Welcome to the year of the Tiger, whatever that means. I was born in the year of the Ox. I didn't win the lottery, my house didn't burn down . . . just the usual good and bad days with the bad, of course, more memorable than the good, because hell, it hurts. We've all had good and bad years. During my year and this year, I'm adjusting to a new marriage, learning to love myself ( a prerequisite to loving others), which is a hard to do when you were abused as a child, one of the shortest kids in 6th grade which meant playing right field (if you play at all), and last up to bat (which pissed me off ). In Little League I was the league's premier base stealer and one of the top second basemen. There's a pecking order from grade school through high school. And look around, it follows us into adulthood. The rich, good looking kids, who were good at sports or, if a girl, pretty, well endowed, and again, monied. This was the group who played God and defined the term, norm. I dislike this group. A few were respectful, but most of them looked down on those whom they considered inferior. And the campus thought of them as gods who defined the norm? And where are these gods today? Some are in prison, others holding down normal jobs, a few are successful, and those who inherited the family business. Good looks counts for little these days. Was Bill Gates a member of the in-crowd when he was a teenager? Opra? Larry King?
The in-crowd today are the famous, ugly or beautiful, who have lots of the almighty dollar. I could be the ugliest man on earth BUT if I have lots of money and fame, beautiful women will come out of the woodwork wanting a part of me . . . (society's prostitutes). I lose my wealth and fame, they scatter. In your local community, who serves on the school board, the city council, and other boards? Those with the bucks.
People in America worship wealth. They do in all countries. In the Philippines, I can have a class A looking 18 year old girlfriend just because I'm a Kano (an American). They'll go to bed with me in an instant, if I tell them I want them. Filipinas in the Philippines where I live, worship white men. To them, they are rich, light skinned, and a ticket to the good life.
The Wonderland Amusement Park is everywhere, folks. We have branches in every country, every geographical locale, a world where anything goes. madness reigns, all is constant, what is, isn't; what isn't is or can be . . . an amusement park of the mind. The one your visiting here is mine. And few in the egotistical poetry world, have the guts to allow others to visit their Wonderland. We all have to look good, right? Make a good impression, follow the norm, follow the dictates of the rich and famous, locally or otherwise. And the ones we like best are mirrors.
Welcome to Robert D. Wilson's Wonderland Amusement Park. Enter if you dare, and when you come out, and the mirror you saw discomforted you, you will criticize the hell out of this park, regardless of the quality of poetry or haiga on its cranial walls. The norm? You tell me and WHY!?!