expectation - the essay / awareness · a sonnet

Dedicado a Dame Flor Fuentes y a los suyos, cuya inescrutable bondad e inexplicable generosidad han rescatado un alcance creativo que yo creía perdido:

I challenge the human audience to read ∞ anything; especially that which you have to go and find. 

Ω the foto above is my sister Kristin Brook Stevens-Adler the bravest person i've ever known

Time stamp ·: closing in on 8:00 AM, and according to my dyspeptic record keeping, i’ve not published an essay/sonnet since _Dec 2, 2025_ “so what?” you might ask, because i gave my my sacred word to my now dead father; “I will continue writing”; which i have, including the well-gnawed bone of a manuscript written during Pandemic 2o21 behind the lines of post-‘merican war Viet Nam. For now i’m bunkering through D_rumpf-plagé*o24 in the valley of clouds, Oaxaca; Mexico. However due to the co-morbidity of ‘Dominion’ conceits out of the cerebral bowels curtis yarvin’s minion; and seer perversion of Tolkien’s LoR symbolism by yarvin’s dapper ‘monied class’, evasion is a de riguer plein air proposition - virtual certitude more easily conjured than one might imagine, thanks to the hubris and tedious ostentation of the techno/gazillionaire-geek’s faux intellect and their effete buffoonery. 

Expectations besides, this ostensible 5-paragraph essay, thank g_d, won’t die, just quietly erode into the aether as literal compost, figuratively speaking. It was William Shakespeare’s remark that ‘all human disappointment stems from expectation’ which got me thinking about how to reconcile that empirical logic with Albert Einstein’s equally ponderous quip, “God doesn’t play dice with the universe.” Are these seemingly diametrically opposed dynamics reconcilable¿ If i were a betting man, who @ 72+ plausibly proffers legitimate credentials as artist/author/sculptor/engineer/investigator/agitator; what else could i be, but a gambler; it ain’t all cake and ice cream. So how to harness the irresistible force of expectation with immovable objectivity of reality; or more bluntly - behead the gorgonesque gazillionaire grinding our planet’s habitability into a plastiglyphositic smear over the windshield of our Deoxyribonucleic Helix oscillating our survival over the abyss of our doom.

Aside from being one of the most powerful tools in the child-rearing repertoire, expectation finds traction in the physical universe as one of the fulcrums of quantum theory. Know, one i am no physicist only an extremely curious person; 2) my 'Physics' education amounts to suspending two gallon jugs from the ceiling of the Harris’s pottery shop on Logan; linking the two containers with a tenuous tether, setting one swing in a gentle circular motion to watch how that energy then transfers through the tether to the second still jug while the energy dissipated from the 1st, this dynamic propogated motion for the 2nd which was then passed back and forth (in theory). Reality, was as ever vastly different; however the fact remains there was enough energy generated that summer afternoon to animate my fingers on a keyboard in the badlands of ______, or your eyeballs, whoever and where ever you is: s’plain me that? 3) Mr. Lambert the physics instructor at Estancia High School, 1970-something cornering me in one of the labs and demanding to know ‘what-the-fuck’ i was doing in a ‘survey class’, when i could be studying actual physics - a remarkably nurturing, thoughtful complement for a befuddled adolescent trying to parse Watergate, LSD and Woodstock in the same semester.

Today the table stakes are a little higher, and the cheaters a little bolder than those band of brothers bungling their burglary of boosting salacious psychiatric conjecture for blackmail leverage against an “off-the-reservation” Rand analyst who was innocently looking to atone for crimes against humanity by publishing common knowledge about the ‘merican war in Viet Nam - instead we now face an incalculable reality of viewing one of Rod Serling’s more unique efforts waltz its way off the ‘screen’ into our commercially implanted artificial intelligence whose apparent design is to render ‘people kind’ obsolescent by resetting our Jungian archetype to 0x0/oo, or if you prefer an elevated vocabulary: oooooooo as an 8-bit byte corresponding to an electrical state of off, or low voltage for master digit, bElony’s, post-neuralink ledger location for ‘people kind’.

