it's the most wonderful time of the year

tonight's my favorite holiday.

the time fairy, a jolly old cuss named ben, appears to true believers, granting all good children and their tired parents an extra hour of sleep. indiana is obviously a land void of such faith.

but we believe ... oh we do we do we do.

happy birthday dad!

you would have been 77.

today i honored you by doing something you never did: slept all day.

what a bastard son you had, eh?

miss you.

new mantra

i'm so awesome. i love being me. if no one else gets it, that's okay, i do. thanks to all who try. those who don't, in time, you will. those who won't, please, keep your shit to yourself. i have plenty of that on my plate already.

admittedly, a bit late -- like 27 years too late -- but, it gets me through the day.

when did doctors become gods and when did gods lose the power of observation?

16 june 2009
scramble for an md: urgent care nightmare.

the first bit here (down to the thank you) is what i had prepared when i went to urgent care. the second (down to my ride) is what i typed while there. the third (down to what is) is both what i hand wrote there and further thoughts the next day or so.

hello, i'm ken oster. recently, both my partner (laura) and my case supervisor at mrdd (dori) have called on my behalf, seeking an md to fill out a med evaluation for me, so we can get rolling with my waiver for assistants. we're soon running out of time, with a june 25 deadline.

my md passed away just over a year ago, and i'm now happily seeing an amish healer, but this form requires an md. i brought my records from my previous doctor, in case that helps. i will, however, need those back before i leave today.

laura mentioned to me a $95 fee for this, but dori did not. i have both medicare and medicaid, and i'm prepared to pay. either way is fine with me.

thank you!

i can write and hear and understand fine, just can't talk. brain injury (ataxia) 26 years ago, makes me like someone with cerebral palsy. all that should be required is a little patience. i'm very pleasant.

my return ride comes between 1-1:30.

dr. morgan asked if i had a barium swallow study done. i nodded, then wrote him the following.
my last barium swallow study was probably 20 years ago. they wanted to do another in fall 2006 when i got pneumonia, but i refused because i had just spent over $3k getting rid of such heavy metals. now, however, i'm not so opposed to the test: whatever helps.

i cringed with my newfound compliance, as i wrote that last sentence. was it too much information? would he use it against me and demand that i play hardball also? well, that's just what he did. he handed my med eval back and said he'd sign it only after he sees the beryum swallow results.

i don't know what he hopes to prove by this. perhaps so he can recommend i get a g-tube. that won't happen until i've exhausted every natural means of getting nutrients. soft food and juicing. i've already tried the ensure route (1992-96). sure, eating was easier when all i had to do was down a can or two of ensure plus. medicaid even paid for two cases per month throughout 1992. but it filled me with chemicals, from which i later had to detox. i've seen what g-tube patients get fed and am not anxious to repeat that detox process again,

bottom line is that i know what's going on with my body, and i'm comfortable keeping such knowledge to myself, out of reach of "professionals" who want to medicalize me. i was proud of my feat in 2006, until i saw the report from that hospital about a year ago. evidently, my silence gave the staff there reason to treat me as an inferior: something, again, i didn't see at the time, but laura did. no wonder she was always livid when there.

thinking back, i wish i would've done the test in 2006. that way, dr. bharwaj could've dismissed all this g-tube nonsense, and we'd be set. but, deal with what is.

24 june 2009
a barium tinted failure.

the barium swallow study was very artificial. first, i was fed a small spoonful of barium applesauce, and the first alarm came when i had trouble closing my mouth around it. after about 30 seconds or so of me just sitting agape, the speech pathologist feeding me said, "i'm just going to put it on your tongue." still, i had trouble getting it down because the amount was so small--i take big bites and am never fed. next the third artificiality occurred when i was told to sip the watery barium. i did, and again had trouble getting it down, because the amount was so small. in at least 25 years, i never sip, i chug. that's what works for me.

the doctor performing the barium test asked me if i cough a lot when i eat/drink. i just do what i do and had never really thought about it, so i said "sometimes." during the test i suppressed my cough as long as i could, thinking that was expected, but when i finally did, the barium had already been going down the wrong tube for a few seconds, so he said "you're aspirating, and just now, you cough? such a delay is an invitation to pneumonia." that felt like a set up. afterwards, i observed my meals with new eyes, and yes, i cough a lot, unless i'm trying to be polite.

anyway, at that point he said i need a g tube. i said no way, not until i've exhausted every natural means of dealing with this. he quipped that i probably had, and then asked for my partner's number right away. he left the room again and i had no idea what was going on, even when he came back and said, "alright, i think we're done." like an idiot, i left there beaming, with no shortage of "thank you" signs. relieved to be done with a year long process, i was happy until i got home and checked i.m. there, laura told me that he'd be recommending a g tube. i was crushed. what i thought was the last step to get the waiver, was actually the first step to get medicalized.

during their phone conversation laura told me that "I told the doc at good sam that the assistant is our solution to your nutritional deficiency, not a g tube. I told him you have difficulty swallowing that makes you uncomfortable, but not sick." i'm very thankful she had the presence of mind to say what i couldn't. nonetheless, had i seen there what was happening, i would have said, "think about what you're condemning me to: with the md who passed away, i spent over $6000 getting a healthy gut flora--he made it so my body could actually metabolize over 120 foods that i had been allergic to--and you want to invasively introduce a foreign object to this gut and just hope my body won't reject it, all based on an artificial test and what you think my body weight should be? i've never ever been more than a tall drink of water. all my life. even before my accident, 26 years ago. this is quite appalling, especially when there are many natural therapies to get my tongue working."

after reading about the procedure, all the maintenance, cleaning, risk of infection and all the highly processed chemicals to be dumped into my body through it, i was abysmally depressed. i got the feeling like i did in 2002, when a doctor at drake prescribed me antidepressants to help me sleep, "they're not really for that, but in low doses, i think they'll help." i read up on them and figured i need all the brain cells i can keep: my mind was all i could truly call my own, so no thanks. it felt then, as it does now, that if i go with what the doctor says, i'd be opening a door that i couldn't get back through, that i'd enter a much darker world.

experientially, i know mouth massage helps and i know a turbo-sonic (whole body vibration therapy) helps. perhaps i could try and combine them, intensively, over the next 6 months. if i'm not better by then, i'll consider the g tube.

time warner sucks

here we go again. we fully quit these jokers over a year ago, after paying for what was, on their part, clearly a breach of contract.

like many households, we ditched our landline in favor of cell phones more than two years ago. for internet, that left all isp's like the phone company, dsl, etc. out of the picture. "maybe cable could work," we thought. so we opted for the only gun in town: time warner.

that's how they became our internet service provider. the end of that run is not so pretty.

i had, so i thought, set us up with wi-fi with a decent router for my wife's pc desktop. i have a pismo with an airport card. everything was peachy for about eight months, though i could most often only get a signal in the front portion of the house. then i remembered savvy sages saying the higher the access point, the better the reception for everyone. so up, up, up went the pc to the third floor. from then on the signal of our router was indeed strong, but for some reason, the cable just wouldn't stay connected. we had to call time warner multiple times to come fix it. the hapless, worn technicians would try a dizzying number of solutions. the last of which almost always got us up and running a day or two more. the last three months, we got maybe a week of service: total. they then bullied me into paying for service not rendered.

so we were done with time warner.

as long as i camped in the front room, my pismo, which has next to no battery life left, was able to pick up a pretty good signal from friendly neighbors. because of a recent reshuffling, i no longer go in that room, so my connection is, again, shotty at best.

i thought, "cantenna to the rescue," but never could figure out how to make that work for either the internal wi-fi card in my powerbook or the cardless, but routered pc.

so we're back in the hands of a bumbling monopoly. same incompetence, terrible equipment and worried workers (man, they must treat their employees/contractors like dirt). nothing's changed, except maybe the time it took me to smell something afoul. barely minutes in, and already i want out.

blink

and just like that the world loses a great light.

more later. still in shock.

no rich, no poor, no confidence in war

if i vote, it'll be for the write in candidate: No Confidence.

