—(o=8> word from wiza.
As an Enchanted Lifestyle Facilitator, I am here to make the world a better place – not to rewrite history compelled by contemporary political correctness foments a fervor under the scrutiny of the collective opinion of the hour brought about by social media – such that George Orwell was write, er… well he did that well too, the Orwellian Future of 1984 has now come to pass. I’m here to make history not deny past flaws. The native American part of me feels honored by the Washington Redskins, appealed at Andrew Jackson, and at ease with Christopher Columbus because you can’t revive the peoples of our nations plundered by plague – what’s done is done, let us not repeat the massacre by removing statues or deleting sections of history texts just because, or unjustly to be accurate, at the moment they offend us. We will now examine, rather tangentially, what we choose to offend us. Only then can we be satisfied at peace by applying the decision guided by cosmic consciousness to be not offended and be within yourself indivisible.
I’d rather see the works of George Harrison than of George Orwell come to pass. Mine is the ministry of blessings broker, asking “What concerns you most?” wherever I go to whomever happens to be there as is the serendipitously correct – what others may describe as synchronicity or fate. Lord that I may address those concerns in the name of my church Visum Verum, Esse Dilucide, Remove Caput ab Ano est Ministriaria, which, when the Latin is examined with the verbs re-arranged to English reminds us that when we pull our heads from our ass we are able to see the truth then be illuminating. If I find there is something I can do to crutch you on your way lest we stumble together then I’m at your service brother head heart and hands, such is my mission. A bit later I’ve a story about that. Just as I won’t lie to you nor will I stand by and allow apologies to bypass indiscretion, excuses to permit error, little white lies to whitewash your inability to deal with the grizzly truth. If you fail, own it and get on with it. To cover your ass with a lie is the vicious circle. To learn from mistakes, and document them so others my avoid your pain is synergistic. By the way, there is a Santa – at least one that I know of – Santa Wiz. I toil in the Southern California sun near a pool nary an elf in sight tinkering small improvements, fixing toys, inventing new tools and making merry music – all without sexual contact, drugs of any sort ( I could use some medication for the skin on my legs though I haven’t) nor liquor to imbibe. My hell in which I dwell is the abject depression stemming from loneliness.
Left-field: We share our spaceship Earth with the stromatolite bacterial slime which pissed oxygen starting four billion years ago and polluted this rock with life, several extinction events, one which we will have caused, and then again, after us, the earth will burp a CO2 spike, and long before this rock is again dust, when we won’t be scrambling around any longer for each of our personal oxygen supply because our orbit will be enveloped inside our suns corona – extra-crispy to the core will be our Earth. Perhaps we achieve interstellar migration before then, but we will have to get along and put all this petty selfish bickering aside because we have been ignorant that we’re running out of time and nowadays, having pissed off the gods by electing Trump, those well named deadlines are suddenly much nearer. We’re all in this together. Unless we humans can instantly effect global correction then prepare for supernova, the way things are looking, neither in the short nor very long term, nothing makes it out alive – our Earth doomed by physics to become a mere cosmic footnote, a wondrous and curious manifestation of the universe built of stardust which for a blip of time was able to contemplate that universe. All in all you nor I really never mattered and all your problems just make you a mote annoying God’s eye – I prefer to be a bubble in God’s pitcher of beer, glad to spill onto the tray as he slides up to his girlfriend – because God knows all, including where to obtain a proper pour.
Commencement speech of wiz.
