Mes couilles

 

his educationhis learning   his learning  was made up for its best part by smatterings of knowledge that drifted down on him like lazy snowflakes and ashes  revealed randomly as he read the knowledge which he soughthunted and pecked  sometimes exasperating  yet he pursued and eventually found the answersinformed the questions that piqued him as opposed to questions forced on him by teachers

he didnt relate well with teachers

                                    there was something about them that irked him he felt they were dishonest at a base level  and as he grew older answered his questions he discovered words like pedagogy indoctrination  curriculum

obviously he would not be a good student 

                                            but maybe they thought he make decent cannon fodder later for a government that drafted young men who either couldnt afford student deferment or had been stupid enough to listen to their fathers and uncles who served in the Second World War who listened to false equivalences who listened to words like honor loyalty  patriotism 

                     who had been indoctrinated

he could only assume they hadnt read Hemingway I was always embarrassed by the words sacred, glorious, and sacrifice . .

so he kept his course 

he was in the governments words a draft dodger 

                                                     he wrote postcards to his parents as he traveled the country with thousands of dollars he saved since he was a boy cutting lawns raking leaves  shoveling snow 

                                                                                                      in those days money fell from the sky or grew up out of the ground if one sought to work hard  develop an ethic  he was a junkie for physical labour paid to exercise 

         he signed postcards to his worried parents DDT draft dodger terminally  they worried about him more than when he was a boy

What, me worry? he didnt read MAD he had to be thick not to be caught up on common nomenclature and spurious fads

 

threefour days back another genuine snowflake lazily drifted and fell into his lap 

                                                                                     Renoir was reputed to have said when asked if he painted from his head or his heart Non, mes coquilles (my balls)

he always had an affection for Renoirs work 

                                                apparently they shared convictions granularly  Mes coquilles   it was how he thought lived and wrote

1124,  Day-between-Two-Ts,  16  9. 20

1209,  Thursday,  24  9. 20  

Beatles  Nowhere Man  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8scSwaKbE64 

Hemingway  https://bookhaven.stanford.edu/2017/12/hemingway-on-war-i-was-always-embarrassed-by-the-words-sacred-glorious-and-sacrifice/