revolt. now.

impeachment is on the table

click title to see historic fidelity to constituency, you won't find in most u.s. media. it's long, but keep watching because the last quarter is all about Iran, which makes this all the more important, timely.

way to go kucinich!

happy holocaust day

my, what sadistic roots we have. no wonder we're where we are today.

no way out -- let's shop!

click title: so we're gonna do a rear door entrance into Iran. why is no one alarmed?

big brother's sleight of hand works again. been working here for over 200 years. why don't we see patterns?

are we that distracted?

tv turnoff week

a smashing idea by friends in Britain now deserves even more consideration. click title to see what's on the media menu -- morning, noon and night -- this upcoming week. sound familiar?

juxtaposition

does one necessitate the other? how else could we afford to fill our tanks? five centuries of resource theft. will we ever learn?

what do they got that i ain't got?

courage.

your spineless pundit here. at least now i know why so few speak up.

a couple posts ago was written and ready to go, but i wouldn't publish it until after laura and i returned from vacation. been subject to too many "random" searches at airports. maybe it's just the way i look, but i suspect my views in writ have put me on a few lists. maybe i'm just paranoid, but didn't wanna risk it. not this time.

laura has now seen an ocean and walden pond. great time. i got to see the green monster and a red sox win. woo-hoo! we both had wonderful times with friends, old and new.

now, back to my usual depressed rants.

sicko

saw it twice opening week. my earlier post about lil bush & cancer research is starting to make sense now.

it's all about money.

see the film, mike's least partisan work since roger & me. a real gem.

when ya can't cum, just stick yer dick up the neighbor's ass

yeah, that'll work.

the much acclaimed republican rebellion (sic) against our abysmal failure in Iraq won't make a lick of difference. our (sic) senate this past week voted unanimously to extend our high crime to Iran. unanimous. not hillary, not obama, not even boxer bothered to listen to her constituents wishes. note that for 2008. nothing's gonna change our course.

as i've said before, that bunch of crooks, the extension of the moneyed cabal in charge must be dismantled immediately. checks? balances? gone.

hope?

click title when you have an hour. kinda reminds me of "cuba" without the trippy, but brilliant cinematography.

mayday

revolt: for those who give a damn.

exactly

my first reaction to the overproduction of this tragedy was to think it's a daily horror from which there is no escape in Iraq, but this perspective (click title) takes the cake. shame, shame, nothing but shame.

ahem

"The main business of humanity is to do a good job of being human beings, not to serve as appendages to machines, institutions, and systems."

— "Player Piano," १९५२

well put, kurt. a beautiful, fitting epitaph. thank you, and goodbye.

way to go, fuckball

you can blow half a trillion on your war in iraq, and drastically slash spending on cancer research. which war is winnable? apparently, neither. which war is worth fighting? i'd have to go with cancer. maybe that's just me.

your priorities are showing: destroying life is way more important than saving it. i'll bet this ain't exactly that for which you'd prefer to be remembered.

may the memory of you be erased from time.

oh yeah, forgot you don't get concepts like that.

here we go again

iran. the build up has begun, disinformation is being chewed, swallowed and regurgitated by our "free" press, and those in power are convinced this is the thing that'll divert everyone's eyes off their fuck up directly west of there.

you know those sing-songy phrases, like "i don't know?" (mm-MM-mm), well the other morning i swear my cockatiel sang "what the hell?"

exactly, a. imagine that, a bird with more sense than the thieving marauders in cheneyland.

seriously though, we must stop this insanity.

any ideas?

rock salt: better than a patch

yesterday was my Granddad's 87th birthday. he died late last october while i was in and out of delusional reality with fever. i never really got to deal with it back then, so this post is an attempt to honor Harold Arthur Sturgeon and give a glimpse of his impact on my life.

to do that i first must paint a backdrop. it'll be small, but necessary to get the whole picture.

at 12, i was the one who decided to put velour bucket seats in the proverbial handbasket that would tote me around my destination of choice. highway to hell? please. i expected real estate, or at least a boulevard bearing my name. for this story it's enough to know i had smoked since 9 and sneaked out every night to participate in mostly misdemeanor behavior. in short, i had become unmanageable. my parents were certainly at wits end. i heard rumors floating around the house, "why not let Grandma Hazel and Granddad Harold have a go at it, before he enters high school?" so, i moved from city to farm for what turned out to be just the first semester of eighth grade.

oh yeah, and Granddad was a diesel mechanic as well as a farmer. that's pretty important to the story.

i had been there perhaps a week when i found a way to sneak out in the middle of the night. it involved the flat roof garage and somehow climbing down the diesel fuel tank/pump that stood above tractor height near that portion of the house. sometimes i sneaked out to bike to the nearest truck stop to buy cigarettes or chew; sometimes it was to have just one last lung full of smoke before hitting the hay (you know too much of this country air will kill you); but always, the thrill of doing what you're not supposed to was incentive enough for this 13 year old boy. i guess that's what kept me on the crooked and wide.

on a chilly late autumn night i was enjoying a smoke down by the diesel tank (not the smartest thing i've done, but by no means the dumbest either), when i heard CHK-CHK!

this gig was up.

"boy, you almost got an ass full of rock salt," Granddad explained after he marched me inside. and that's how i lost my taste for vaporized nicotine. come to think of it, he also cured my need to sneak out that night.

i love you. i miss you.

prediction

ok, i've been thinking this a couple years now and just want some public account of my lunacy. figure better do it before our village idiot mounts the airwaves tonight.

given his utter contempt for law, the constitution and (more recently demonstrable) congress, i think lil' george will follow the lead of his enemy, chavez, and pull an fdr on us.

who needs term limits when war is upon us and there's more elections to steal?

there ya have it, for the record.

hopes

My sixth grade math teacher was of German descent. On occasion, she'd teach us a phrase or two or provide historical insights that we couldn't get in books. One day the holocaust came up. She got quiet, and so did we (amazing what a sensitive subject can do to a rowdy class of preteens).

"I wish," she softly began, "I wish Hitler wouldn't have died."

We were all aghast, but she continued, "He got off too easy for his crimes. Far too easy. Now justice is lost."

Though it's not a direct correlation, I think the same for our Pennsylvania Avenue Resident. I hope he sticks around after -- or should i say if -- he realizes what he's done.

Something tells me that day will never come, and truly, justice is lost.

Happy MLK day. Okay, you can all return to your shopping carts now.

damn...

uh oh, think i shot someone.

we have a fireplace in our room. right above that, and just below my famed trophy 27-point elk head, is a gun rack. this rack is chock full of rifles and shotguns. i keep a .410 guage loaded and within reach at all times, in case of perps. i thought for sure we had one tonight.

i'm standing there, enjoying an annual ritual for this time of year, my xmas eve cuban smoke, when i notice i only have three more of these in my humidor. i can't believe my eyes, so i move the cigar box closer to the firelight. that's when i assess an unusual amount of soot pouring into the room, followed by a couple rocks. i put my ear to the hearth (not a good idea when the fire's roaring) and regain my senses a few seconds later.

somehow, snow put out the fire and now two tiny, shiny black boots dangle just above the fire pit.

"ah-ha! the fat little perp is stuck," i thought.

wasting no time, i snatch my .410 and pepper his meatier side.

then, like ben kenobe, "poof!" he's gone.

leaving behind a bloody, buckshot riddled elmo suit.

oh, and a room full of toys.

sorry kiddos, i hear tell you've all been really really really bad this year. that's the way the ball bounces. sorry.

now, does anyone know how this ebay thing works?

longest night of the year

it's up. thanks steve. click title or go a more direct route.

yay!

we need an antidote to this republicrat war machine

seriously. any ideas?

Monty Python responded to the latest hate ad (terror war bs) 23 years ago

"It's all very well to laugh at the Military, but when one considers the meaning of life it is a struggle between alternative viewpoints of life itself. And without the ability to defend one's own viewpoint against other perhaps more aggressive ideologies then reasonableness and moderation could quite simply disappear. That is why we'll always need an army and may God strike me down were it to be otherwise."

