Jungle Rules

Life is a strange thing. We have no guarantee of its continuance. Quite the opposite: we have a guarantee that it will end. I like that part. It's really the only rocksolid guarantee you'll ever get. There's also a bit of comfort in that death--if no one else in this wide universe--is not a respecter of persons. It's kinda funny, when you think about it, that Donald Trump is going to die. Can't buy yer way out of it, Donny. Oh, sure: console yerself. Put yer name on shit and have kids and continue the Trump dynasty. But even empires are sands in the hourglass, dude, and you fucking well know it. Sleep tight. Still, it's strange how easy it is for us to let people die who prolly didn't have to die. You'd think the purportedly richest country would set some baseline priority that we're not going to let people die before their time unless they actually want to die. It's weird how we haven't really left the jungle or the woods or the desert. We beat down nature and build up something called civilization, but at the end of the day the rules of the wild still apply: we care for self and tribe first, and say fuck everyone else. In a way that seems valid to me, but it's also troubling to think that I or any of my tribe could be caught up with a bit of bad fortune--and that the larger society will sometimes say, "You can seek help from your tribe, or you can die. We will not help you." If you don't have faithful family and/or friends in your tribe at that point--or if you need more help than they can provide--yer fucked. And this is all a roundabout way of meditating on how three people are being fired without cause at our little institution of higher learning in Jefferson County--and while there is a tribe there for them that is frustrated and vocal, the message from TPTB seems the same as the one that society gives: "Seek help where you can, but we don't care if you can provide for yourself or your family."