Friday, December 24, 2010
Now, the person who insulted several billion people with his simplistic world view must have a set of values which comprise his moral dimension. Probably things like murder, rape, stealing, lying are all included, but if you asked him about the lands the YHWHists stole violently with many innocent deaths he will say that the Lord gave the land to the Jews and that's the final word on that. Apparently their deity is outside of the moral universe, and by "trickle down" the followers are also de-facto moral people no matter what they do, so long as it does not involve worshiping other deities. I follow a different path, ergo I am immoral no matter what I do. It's a curiously circular form of thinking and it allows someone who is not a very nice person, like Dick Cheney, to get away with mass murder simply by praying in a Christian church. Amazing.
But what about the billions of people who live away from the Middle East and never heard of the Jews, never heard of Yeshua and yet conduct themselves in a moral environment with respect for the rights of others and a respect for the life of the land? They apparently are in a no-win situation. They cannot be moral because they never read the Bible and never were dunked or something by a priest. Back in AZ I had a similar situation wherein a Christian was lecturing me on my paganism and how I was doomed to Hell. I suggested that a person could live a moral life, a good life, without ever hearing of the Ten Commandments. Alas, he could not hear of this. A Pagan was by definition an immoral and bad person. Around this time was the Jim Jones incident and being a bug, I mentioned the Bibles old Jim Jones read from while he pouring poison into the kool-aid. Not a great idea. Jones was an evil man ruled by Satan, but of course it was years before they figured this out, prior to that he was a holy man preaching the Lord's words. Then he killed everybody. My point was that I did not kill people, did not steal from people, did not lie to people and so I had a shot at being "moral". Nope, not so, impossible. Nobody who follows the Goddess can be seen as moral, and no matter what I did or said I would always be a lost soul, an immoral man and doomed to Hell because I did not worship the Jewish god YHWH. This sort of thing always puts a bug up my ass.
My pagan faith has one commandment and there is no direct punishment for failing to obey that commandment. It is, "If it harms none, do what you will." Pretty basic foundation for a decent set of morals, I think. So I can study the Bible, I can study the Koran, I can study Wicca, and so forth, so long as I am harming no one. I cannot steal because it harms, I cannot murder for the same reason. I cannot go to war, I am faithful to my wife and my family. But I do so out of a sense of responsibility to myself because you cannot be loved if you do not love others. I want people in my family to be able to love me, so I follow the Pagan Way and try to harm nobody in the process. Now if we study the history of Judaism, Christianity and other related faiths we see a disturbing pattern of violating all the commandments when it suits them. Christians dropped the nuclear bombs that decimated two entire cities filled with old people, men, women, children, pets and even Allied POWs! We knew all those people were there, the POWs were less than a half mile from the target zone. Apparently we wanted to be sure to vaporize them. Well, we did, and to this day we refuse to offer any assistance to those people suffering from radiation induced abnormalities, birth defects and cancers. We do nothing to help the sick, nothing to help the broken children. This from a Christian nation which even now is fighting, trying to get the Bible into all the classrooms. No Pagan could vaporize and irradiate a city, it is such a crime against Nature that no one who believes in Life could handle the guilt. But Christians not only can handle it, they worked to make sure it could happen again. We now own enough nuclear death to kill every major city on Earth, all built and designed by Christians. Prove me wrong.
This man who has judged me as immoral and inferior goes out to kill deer and other forms of life. He never considers the soul of the animal, as would a pagan. He never prays forgiveness to the animal he is about to kill, and he will pray to his God for allowing his bullet or arrow to find it's mark. No thanks to the unlucky deer. This seems twisted to me, but his God is a micro-manager who inserts His way into every detail of life, except sometimes. Like when a crazy man rapes and murders a little girl, apparently YHWH is not there to help her. He certainly would not be there to help a Pagan girl. In Iraq a number of Christian Marines raped and murdered a 14 year old Muslim girl and then murdered her family. Then they burned down the house to destroy the bodies and went back to play pool and prepare for the next day of occupation and slaughter of civilians. I find this hard to understand, but it seems it is okay to do this to a non-Christian because their souls are lost anyway. Like Joshua entering those cities to rape and murder, with a holy Get Out of Hell Free card.
I encourage every Pagan to read the Bible, as many translations as you can. Read the Koran translations, too, because fundamentalist Muslims are as bad as Christians in twisting a tale of Peace into a tale of Slaughter. It's important to understand the kind of thinking that goes into these faiths because many people are stuck in them, trying to be good people but having to reconcile the various stories with the various Commandments. How does one wage war if Thou Shall Not Kill? I suppose you could use paintballs, but they don't. They seem to like real weapons better. In comparative religion we find many stories of one faith fighting another. Muslims today are killing Muslims over a political dispute almost 1000 years old. Jews are still killing cities filled with Palestinians and occupying their lands, bulldozing down the ancient olive groves and poisoning the wells. We have not gotten very far following YHWH and His derivatives. Pagans seem to be doing a bit better, being more than willing to adopt science as a means of further understanding the Deity, our Goddess. Ecological movements are based firmly in the Pagan principles of harming none, taking care of the Earth. The name of this planet is derived from one of the names of the Goddess, Urda. Our days are named after Pagan gods and goddesses. Our months are named after Pagan deities and Roman dictators. Our life is rich in Pagan traditions because in part the YHWHists stole even those and twisted them to connect with the YHWH faith. Easter comes to mind, as does Christmas, both Pagan holy days twisted into YHWH's holy days, but the spring Goddess was so important to the masses that they kept Her name for that Holy Day. I'm thinking hypocrisy here.
So, looking back on things, I have to say that regardless of how effective I am at it, I strive to be a moral person. I try not to be too judgmental and I try to be more helpful. This is not good enough for my judging friends in the YHWH camp. But it seems to be good enough for my Lady of Life and since She gave birth to the Lord of Light I suppose it's good enough for me. Like the YHWH and Yeshua cults, the followers don't always get it right, or maybe they get it too Right and their minds explode. One thing I do know for sure is that unlike Her consort and son, YHWH, the Goddess will accept each and every one of us upon our deaths. She will hold us and love us and return us to life in due Time and that is something that works for me.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
People understand, but animals believe. There was no way to stop the wren from shitting on my sleeve. A buckwheat cake was in his mouth or so the label said, but what was running thru his veins was nowhere near true red.