ZAP!

blow yourselves all to hell

it's official. i no longer give a fuck.

goodbye.

right on!

click title for an open letter from three time PM of Lebanon, Salim al-Hoss.

we have power to stop this by halting the over 30 billion dollars in arms sales and military aid we (you and me, tax payers all) have given to Israel since 2001, yet don't, won't, can't, whatever. it's all the same bullshit.

give me one good reason why any god should listen to americans.

i got 30 billion why she shouldn't.

"...smog. You know, people can live with it, but trees -- it gives them asthma." -Maude

We're not gonna make it.

This is my thought as my bus turns onto the parking lot of I-75.

Back up.

I've made it a habit to apologize to each forlorn tree trying to grow alongside the highway (Really, next time you're out look at the trees next to a road. Don't they look haggard?). Some would say this is a departure from the prayer I've offered elsewhere. I would not. My conclusion at the top of this post borders on producing the opposite feeling that prayers are supposed to elicit, but I no longer give a flying fuck about consistency, especially concerning such fleeting feelings as personal peace. My aim is for truth.

What if we outlawed FUVs? I see way too many of them with one or two passengers, and I know there are some huge families who use them responsibly, but it would be tricky to fairly mitigate exceptions, so for now, blanket statement: ban them all. That would be one way of changing public perception of what these family-sized coffins on wheels are doing to the planet. Remember when Carter tried to curb our addiction to nonrenewable energy sources? I do. Though he stopped short of making it criminal to waste energy, he made sure incentives were in place to see that we all did our part, or pay through the nose. For many years in the 70s and early 80s my dad rode his bike to and from work -- 15 miles each way.

Or, here's a novel idea, let's resurrect the carpool. Talk with your coworkers about sharing responsibilities for rides.

Maybe there's more we can do than I, in my bleakness, opened with; I'm certainly up for any thoughts.

exactly!

click title for a most succinct sumation of all i've tried to post here.

how long, indeed?

Water

laura and i saw a sad, beautiful film the other night, and for anyone interested, Water, in my opinion, is among a handful of must-see movies from the last couple decades. it enraged, produced tears and brought a smile -- even laughter -- almost simultaneously.

that said, it also invited the audience member to entertain questions on many fronts, one of which i hope to unpack here.

without giving too much away, Water portrays a relationship between economics and religion and, ultimately, sexism. this made me think about starting with what i know: the christian religion. though the movie specifically referred to the gita, i think the bible holds a similar sway of authority among many christians. okay, so here, at last, is my question. is the bible a collection of lopsided documents of, by and for men?

let the cussion begin!

conversation with a right-leaning friend

what follows took place in my head (where 99.8% of my conversations happen) as i listened to my friend expound a newly found faith in our war machine. such was the pining for wwII that i thought--repeatedly--read zinn. his autobiography would be a good starting point.

Everyone was horrified by the sheer destruction of the First World War, so in 1932, as European leaders were meeting in Geneva to put limits on war, Albert Einstein called a press conference and announced to the shock of the privileged few (the aforementioned leaders), "One does not make wars less likely by formulating rules of warfare ... War cannot be humanized. It can only be abolished."

It's time to heed these exigent words: to find something more useful, more inclusive to unite around than nationalism. In time, with practice, I'm sure we will discover many many wonderful human traits, but for now how about survival? Like Martin Luther King said, "We'll either live as sisters and brothers, or die as fools."

MCDONALD'S GAMES DIVISION TO LEAVE PARENT COMPANY

this showed up in my inbox yesterday. they must think i still have that posh editor post with an alternative media site. i don't know if it's legit or not. see what you think. but it seems a good time to display a t-shirt/bumper sticker design i came up with a few years ago.

while i don't think reducing emissions is best left up to governments, i like this assesment of bp. going for the jugular: corporations. then again, maybe they're one and the same.



Company policies "lead planet to ruin"; division seeks mass mobilization

McDonald's Interactive announced today that it is striking out on its own from parent company McDonald's. The announcement was made at the International Serious Games Event in Birmingham, England. "We can no longer stand by while McDonald's corporate policies help lead the planet to ruin," said Andrew Shimery-Wolf, co-director of the former Interactive Division.

McDonald's Interactive was formed four years ago to help the company adapt to new market conditions.

"We began developing a simulation of the fast-food industry, for use by managers in developing market strategies." said Division CTO Sam Grossman. "When we added a climate simulation module, it showed those strategies helping lead to global calamity."

"Management doesn't seem to care, and we can't sit back and fiddle while Rome burns, so our team has decided to break away from McDonald's and do something about it," said Grossman.

The new organization's charter will be to help stimulate mass mobilization for policy change. "Mass mobilization has had some huge effects," said Dan Licari, the organizer of the International Serious Games Event. "No matter what the government thinks they want to do, they have to act, they're pressed into action."

"Scientists believe that to avoid ever-more-likely calamity, we must reduce our emissions by 70% very quickly," said Shimery-Wolf. "Since governments won't do that without popular pressure, helping to generate revolt is the only responsible choice, the only true CSR."

He characterized ordinary CSR efforts as "trivial improvements to a sinking ship, serving only to reassure passengers" and singled out British Petroleum's CSR campaign in particular as just a "slightly more polite form of world annihilation."

Please visit http://www.mcdonaldsinteractive.com/ for the full text of today's announcement, as well as photographs and downloads.

maybe an ok idea gone horribly awry

ok, maybe 4000 years ago god told a particular people to sound trumpets at a particular place to signify victory (which, by the way, came at a price of much spilled blood, so that should tip us off to what victory means to this particular people), but do we have to try to relive that moment -- trumpet-wise -- morning, noon and night in an unfamiliar place. there's a prayer conference happening across the street. this is ridiculous. people gotta work. whatever happened to "love your neighbor as yourself?"

coke--sucking the planet dry

it takes 6 liters of water to make me.

from where does that come?

i say go to a store, stickers (of the above two sentences) in hand and plaster each 2-liter of coke with 'em.

on a kinda related note, click the title, watch the vids. the utter hubris will blow you away.

"Though outwardly we are wasting away, inwardly we are being renewed daily."

Strike that. Reverse it.

Now that's maybe a bit closer to the truth of things. I guess Paul didn't have to deal with pollutants or heavy metal poisons.

A week ago I went to my doctor to get test results (blood, hair, saliva, urine). He said my internal organs/systems are functioning like someone in their 50s. He also tested me on the spot for major allergies: oats, wheat, dairy, soy, eggs, chocolate, flax -- all bad. Man, I'm so screwed. Those were my staples. I eat what I can, not what I crave, but now what is there? Like Gandhi said, "the mind is the master of the tongue," but now what? I've tried to eat simply for several years, but where has it got me? With a body that looks pretty damn good on the outside and with innards that have aged about 20 years ahead of their time? Gee, thanks. Not to fall into the what if trap, but what if I'd just continued, oblivious to all this?

To flush the heavy metals etc, supplements and desensitizing me to my allergies will be about $4g over 4 months. From where is that going to come?

first public spill

nothing like a glimpse at mortality to put things in perspective.

last sunday, i bit it in border's, much to the dismay of those around, including our two beautiful teens.

it struck me then that i'll never get to do even a fraction of the stuff my dad did with us growing up ... and for that i wept.

speaking of mortality, please pray for chad, the humblest man i've met.

yeah, what they said ...

click the title. that's all, for now.

oh yeah, india, i thought you knew: snakes bite when you crawl into bed with them. look at our genocidal history with the civilizations we called "indians."

let me see if i got this straight. we gotta buttload of nuclear waste looking for a home--soon to be triple that amount with the president's (sic) new nuke deal for the southeastern states (let no one say he ignored them after the hurricanes; just toss 'em a bone. who cares if it's a uranium rod?)--and along comes a madman wanting to sell "how we done it: fucking your hemisphere made easy."

someone thinks this is a good idea because why?

i'll never understand power.