I was born a young Republican, not of the republicans of today, but descendant of Jeffersonian Whigs. I had a 50/50 chance of getting it right when I first registered to vote, the same day I registered for selective service, and on that voter registration form were little boxes allowing the opportunity to declare my political party which I did by reciting the Pledge of Allegiance “… and to the Republic for which it stands…” mostly though to cast my first ballot for Micky Mouse as I was worried that my only party primary ballot choice was incumbent president Ronald RAY-GUN, an allegory pseudonym representing my worry that his leadership would lead us straight into mutually assured annihilation. I didn’t throw my vote away, I cast my ballot in protest mindful to be able to complain that I don’t live in Russia as I felt to Reagan or not to Reagan was the only choice I’d been offered, I chose to not Reagan, retaining the right to bitch about it for only by not participating or refusing to cast a ballot is the silence we ought fear just as intensely as allowing myself to be intimidated against casting a ballot is. That was my first political pigeon-hole I wholly placed myself and my x into, and then joyfully embarked into a minor in political science with two semesters of Philosophy under my belt and a dual major of Broadcasting and Computer Science while representing the Engineering department, an appointment to the Student Senate, as well as being elected against my will as President of the American Society of Engineers and Architects. Unable to find a club member to represent ASEA in the Inter-Club Council, I attended those meetings myself and just to become further damned by public service, they subsequently elected an ICC president – yay say I when they elected another, but I was first runner-up and appointed the ICC Vice-Presidency. Then much life happened to halt that path – my house burned down, dad moved far north, I moved in with the president of the secretarial club, we had a girl and providing for my new family delayed my final semester several years as I put my aspirations aside to further my lady’s career and raise our child. My sense of commitment compelled me to wed my bride and make it official and certified. BTW I AM definitely a sexist, I believe solidly in matriarchy, equality in women’s rights and pay and have always been a pro feminist extremist – sexist being the pigeonhole into which others place me, but my soul is free from that little box as I defend every gender without bias equally regardless of gender choice or assignment at birth. Being devoid of gender-line to divide standards or assign tasks, my chosen role-reversal situation allowed my immersion into advance computer science operating system research to flourish as I did the housework and did my best to fill the kit and provide as an independent contractor hacking out device drivers at home and as Beverly Hills chauffeur so that I could provide the opportunity that my wife, lover, and best friend partner could climb the work-a-day corporate ladder, lowering our child care costs as there was always a caring parent attendant to caretake, while others labeled me a pussy for those tasks assumed I’m convinced that changing diapers so she could sleep and so forth were among the sledge strikes of self-sacrifices which forged me to be cast a real man by honing my ability to be multi-tasking while providing the grinding trials and tribulations to overcome, as well all those other experiences equipping me with the high polish ferrous tools and tempered mindset to get things done with both strength and flexibility. With my political career well mothballed I intended never to return to that compromising den of politician thieves.
I drew from the strength of grandmother – right-hand man to Enrico Fermi as the woman in the highest office of the Manhattan Project, and her only child, her daughter first female to Bachelor in Mathematics from UCLA. Working as a computer with mind, chalk and mechanical pencil solving complex trajectories my mom then helped code the introduction of IBM equipment to “McAuto” McDonald Douglas Automation and brought her work home in my toddler years. From 132 column green-bar fan-fold, pin-feed chain-printed printouts I learned to read Fortran before Dick and Jane. If SIN(x)>0.5 then goto half-wave was far more compelling and interesting function definition than the miss-adventures of seeing Spot run, run Forrest run, and his cadre of dullards of fabricated dubious involvement. My primers were the syntax and order of operations appendixes. Quite rewarding I found pointing out the error was origin zero and the comparison SHOULD BE “equal to or greater than” a minuscule distinction which can accumulate to crashing a DC-8. Having long known that coding was my destiny my electives at Hollywood High included Typing I & II. I could already program the printer interface of an IBM Selectric, but I knew I needed practical training on the home row. While my peers were trying to shame me for taking a chick course “Well, I’m in wood/metal/auto shop!” I had those already, plus electronics and print shop I reminded the hammer hanging machismo boasting ego boosting haters that while they were busy playing slap-ass with their sausage-fest fellows that I was the only good looking eligible bachelor in a room full of 35 hungry horny ladies, my personal target rich environment. I ate plenty of fish from that barrel which may sound like bragging but truly is lament for Kirsty who had the looks and voice but the misguided religion was deal breaker and of Carnie whom I truly loved but bad planning at the end of the semester was an unrecoverable fatal blow. Ah, there is one of those tangents now – as an illustration of what was soon to come – my prediction to come true. I don’t remember the typing teacher’s name but the short German dude took pride in wearing jodhpurs and riding crop to emulate Werner Klemperer as Colonel Wilhelm Klink that should ones wrists rest a rap would restore their arch as reminder. I tried to tell him, unsuccessfully, that he was training all these girls for the typing pool, a job which soon would not exist, as the keyboard would soon be in the domain of and on the desks of executives and it’s attached platen replaced with digital displays. What he perceived as empowering women to enter the workplace I saw as objectifying women to remain servants in their workplace niche as a form of systematic oppression. At his core behavior was ingrained perpetuating corporal punishment in education and dual standards in gender equality.
