Our friends Maire and Donovan invited us to a local celebration of "Burns Night." Every year on January 25th, Scots folks and the folks who love them get together and feast and celebrate Scotland's bard, Robert Burns. Robert Burns, "Rabbie," is Scotland's most beloved poet and I'm told the Scots folk indeed Love their poets.
The Haggis is the most important part of any celebration of "Burns Night," and last night was no exception. The Haggis, as in the photos below, was piped in at the celebration we were at by Jeff, the piper, and carried by our host, Mikey. Robert Burns poem, "Address to the Haggis," was read over the wonderful "beastie," and the fanfare was a wonderful part of the whole celebration.
Yesterday, all over the world, there was much eating of Haggis and much reading of "Address to the Haggis," (which Shusli summarized as stating that if you don't eat Haggis, your manly parts will shrivel up and fall off, or something like that anyway), as well as much drinking of Scotch.
Despite its bad reputation, Haggis is not as scary as folks make it out to be. In fact, it is quite good. "Poor peoples food," as our friend Maire might say.
In thinking of this day for the last couple of weeks, I have become enamoured with the idea of the power of the word.
Saul Williams says it in a story. He was sitting in Belize with some friends and they ran out of rolling papers. A Rasta fella they were smoking with whips out his bible and reads the first page of Genesis. He then rips out the page and rolls a big fattie. At this time Saul says he realized the power of the word. "First God said it, then it was."
Words can inspire us into Love and into killing. Words can make things seem really sweet, like "Patriot Act," but only disguise insidious terror beneath their echoes.
As a poet, I heard Rabbie had inspired many a woman into getting naked with him. As a poet myself, that never happened for me. I think my poetry more scares the shit out of folks than it does inspire them to lust for a fatty long hair like me, but that's OK. You see, it was a poem that first inspired my Lovely wife, Shusli, to call my show many years ago. It was my poetry that inspired her to meet me. And now we are married and I Love her oh so much and she Loves me as well.
I pray that the words I have tossed about in my lifetime have inspired folks to empower themselves to take everything back. May it be so...
TO THE WORD! MANY INSPIRATIONS TO FOLKS TO EMPOWER THEMSELVES TO CREATE A WORLD GOOD FOR EVERYONE AND ALL LIFE YET TO COME!
Bless Yeez All.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
The Power of the Word
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Never In A Fair Fight!
I've told this story before, but I'll tell it again:
Daniel Boone, an American legend and frontiersman, was captured and lived with the Shawnee in captivity for some seven years if I remember my history correctly.
He met the future amazing leader of the Shawnee, Tecumseh, when he was just aged seven. While together near a stream of water, Dan told Tecumseh how white folks do business. He held out one hand to Tecumseh to shake his and kept his other hand behind his back. When Tecumseh reached for Dan's hand, Dan grabbed it hard, pulled him in and off balance, while swining a knife from his other hand which he had held behind his back, and put it to Tecumseh's throat. He had a hearty laugh. Tecumseh thought it was a disgusting display.
I believe that is the moral high ground I hear all the folks around here talking about when they discuss Iraq and the U.S. regaining its moral high ground. The U.S. has forgotten how to keep their knife hand behind their back and now just do business openly in such manners. I guess that's the U.S. moral high ground folks keep talking about.
Israel, in it's founding some 60 years ago, was given the opportunity for peace. But its founders thought that peace basically makes a nation fat and lazy. So, what does a nation do? It builds up an overwhelming military might, then creates an enemy. The enemy it creates must have virtually no military might or a military might that is so weak it could be easily and quickly over ran (knife behind the back, then to the throat). But you don't want to wipe these folks out, either. You want them alive because their lives serve your nations purpose. They attack your nation with its minor might because you, as a nation, have destroyed their economies and keep them oppressed on their own lands. Then, you move in with your overwhelming military might. But wait! You also have control over their energy supply. You cut it off, make them weaker, because in a fair fight, it just wouldn't work as well in your direction. Thus, a minor analysis of the current Israel/Gaza conflict. Israel uses tanks, Gaza uses stones. Never in a fair fight.
The U.S. did the same to Iraq. No military might faced by an overwhelming military might. Never in a fair fight. This type of shit has happened throughout history, like Ronnie Reagan hitting soft targets in Nicaragua and Honduras in the '80's; hospitals and schools specifically. Good ole American moral high ground, like; "Kill them all, little and big...nits make lice." Never in a fair fight.
I read in David Stannard's, "American Holocaust," that when the Aztecs went to war, they liked a level playing field. Your folks didn't have as many weapons, they'd give you some to even it out. Not as many soldiers on the field? They'd take away some of theirs. They loved a fair fight, or so it seems. Loved a balanced playing field. Didn't practice that American moral high ground of "Kill them all, little and big..." or "soft targets."
Tell me folks, don't you think it would be honest...and well...MORAL, to fight on a level playing field? Say, 100,000 Americans armed with...bats...against 100,000 well fed and healthy Iraqi's armed with...bats. Then they go at each other for a while, and after it is all over, head to the nearest Iraqi bar, compare wounds, laugh and joke about the good fight, cry over fallen and wounded comrades, then maybe decide to turn it into a sport where not so much killing happened.
Oh, I'm sorry, this is civilization, and civilization never fights fair. Fair and balanced my ass! Never in a fair fight!
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
CRASH BANG BOOM!
We had a drivers meeting yesterday at work. We discussed safety, mostly, as two trucks were totalled this last year because of icy road conditions. This alone cost our company (even after insurance pay offs etc.) $140,000. The big boss also mentioned that the health insurance rates increase by about $100,000 every year as well as the insurance rates are going to go up on the vehicles because of the wrecks. The company also spent $80,000 more on fuel than they did the previous year. I guess it won't pay off if I ask for a raise now, enit.