We're on the edge alright.

Would someone please shut ths guy up? Click Title to view his blather.

Last Summer, I read that Russian and British scientists had discovered Siberian tundra is melting at alarming rates, creating lakes of what used to be permafrost. That means methane is being released straight into the atmosphere. The greenhouse effects of this will alter our future. Last week, a department head at NASA announced Greenland's ice sheet is melting twice as fast as it was five years ago. Oceans are a-gonna rise, dramatically. The NASA guy, Jim Hansen, cited the culprit in both situations: carbon dioxide emissions (btw, methane is carbon dioxide times thirty). I think he was being generous in giving us a decade to curb them.

Neither of these stories can be found in American media. Hmmm ...

On a personal note, I've been praying for a car-less society a long time now. Looks like I'm going to get my wish, minus a society.

Happy winter solstice

Maybe the longest night won't be such a dread and cold just may become my friend again from this day forward.

love and life

seems that's all we can give, in a lasting way. in someway they must be communicated, but how? ah, now there's the trick, ain't it?

nothing really intrests me other than learning answers to that.

love and life to you today. especially mark.

this book can change your life

The Hidden Messages in Water, by Dr. Masaru Emoto.

i've never said that about a book. ever. this one, however, which i just finished the other day, fully deserves such lauds. this'll make gift giving easy this year. click the title of this post for the amazon listing.

turns out, i was heading in the right direction in early 2002, when the following came to me:

if my life says thank you
that will be enough, yes
that will be enough
if my life says thank you
that will be enough
for me

to hear the music, one must either crawl inside my head, ask karen, tom or mike.

speaking of direction, i've since lost my way countless times. hopefully, this book will better tether me to the path on which i'm set.

noble proposal

steve, my friend, brother and neighbor returns today from mobile, alabama. he went down to the nola area to lend a hand to relief efforts and to get the scoop most ignored by corporate media. i can't wait to see him and hear what he has to say.

in the meantime, click the title for a shimmer of hope from naomi klein.

godspeed the day

courtesy of paul
pkj@pkj.ca

when lies become criminal: "I don't think anyone could've predicted the situation in New Orleans."

takes someone who will read.

here's hoping you get yours. the sooner the better.

chew on this

All wars are civil wars, because all men are brothers.
~Fenelon

Alisandra loves life. A spontaneous, strong willed nine year old, with deep, curious dark eyes. Just starting Fourth Grade at Mandela Elementary School in Southside Chicago, she is the middle child of three brothers and one sister and her Mamma's pride. Whether groceries or garbage, bedtime or breakfast, Alisandra is there to help. And to ask questions.

"She's always been very inquisitive," her Mother recalls, "more than most. I'm not quite sure why. Maybe it's because we read, as a family, every night after supper, or maybe it's just the good Lord's blessing, but I know Alisandra will succeed in anything she puts her hand to."

One beautifully crisp Autumn morning, nearing the end of her six block walk from their apartment to school, Alisandra notices something laying in the gutter across the street. After looking both ways, she scurries away from the rest. When she gets closer, it looks like a yellow can of soda. "This can't be," she murmurs as she reaches for it.

Alisandra, eight of her friends and a crossing guard half a block away are shredded instantly.

betrayed by a rich white guy? go figure.

"We will stay on the offensive against these people. They're terrorists and they're killers and they will kill innocent people ... so they can impose their dark vision on the world."

-- G. W. Bush, delusions from the confines of camp Crawford on Saturday, 6 August 2005.

A mirror, every once in a while, may help. Seriously dude.

If this interview with u.s. veterans (click title) by Dahr Jamail doesn't get you hoppin', check your pulse.

catch up!

on the lies that have cost thousands of my siblings lives ... click the title of this post for the last two years of hubris from their own mouths.

good news from g8?

at last, something sensible from the g8. maybe. before we soil our drawers, however, i wonder how much opening their markets up to "free trade" (which is really neither) is a part of getting the good governance seal of approval from those in a position to grant such?

missing thursday -- 22 years now

you can't be what you were
so you better start being just what you are
-- fugazi

it had been almost a decade since i'd heard those words, yet there they were, an echo in my mind -- two years ago -- declaring my outlook from then on. up to that point, i'd spent twenty years trying to at least make sense of what happened on thursday, 26 may 1983. a day i still can't remember.

a personal tradition, i would always get away for at least may 26. when time allowed, i'd camp somewhere a few days around then. some good things came from those times of solitude, but two years ago i sensed it's time to lay it down, let go of what i can't relive. that fugazi song, badmouth, was stuck on repeat in my head. i'd try to decipher my past, there it was. i'd try to envision a future, there it was. i'd go for a walk in the woods, there it was. i'd get a drink of water, there it was. i'd lay down for a nap, there it was. even as i'd rise, in fact, all day 26 may 2003, there it was. just those first few lines.

that night i slept on a root. the next morning, as i stooped to fill my water bottle, my back revolted. never before had i consciously felt such pain. i was done. my retreats were done. two decades trying to piece together the day and/or night that i hanged myself, and where had it got me? to preserve a patch of sanity, i only obsessed on it during the actual anniversary or during the retreat around which it revolved, but this got me no nearer the truth of what happened. like grief ever obeys our parameters.

so i gave up.

in many ways, 26 may had become the height of my year. much more meaningful than any manufactured holiday. more significant, in terms of choice and changes to which i've had to adapt, than the day of my birth. throughout my twenties my sole claim to fame had been that i was born between two of my biggest heroes: m.k. gandhi and saint francis.

for the record, here's what i've gathered thus far. almost none of this comes first-hand, so many, many thanks to many friends. you know who you are;

a musical being, i played drums and a handful of other instruments to a lesser extent. that much i remember, but none of that day or night. only that day and night are gone -- thursday, 26 may 1983. apparently a normal day at school, starting with zero hour (7am) stage band and ending with sixth period english. nice bookends, mr. orr and mrs. boatman, with nothing unusual between. sure, i was prone to melancholy from time to time, but what 14 year-old isn't? oh yeah, i guess we got our annuals that day. i vaguely remember seeing a few candid pictures from one before receiving an annual weeks later in the hospital. that night was our school's spring concert, the entire chorale, orchestra, band and stage band were there. i hear i looked down, but why? many people said i answered, "nothin'" when asked about it. one friend says i was messing with his sax strap downstairs in the bandroom right before we went on. i guess i played a couple songs, then slipped back downstairs. a tune or so later, it was again my turn on the drums, so a fellow drummer came looking for me. she found me. shit. i'm sorry francine. she ran screaming. back upstairs, no one understood her. my friend fred, carried more by impulse than anything, flew down the stairs, across the bandroom and into four rooms, a little bigger than walk-in closets, littered with instrument cases and me. again, i'm so sorry. no one should be faced with such images. apparently, i managed to rig a noose with an extension cord and throw it over a pipe that ran along the ceiling. he freaked out and ran upstairs too, only this trip secured help and called 911. i'm unclear on what happened next, as i've heard varying reports. one said mr. grantham and mr. boatman cut me down, started cpr and what not. one said a paramedic named chris did all that. i believe them both. it's clear i owe my life to all three, plus fred and francine. thank you doesn't begin to cover it. i guess i wasn't resuscitated until on the way to the hospital (anytime you don't breathe for that long brain damage occurs -- ataxia -- which accounts for my slowly becoming more and more palsy-like). when i got there, they had to counter the mounting pressure on my brain, so they drilled a hole in my skull and put me in a drug-induced coma, from which i wasn't supposed to wake. during the coma the food tubes got tangled in my vocal cords, jump starting what ataxia would later claim.

in summary, i remember the night before and a week later waking up in the hospital -- only able to whisper, yet horrified at the suggestion that i tried to take my own life. for the next couple months i was confined to mental wards. a regular visit with occupational/physical/speech therapists and an occasional shrink or two was my only relief.

so there ya have it. i have a pretty good memory. most of the time it seems that's all i have to bring to the table. one day totally absent from that landscape is driving me nuts. especially one so pivotal.

deep breath, let it go.

that helps. kinda.

can't help but feel there are some betrayals that run beyond confession.
thursday, 26 may 2005

well, um, yeah.

our father in heaven,
your name is holy,
so we honor you alone.
display your world,
set your purposes in motion
before our eyes,
just like you do beyond them.
surprise us today with what we need,
and as we forgive others
take our sins away too.
don't lead us astray,
but be present in our suffering.

which is all that counts:
your world,
your provision,
your presence,
now and forever.