He compulsively wipes his hands across his beard, wiping away this feeling he had, this thin skin of hydrocarbons. It's just another skin, one of many. He sniffs it anyway, hands it to his Dog and He sniffs it and falls asleep, farting without sound. The Dog can do with yoga what other men talk about online.
Monday, December 06, 2010
I am thinking about suing for my son's body. No, he's not dead but he's not officially alive either. They have moved his prognosis into "permanent vegetative state". I would like to point out that the AMA says this is a non-starter. There is nowhere to go from that point except to wait for death. That will not do, not for my boy! I insist they declare what they intend to do if my son continues to live but not respond to them. He responds to me, slight movements, slight expressions, a small smile. I'll take it. I think he's in there, floating in a white fog and occasionally floating by the windows of his soul and spotting old Dad sitting there holding his hand. What else can I do?
I am thinking about suing for my son's body to be returned to a hospital nearby so I can begin the wake. Oh, the heart beats and the lungs work and he is said to be in pain once in awhile, but they give him Oxycontin to ease his pain. Yet, how can a vegetable feel anything? The fact is they give him pain to lessen his suffering, and how can a vegetable suffer? They're trying to have it both ways and that won't do. If he is suffering, then he is self aware, yes? If he is self aware he is not a vegetable, no? So a non-vegetable gets therapy and the non-vegetable may take up time and resources that are wearing thin these days in NY. So they want it both ways. they want him dead and alive. Dead, he causes no trouble. Alive, he counts as a warm body for reimbursement by Medicare. If I take him away they get less money. So I am thinking about suing for my son's body. What else can I do?
Saturday, December 04, 2010
Monday, November 08, 2010
Wednesday, October 06, 2010
I noticed today an article in which it was stated that every Republican potential candidate for President in 2012 is employed by you. Congratulations on your finalizing the takeover of American government. Now that you own Congress, the Supreme Court and the White House you can complete the conversion from a "democratic" republic to a true fascist state. I have to assume you will then announce that America's debts are not the debts of New America, or whatever you plan to call it. I expect you will retain the name to help the people adjust. Anyway, that seems logical. The Chinese will object, as will India and Japan, and for obvious reasons Great Britain will not. If you want my take on it I would suggest that China might be willing to have California and Hawaii in order to wash the slate clean for them. Maybe Japan should get Hawaii, that would be so ironic. 8-)
I am not writing this to sing your praises and make suggestions, actually. I am asking you if you expect the "wrong thinkers" will be allowed to leave the country or if you plan mass executions. The reason I ask is that my family and I will likely fall into one of the categories flagged for removal. I am 60 years old, disabled with a back condition so I require a lot of medication. I also have never voted Republican, and although I only occasionally voted Democrat I am sure the Tea Partiers would consider me a liberal. Personally I consider myself to be a financial conservative and a social liberal. So it seems logical that my family would be sent to the camps. That being the case I would like to have a chance at political asylum in a European country like Holland or Sweden. I doubt very much European countries will welcome a flood of refugees so I would like to start the process now. If you would indicate how scapegoated minorities will be treated in the New America it would save you and yours a great deal of effort and money by allowing people like me to leave before things get hot around here.
Traditionally a new fascist government cements it's power over the population by creating a mass sin for all to share. Germany used the Death Camps. With all the people having supported the camps by supporting the fascists they would obviously share the blame and the effort to ensure they won the war. I expect you are too savvy to have an actual war per se since your background is more along the lines of a financial manipulator. This would save the damage to real property and livestock. So a propaganda war and a redistribution of the wealth is the likeliest path. The war to be won, then, would be a paper war to see which corporation ends up on top. I would not forget the religious element here. The neo-Muslims continue to be a violent component in the Mideast and like you the leaders are eager to expand their sphere of influence. A treaty of some kind is the most probable tack to take with them, probably offering them most of the Mideast save Israel. That done it would be simple to sign a fuel and resource agreement with the Saudi family and others.
I'm thinking it's a done deal since there is no force nor government capable of stopping you, with the possible exception of the Neo-Muslims and as noted above they can be bought. So the most important thing for me is an indication about the deposition of the scapegoats to allow me to start applying for refugee status or arranging for some kind of safety net for my family. I'd very much appreciate it. I realize there is no Earthly reason for you to reply since I'm a nobody, but I am hoping your sense of humor might be a factor and my plight amuse you. In that case we might work an arrangement. I hope so.
poet, philosopher and artist
Thursday, September 30, 2010
The poppy crop is down, the CIA will be very disappointed. There goes their Xmas bonuses. It wasn't because we burned the crops, oh no. Mother Nature brought over a fungus which killed half the plants. We were trying to save the crop so the government would have a nice source of income. Lord knows they can't export rocks. OH wait! They can. We now have a great reason for our boys in green to be killing and collecting: mineral wealth. We just read a decades old report from the Russians, who also failed to conquer Afghanistan by force of arms. Seems Afghanistan is lousy with mineral wealth of the particular type of mineral wealth which makes computers possible. So we ain't never going to go away. That means in the future there will be a small market in body parts collected by Americans as they won the hearts and minds of the Afghan people.Like how in America 2075 poor folks have to sell kidneys in order to get served at Health Care Inc. It's a small but important part of our future economy.
The My Lai massacre led to the failing of the American delusion that we were the "good guys". We have never been the good guys so long as our cars drive across the graves of the natives who we massacred for over 300 years to take and hold their dirt and the stuff underneath it. Of course they never had ownership of that dirt, it was sort of a caretaker position. Now we own the damn Earth and we will drill and burn and excavate until the last useful rock is melted, smelted and purified into liquid Plutonium for our furnaces. But if there are enough of the Aghan version of My Lai around, enough necklaces of fingers, ears, skulls, rape stories told over at Joe's Bar after a few beers, maybe people will see that supporting the "bad guys" makes us bad guys. Makes us targets for the real "good guys", the ones avenging dead sisters, dead sons, dead parents. We have been hit a bit, but the blood still flows so we can expect another, soon. Unless...
