in the fucking door!

I can code switch from Sam Johnson Formal English, to Standard (the dialect of Power), to much preferred mixed demotic … and mostly know which is most appropriate, though I care fucking less…. since my mother is long gone and can’t hear me.

This is what it means to going on 80 for me.

#1161

17×22 oil on Canvas. I’m happy with nothing. Nothing but texture. Layers. Subtle tonal and chromatic transitions. Utterly meaningless. There’s anger in this, in why I do this. Angry–and happy knowing you won’t find anything here you might already be looking for…nothing beyond what your eye sees.#1161

View more work at Saatchi Art, and on my web portfolio: ART BY WILLARD For photos on this blog, click MY ART on the right panel and scroll down.