19 may 2005
this morning another wording of the lord's prayer -- slightly different than what is in the manifesto, even the little protestant summary at the end (just in case god didn't hear us the first time round) -- occurred to me as my morning coffee did its work. not that this is necessarily one of them, but it's funny, at least to me, how most of my halfway decent ideas come on the shitter.

for as much faith as i've lost in recent years, i still cling to the notion that we're all offspring of someone divine. our father could just as easily be our mother. i think the point is that everyone is related, not only to god but also to each other. there's a lot of potential for lasting revolution in that concept.

now, what is prayer? i hope someday to find out.

update: the capitualation has begun

Wired and MITReview readers no doubt already know this, but it was news to me. Sunday morning, May 15, after a good stretch in the home of the Berg family (St. Louis, final day of the National Media Reform conference), I yawned and looked on the counter. I was greeted by the Sunday Edition of the New York Times. A front page article about the regressive stance of a few environmentalists caught my eye. It's linked from the title of this post, i think, and the title here makes obvious my point of view. I wonder how much they buckled for?

Today there was a market-driven op-ed in there on the same subject. The author won't trust government subsides, but he'll trust investors. Little Bush would be proud.

nukeyland

Hello everybody! I'm from Nukeyland. For almost the entirety of my first eighteen years, i lived in a newly developed (mid 60's) neighborhood of Richland, Washington, shadowed by the Hanford nuclear power plant. Mostly a town of government A-frames from the 40's and 50's, growing up, names like Nader always had four letters. Funny that. Nice, hard working people; it's just that when you follow the money, we pretty much all lined up politically conservative.

College, in Ohio, was my first exposure to some of the absurdities that had thus far marked my life. Someone gave me a Nukeyland t-shirt (picture a glowing yellow Mickey Mouse with a gas mask over his face). I read, in a national magazine, of the ongoing controversy about my high school mascot: a mushroom cloud. I shit you not. What? Wasn't everyone proud that we were the first nation to develop, test and use atomic weapons? Apparently, Richland had a lot to do with that. I now shudder with shame.

Click the title of this post to see a sound article by Dr. Helen Caldicott. Makes me wonder what kind of propaganda is being sold today in the land of my youth. When the blowback she describes occurs, that will indeed be the chickens coming home to roost for all the plutonium we've dumped on Yugoslavia, Afghanistan and Iraq, not to mention Japan. Her nightmares have become mine.

On a related note, to see just what lives after disasters such as this, click here and from there click on the link that begins with, "This is a story about a town..." It's an amazing, Romero-esque, 42 chapter photo essay. Buckle in for a ride through Chernobyl.


Update 2 July: I found this (home sweet home) on Znet.

tangent #68

Eating, for me, has become a necessary evil. I don't know if i'm giving it too much weight, but biblically eating seems to be pretty big: something that's done together, a seal of friendship, unity. I rarely experience that. Ten or so years ago, this limerick came to me;

you are what you eat
i eat alone

That's still true. I can only name a handful of exceptions, mostly outside my daily culture. Among the poorest in Mexico City I never ate alone, at Bruderhof I never ate alone, with a few friends I don't eat alone. For years, I've tried to reduce the time it takes me to eat; I drink oatmeal in the morning and a shake at night. If I stray from that, it's not unusual to be at the table three hours. The last two hours (at least) are always alone. Always.

That's my first beef with communion.

This feeling was given language in 2002 when I read Vernard Eller's take on communion. He definitely saw it as a meal and went so far as to call our reduction of communion to a bite of bread and a sip of wine ludicrous.

Later that year I read Tolstoy's "What I Believe." It resonated with me on many levels and restored faith that maybe the sermon on the mount is doable. He details progressively becoming mortified with communion. I forget the specifics, but that was influence number two.

The clincher came in late 2003 when I read that symbols hold no sway over anarchists. That just made sense to me. Anarchy (possibility) was becoming the lens through which i saw the world, so, to be consistent, my last communion was in early 2004 from the hands of a Catholic. Totally wasn't planned, but i'm glad it happened that way.

Just so no one thinks it's like a 1-2-3 type deal, throw a bunch of Gandhi in the mix somewhere. His adage about religion without sacrifice weighed heavy on me, mostly regarding economics, but that's a whole nother post. Maybe someday.

Now I think it's a meal, in theory anyway.

on it!

click the title of this post. man, he's dead on. i especially like the call for "truth squads" and wonder what that could look like?

get yer stones ready. i'm only gonna say this once

hi, i'm ken, and i'm a recovering fundamentalist.

a while back, in another forum, i said i no longer have faith.

that's kinda true, and kinda not true. i'm so repulsed by what i believed that i'm having a hard time differentiating between genuine faith and that which is manipulative. my faith looks nothing like it did a few years, months, weeks or even days ago.

i see what i believed as an underpin to the status quo: for example, dependance on hierarchy, power structures and even leaders. follow me and you'll end up in the same hell i go through daily: a troubled mind trying to reconcile an ocean of blood, a mountain of bullshit and a desert of what i can actually live. the ocean is history; the mountain is words; the desert, where resources become scarce and which is that way because the first two are polluted, is responsibility. (all that from someone with absolutely no regard for symbolism--ha!)

i still hope love can somehow prevail, but i no longer believe a benevolent force or person (outside ourselves) will ultimately come set things right. i think redemption and retribution aren't reserved for some fictitious afterlife, but both processes begin and end now. maybe heaven and hell are merely extensions of the present.

i can't buy the vast majority of the bible any more. i just can't. that disturbed a long, long time friend so much that he felt compelled to preach at me the other night. sorry friend, but i won't be scared into submission anymore. love and fear are, by your own standards, mutually exclusive. it was like we're on the same team, but different pages. oh well. i see the sermon on the mount, the book of luke and maybe philippians 2 as livable (and therefore believable), but that's about it.

last summer, for the first time, i tried to articulate this dissonance with holy writ to another perceptive soul who deduced, "so, you don't think jesus is god?"

i had to shrug.

maybe, but in the sense that anyone else, for all i know, may be god; not in some mystical trinitarian sense. jesus has only called me brother and friend. i could be wrong here, but i think he only wants the same in return. i think the trinity is an invention of the powerful to keep god shrouded in mystery from those who ain't.

maybe i've said too much. i realize this is a bit of a departure for last call, but i hope it shows some roots of my aversion to power, so yeah, i guess it's political.

and there ya have it. go ahead, objectify me.

grins and chuckles

click the title of this post to see something that my friend, laura, sent my way today. purdy funny. she knew i needed a smile ... thanks babe.

mixing groucho marx's definition of comedy, "pain recalled at leisure," with truth, cathartic or not, well, it fits. think i'd laugh more, however, if it were untrue. made me think, do democrats present a viable option?

book learning? decided to put down parecon for a while and cry my way through eduardo galeano's open veins of latin america: 500 years of the pillage of a continent (thanks rachel! it'll be back soon) before picking it back up. kind of a gotta-see-how-sick-i-am-before-looking-for-a-cure-type strategy. right now i can hardly make it a page without tearing up.

just soaking. more on that later.

how do we lose the plutocrat?

really. that's a legit question.

just posted a jesse jackson and greg palast article here, because i don't think we can say "stolen election" often enough. the media won't. why? look who feeds them.

it's up to us to agitate.

while i don't think the process can be reformed, i agree with the authors that the time to organize is now.

so, how do we lose the rich, white, christian, male alpha?

so my head was up my ass again

ok, again, i'm a dumbfuck. nothing new.

i returned from a very besetting injury, checked my bulk mail folder, and learned about senator boxer's lone act of courage.

gee, i feel better.

at least it kinda went public. kinda. but where's the outrage? i guess she got grilled for taking that stand (hats off), so everything i said in my previous post remains.

i just don't get this follow the leader stuff.