Unless somewhere there is in America a "lawyer" who actually believes in the Rule of Law and he arrests the previous administration and issues a warrant for this administration for crimes against humanity and war crimes, we have no way out but to tear their houses down and send them all to the World Court. Then we will be the "good guys" and we can hold our heads up in international waters.
Do the world a huge favor and if a buddy, a brother or a sister tells you that they have a necklace of fingers, go to the police, the FBI, and the press and see to it that others know about it. If we actually act like people with ethics and morals perhaps the next sky scrapers to fall will do so to build a multi-cultural center where people can learn about people in other lands, with other religions and the same love and respect for human life.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
The flowers that I bought and are hanging from the front of the house are dead and dried, whereas the colorful weeds and volunteers are big and beautiful. The golden cloud around the house continues to the rear and is mixed in with the pinks and lavenders. This time of year we have one or two bright fuchsia roses growing next to the funny Turtleheads, whose pouty mouths grump in four directions. They are as much fun as snapdragons, which oddly enough don't like to grow here. Too many competitors I guess. There are maybe a half dozen lilacs of various shades growing flowerless in the late summer morning. Each year I am surprised by the increasing size and volume of flowers on the lilacs. Another shock is the wandering and misnamed Obedience Plant. Half the one bed is covered in pink flowers and spiky leaves. I have long since forgotten where I first planted them. They struggle with an un-named weed whose nasty stickers are a handful all the way onto the roots. It has small flowers which are not pretty enough to forgive the pricks over but whose roots apparently have wandered all over the beds. I pull them up by the handfuls and they come back nastier. I suppose I should boil and eat them just to scare them away but we can't be sure if they are poisonous or not. It's a desperate plan developed from an observation that certain weeds become less intrusive once I realize a use for them. The valerian root is great for back pain, so now they grow in more attractive groupings where the wonderful scent of the pinkish flowers can startle and delight the walker by.
An odd yellow surprise are the number of squash plants which not only volunteered to grow this year, but who volunteered to grow in funny places, like out by the well head, near the garden path, and of course where the old compost heap used to be. I expected either tomatoes or squash and got them both. the pumpkins gave us two fruit, both big enough to carve or small enough to eat. The blue Hubbard squash was planted from a packet of seeds last year and has come back to haunt me this year. It overran the path to the hammock and wandered over the obedience plants, mixing it up with the evil prick weed. yet all the plants manage to get along better than the residents of New York City do when politics are in the air. Two avocado trees from the compost have sprouted and are about a foot and a half. that's still a far cry from the ten foot tree we grew last year. I had it in a pot and eventually the head was so tall I had to move it to the deck, where the cold autumn air finally got to it. Let's see how the twins do this winter.
The Goldfinches have found the Jerusalem artichokes and are picking away at the flowers. They leap from choke to sunflower to chicory, looking for all the world like animated sunflowers. Over their shoulders is the more thorough hummingbird buzzing from the hibiscus to the Jewel weed, one flower at a time. After putting up the hummingbird feeder I am startled to find a little hummer poised in the air about two feet from my face, examining my features and perhaps evaluating my intent. She buzzes off, satisfied that the feeder is safe enough and later she comes by to see if it is, and it is safe and tasty. But as she sips a male comes by, chipping and buzzing, slamming her in the air and chasing her off. Then the male goes over to the hibiscus plant to sip and watch the feeder. I'm not sure why he doesn't just feed at the feeder or share the hibiscus, but that's hummers for you, too busy to think.
Sunday, August 08, 2010
Money is a tally device, a means by which labor completed or promised is kept track of by counters of metal or paper strips. The coins are fair for metalworking and the colored strips of paper make lousy toilet paper but good eyeglass wipes. If a person should work for ten hours they get a counter marking their rate of pay and hours worked. it is possible then to transfer this counter to another person in exchange for their labor. This is a sort of Ponzi scheme where everything works until the papers fail to deliver. For instance, say a ditch digger works ten hours and gets a paper saying ten hours @ $10/hr equals $100. In point of fact the dollars have very little intrinsic value but they represent ten hours labor @ $10/hr. If that $100 is given to a doctor, say, one might find that it covers one hour of labor, not ten. So, although the numerical markings on the paper have not changed the value of the paper has. Furthermore it is possible for someone to get their paws on a pile of paper when they have done nothing to earn it. It might be a promise or it might be theft. Let's say I find a wallet with $1000 in it and I keep the papers for myself. Aside from the question of right or wrong there is the displacement of labor contained in this act. I can now hire ten men to dig ten hours at $10.hr and get my basement fixed. Nevertheless it can be argued that there is an imbalance which will have to be reckoned with eventually.
In our society here in America, we can also write our own script through checks and money orders. We can write contracts for millions of hours of labor with no coins or paper passing hands. In short, currency has little or no value except to tally labor completed and/or promised. In recent years more and more of the tally markers are numbers on a computer screen. Eventually it would be possible to remove money from the system and replace it with a tally board of relative labor values and time spent in labor activities. Labor is not passive, it changes things. An hour with a doctor might result in a headache being cured or it might be a tumor detected and saving a person's life. Money takes on a local value determined by the value of that person's skill set. It is further modified by the immediate need for that skill set. When a pipe is not leaking a plumber's time is not so valuable.
Money was invented by the rich and powerful to hold sway over the poor. It tips the scales in society. If a person were to accumulate a considerable amount of money they would hold sway over those with none in a time of universal need. In a drought the money could be used to hire diggers to make a canal from a river to the farmlands. But nothing stops the diggers from digging before any money passes hands. The money is not even the motivation for digging, the water is. In a moneyless society the ditch would still get dug and all would benefit, but in a monied society if enough money is not present the ditch does not get dug and the farms suffer. An example is in Haiti where a lady owned several mango trees but hadn't enough water to grow more. The river was a few yards away and she needed a ditch. Arrangements were made for the ditch to be dug but because this was in a money environment it took many weeks of negotiating over who would get how many paper tokens in exchange for the use of the land and the transportation of the water for irrigation. It might be noted that the ditch can serve more than one farm. In a moneyless society it would quickly be determined that the ditch had value and workers would dig the ditch to increase the mango yield, serving many people in need.
