The guy on my right wore a Riverton Yacht Club knit hat, and it turned out he had been a boat builder, then crew member on many a rich man's vessel, a job that took him to many island nations and even Europe, to compete in regattas. "Some of these people owned their own 747's, man. We have to share it with two hundred people. They flew by themselves!" He recounted spending three weeks in Grenada, right after its brief civil war and America's invasion. "People were dismantling the docks to use as firewood." The flying fish sold at roadside stalls were delicious, though. His sailing day over, he became a machinist and made pretty good money, so it's rather odd the 58-year-old had only one front tooth left.
I remarked to the man on my left, "This is one of the most pleasant bars I've ever been to," and Phil responded that it's practically the only tavern he's ever known, "I came here on my 21st birthday." The undersized man chuckled.
"So you've lived here your whole life?"
"Yes, and I remember when it was mostly dirt roads around here. I was born in 1956." Back then, even Camden was pleasant, then came the race riots, white flight, industries moving out and the introduction of crack cocaine, meth and synthetic heroin.
Speaking of drugs, Phil confided, "I've tried nothing, not even pot." His only vice and comfort was Budweiser, it seemed. "I never made enough money to get married," he stated without bitterness.
Buoyed by its rich neighbor, Riverton, and protected, for now, from the madness and squalor of nearby Camden, Palmyra evokes a simpler and healthier America. Selling services, mud and discount hoagies, it gets by. Not all his well, however, for there are several dead stores on its main drag. As I examined one, a woman in her 40's handed me a business card, "It's my husband. He's the electrician. I handle public relations."
With record debts and no manufacturing competitiveness, our economy is a sick illusion, sustained only by our empire status, with guns and threats pointing in all directions, but this farce will blow up soon. With the next market crash, even Rivertonians will be drowning in panic and grief.
I finish this piece at 40,000 feet above Nagoshima. Yes, I'm returning to Asia, and in fact, my wife and I are preparing to move back to Vietnam permanently. When you reject the system, it will gladly return the favor, thus my two new books have only gotten one nasty review, from that pompous font of endless bullshit, the Washington Post. When once I could expect regular reading invitations from universities, absolutely nothing is forthcoming. Last year, Asali Solomon of Haverford College emailed to say she was a fan of my fiction, so would I like to teach two classes? When I agreed, however, Solomon said there had been a misunderstanding, so no courses. Someone above Solomon must have told her I was a pariah, for why else would she act so unprofessionally? It's all for the better, actually, since I was never a good fit in academia. With its increasingly hysterical agenda of cranking out right thinking drones, intellectual freedom is extinct at American universities.
Google lists me assbackwardly as a "American-Vietnamese poet," and on my Wikipedia entry, someone has seen fit to state that I'm a "regular commentator on Russia Today," not that I would mind. For the record, I've appeared maybe five times on RT in seven years, all as an unpaid guest. Whatever. In Orwellian America, Russia personifies evil, Israel is eternally sacred, America is already fantastic or will soon be great again, unemployment is negligible, the economy is asskicking, as proven by the dizzying DOW, and all those who question these fables should be banished to the other side of the universe or the Unz Review.
I remarked to the man on my left, "This is one of the most pleasant bars I've ever been to," and Phil responded that it's practically the only tavern he's ever known, "I came here on my 21st birthday." The undersized man chuckled.
"So you've lived here your whole life?"
"Yes, and I remember when it was mostly dirt roads around here. I was born in 1956." Back then, even Camden was pleasant, then came the race riots, white flight, industries moving out and the introduction of crack cocaine, meth and synthetic heroin.
Buoyed by its rich neighbor, Riverton, and protected, for now, from the madness and squalor of nearby Camden, Palmyra evokes a simpler and healthier America. Selling services, mud and discount hoagies, it gets by. Not all his well, however, for there are several dead stores on its main drag. As I examined one, a woman in her 40's handed me a business card, "It's my husband. He's the electrician. I handle public relations."
With record debts and no manufacturing competitiveness, our economy is a sick illusion, sustained only by our empire status, with guns and threats pointing in all directions, but this farce will blow up soon. With the next market crash, even Rivertonians will be drowning in panic and grief.
I finish this piece at 40,000 feet above Nagoshima. Yes, I'm returning to Asia, and in fact, my wife and I are preparing to move back to Vietnam permanently. When you reject the system, it will gladly return the favor, thus my two new books have only gotten one nasty review, from that pompous font of endless bullshit, the Washington Post. When once I could expect regular reading invitations from universities, absolutely nothing is forthcoming. Last year, Asali Solomon of Haverford College emailed to say she was a fan of my fiction, so would I like to teach two classes? When I agreed, however, Solomon said there had been a misunderstanding, so no courses. Someone above Solomon must have told her I was a pariah, for why else would she act so unprofessionally? It's all for the better, actually, since I was never a good fit in academia. With its increasingly hysterical agenda of cranking out right thinking drones, intellectual freedom is extinct at American universities.
Google lists me assbackwardly as a "American-Vietnamese poet," and on my Wikipedia entry, someone has seen fit to state that I'm a "regular commentator on Russia Today," not that I would mind. For the record, I've appeared maybe five times on RT in seven years, all as an unpaid guest. Whatever. In Orwellian America, Russia personifies evil, Israel is eternally sacred, America is already fantastic or will soon be great again, unemployment is negligible, the economy is asskicking, as proven by the dizzying DOW, and all those who question these fables should be banished to the other side of the universe or the Unz Review.
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