Fuck you, fuck you very much!

The ultra-moneyed, mostly white, mostly male gutless club known as the u.s. senate must be dismantled. They no longer can be trusted nor do they function in a meaningful way.

Again, members of congress moved to launch an investigation into the irregularities of November's election. Again, just one senator was needed to put the ball in motion. Just like in 2000, they all folded on their responsibility to keep a rapacious plutocracy in line. I was boiling when i heard.

On a related note, over the holidays i noticed many car lots that heralded "an american revolution." Funny, in a not so hard to imagine way, and i wondered can america revolt?

proof that i am, at least in the biological sense, human

sunday, 21 november 2004

this morning around 7 (e.s.t.) i had a vivid dream.

granddad, myself and what seemed like others were in a big, empty log cabin-styled lodge room, sweeping, cleaning and getting ready for a party. in walks johnny cash, apologizes that the rest of his band "ain't here yet," and starts picking and humming a patriotic song. when he gets to the chorus (something about ww I) granddad (who fought in ww II) joins in, full volume, still wiping down the room.

"man," i thought, "he can really sing!" this wasn't like church, where he could get away with mumbling. guess it just takes the right song or right setting or both.

then in walks dad wearing his straw cowboy hat like a kid, cocked way back on his head. he pops a squat in the middle of the floor and just sits there, cross-legged, smiling.

the party begins.

i wake.

nice to see my dad again.

ashamed

"People - American or Serbian - are not to be condemned but understood. It would be much more salient to try to listen and communicate with people, not to treat them as 'others,' to understand those 'moral values' who maintained Milosevic (or Bush) in power for so long. Not just to condemn homophobia, conservativism, and misogyny."

--Andrej Grubacic

i just read the above in a moving essay on znet called Don't Blame the People, and stand guilty of doing so.

especially that first sentence, that's where it's at. for a long time i've tried to live up to dylan's wisdom, "don't criticize what you can't understand." lately, however i've fallen into the us/them hole. no attempt at understanding leaves no way out of it.

bottom line, i've a long, long way to go. help. please.

far from over

Check it!

the bright side

Four more years! What the fuck?

Not that Kerry would be a bit better, but to legitimize that thief after he's fucked poor people the world over, even the planet itself, were we thinking? Any distinction graciously granted between U.S. people and U.S. leaders is now rightfully gone.

Can we rid our addiction to leaders, or is it too late? Holy shit! Look out america, there's an avalanche of unbridled power coming. i mean that in the very worst sense.

Maybe Bush will bring about the revolution sooner. Here.

The grim side is that i think it's going to get bloody right quick.

what now?

my friend John Davis sent me this email yesterday. maybe my view is skewed, but i think it pretty well sums up a lot of our feelings right about now. he went to Israel with a Christian Peacemaker Team last summer. click his name to learn more about that. i love that little prayer of saint francis with which he closes.


Ken,

Hey, I tried to post a comment on your blog but it's not workin' for me right now.

So Bush has won the election. Like you I voted for Kerry yesterday.

The only thing good about the coverage last night was that they actually gave Nader some airtime on a major network while he thrashed the whole event and how the people of this country will continue to lose no matter if Kerry or Bush wins.

4 more years of Bush is so depressing. Canada's looking real good right now.

I guess I have to ask myself if my life for the next 4 years will really be impacted either way, and it is unlikely that I'd be impacted by who is president. But SO many marginalized people will continue to be marginalized that it makes me sick to my stomach. SO many young people will die in Iraq and in our streets. SO many people voted for Bush because of Abortion and I'm convinced that no matter who is in office this country will continue to kill the innocent.

Be like Jesus. Be little Christs. Jesus's kingdom is not of this world. The government will never do what Jesus would do, and what we believe we should do as followers of the Gospel. So why do I want justice from a government? Why do I want justice in this world?

I want it because I get so damn tired of all of us walking around trying to live the lives that this world ALLOWS us to, instead of living the way of the Gospels and finding our true potential as followers of Him. I no longer want to be a hypocrite, saying one thing and doing little to nothing about it. I no longer want to let cynicism ran rampant in my life. I no longer want to doubt God's power in my life and in the lives of those around me. I'm ready to cast down my crown of fear. I'm ready to do good works as a result of my faith in the One who saved me.

Why isn't everyone else able to do the same? Are people happy to live such limited, oblivious lives of quiet desperation? Can we realy continue to buy into this evil, sinful culture and continue to consume on an unprecedneted level? On another note, and more importantly, are my "why can't people be more..." thoughts and actions really just me being judgemental, narrow-minded and unloving?

Part of me wants the world to be fair, the world to make sense. Logic states that in many situations, someone should be able to objectively find where someone is getting rich at the expense of another and "make it right".

I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired. I write this and know that I'm sick of writing it, sick of feeling it.

BUT by worrying so much about the world at large, there's a good chance that I'm focusing my attention and emotions on something I can't control. And the more I do this, the more I ever so slightly stop thinking of what I could do around here, what I could do, what Jesus would do, the more Satan has won the battle over John Davis. The more exasperated I am and pissed off and resigned to the state of this shitty world, the more I've been taken out of the only battle that I can really be a part of.

The only battle I can win is the battle for my own heart. If I can overcome the forces of darkness in my own heart, mind and soul, then and only then can I really help anyone else. Only by depending on my savior Jesus Christ do I have any change of winning this struggle and only by His grace and mercy can I have ANY positive impact on others.

My life without Him is nothing. My heart is a burned out shell of what He wants it to be.

Jesus, strip me down. Remove my bitterness. Remove my hatred and my anger. Show me how to love in the face of my own brokenness and resentment. Show me how to love everyone around me, how I can see your face in rich and poor, black and white, Democrat and Republican, Conservative and Liberal, friend and enemy. Teach me how to be quiet and listen to people, really listen, because when I do you show me their joys and pains, you enable me to know how YOU can help them through me. Let me focus on helping, serving, loving without borders and limits. Show me what Reckless love really is. Give me your tongue of fire, your Spirit of compassion, and then move me to action, not words or grudges.

Help me to find peace in my own heart so that the trials and tribulations of this life cannot phase me.

I want the vision that you have to see past this painful world, to see your grand purposes for everything. Let me live in that world, in that splendor. Let me laugh and sing your praises because I finally know that my pathetic self is constantly being held in your arms and loved more than life itself.

Help me to see and operate in your kingdom as it is and as it will be, and not live in this morally bankrupt world that I allow myself to see as the only reality.

You are my king, my Abba, my President of All Things Holy. Nothing or no one else matters.

I pray for you to make me an instrument of your peace.

I love you Jesus. Amen.

yes, there it is

Last month John Edwards came to a rec center just a couple miles up the road. Steve had press tickets and invited me along.

After being less than impressed with his dashing smile and rhetoric (Why do politians do that? They must think we're absolute blathing idiots), in fact, right at the end of seeing him, a thought hit me, "How will our collusion with the IDF change when Kerry's in office? That was and is central in this whole terror deal."

My gut knew the answer, "Not a bit" (click on the title of this post to see a transcript--i'm still trying to figure out this new feature).

Both candidates are bought by lobbyists, which answer only to their corporate masters, and on this point, again, i totally agree with Osama. Our security isn't in the hands of Kerry, Bush or al-Qaeda.

I just don't think this planet can take another four years of the war-criminal from Crawford, and the rest of the world definitely wants him out, so for the first time in 16 years i'm actually voting Tuesday.

