A Running Narrative:
By May 27, less than four months after the pandemic reached the U.S., 100,000 Americans had died with COVID-19. (Wikipedia)
Spending time with my father — a caretaker I can be! I am the good son. Good friend. His T.V. is on all day, a news cycle —over and over. The President gets the best treatment, and the homeless are left to die. All day, we talk about 100,000 people who have sadly perished. Is that the pandemic mask of society or blinders? Poverty kills, and is that not a pandemic? Factory work kills souls, but is anyone tracking that number? The P.O.T.U.S. and thoughts. My father was too weak to respond. I don’t expect he would want to because I said,
“You don’t ask questions when God is on your side. Oh, my name, it ain’t nothin’ and at my age, it means less. The country I come from is called the Midwest.”
And you know exactly what the fuck I am talking about! We were not taught to mourn the death of our enemies! Nobody even cared. We have been at war with terror since I got out of high school. How Orwellian is that? So, Mr. President and all ye masters of war, what Bob Dylan said! Amen. There is only one man who can call me Johnny Paul. And he is dying. Every time I walk into this house, I am terrified I might kill my father. He is too weak to be exposed to this, whatever the hell it really might and could be. I speak loudly to him, “Hey, Dad, you would love her; she is from Austria,” and he falls back to sleep with a grin.
I didn’t do much today. I played guitar and created a video for my father in honor of Willie Nelson’s birthday. My dad, Joe, reminds me a lot of Willie. My father wears red bandanas, drives a Ford truck, plays guitar, and has a rebellious spirit. I love Willie Nelson, but Joe Wright, my father, is my hero. So far today, I woke up and made breakfast. I spent some time thinking deeply and then took a nap. I’ve been listening to the audiobook, “Sometimes a Great Notion” by Ken Kesey. I did a few hours of writing, then drove into Leitchfield to upload the video I made for my father. The internet here is spotty, depending on the weather and time of day.