Summer semester at LACC started two weeks before Hollywood High graduation, I made my choice, having already graduated with my California High School Proficiency Examination Diploma achieved 18 months earlier, so I didn’t walk with my class – I was just there to knuckle down and perfect the skills I knew I lacked to succeed in college I picked the hardest classes in academy and the European style Fundamental style Language, Arts and Science with a High School Major in Philosophy. I didn’t care what my grades were, didn’t bother with the SATs, I was going to excel in university and write my ticket to get there. Big mistake in the side-track that became because Computer Science wasn’t offered at LACC. Instead they had Business Data Processing. So here I am, dual major in broadcasting and business data processing with a minor in philosophy, representing the Engineering Department in Student Senate, and President of the American Society of Engineers and Architects where my constituents asked “You’re a computer guy, what are you doing here?” and I pointed to the massive drafting tables with their cumbersom precision “L” squares attached to wire bound swing arm dinosaurs and said “All that, it’s going away. You’ll build models out of bits and files with a mouse.” I was almost right but still ahead of my time, for the only mouse I’d seen thus far had a coil centered in a clear plastic reticle-crosshair wired to a bulky position sensor and the Apple Lisa had just been swiped from Xerox Palo-Alto Research and trackballs were most prevalent on the Missile Command arcade games across the street. But in pointing to my imagined workspace I envisioned users at task, not women of color or distinctions by class and race but a peaceful rainbow of brilliant creators collectively plotting our conquest of Mars and building bridges to conquer cultural chasms. Race and gender were artificial constructs injected by others and among the irrelevant not considered just as the rest of the campus was well integrated by its very location and nature – Asians in the Latin club were just as common and numerous as girls in the math and forensics clubs – distributed with equality and without divisive question – welcomed by all. Which brings up another lady whose memory regards well with recent events that circulated on social media enough to ding national news – picture a fat old racist woman shouting “Go back where you came from!” to Asians exercising in local parks, she being draped in the same faded blue floral print muumuu she wore when she attacked us years ago. You see there was this funny, intelligent, very attractive Latina who was getting an easy A in my Spanish class, whom otherwise being Latina would not have been of consequence, but to this incident. I was taking advantage of the fact that she lived far and took the 220 line bus to school to make some time with this fine lady of well breeding utilizing the excuse of tutoring me with immersion. So, there we were conversing and flirting in the back of this southbound RTD bus when that very same nasty of mind lady, er no, intentional bitch, in her then more vibrant blue flower print muumuu, after dropping her 9 brown kraft paper grocery bags in the isle, completely blocking it, blew a meltdown until the person in the first seat vacated, oblivious to anyone else who was then required to jump over her distributed obstacle eavesdrops our private conversation and recognized it as offensive by not being in English. Completely ignoring that insisting someone else do, or feel, or think, or speak as you say is a mortal sin she storms over streaming non-stop while screaming about how this is America and how we speak English here and how we should go back home, where we came from you filthy Mexicans. I took it as a complement that I am able to blend with any race, creed or religion, but my tutor did not. “What street are you on?” “Sepulveda.” Then with a long U corrected her “No, my family’s name is pronounced Sepulveda, and we have an East-West one and a North-South one that goes completely over the Sepulveda Pass into the San Fernando Valley. The King of Spain granted us this, the Sepulveda Rancho, long before California was made a state of Estados Unidos del Norte y Sur. My distinguished family married into the natives and was born here before missions were built. We developed the South Bay into a vibrant community of trade, tolerance. respect and commerce into an economy ranking California eighth largest in the world. So YOU go back to where you came from! And by the way you owe me rent!” which reminded me to add that the Constitution of California states that all laws are written and published primarily in Spanish and that those California laws in English are a mere afterthought. “Aquí es donde desembarco, mi casa cientos de años nuestra casa.” I called after her “América del Sur sigue siendo América, ¿verdad?” as she escaped via the back door sticking me with the drab tab of gab who was ignorant far beyond her lack of intelligence. But that story, that cautionary tale of unbridled hate, can only stem from her intolerant position which was not her original thought. Someone had convinced her to hate, to be of superior mindset, and to disparage all those who fail your faulty standards. I don’t know that she represented white supremacy of the era, but I’m certain that what others had told her to think sure did highlight her stupidity that day due to her choice to be offended by communication and presumed origin.