No matter what happens, i'll see you on thee streets Wednesday.

blah blah blah blah blah blah blah

seems like every time i sit down to write, that's all that comes out--blahs and duhs. maybe i shouldn't worry about it, maybe it's true that there's nothing new under the sun, but still i want to contribute to this world instead of just consuming. i've done enough of that. way too much. i wish i had something unique to offer. don't we all?

these are my latest musings. i get charged when i think "every day i don't write a voice is lost in the world," but then i think "am i thinking too highly of myself?" there's lots of unsaid background behind both those thoughts, but i hope one can see the point i'm trying to make (if, indeed, there is a point): i can think myself into and/or out of most anything. tricky things, minds.

gimme a shot of hope. make it a double.

fahrenheit 9/11 -- again

we rented and just now got through watching f9/11. first time i'd seen it since it opened back in june. caught a lot more this time. holy shit, it infuriated me! same wet eyes thoughout and at the end (lila lipscom again just killed me), but more out of a sense of sisterhood and brotherhood with every underdog in this movie. it's going to take a while to get through all the extra features. i will. eventually.

trump cards

This has been in my head quite a while. It has become, for me, a beginner's recipe for a better world and each day the list of personal applications grows longer, so i'll just throw it out there ... let others pitch in. please do.

I think every trump card needs to be smashed. Every last one.

can't believe my eyes

In a recent interview in Sojourner's, Wendell Berry lays it out. He says, "It's easy to get the idea that we're stationing troops all over the world to protect our right to destroy our own country." How appropriate!

Click here to see what i'm talking about. By the way, i added the little sidebar message, and yes, it's true, so come on over. 8pm every night until the election. i'll be here.

This could make Enron look like child's play.

che gandhi

Yeah, what he said. This is perhaps the most accurate depiction of the tension i feel lately. Come lend an ear to my beautiful brother Satya.

saint johnny

"And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad,
So I had one more for dessert."

Happy feast of Saint Johnny. Even (or should I say especially) if you're nowhere, you're much better off.

Cheers.

9.11illustrated

Film fest happening in Cincinnati this Saturday, 11 September, from 1pm to 1.30am. Click here. Looks good.

Oh yeah, a million thanks to the anonymous commentor (aka - as Fluellen said, "Yes, my conscience.") who, before they all got wiped out, turned me on to the new internationalist.

whoops

hey there, just a quick note, to let you all know this space was an absolute mess. i coudn't figure out how to fix it, so i started over. in the process, i lost the comments. sorry. that feature will be back eventually. thanks to everyone who let me know this is (at least a little) more than just talking to myself.

cheers.

poor people's march

with whom are you sleeping mr. lindner?

who greets you in your mirror each day?

could it be that pusillanimous motherfucker from crawford?
you know, the one who greases your palm with what he steals from the poor.

could it be yesterday's lie you overcook,
wrap in your paper
and drop as scraps at our feet?

are we supposed to be grateful?
we're hungry, sure,
but we have hearts that recognize truth.

what can a poor man do to resist such venality?

look in my eyes,
learn defiance.

power to the people

I’m excited for the RNC demonstrations. I’d like to be there in NYC at the turning of the tide. It may get violent on the peoples side and I can’t blame anyone. I hope it doesn’t, but I also hope for nothing less than revolution. Anger seems much more productive than fear, which is about all we've been fed the last four years, especially. We're shooting for love, but will work with anger.

Can't wait till we shed our reliance on leaders. If they're seen for what they are, i think we can.

For the first time in years, I'm hopeful.

more parecon

In the first couple chapters of parecon, about every other page has a sentence that starts with, "In other words..." For this i am extremely grateful. Maybe this ass ain't so smart after all, but i think i'm beginning to get it, recognize foundational concepts, etc.

As with all critiques of capitalism i've so far read, Mr. Albert certainly wastes no time in going for the juglar: property.

More on this later. Count on it.

life after capitalism

Most events are silly and unnecessary. Conferences, doubly so. I usually tire of both, but there’s one coming to New York City a week before the Republican National Convention, and I really want to go. It’s a life after capitalism forum. I guess they decided to export their experiences last year in Mumbai, to go more local with what came of the World Social Forum. I’m very excited.

Now, all I need is a ride and place to crash. Anyone interested?

fahrenheit 9/11

Yesterday afternoon, a bunch of us biked to Newport on the Levee to catch a matinee of Michael Moore's new film Fahrenheit 9/11. The ride there was much easier, as it's mostly downhill, but what else were we to do on such a gorgeous Sunday? Driving seemed criminal.

Anyway, we got there, picked up our tickets and made it to the theatre just as the previews were rolling. Finding seats was something completely different. We split up and Steve found me one in the front row. I was edging my way down there when it went totally dark -- feature presentation time. Minutes later I arrived at my seat, just in time for everything to go dark again. Uh oh, is there a problem in the camera room?

No, I hear voices, then BOOM ... this is Michael's masterful retelling of the horror that gripped a nation that morning.

Maybe others got it sooner, but I was in full suspense, having only read about the events. In fact, Bowling for Columbine was the first time I actually saw the planes hit the towers.

Though not really saying anything new, I'm very glad Mike documented the hubris that followed and even predated 9/11. I wept a lot. It was like Schindler's List in that you'd feel ashamed not to walk out with wet eyes.

Anyone who thinks that son of a Bush belongs in the White House instead of the dock should definitely see this movie; it'll change your mind.

Those who think conversely should see it as well; it'll fuel your rage. See The Declaration of Interdependence for example.

On the way out, Steve unloaded about 35 hard copies of the latest Xray (cover shot -- a Dover coffins photo) left and right before being stopped by a security guard. Not really used to security guards at movies, Steve decided to engage him in conversation. First, he asked about his presence.

"Well, you never know."

"So, you're a police officer?"

"Yes I am."

"You've seen this film a number of times now. What do you think?"

"I don't like that man or his war. I think it's wrong."

Wow. That pretty much says it all.

speaking of

Okay, speaking of economics in general and the relationship of privilege and oppression in particular (well, weren't we?), yesterday i found this little gem on znet. Fidel Castro puts in more than just his two cents. Way more. Wow.

so far

Since it appears i have no takers on the last little tangent i proposed, i'll drop it for now, and get back into parecon. Participatory economics has so far been a facinating read. Though the introduction seems to slip into rhetoric and gets the cart before the horse (don't worry, i'll read it again after the rest), i have long shared the values that shape this contribution -- equity, diversity, solidarity, self-management and ecological balance -- so i figured, with it going paperback, why not experiment with the methods therein? I had read a good bit about parecon, but not the actual book. These people are so cool that if cost is prohibitive, the entire text is available here. If you can, please chip in.

That's all for now.

awakening?

I'm slowly making my way through Michael Albert's parecon. Slowly. It took me months to get through a favorite economic treatise of M.K. Gandhi; unto this last, by John Ruskin. The latter is about a third the size of the former, so I may be here a while.

Okay, I think I'm starting to get it, but before carrying this further, I'd like to know what others think.

Do privilege and oppression go hand in hand?

a little light

Recently, a friend posted a most succinct and reasonable response to current events; "I care because I care." Well put lo.

part of why i'm so down

Part of why I'm so down ...

Perhaps I read too much outside of the official doctrine. That would explain some of my affinity for anything, and I mean anything, heretical. I've definitely not developed the eyes of, say, Noam Chomsky, which can scan pretty much any newspaper and find "something (incriminating) to talk about." So I rely on people like him, Vandana Shiva, Robert Fisk, Naomi Klein, Eduardo Galeano, Starhawk, Chris Crass (the list could and should go on, but I think you get the point) to help me analyze what's really going on.

For example, I have an accordion-style file folder that bulges with hard copy of articles by the likes of the aforementioned progressives. I've been collecting them for about five years, just the real good stuff, and of course I almost couldn't keep up around September 2001 and the subsequent war crimes we've unleashed on this tired planet. Now it's one or two a week; not that we've grown even a bit more civilized, but most articles either go straight to my head or hard drive, so both, I suppose, are dangerous territory.

A few months ago had someone been so kind as to say, "Kenny, you look down. Why?" I would've pointed to that file folder and suggested you start at F (Fisk). From there go to P (Pilger), and if you still have a stomach, go anywhere, but read C (Chomsky) last. It'll make more sense that way.