I have had people question my contention that money per se has no real value and actually slows down an economy which is dependent on it. Prior to the invention of money work was accomplished by people in exchange for the common good. Like rice farmers working together for the common harvest things got done. We have used money for so long we have forgotten how to make things happen without it. I suggested recently that we have thousands of empty houses in America and thousands of homeless people. In a moneyless society it is obviously for the greater good to get those people into those houses. I am told that people who get houses "for free" will not appreciate the houses and will trash them. The bigotry revealed in this statement is really pretty obvious: the poor are slobs. The benefit to society should be obvious as well. People in houses get sick less often than people who live on park benches. There is no good reason for keeping the homeless as homeless, anymore than it is reasonable to keep people from working. Our bridges and roads are unsafe, we haven't enough light rail lines and virtually no way to move people around large cities without polluting the environment. All of these issues can be solved by people working together for the common good, and this labor pool would need to live in houses. The solution should be clear.
We would be surprised if firemen came to our burning home and declared their rates for saving the house, yet that is exactly how it worked a few years ago. Public financing of fire protection became a group effort because of the group impact of fires. Nobody goes to a fire with their hand out. Things change and we should be open to the passing of outmoded ways of getting things done. If we made food, housing and health care basic human rights afforded to all we could eliminate money, which would eliminate economic classes. People would work one on one with a fair exchange of goods and services being set up by the parties directly involved. One more item to scratch off the list of governmental functions.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Why is this important? Cut to a sound bite, Donald Rumsfeld, the Murderer of Iraq: "A treaty is just words on paper. That's all, words on paper." And he of course meant the same for all legal documents including the Constitution, all words on paper. Like the Bible for what that's worth. Like the oath of office Bush took: words on paper, signifying nothing. Now pan back to look at the administrations say all the way to Nixon. Look at the NAMES. Curious, when you consider how many people live in America, that so few have worked so long to run this country into the ground and the monies into their bank accounts. The same damn names over and over, a good old boy network that includes the 'right" kind of woman. Think Condi down on her knees doing Georgy Boy while he works on a puzzle.
Slip of the brain, sorry. So, no conspiracy, no plots written in blood by the night light. Actually these kind of people like rituals where somebody gets bloody, somebody gets off and nobody talks. So aside from that, let's get down to generalities. In a math problem the limits are known and finite. It is impossible to lie about one plus one equals two. You can jimmy up a form of math where analogies are made and substitutions are made, but still within that system the parameters have been spelled out and the rules are well known. One such form of math deals with chaos, the ruling deity of the Western world. You can use it's rules and parameters to follow a flock of birds for some distance before new data has to be added so they don't fly off. You can "see" how people will walk around a mall or in a stadium how the seats will fill up. Most of the time if you have enough variables spelled out you get pretty close. But chaos math still has rules and parameters, edges a little fuzzy but we have a handle on what the fuzz looks like up close.
Now take Don Rumsfeld and his words on paper. Let's ask Don to predict the flight path of a set number of particles being acted upon by Mars gravity and a forward uniform acceleration... ah! Now Don has folded his paper and snapped the pencil in half. He picks up his blackberry and calls up an engineer he owns and gives him the question. He hands the blackberry in and goes and buys another. See, math is just words and numbers on paper and Don has no time for that. he buys knowledge and owns people to remember for him. The one who knew about the Constitution fell down a mine shaft and exploded. But he never read Mein Kampf either, more words on paper. He is, however, living the books he never read, minus the death camps. Ours are much smaller so as not to attract a lot of attention.
Beck in a suit, Don with a blackberry and Bush with his girlfriend and millions of dollars. Toss in Rush and the rest of the wealthy assholes who think laws are for suckers and ethics get you killed, as if Hitler had a shred of ethics in his soul. In business, according to American standard fierce capitalism, it is a dog eat dog world. It is also a dog blackmail, murder, torture, slander world. Now in the theory set forth by Benito Mussolini, (by the way, Don, Benito actually wrote whole books of words on paper.) a fascist state is the result of a corrupted republic and republics are always going to corrupt because you put a small number of the wealthy elite in charge of all the money and power. He personally felt that this dog eat dog mechanism was part of a perfect state of eternal warfare wherein the best rose to the top. Social Darwinism is rampant in the writings(?!) of the right wing in America. They bought into the concept without understanding, I hope, who promulgated the concept. Now, a fascist state should more properly be called a corporate state and fascism is actually corporatism because the biggest corporations run the government for their own advantage while waging constant wars to keep up their bottom line. Nothing is so wasteful as a war. It uses up materials and people so fast that the factories and maternity wards can barely keep up with it. Nazi Germany and fascist Italy used slave labor from the countries they ate up. America uses Americans as slaves with the illusion that they have choices, when in fact none of the possible choices amount to a rats spitball. How many channels of pure crap do Americans have to choose from and yet how many corporations control the news sources for these American consumer-bots? Damn fucking few, and there is a reason for that and it is found in chaos theory.
A corporation is words on paper that a certain number of people or other corporations must agree with. Too few units and the thing is unable to protect itself from larger, nastier entities. Too big and it takes a government to support the appetite of the Beast. A country is words on paper tied to a physical location in which the document itself defines who shall be included. Note that it is identical to a corporation except for one small point: land. Multinational corporations are not like countries because they are oblivious to geography except as it relates to commodities and resources. They don't care if their actions destroy a country and send it's people into exile. they don't care because nowhere in the Corpora does it state that they care, so they don't. In the Constitution, dear reader, there is no mention of caring for people, not people caring for people. There are mentions of the government having responsibilities, duties and powers, but nothing about giving a damn about the old, the sick, the homeless. So they don't.