Eight years ago I decided re-register in order to join the Democratic Party, not to cast my ballot for Obama, although that was a plus for progress, but in will and indeed to distance myself from the nutball TeaBaggers who then turned right-round upon themselves to elect the one percent who clearly participates in the presidential race to line his own pockets while lacking the mental capability of assuming blame, or even being a diplomat which is rather easy if you can keep your size 7 wingtip mouth shut. Folks like that are why I abandoned politics and are why I don’t attend MENSA as well – in my experience both are filled to the gunnels with alcoholics and beyond the pork-barrel brim with self-aggrandizing wealth accumulators blinded by greed which disables themselves from applying their intellect towards improving this spaceship Earth instead utilizing their breath to interfere with pursuing the greater good for the greatest number in being so, unless those individuals are ants and roaches, we may be outnumbered but we’re making great America at that, for the maggots. For the county registrar I provide election excellence having been appointed judge, examiner, board member and clerk as well as privately contracting to improve their software interface, all under oath and dedicated to ensuring each election is fair. I firmly believe in the protection of the secret ballot, yet I divulge enough that you will always know my selections by this definition – I refuse to vote in self-interest but instead to think cosmically and act globally and then cast my ballot to that well informed accord as best I can.
“Forty acres, respect, love and a mule.” should have been actually granted, and not just promised then withheld following the proclamation of emancipation. Had that 40&mule ideal of long ago been delivered, it would have served the foundation for the genuine erasure of any line of colour to cross or barre had it been achieved circa Lincoln’s assassination. Nor would the rally cries “De-fund the police!”, “Say his name!”, “I can’t breathe!” or “Black lives matter!” ever have avalanched to become the tremendously glaring social issue overwhelming us today which I believe was created by the fear of equality among those who sought to cling to power of supremacy so long before my time. The resulting realization of their unfounded fear has achieved precisely the opposite of what those damned fools wanted. You may soon find your own prejudices interfere with my attempt at communication. I’m just sayin’ that had Abe been able to overcome, as a nation, our unfounded fears a hundred years ago with “Forty acres, respect, love and a mule.” that empowerment and entitlement would be well entrenched this day and we might be far beyond the current distraction, instead able shine as the illuminating nation of color-blind and beneficial ambassadors, intellectuals and scientists, an encouraging and educating peoples, collectively united to achieve a beacon to this planet and a magnet to those fellow travelers of like mind. Oh yeah, we DID have that, before the current administration exposed us as chicken, beef and laughing stock as the scrotum of world opinion. I can only thank him for employing tailors in invisible thread and for keeping food on the table – of comics.
I’ve a collection of badges, credentials and pins. My favorite among all is a tattered yellowing Badge-a-Minit with rusty back given to me by a candidate in history’s first election for Mayor of Pasadena, CA. I mentioned I stand for its phrase with my whole being, so he gave it to me. It reads “I can not tolerate intolerance.”
wiz reserves the right to love everyone. Bless you upon your journeys.
↔The Marquis d’ Fouquet, Right Honorable Reverend Doctor Wizard G. d’Isney, Ph.D., W.M.O., Captain U.S. Marine Reserve Ret. and a bunch more irrelevant titles, Defender of the Meek and Champion for the Oppressed, each and all titles of which are collectively but rags before God are rather simply encapsulated by being known high and wide just as wiz (in lower case.)
By the way, I fret not of Corona [mimicking two “X”s over my eyes] What really takes you down a half-dozen is the Dos Equis. “Muck ’em if they can’t cuck a sock.”
Being Human: the user-manual god forgot to provide 