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deeply immersed in permacultural eco-logic,
a systematic teleology of cooperative nutrition economics,
remain rarely flushed out from their camouflage.
with shamanic nature-as-spirit tendencies,
our most articulate mentors often wander off
to pray for,
breathe and suffer and dance and sing
with Earth and all Her polyculturing species and seasons,
spaces and times,
avoiding glaring spotlights of media networks
and shallow soundbites.
perhaps I can share lessons from my children
about internal and external landscapes of justice
passion for restoring justice
and against unnecessarily traumatic
Middle Son is my cooperative networking
At twenty, he remains with me,
has not yet wandered off into his camouflage,
in part because I am a slow learner
in comparison to his lightning networked intuitive consciousness.
I am a more thorough and systematic ethologist,
but also ponderously detailed,
like Thomas Aquinas and Buckminster Fuller,
unwilling to leave any paradigm untouched,
producing a cooperative ecosystemic regenerative thesis
and antithesis of cognitive dissonance
that remains undecipherable
except to those few who already speak
absorb, to further revolve,
polypathic nutritional multicultures;
healthier meals for all senses.
What does justice look like for my 22 year old African American eldest son
who graduated from special support services
at Entitled-Elite Class High School
with a fourth grade cognitive and affective functionality,
no marketable integrative skills other than his physical strength
which shows decreasing likelihood of endurance
due in part to horrid nutrition
lack of self-care
his preference to self-medicate
away from his internal dissonance.
He prefers THC,
although he is angrily aware this means state and federal employment protection laws
form a moat around his buzz,
with all opportunities on the outside
and far too many long-term risks on the inside
of his bleary silo of despair.
My loyal handsome young adult son,
in comparison to outcomes for self-medicating with alcohol.
It's a cultural thing that old people do to his MultiCultural Transmillennial Generation,
like declaring wars so youth can learn to kill each other,
while elders suck our fat wealth deposits into
sporty cars of shifty ludicrosity.
His skills do not include multiplication,
much less division,
but he knows when justice divides his population of young adults
looking for their first jobs,
so they don't have to live under tyrannical oppressors,
condemning, rather than helpful, parents.
Self-medicating with alcohol
can easily pass through a drug screen test
with one day notice from Human Resources,
while my son watches from the other side
of this divide.
Can he get through at least eight weeks without medication
that does seem to help him feel and think better
of and with himself,
given any doubt that any of this makes any sense,
how long before he stops bothering to apply for any hope of a full life?
Surely long before age thirty?
Eldest son understands the justice and injustice of attending a horribly designed state contracted job program,
to sit for eight unpaid training hours,
for at least four weeks,
probably six or even more,
in a summer classroom with no windows,
with 29 other ADD and ADHD medicated trainees,
to face the dismissive derision of their trainer
for being who they are,
Losers who will never actually be sent through to the paid employment stage of this card-shark process,
violating perhaps every justice principle intended by the Americans with Disabilities Act,
while the trainer draws his pay at our tax dollar expense.
My son was not outraged that the State had no record of contractual oversight,
no evidence that anyone who did eventually get paid could not have done so with one week's unpaid training,
no evidence that there were no other training contractors with the capacity to avoid violating civil rights
of those supposedly receiving a service for positive,
rather than rejection and dispossession and dismissal and further hopelessness without incomes,
without icons of economic or political integrity.
He was not alarmed that the Commissioner,
his own State Senator,
his US Senator,
did not seem to raise so much as one eyebrow
to a misuse of public dollars and trust
with outcomes that could not even perform at the thinnest level of Hippocratic justice:
If you cannot do any good,
at least be sure you cause no harm.
He has become used
within an economic and cultural ecology
that does not include him,
and others who look and act and perform and breathe and beat their hearts,
and try to balance their bicameral hemispheres as best they can
in a "Business-As-Usual-Means-You-Do-Not Matter" environment.
So, he reminds me of what I recognized long ago,
growing up gay male in a homophobic
I am reminded of what it means
to have no economic right to employment
and no socially supported right to love,
to be disvalued human nature
because intrinsically mendacious,
to be negatively deviant,
removed from all that feels universally orthodox good,
knowing justice could not include any honest relationship
within my Beloved Community,
could not include acceptance as a healthy soul
as the appropriate offspring of socially acceptable evolution.
My son's bottom line,
"If they wanted to abuse us,
then I wouldn't have minded so much
if they were at least going to pay me.
I'll be The Man's whore if I have to,
but I won't be his bitch."
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