They are the people who run the corporation that is America, a huge, multinational corporation whose main product is death. It runs on human souls and bodies and has been in charge of my country for about 40 years that I know of. The ultra rich in America are not always the ones with the most dollars. In times of war, constant, never-ending war the real wealthy invest in things like gold, slaves, countries. Nothing has changed in 8,000 years except the words on the paper and they signify nothing.
The only thing that never changes, according to Fred Brighton, PhD, poet, philosopher and author of "It Takes A Real Prick to Screw America", is inconsistency. And per his Theory of 1957: "The only true consistency is inconsistency, and the only true inconsistency is inconsistent inconsistency." So you may go for 200 years thinking you lived in a democracy or a democratic republic, only to wake up in a failed empire collapsing into a fascist state, or Uber-Corporation. But in one or two years it might suddenly shift into a simple society of farmers and hunters linked by fiber and separated by miles of dangerous, toxic wastelands. It's all good! Nobody gets to live forever, no matter what words there are on paper. Cheney is kidding himself that bathing in babies blood while fucking your daughter will make you immortal.
Thursday, June 03, 2010
Lately they have been playing clips of the Twin Towers burning and collapsing. Watching the second Tower come down I was reminded of a collapsing empire, how it teeters and rebounds, slips, and burns, until finally it's obvious to everyone what is happening and it collapses the last few feet. The Empire has collapsed into it's component parts. Then everybody around is breathing unhealthy air, contaminated water and debris falling, floating and blocking all the unlucky survivors. You don't want to be too close to the center of either the Empire or the Tower.
This oil will reach the Stream and poison beaches along the Atlantic seaboard. As it slowly kills off the fish population and the bottom feeders we can expect major changes to the chemistry of the sea water. Look at pictures of "dead zones". Now, here's the thing: unless this has a cooling impact on the waters we will continue to see the ice caps melt. Should they do so as the temperature rises we can expect more active, destructive hurricanes-born in the Gulf. So we have chemical stews of poisonous brews being tossed up above the flood lines by massive CAT 5 storms hitting a beach which is several hundred feet higher anyway because the oceans are rising! Got that? Whew. The oceans become lifeless here and there, especially in the Gulf, where we used to get a lot of our fish from, since the Atlantic fish are being fished out. They also get higher all over as the ice caps melt and the Greenland icecap especially melts. Now, as I said before, unless something happens to slow the melt... and that is a done deal by now, way too much inertia behind the warming... the storms continue to get larger and faster, influenced by our constant adding to the oceans chemicals which kill off our food supply. If we dumped this crap on our soils we would have to import all our food from China.
The good news is that with decreased salinity and increased petrochemicals the Gulf Stream may not stay on course. If it does not flow north, past Iceland and down past Britain, and back around to Florida or Cuba. That's part of the reason that hurricanes spin like that. And as the air mass expands due to heating, it doesn't gain mass, it gains volume, which allows for a bigger storm ceiling, and that changes weather patterns. I am hoping their various computer simulations included such a possibility. The Stream changing course, I mean. Although that might make Paris more like Montreal or Seattle. Alas for Boston! The City That never Sleeps will finally lay down and close her eyes, perhaps for good.
Filth, death, and poison, flavored with lies and stupidity all coming towards Washington is nothing new, but this time it's not a Party, it's a multinational corporation. In other words just a guy, a person like you or me... according to the Supreme Court.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
A station wagon pulled up and the door to an old Plymouth wagon was the pearly gates and Golden Gate all in one. I climbed in and promptly shook my boots out to make sure I had no passengers and to check on the size of the damage. I had two good sized holes in each moccasin. It could have been worse, though, because I had traded an old harmonica to a kid for a nice calf hide. I just cut off a portion with my knife and placed it into a moccasin over the hole. When i was done I could get several more miles out of those guys! Good job! Now I looked at the guy driving the wagon.
He was scruffy, I guess, but I was worse off. He was also sucking on a bottle in a brown paper bag and holding the steering wheel with his left index finger while his elbow rested on the old girl's elbow rest. Not a bad deal, maybe a buzz, certainly further down the road, and best of al no snakes. I remember looking around back to make sure he wasn't transporting snakes to some zoo in Seattle. He wasn't. It had been raining off and on for an hour or so and my fake fur jacket smelled like a wet dog.
So when Wrigley and I went out back to open up the hen house and check for evidence of woodchucks or foxes messing around, as I walked up the path I was wearing my big green boots because it had been raining off and on and by now Wrigley smelled like a wet dog, which is of course what he was. But it takes you back. It takes me back anyway.
Fish and chips, good fish and chips in a newspaper cone with vinegar and salt on the chips and fish does it for me. I'm on Haight Street, that great street and it's 1967. I fear I was dressed in a green satin dressing gown sheered short and hemmed by my own fingers. It was a bit of splendor to make up for the sandals, tee shirt and jeans. Like the beads, except the beads on the street often moved from neck to neck, like puppies. But the small portion of fish and chips at the Shamrock cost a mere 30 cents and the large portion only 60 cents. That was not too hard to panhandle. A large portion had 2-3 chunks of fish and a LOT of chips, we'd be able to feed a multitude with a couple large portions. Everybody shared. Couples with babies were not unknown, but not often seen during the day. They tended to have crash pads and the ladies were often at home tending to the baby. Sometimes several couples would occupy a flat and there would be dogs and kids and a lot of confusion. They were always melting pots with all the races represented and some in between.