Ah, but therein lies the rub - ‘always a fuckin’ rub’ ·:e.g. did you know that Leo Tolstoy the writer whose vivid proletarian prose could conjure the likes of “Alyosha the Pot” possessed a searing hard-on for William Shakespeare¿ i know huh? ‘just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water’, i read it in a pamphlet at the CSUF library. The pamphlet, “On Shakespeare and on Drama” was entirely dedicated to defaming poor William, making the fictitious struggle for market share between Gates and Jobs look like an allegory for an amish barn-raising pahté. God may not play dice with the universe, but i’m willing to give generous odds the demigods wreaking havoc on our precious planet are so engrossed in the ‘banal evil’ Hannah Arendt framed so well they be unable to distinguish an ‘economic tic’ from a plunge in the ice-bath of Dante’s “Divine Comedy”, at least that is my expectation and i’m stickin’ to it, for i’d be surprised if the ruling class version of Cerberus, ai, has the capacity to distinguish between mild contempt and steely resolve as it gulps what “Faik Besos” conceives of as “Foundation” (no Asimov irony here - move along), for a post-apocalyptic dénouement. 

- takers · ¿ 

(i ain’t worried, dey’z a glut on ‘takers’ in our world)

 jaJaJA Ω demonic cackle fades to .  .. _  ∞

X  /   X  /   X  /   X  /   X  / 

awareness · a sonnet 

Awareness dwells in the heart; though neither

is constrained by the other, they reflect

each other’s truth through illumined ether -

highlighting flaws as beacon, not defect.

Lacking perspective, bird’s eye view is all

horizon: on high, down low; all is near

at hand; in reach; never too tall to fall

or fail, only how to conquer all fear.

Yet their essence bounds and is bounded by

a dynamic that dissolves completely

all it contacts; they become what won’t die -

love: undiluted, unabated - only free ·

from: possession; definition; extinction;

intimidation; complication - conclusion ·  

solidarność 

(˚ ㄥ _˚)                    

o5 October 2026 jts

http://ExtinctionChronicles.blogspot.com 

http://JosephTStevens.blogspot.com 

http://Stoanartst.blogspot.com 

prohibited from AI sampling in any form

reprinted with permission; all rights reserved

∞

☮️

A WALK WITH SPIRITUALITY - Harold R. Stevens ·

 

“A WALK WITH SPIRITUALITY”

I go for a walk each day. The morning and I hold hands

As we carefully descend the stairs at seven a.m.

I first cross over a new black surface. and pass

the blank faces of many garage doors.

This morning, I was lifted in my solitude. I heard

The clouds singing silently......reverently.

The sweet breath of the heavens flowered my vision.

I slipped into the AWE of spirituality.

I was connecting with all things. I reached out

And kissed the lips of human love.......

Cascading and splashing over my reverie, the dignity

And worth of every living thing on earth.

I was experiencing an intense interconnectedness

of existence. Is this true spirituality?

Was my soul touching the center...the TAO OF NOW?

I looked up. The heavens winked at me.

The moment shattered and crumbled in an explosion

of reality. A leashed dog and master passed by.....

HAL STEVENS 3/27/01

(˚ ㄥ _˚)                    

01 January 2026

http://ExtinctionChronicles.blogspot.com 

http://JosephTStevens.blogspot.com 

http://Stoanartst.blogspot.com 

prohibited from AI sampling in any form

reprinted with permission; all rights reserved

∞

adaptation - an essay / resistance · the sonnet

 

“Real Artists Don’t Starve - They Thrive · “ was enough of a trigger to provoke me to my last version of this essay begun at the end of last year and has been stalled for the past 3 months having deteriorated into a miasma of self-indulgent dreck. I capitulated this morning when i sat upright out of an existential stupor hoping the change in surroundings i landed in due to a precipitous decision to evade “The inevitable;” my neighbors where i live are ‘noise thugs’, meaning that to make their pound of flesh, they think nothing of coopting the tranquility of the entire colonia to whatever variation of ‘music’ deemed popular for whatever crowd by whoever is making those choices, nor to they give a fig whether their volume of entertainment might disrupt anyone else’s activity for a radius of 300 meters; the insult is their contempt for the sleep of those who depend on their weekends for rest - these ‘masters of music’ feel their creativity is so sacred that 1, 2, or 3 in the morning is too soon to interrupt their cultural ‘elan’.

