Little of the island is still beautiful. I can remember when it was  called, indulging in hyperbola,  a paradise on earth. Green. Vast open spaces. Fresh air. Clean water. Somewhat under populated. Thirty thousand is a perfect size for a  community. Everyone can relish his fifteen minutes of fame. Kauai exceeded that number ninety yeas ago.

In my soon to be over-populated gated community, we are way below that level. However, in my neighborhood, a cluster phobia is commencing. One dwelling on ten thousand square feet of land is cutting it close.  In my fortieth floor  apartment, in over-crowded New York, silence is golden. Here smelling shaving lotion or hearing love-making or marital screamers. is common. Often disconcerting. More often embarrassing.

We do have a comparative safe haven in these troubled times, but, as Chairman of  the Board, I often voice a concern about our security force. How careful are they who watch the watchers? We do have an  over abundance of corporate leaders.  In worthy early retirement I find they are apt to be lax. Sometimes under attention follows over abundance. They’ve done their time. They’ve earned their pay.They can relax. Enjoy. Further there are a few who believe the locals love and admire us.

If they do these locals are fools and I can assure you most of them are not that.  I’m  impressed with their competence. Depressed by their obvious attempts to obsequiously project it. Boot licking is a false flag.

After the death of my surfing daughter by the constantly sand- lurking flesh eating bacteria, and my beloved wife from cancer, as a novelist living alone on an island that no longer has public libraries or public schools-we can’t afford them-I don’t like to think of the multitude who live with these diseases on an every day basis. I don’t understand the people around me who have no concern. Who could care less.

On one side of my ten thousand square feet of paradise, I have a brilliant man and wife who push religious crap. They are both Mensas who use insane religious beliefs to attract simple minds into following and obey God’s will. Their God’s will. They no more believe this nonsense than I beiieve in Rapture. On the other side I have a pair of big time corporate psychopaths who fight to the death a twenty-five cent error in a bill from a local feed store.

One side plays golf on our glorious greens. One side swims in our home grown lake. They both buy local organic  vegetables and eggs from our range free chickens. I meet them often in our club house restaurant.

Because of less rain fall on Mt. Waialeale, the dam that furnishes us with water to water our course and fill our lake has diminished. Therefor we had a choice. Golf or thongs.

A contentious in-family argument ensued.  I thought I’d have to call security. Serfs outside the gates had nothing on us. When it came to  a vote: golf won.

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