Going over to a place with a friend for some reason dealing with drugs and music... As we approach the front porch my friend turns to me and says, "Now, don't stare. Doug and Ada are nudists.." and the door opened. She was remarkably beautiful, with a full round moon-like face surrounded by a cascade of midnight hair and a Bode body, all pale and rounded. I could not stare. I looked beyond her to see the old man sitting on the couch, rolling a joint. I was real happy and it must have shown, because now that Goddess of the moment was in the kitchen wearing an apron and washing the sink full of dishes. Still, she had twin moons and I could glance as we chatted. Later, carrying an amp and being fairly high, I walked back to my friends house where, conceivably we would smoke a little more while trying out the amp. My friend turned to me and raised an eyebrow. "How'd I do?" I asked him. He looked away for a moment, thinking in silence. "Well, it's hard, ya know?" he said. We walked in silence back to his crash. It was hard.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Saturday, March 06, 2010
A "country" is a concept, an agreement between individuals. Our nation was formed via a Constitution and Bill of Rights. Through the years we have amended our nation and our rights by making agreements with the world, for instance on how we will conduct ourselves in war. None of the agreements and contracts have any meaning if we show the world that we have no respect for written agreements, for treaties or promises. By killing civilians in Pakistan, Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan and other locations like Gitmo and simply ignoring those deaths as somehow unimportant we show the world that the United States is untrustworthy and dangerous. The more we kill the more dangerous we show ourselves to be. We even poison fish supplies by dumping garbage and chemicals into the waters off Somalia and Peru. In short, in spite of our past actions where we "saved the world" we are killing it now. As my father used to say, "That dog won't hunt."
The world will someday stop us, it will have to in order to save itself. I would hope we could somehow do it ourselves, thus saving millions of lives, but we will have to turn off the TV and march in the cold, being chased by security forces and maybe even jailed. The question is, do we believe in anything anymore enough to risk our peace if not our lives?
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
faced, too much. It seems that the initial
response to life, the immediate response, is
pure bi-polar good-bad, instantly. A bit of
tissue moves away from a bright light, or
towards it. This is my response: that it can
be a gray zone when no immediate response is
possible. Say you are interested in speaking
with someone and you are in a dark room,
possibly even outside in a new moon
situation, but you are walking about in the
dark while looking for someone and you bump
into someone. You may startle back and then
exhale to exclaim, "Whoosh! Oh, Jack! I was
looking for you!" To which Jack might say,
"In the dark, Jill?" But it doesn't matter,
Jill was looking for Jack and found Jack, so
that was "good", right? Well, yes, in the
short term, but in the immediate term, the
moment of contact, Jill stepped back and
inhaled sharply, before recognizing Jack's
leather jacket and exhaling like a hoot owl.
The owl was a symbol of wisdom, knowledge,
by virtue of an association with a version
of the Goddess.
Jill had a response that was from a
different part of her brain than the one
that "knew" Jack's leather jacket. In fact,
in a dark room it only knew "me" and "not
me- dangerous". This binary knowledge of
life is cellular. It comes from our spine
and the base of our brain; it comes from our
nerves in our fingers. Both Jill and Jack
and ourselves are a vast condominium complex
of cells and cell families. Just like any
small town most cells know or are aware of
the cells around the neighborhood. They are
much more aware of their families, the cells
they most have physical contact with. Some
cells just bounce around in fluids, like
"white bloods" and "the reds", who sometimes
get into altercations with other cells,
especially those from outside the
neighborhood, like rose thorns. There are
times when cells will die in the attempt to
kill other cells from outside the 'hood.
So it might be noted that racism is at it's
roots a cellular artifact. It should be
understood as that and treated as that. A
viral infection, such as re-writing history
can change an aversion to an insane hatred,
leading to a violent confrontation, death
and corruption. Corruption of the core
systems of the body will kill it, make it
incapable of going along with the everyday
needs of life. Cells die all the time. They
get replaced, until someday they don't. Then
some move on to other lifestyles. Compost.
Other compilations of living organisms may
recycle most of what is left. This is also
how cultures takes up the remains of other
cultures. They take up the knowledge, the
rituals, and the history of other cultures.
Suppose Jack had ingested a slice of rye
bread which had been made from flour
containing generous amounts of a fungal
infection called ergot that likes to grow on
certain cells. This bread now is being
digested in Jack's stomach and the
ergot amine poisoning has him seeing
everything in bright red flames and Jill's
eyes are burning coals while her hands are
those of a demonic banshee. So, naturally
when Jack said, "In the Dark, Jill?" he
meant the Dark Side, ie, Hell. So when she
reached for his face Jack did what any other
all American boy holding a bucket of water
would do: he beaned Jill on the head,
causing her to fall and twist her ankle.
Finding Jack in the dark like that was
really "bad" for Jill, and "bad" for Jack,
who continued on his psychedelic rampage for
another 12 hours and finally is arrested for
attacking a lamp post with a baseball bat,
and resisting arrest, assaulting an officer,
profanity and attempted sexual assault. Jack
had a real bad time after that.
Good - Bad? Who is to say? That's why they
call them "cell phones" so there is better
communication between the cells, and this
sort of thing doesn't happen. Jill could
have called someone, maybe Peter, and asked
where Jack was, whereupon Peter would
clumsily explain that they had gotten some
"bad bread, man" and everybody was freaking
out! She might have then tried to find a
safe place to sit it out, maybe called
someone else to meet her with a flashlight
Timing is critical, timing and experience.
If Jill had not wasted time hanging around
the 'hood with Jack and had got to night
school, or maybe taken classes in aikido or
intervention techniques, she could have
handled the encounter with a host of
variations.Alas for Jill, so many of them
would have gotten her hurt and Jack freaked
out, but at least two variations would have
had them making crazy monkey love under a
full moon, so that would be good.
Thursday, February 04, 2010
I've always enjoyed paper mache. I always thought it neat to be able to make little heads over a light bulb and then sew clothes for the heads to make puppets. I'd put together plays, with special effects for a smoking dragon and even performed in libraries for kids. Great fun. But the dragon was not a dragon and the smoke was a toasted Cavendish. Still the kids liked it and some young ones were even a little afraid of the dragon. They were afraid to touch him. They'd seen the smoke and heard the words and even though the knight had slain the dragon, apparently "slain" did not mean killed, because here he was, still smoking, potentially at least.
I'm not sure that kid was so wrong to fear a dragon. They have been known to terrorize a community, which does entail eating some of them. So people have been taken into the belly of a dragon, what an experience. Dragons, like snakes, could eat a person slowly from the feet up, or perhaps head first to quickly quiet the prey. Lots of things can creep up on you, lots of ways to die. Yet here we are, tickling the tonsils of a dragon and still wagging our feet at the sky. There is no sulphur to a dragon, contrary to popular fiction. The flames come from methane belches, followed quickly by the clicking together of steel and flint in the dragons teeth. This is one reason they come into human territories, to acquire the steel. The flint they can dig up themselves. It must have been an early, stone age dragon who discovered it could light beleches in the same way a human learned to light farts.