So i took a room in a lodge away from the gossips who have ascribed ‘hatred’ of the culture as motivation for my seemingly bizarre choices - or so it seems to me. The irony is that the hope to ‘evade’ rather than adapt has only created a cascading gaggle of ‘ducklings’ waddling after my every effort to control my environment. The room i was placed in was catty-corner to the ‘off-cycle’ kitchen at precisely the moment when the chef-master wished to do his most creative work on the same Sunday morning i was hoping to disentangle myself from real vs fantasy impediments of my creative process. “En Vino Veritas” once again saved the day and kept me from acquiescing to rudeness and so found my self further complicating the scene by sharing my ‘unframed-inarticulate’ objections with the Dame/Manager on her Sunday morning, knowing i’d be calling down the dogs of sanctimonious indignation for my arrogance.

I’m really not sure what to do next; it is impractical to change countries every time a cultural rift sticks in my craw, the equivalent echo would be to change families when yours will not alter their preferred brand of toxin when you object. The problem for me is that my yen for kindness is retreating more quickly than my ability to adapt to solitude and rationalize my circumstance as a form of existential dignity without any attending support. Media and its orchestrated distraction is a poor substitute for flesh and blood; while fear and isolation are poor compensation for the courage it takes to defy coalescing into the ‘pod’. The irony is that it “T’was been ever thus.” - Larry Golden · I did not sleep well after the kerfuffle but could’ve; it was the anxious child in my looking forward to the pleasure i know can be found in massage + temezcal (steam bath). Sadly i no longer access easily the metaphysical wonder found in not understanding some things. In my earlier pilgrimages to where i now live; may die, i’d channel Don Juan, and find magic under every rock.

Now i’m just tired, possibly besotted, having found sober allure in the wisdom of Mescalito - ‘the more things change the more they remain the same.’ - old french proverb. Mescal is the most benign intoxicant i’ve found, while the catechism is oddly the same; moderation, all things moderation. Days ago, I thought for a moment i’d fallen for a woman; mostly because i’m a ‘hopeless romantic’ but i know in the darker chambers of my being i want to vindicate myself and be worthy of what lovers know, rather than the hard-bitten realist i have become. The paradox is for those 60 seconds that i flirted with this woman, i lost 10 lbs of angst and added 15 years to what is increasingly looking to be a telescoping future. My bravado has met its match in degenerative osteoarthritis of the hip, even if i can analyze whys and wherefores and maintain an optimum physical condition - the world i face doesn’t admit my type of genius, and as much as it galls me to say, George’s boot on the throat is as courageous a commentary as i’ve found.

And it would be a lot of fun to devise an existential ‘Hail Mary’ that might provide some leverage for liberty to those who’ve peeled the digital claw from their skullcap and stand outside the tangle of what had at one time been a human vista which yielded the Shakespeares, the Dylans, Rembrandts, and Einsteins of our world. I don’t know what it takes to gain traction over the blare of computer models and their handmaiden, artificial intelligence. I am proud to think i can continue to stand here with my ‘little wild bouquet’ of aphorisms cobbled together in the manner of a modern day Montaigne, and would love to leave you reading with a lighter heart than the one you brought to the screen; the best i can tell you is it will be more valuable to you when you find it within your own tool box, because the same as you are peering over my shoulder is a search for the right size screw to cinch this ‘bad boy’ in place, there is no doubt someone in your world peering over your should assessing and evaluating what you read, why and noting what you build - good luck to us all.

+-+-+-

resistance · the sonnet  

Adaptation isn’t resistance, it’s life;

and what resists, persists - a paradox

for both states - life and death · describe much strife:

life through fullness, death’s void walled off by locks.

To what end persist, if both states lack peace?

What state teaches peace; can it be acquired

If it can’t be learned, what about hired - a lease?

My flesh is borrowed, why can’t calm be hired?

“A bunch of words” - how’d they learn to fight back?

Do words resist writing, to serve a poem birth

adding strength to its life ducking’n ai hack

Does it matter to this world’s shrinking girth?

so goes the saga - ‘Willy or Won’t he -

performed on the stage of ‘Don’t get a Fee’ ·

(˚ ㄥ _˚)                  

jts 7/9/2024

http://ExtinctionChronicles.blogspot.com 

http://JosephTStevens.blogspot.com 

http://stoanartst.blogspot.com

prohibited from AI sampling in any form

reprinted with permission; all rights reserved

∞