Don't Get Old

Grandma used to tell me that.

I always replied, the alternative isn't appealing. Dying young. 

I understand what she was getting on about. Getting old sucks. Take my right eyeball. Please. 

It's 30 years older than the rest of me.

About two years ago I noticed a jelly in the lower hemisphere of my right eye. I told the eye doctor about it and he said the vitreous humor, the gel inside your eyeball, can thicken in parts. It often happens right next to the retina and can detach it in the worst case. He told me to watch for flashing or shimmering and colors. Those were warning signs. The flashing and colors came and went away last summer, replaced by a giant jelly covering 2/3rds of my lower vision and warps and distorts the upper third To add to my pleasure, a bunch of capillaries decided to die in the right eye.

Closing my left eye is a nightmare of perception. I spy, with my wretched right eye, a world from the bottom of a pond filled with frog's eggs and jellyfish tentacles.

My amazing brain compensates so my total field of vision is intact. I only experience a superstition of something wrong. A shadow of doubt that didn't exist before. Especially the right peripheral vision. A continual nagging tug from the right, which is now Void.

Don't get old.

Unfinished Business

Molten bronze on Monday and Wednesday, ceramics on Tuesday, glass blowing on Thursday, welding all week. I havent had this schedule in thirteen years. I used to blow glass Thursday nights and got pretty good at it. Tried it again after thirteen years and made a tumbler. Certainly not a straight walled tumbler, but it survived Six pieces cast in bronze. Four one hitter weed pipes out of the kiln. This is a level of activity not seen in years. I assume its an allergic reaction to the quarantine. 

Here's a pic:

I stopped teaching Harper Bronze in 2016 fall semester. 2017 was a fantastic year. It was my year, the year of the Fire Rooster. Got a tattoo, which turned out to be a non-frivolous tattoo. Got a bunch of brands on my welding leathers. My brands. My tools. I'm surprised there isn't more branded leather in fashion. 2017 was a good year because I figured out who I am. 

I am your Uncle Thor. Or your Grandpa Weed if you need some weed. I am him. I am here.  I am that.

The numerology of John E. Kurman is always 6. Two to the 6th is 64 which means I die this year. Too corny.

My hexagram is number 64, go figure. The last hexagram in the I Ching. In every single mythology, I am an Earth symbol, a  momma's boy, Mother Earth. I am thorium, uranium, plutonium, neutronium. Point being I am reliable rock solid get you out of a fix with the least amount of scratches kind of Uncle Thor you need now and again. And I'm 24/7, exlcuding the afternoon nap.

The only place to go now is to raise or coach future Uncle and Aunt Thors. Which I'm trying to do.

Hard to be a bigot when you are desperate for talent.

Poison Apple

Unpopular Opinion:  Steve Jobs was a horrible man. His warped character brought technological horror into this world. Tech would have been better off without him.

His prejudice, arrogance and avarice distorted every design and business decision. For a visonary, he sure didn't get it. A lot. So many visions eventually appeared, despite his best efforts.

Had Steve Jobs been strangled in his crib, the tech world may not have been 35 years ahead of where it is, but it would have been 35 years with a lot less cruelty and cold empty contempt. I could actually write the same thing about John Lennon. They would both be nasty old men, You wouldn't want to spend any time with them at all.