But the picture of early dragons roasting men for dinner does create a lasting image on the collective consciousness of homo erectus. It would collect on the DNA. DNA has that double helix thing, which is interesting in the fact that dragons fly up and descend in a tight spiral, creating a double helix flight path, also the spiral is the path a human takes being swallowed whole by a dragon. It was said that a knight going out to fight a particularrly nasty dragon would eat sausage and cabbage the night before so that if taken by surprise the knight could let loose a huge fart at the wrong time for the dragon and thus blow it's head off, killing both the dragon and the knight. This was the first suicide attack on another species. Since then we've gotten into doing it to other humans. Not the fart, so much, although we do produce a hell of a lot of methane, but the blowing up onesself for ones something or another, usually something invisible.
The funny thing is, all that blowing up stuff is pointless from the viewpoint that there isn't a lot of stuff to blow up, per se. Most of what gets blown up is empty space and packets of frequencies, except, of course, it ain't. IT's not a thing, though, it's things. many things, none with names, none with subjects or predicates, no verbs to offend. These things are called Dark Matter and they are dark because they just don't give a rats ass about the rest of the universe, which is not even nearly as much as the dark matter is. Most of the universe doesn't give a rats ass if everything blows up. It's happened before and will happen again, like a little red rubber ball on the end of a band, smacking some Great Paddle in the Nothing and impacting mostly nothing, but still, the back and forth goes on, sometimes you get a hit, sometimes you are hit. Nothing to get excited about, it's just an exchange of frequencies, some math to balance the Ledger and then you find that dark matter Caused an effect in the rest of the universe, just by being. This darkness is always opposed, but never overcome, because we are in and out of it, like water and oil, spinning in Nothing, forming a Great Yin Yang.
Sometimes the back of a mask is well made, smooth and polished by the foreheads of many actors. Sometimes the back of the mask is crude, chiseled out quickly to produce something for a tourist, or maybe a yearly ceremony, after which the mask is discarded, or sold to tourists. The special masks are painted with blood, smeared with spit, polished with the hair of the creator. Feathers may adorn it, down from a chick, and white dung used to paint the lines. This special mask is never seen, but is buried high in the hills in a very special place, sometimes with a child, sacrifised to be a servant to the God who will wear this mask. The child is always a female. They adorn her face with special signs, drape an expensive shawl over her, give her drugged drinks and then escort her up the hills to the very special place. By the time she gets there she is so stoned she thinks she is a goddess going to marry a god. They take her to the cave and she leans in to see the Special mask worn only by a god and seen only by one other person. Then they hit her very hard in the back of the skull and place her in the cave, seal it up and never return.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
The camera pans. GoogleEarth zooms down to Lake Katrine, to a bed near a window where a 35 year old man stares or sleeps. He's my boy, my child and for so many seemingly lame reasons, it is rare I can hold his hand. He's 100 miles away, being otherwise “cared” for, but in the end they don't care. IN point of fact a tiny piece of a percentage of the money being sent to help that other father and his poor, wandering neighbors, is all that prevents my boy from being closer to me when he dies. See, it is a fact that the general pool of brain injured people die after about 15-20 years. The ones who got deeply hurt, who almost never wake up, they tend to die easier and last fewer years. So it is not with a conspiracy I fear for my boy, it is time, and time is hard to avoid.
Jon could have been a father, should have been, would have been a good one, maybe if we didn't fight about how he was raised. I tend to interfere and that isn't something I'd want to hang on to. I might get a TV star to raise awareness of Jon and have his sperm extracted to give us a child to carry on his name. Oh, that would have ratings and hate mail. But I would much rather Jon hand over his own child, made by him, than some quasi-verse where we can skip past Jon to his child's life. There are so many reasons I could give for Jon being nearby, healthy or not, conscious or not. Jon may be the only man never to tell me to shut up, to let me prattle on about politics or faith. But I know I do not know he hears me, it is a matter of faith.
I do know that my body finds it hard to bear the pain and the liminal points, the edges and joints, are thinning a bit. In fact several are starting to go away, making it harder to take a 2 hour drive to be with my son so I can chat with him, possibly, almost certainly stimulating a few new cells to procreate, my boy trying to get control of his lungs and mouth so he can at long last ask me to change the channel or just shut up for a change. Failing that everyday stimulation from someone who loves him, my boy will most certainly die before I do. It is not hard to imagine him doing it alone, in a white bed, by a window, but not being able to look out at the sky. I can't even hang a poster from the ceiling for him to stare at, because, of course, the nurses and staff could not do what they have to do to keep his body clean and free from infection. An infection run wild, anti-biotic resistant, will eventually give him a pneumonia from which he will not recover. They will probably give me his ashes, or I may have to chase them down.
So it is I observe a Haitian man frantically staring all around at the bodies, trying to find his child, and fearing that he will find his child.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Now, for a moment, I want you to see things through different eyes. I want you to see things filtered by some category or another and I want you to lose yourself in that perception. I am used to disappointments. Here's the thing: I am here digesting the contents of an imported beer, contemplating the idea of getting up and brewing up a 5 gallon batch of brown ale. I'd use the water from our well, our new, deep well. So the beer would be digesting malts and such using local water and local minerals. It would have a certain dialect. That beer would sit in my basement for a week or three, and then I'd be drinking it, rather than one imported from England. I like England. But I digest.
Over there, sitting on the couch which was made in Denmark in the 70's, eating her crunchy sandwich and thinking about school, is my sister-in-law. She's digesting food made somewhere between 100 and 3,000 miles away and shipped through an armada of vessels allowing us to have lettuce in our sandwich.
