Me and Flo

 I want people to listen to me, so I play music, sing songs in an echo chamber.  I want people to know what I'm thinking, so I write a blog few read.  I co-produced television for 20 years and nobody watched that show.  I have no problem using the microphone at a public meeting for my two cents worth, never goes anywhere, decision has been made.  It's humbling because no one wants my bigmouthism.  I'll keep charging on fearlessly, Invisible Old Man Syndrome (IOMS) or not.

They call me a name, that's all they do.

IOMS descends upon a man sometime and not always later in life as one might suspect.  Nobody gives a shit about what you have to say and it is vocalized quite early in life.  After 30 years in the workplace and being told, "You are here to work, not to think." and your home life is whatever the wife has planned for you, it's easy to put the toggle switch to your brain into OFF.  Be a mule, it's easier. 

If 1 in 5 people work in some type of management position, as I have read, do you live with one of those bossy people?  Nobody turns their work life on and off when you go home to home life, except Sam Giancana or a killer drone pilot in Arizona bombing Afghanistan.

MCMAMM, I call them. Middle class, middle aged, middle managers. Do you realize this country has bossed themselves to the end of their collective rope? Not the Bosses de tuti capo Bosses, of course, but we did it to ourselves. Working under two insane bosses every moment of your day makes one into a mule.  Many men, at a young age, lock down for the long term Mule Ride of marriage, an example of early onset IOMS.

So one gets released from the wage-slave system with a small pension of decent existence, always valued at what The Banksters say it is.  Inflation is just a dial and there are no safe harbors.  Gold turns back into money.  The skills you once offered for a high price now no one wants to use or consult.  Quiet desperation ensues, as if walking in a fog.  The check out lady waits on the guy behind you. At the Big Box store, no one makes eye contact or says a simple hello. It's hard not to take it personal.  There is no chatting up women.  In no uncertain way do they want anything to do with this Old Man.  I'm scary and hairy, probably smell.  Small children recoil. It's IOMS.

I'm no one's mule.  I once received an applaw - one single clap - for a song I did.  I was honored.  Never forget the words of Florence Foster Jenkins;

" People say I can't sing... but don't ever say I didn't sing."

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Florence_Foster_Jenkins

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122222 Wasn't this the number from Lost?

RegReads, thanks.  I'm honored.  Hello Sweden!!!  (they love me there)

I sure hope the Sun comes back.  Enjoy humanity this holiday season, not your cell phone, big screen TV and digital music.  Escape the Machine (not trying to be bossy, or anything). Take a long walk into the woods. Take a black ram and sacrifice it to honor Apollo. That'll get the Sun back.

 - w/ Best Wishes, -Wes  Townsend, WI  USA 45 degrees N latitude

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