Lately, however, it's just been the stuff in my head, and I haven't had words to describe it. In fact, when a perceptive soul asked me that very question a couple weeks ago, I just sat there searching for a response and finally gave up. I now think I'm ready to try.

It seems there's little cause for hope. That's my general assessment. In particular, Dahr Jamail relayed a word picture (mother and child) that won't leave my head. It is literally sickening. I don't know what to do with this rage.

gandhi

I got to see Dr. Arun Gandhi a few days ago. He spoke at Xavier University during Amnesty International’s Human Rights week. His topic was, “All I needed to know, I learned from my Grandfather: a season of nonviolence.” What an incredible evening!

I arrived late, as always, but guess it started a half hour earlier than advertised. Oh well, double jeopardy. The room was full, but they had a loudspeaker set up outside and it was a warm night, so I popped a squat right there on the sidewalk. From the sound of things, I missed the preamble and little else. Fine with me.

Dr. Gandhi was so well balanced, even-keeled and full of joy. He definitely spoke of nonviolence from that center. I hope I’m able to return to such a sweet spot someday. Seems a long, long way off, but someday. He basically just told stories about his grandpa. Some I knew, some had fresh (first hand) twists and some were completely new, but the overarching theme of the night was penance, as opposed to punishment.

To me the most striking example of this was a story not about his grandfather, but father. I’ll try to relate the gist.

The mahatma had been assassinated two years prior and Arun’s family had moved back to South Africa, where this whole revolution began a half-century earlier. Arun was sixteen.

Going into town was a rarity because they lived eighteen miles away. His father had a semi-regular speaking engagement, however, and asked Arun to drive him there. Arun gladly accepted and was immediately loaded up with errands and extra chores to do in town.

They arrived at the venue and his father said to pick him back up at 5 pm. Arun dutifully did all his chores, parked the car and proceeded to get engrossed in a John Wayne double feature, which let out at 5:30. Uh oh! With traffic, he didn’t get to pick his father up until 6 pm.

When Arun got there, his father was naturally worried, so he asked what happened. Arun said the car wouldn’t start. He was unaware that his father had called the garage.

“Son, I need to know where I went wrong in raising you that you felt you had to lie to me, so you can drive home while I walk.” He did, contrary to his son’s pleading, and that act of penance had such a profound effect on Arun that he hasn’t lied since. Finally, his grandpa’s oft-repeated words about truth being the backbone of nonviolence made sense. I had an example of one who has lived nonviolently for half a century, in thought, word and deed before my very eyes. Amazing.

Something of that story served as prescience for me later that night, but at the time it just flew right over my head. Apparently, my ride wasn’t in that crowded chapel. I discovered this well after most people had cleared out, so I walked home as well. It was no eighteen miles, but was quite hilly, ruined another pair of shoes and took the better part of three hours. Slow going, but it gave me time to process (more below). Carrying my computer also wrecked my neck and back for days, which is why it took me so long to finish this little write up.

I thought about my venomous blog, how hypocritical it would be of me to mention this night and even considered deleting the entries laden with ribaldry. I decided that would be fake. If someone wants to try to get to know me through this medium, they should be aware that I’m conflicted, angry and have fewer answers by the minute. I guess it’s like shit and roses.

Forced Unlawful Carnage

Military bullying only, a poem about our economic pillage would be ten times as long. Based on Killing Hope by William Blum.

Forced Unlawful Carnage

In my lifetime we fucked Cuba,
In my lifetime we fucked Indonesia,
In my lifetime we fucked Laos,
In my lifetime we fucked Cambodia,
In my lifetime we fucked Vietnam,
In my lifetime we fucked Uruguay,
In my lifetime we fucked Chile,
In my lifetime we fucked Greece,
In my lifetime we fucked Bolivia.
In my lifetime we fucked Guatemala,
In my lifetime we fucked Costa Rica,
In my lifetime we fucked Australia,
In my lifetime we fucked Angola,
In my lifetime we fucked Zaire,
In my lifetime we fucked Jamaica.
In my lifetime we fucked Seychelles,
In my lifetime we fucked Grenada,
In my lifetime we fucked Lebanon,
In my lifetime we fucked Syria,
In my lifetime we fucked Morocco,
In my lifetime we fucked Suriname,
In my lifetime we fucked Libya,
In my lifetime we fucked El Salvador,
In my lifetime we fucked Nicaragua.
In my lifetime we fucked Iran,
In my lifetime we fucked Panama,
In my lifetime we fucked Bulgaria,
In my lifetime we fucked Albania,
In my lifetime we fucked Kuwait,
In my lifetime we fucked Somalia,
In my lifetime we fucked Haiti.
In my lifetime we fucked Bosnia,
In my lifetime we fucked Sudan,
In my lifetime we fucked Yugoslavia,
In my lifetime we fucked Afghanistan three times,
In my lifetime we fucked Iraq over and over and over and over and over,
and before the dismount even, we rolled over and shoved our cock up Haiti's ass again.

Who?s gonna pay for all this?

One life is bad enough,
and would demand immediate reparation from anyone with a shred of decency,
but entire nations?

And always the smallest?

Strike 45!

I see only a mounting blood toll,
so excuse me if I can't share your excitement over another bloody easter.

Tuesday, 16 March 2004

go ahead, ask me...

"Look at you," a long time friend said recently, "you're wasting away! Don't they feed you around here?"

"If," I would've retorted had I been a bit quicker on the draw, "you knew what I know about our foreign policy, could you eat?" Nothing like that surfaced at the time, so I just turned away to somehow stop the flow of disappointment, but the poison was already in my bloodstream. Great. Another issue with which I'll probably never deal.

Look at you ... look at you ... look at you. Over the next few weeks I often found myself apologizing to a god in the mirror, a god who'd blundered in the way I was made. Slowly, I came to like what I saw, but those moments of grace, it seems, were the climb to the top of that first big hill. Hang on, the rest is a zooming roller-coaster.

Then I turned a corner and made for anger as swift as I could get there. That's where I've been ever since. I don't know what to do with it. The roots are too many, too deep. Why bother?

Somedays I just want a t-shirt that says, "Ask me if i give a fuck." Seems like that would save me a lot of grief.

Letter to the Editor

Last year, after meditating for a month on Arundhati Roy's address to the World Social Forum 2003 in Porto Alegre, the following words came in the form of a letter to an editor. Albeit late, I tried to submit it to our local conservative paper on March 6. Of course, they would have none of it. So much for truth in mainstream media. Though it was like preaching to the choir, a great local alternative magazine ran it in April, 2003.


The things worth dying for are few: the Holy Status Quo isn't among them.

The impending slaughter of a weakened, humiliated nation has nothing to do with either Weapons of Mass Destruction or Saddam. Both are just ploys. Mr. Rogers could be ruling Iraq and we would still want him ousted, because he would be sitting atop one of the world's last reserves of what has lined our elite's pockets for nearly a century.

Still less (less than nothing = anti) is this about democracy or God.

No, it's all about empire. Broken down, that's keeping the controlling few in power through hoarding resources, money and privilege. From that position, the Corporate State of America can sell whatever seems pliable back to its McPeons -- you and me -- in the form of distraction, be it new stuff or just plain "news." Thus is the Holy Status Quo maintained.

Well, your pants are down, your power trails are well documented, so we blush for those who won't and say, "No thanks. Keep your distractions. We're not buying them anymore. In fact, go ahead, sit on our resources, our money and our privilege. You have no power, but what we give you. It's all going to implode sooner than you think."

song?

what you're sellin' i ain't buyin'
what you're tellin' sounds like lyin'
why the hell is people dyin'
what you're sellin' i ain't buyin'


these words have been swimming in my head for quite sometime now; they reached fever pitch this last week as i read arundhati roy's address to the world social forum in mumbai. i don't know what became of her plan, but was really heartened when i followed the links provided in the original znet article.

first

Holy shit! The empire strikes first.