Outside I can see a little red squirrel eating the last of a corn cob. His stomach can handle what the stomachs of the jays could not. Actually, his intestine is processing the cob through the actions of some little critters about a cell wide, or if you get technical you'd have to admit that even at that scale there is a lot of sub-contracting going on, so they are about two cells wide. They are unions of specialists, each able to do a limited set of actions on something pressing against them, like a slurry of cob, seed, dirt and maybe suet. Like an assembly line the stuff that passes is added to or subtracted from, and the final product becomes food for the next down the line. The sunflowers that the squirrel favors are flavored with poop from the squirrel that favored them. Neat. But I digest.
Now see me at my table, my sister-in-law on the couch, the red squirrel on the tip of the elderberry shrub, just those three entities. Ah! Now see, in a simultaneous shift, just the intestines with the sub-contractors and digesters all working in such a way as to create heat, housing, employment, raw materials and social intercourse. Ah! It's slimy, I suppose, but still those wriggling tubes of shit and workers are analogous to a string of small towns and strip malls alongside a freeway or local highway. The people aren't the same color, but hey, what the hell? See those struggling worker unions, those hardhats and picket lines. That's our body, but that's our body expanded to relate to everything else. That's our local environment imprinted on our own DNA from drinking the water, eating the eggs and walking the walk. We aren't what we eat so much as we are what eats us, as well as how we handle the changes.
So now, looking at those twisting colonies of entities you should be able to notice the patterns of correspondence re the squirrel, the two humans AND as we refocus our eyes to acknowledge the earth beneath the squirrel is teeming with those unions, the couch has billions of entities working in and out of tandem, just getting by. My skin, my hair, my dog, all teem with workers changing one environment into another. We're getting beyond surfaces here. We're seeing our reflection on every facet of our environment. When the sun shines we are blinded by our presence. Except it is also the presence of the red squirrel, The earth itself and all the faces turned to behold that which holds us. It's fascinating.
I saw a red squirrel with a corn cob in it's mouth, chasing another red squirrel who had none, no doubt proving Darwin was squirrely. Who was directing the fight, the flight, the request and refusal? Who was it, the two sacks of little bitty workers hungry for more stuff to process, or the little squirrel brains which handled the chattering and scratching? Was it deeper than that? Do molecules crave carbon and oxygen? Do they whore themselves if needed for a nice oxygen fix? The earth, the Earth, Urda, all consume mountains of us all, taking us all in and changing us into nice oaks and poplars. That “sack” of critters is my Mom, I'll have you know! She's everything a boy could need, and more. She's everywhere, she will never stand you up. She might let you die. In fact, she most certainly will.
I could never eat a corn cob, neither could my sister-in-law. Our guts would not stand for it, the unions would go on strike. If you want to eat a corn cob, wait a bit and eat a squirrel, it's the same thing. It will taste like chicken. But I digest.
What would a sustainable life feel like? What if the critters eating that beer knew that in about 30 years the whole neighborhood would go to shit? Would they be long dead, or reincarnated into some other living entity? Would they just move into the Earth and start digesting there? Eventually the region would start to show promise as more minerals and critters died and were reborn. One day some being would harvest the wild fruit and make a fine beer or wine and have a moment when they realized how every living thing was related directly and indirectly to a common source of life and sustenance. Our old pall David Korten failed to name Her, but She has so many names...
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
But what if it falls down? Then it isn't a bridge any more? But the rust is still there, the steel, the paint, all there. Pigeon shit may wash off, but it stays long enough to argue the case for the bridge. Then it flows downstream and the bridge rusts, the steel breaks down and the sands take up the color of the old bridge. Something was missing after the bridge came down, something left. Maybe the bridge had a soul, and maybe few could see the soul of the bridge in the steel cables and asphalt drives.
Now somebody took a picture of that bridge in an early morning fog and developed it in platinum and they hung it in a great gallery. It hangs there today. People who look at it can smell the fog, hear the birds and the rumble of the trucks. They sense the soul of that bridge. So that's where the soul went? Were the Plains Indians right to worry about the camera? Some young lover wrote a passionate poem, an epic tome poem comparing their love to that bridge, that wonderful bridge! And reading that poem you get a sense of the soul of that bridge, because it was built for love and for beauty. So there's more soul for you, we're getting closer.
Behind all surfaces, inside all mechanics, there are bits and pieces of a greater soul, enhancing and embracing the delusion of surface while providing the reason for life, for slogging through the physical strain of holding up a body, a form. Yet all is vibration, all is movement, all matter mere properties. So the mass is brass because you've got your head up your ass.
You can't go on forever, you know, pretending you don't understand the eleven dimensions and the folly of picking and choosing a few for particular attention, that's just squinting. Babies play peek-a-boo because it's fun. Mommies play it because it's fun and the baby laughs so sweetly. Neither is fooled by surfaces, no baby ever thought the mother was gone. The confusion comes when the laughter stops. A woman sobbing with her hands over her face, weeping over the covered up face of her baby, this too is confusion. This is a delusion of surfaces that can cause collapse. The knees get weak, the thighs tremble and the stomach sucks in a deep sob and there is a collapse, the bridge between two souls seems gone. This is confusion over surfaces.
When the last photo of the last bridge left behind by the last two people is dust, all of that, all of them, will be as the paint and shit that flowed downstream and stuck to the shore. Still there, just not so easy to see anymore, like a mother with her hands over her face, it's hard to see. And yet, it is because we are small and the rest is so big that we focus on parts and surfaces. But behind the fingers, behind the tears streaming down the face, is Mother and Children should know that. The covered up baby, the cold slab of meat and bone, this is not all there is to a baby and the soul has floated downstream to stick to another shore, but never gone. Even scientists agree things cannot be destroyed, only changed, and change is life, life is change.
What happens to the salt you put in the stew? It's in the flavor, in the smell. It's everywhere there is stew.
We aren't the meat, we're the salt of the earth.
Sunday, January 03, 2010
The sacred widow dons black and grieves
The desert children weep and plead
For someone to supply their need
But none will hear and done's the deed.
The circle's closed, the candle snuffed
The shaman asks, "Was it enough?"
The holy rivers flow dark with mud
The streets of Babylon are thick with blood,
Imams and pastors locked in hate
While angels sleep before the gate
And orphans slink into the night
To dance beneath a moon so white
And owls and jackals post the guard
Beneath a sky so brightly starred.