Midsummer Sweden
This sans sunset day The city streets are empty Country sides are filled with celebration Twilight until dawn Another summer solstice Clock of seasons Magic hours when animals can talk Girls dream of future husbands Lovers yet unknown.
Maypoles are dressed in wreaths of flowers Waltzed around with blue and yellow streamers Weaving into joyous solar anniversary Beheld by gatherings of thousands. Sound of peace and love, and heavy metal Armies of ecstatic teens at large Will dance until the music fades into the morning mist. Another day.
The Poesenboot (Cat Boat) is a sanctuary for stray cats in
Amsterdam. Anna was tending bar at the Torenzicht and I asked her if she knew
where it was, and if so, how far from the hotel.
“Not far,” she said.
“I’ve been there. It’s behind Hotel Victoria, cross the canal, turn left and
you’re there —ten
minute walk.”
Seemed worth a shot, and
I was curious—a
cat-like quality. I found the place without much trouble but was fifteen
minutes early and surprised to see a couple dozen people waiting to board. The
door opened at 1:00, after the cats had lunch I guess. We were allowed in, five
or six at a time. There was no admission charge—a nice surprise, but
nothing much to see. Just cats. We’ll what did I expect? There were a couple
dozen of them, some in cages, most were out. There were cat poles to climb and
scratch on, fancy beds, and toys, places to climb and windows to look out of.
The cats were very well
groomed, but ordinary, just cats wondering around and letting tourists adore,
take photos, and pet them.
I didn’t stay long. I get enough cat petting and photos at home. I
felt a little guilty about the free admission charge and bought a cat
boat button from the small souvenir counter on the way out.
Back at the hotel bar again, I’m talking to Anna about the place.
“The say you can adapt a
cat,” she said. “That’s why I went there. The woman wanted to come and look at
my apartment. Three visits she said, to decide if I was okay. And a lot or
paper work. I finally gave it up. I think she just wants to hold on to the
cats. I would have given it a good home.”
“Cat ladies,” I agree. “They
don’t let go.”
“There’s also a cat
museum, the Katten Kabinet.” Anna stacks some empty glasses at the bar.” They charge
admission—7
Euros.”
“A cat museum? Why?” I
ask.
“We have museums for
everything, “she says. “Shoe museums, was museums, watch museums, an eyeglass
museum, diamond museum, fashion museum, wax museum . . . We’ve got a museum for
anything you can think of. “There’s also a kat museum, Katten Kabinet,” she
says. “They charge 7 Euros for admission.
Going to pass on Katten
Kabinet. The Maritime museum next.
Today is Walt Whitman's 200th
birthday. A friend observed it's better he's not seeing what's happened to
his country.
Trickle down theory applies
here. America has a death penalty. America has the largest military in the
world and in history. America will not stand being crossed. These moments of
spasm and orgy are threads in a cultural fabric. Americans have a right to be
enraged because of being crossed or challenged or humiliated.
Of course the question to be
asked and rarely answered: what prescription drug was this current killer on?
Without an answer to that, the basic anthropological truth about human beings
is they will strike depending on the perceived depth of a threat or insult. The
intensity of the strike is ratcheted up based on a cultural citizenship
where the phrase "shock and awe" has become a national cornerstone.
It's a phrase concocted because Americans would get it and accept it and in
some cases make it part of their interior weapon stash.
The hardware is always
debated. The core nuclear reactor is the subtle and pernicious permission
to access this aspect of human nature. Prior to a duel the classic phrase
is "I demand satisfaction." This phrase has not been retired
in America. It's not pistols at dawn it's a weapon of war whenever.
One has to assume within these
human time bombs is a hiss or a scream of "I hate everybody." Or
"I'll show you if it's…the last thing I do." A gun settles scores. A
gun satisfies the rage of indignation. There must be a sense of relief as
a killer sees his targets fall dead. Is it that Americans feel more of a right
to that feeling than other nationalities?
When we strap ourselves
in at a movie we hand ourselves over to the fantasy of killer justice. The
antagonist will get either a bullet in the head - or an arrow in the chest and
in a crowded theater—cheers. Each audience member wants to be that
person who delivered justice. Above all else - this is how you get
justice. Kill.
Walt Whitman's 200th
birthday. He was a wound dresser during the civil war so he knew what men
tend to do to each other. I suppose a war of sorts is in progress here -
the enemy gets chosen not by geographical location but by a roulette wheel
of sudden psychotic combatants. Background checks? First question. Are you a
human being? Yes. Sorry—no gun for you.