The Market, as it were, took a wee bit of a DIVE off of a high cliff yesterday. But, thankfully, some of those folks who get paid a lot of money to delay the impending economic collapse were on it, but it looks like it may be a little more difficult to hold on to those thin threads that keep the U.S. economy from collapsing. The Market dipped over 400 points (not a good golf score, either) then was rallied back for the dow to end at -129 points. Economic collapse impending maybe a little sooner than we think...
If you want to read some interesting materials on the impending crash, and probably some of the best advice you can get about it, go to Life After the Oil Crash and read some of their analysis.
A lot of people are talking about investing in or buying actual gold. I have to tell you something here folks, you can't eat the stuff. Well, you can, but really, once you eat the stuff, what is it worth? You see, gold, in all actuality, is only a rock. The value assessed to gold is one assessed by humans in a civilized society, not by nature. This is called..."trust"...in economic terms. You trust that gold has value that has been assigned to it by civilized human beings. It ain't gonna keep you protected, and you ain't gonna be able to eat enough of the stuff to survive.
Personally, I would suggest community. Get with your peeps, find ways to keep yourselves healthy, happy, protected, and survive this shit that is about to happen or, even if the market ass gets saved by lies and illusions which we, as civilized human beings "trust," it isn't gonna last forever. It is doomed to fall sooner or later.
Hang on tight, folks, this may just be a bumpy ride.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Inside and Outside My Truck
Beep beep beep...my pager went off for the second time. I could walk across many lanes of traffic, lots of traffic lights, around this little business complex, and try to find a payphone, but what would be the point. I'd have to lock up my truck and set out on a journey to find such a beast. I hate cell phones and I choose not to have one. So, in a senseless useless drama of making it look like I was actually doing something about this little issue, I hopped out of my truck walked over to the passenger side, turned around in a circle to try to spy a payphone that I already knew was non-existent within my perameters. But HEY! It looked good to me...and me alone...since I was the only one in the parking lot waiting for a restaurant to open so I could take them some produce they ordered. No...really...it looked good. Nice little turn... feh! I stood there laughing silently at my ridiculous dance. Pretending there is a pay phone where there isn't because I'm getting paged an dancing to the beeps that have stopped a few minutes before but continue to motivate me now like a dog dancing for its person when no one is around.
I stood for a few seconds, smiled at being so rediculous, and let out a little sigh. A snow flake, maybe the first snow flake of the morning, fell gently and quietly on my left shoulder, and I smiled.
As I walked back to the open driver side door of my truck, I saw three more flakes fall. I looked at the sky, but I didn't think a whole lot more would come, but I smiled at the prospect of that which teaches all to rest and covers everything with a simple beauty.
I pull myself into my truck and plop my ass on the seat to hear, "hey," from the passenger seat.
I jump in my seat (having a passenger is against policy), hit my head on the roof (without much pain), and recognize the voice that was talking to me, though he obviously startled me out of my seat.
"JESUS CHRIST! YOU FUCKING SCARED ME!" Jesus laughed, loving such ironies as people calling out his name in vain when he appears to them. He was dressed in all of his robeish fineries. He smelled like flowers. He had a great big smile shining through his dark skin, black beard and mustache. I always admired his dark hands and thick fingernails when he appeared to me like this.
"Haven't seen you in a while," I said after shaking off all of the startle energy. "You've probably been busy, bein' who you are and all."
He just smiled. He cupped his hands together, pushed them in my general direction, then opened them to display a small handful of marijuana buds.
"That's really sweet, Jesus, but they random at my work. You know, everyone has to try to control everyone else's..." I pause knowing whom I'm talking to. "Well...you know."
Jesus nodded.
"But I have a friend that sure could use that stuff. Could you take that to her?"
He nodded and closed his hands.
"I'm smoking this stuff now," I tell Jesus, reaching into my bag and pulling out the Pendleton zip bag gifted to me by my wife, and pulled out some tobacco. "That's Girl's Blend, blended by Steve Books from Rich's Tobacco. That's for you," I tell him and hand him the bag.
He opened it, inhaled deeply, and smiled broadly. "That's nice. Thank you."
Jesus cupped his hands together around the tobacco and opened them in my general direction showing two tightly and perfectly wound hand rolled in Jesus' own hands cigarettes. When I roll my own cigarettes, they always look like a snake that just swallowed a rat. I took one and put it to my lips, Jesus did the same with the other. They were both already lit and we inhaled deeply and let the smoke pour out the open windows of the truck and upwards symbolically toward his dad.
"We're not supposed to smoke in the truck," I tell him. "But then again, you're Jesus."
"You're not," he says.
"Yeah, well, ya know."
He smiled.
We smoked our cigarettes about half way down before Jesus started talking.
"You've been flat, lately," Jesus tells me. You should listen to your elders, I believe, and Jesus doesn't get much older than most folks. You have to trust these elders, too, and Jesus has earned mine.
"You've been uncreative, stagnant, stale, bored, boring," Jesus continued. "You're flat."
"Uhhhh, thanks, Jesus," I responded...flatly.
"That's not a bad thing, brother," he tells me. "It is just a point of fact that you need to know to recognize where you are, where you've been, and where you are going."
I like having these conversations with Jesus, though I ain't a christian and never will be. Sometimes, though, I wish it were Crazy Horse or Chief John or someone indigenous from so far back I have no idea who they are would show up...
"I heard that," Jesus said.
I was surprised he read my mind. "No offense."
"None taken," he said with a smile. "Now back to the subject at hand..."
"You've hardly written a poem in a while. You haven't written a short story in a long time. You are barely even writing political commentary and there is a reason for this. These are signs. There is a reason for this stagnation, this flatness. You've been burning yourself out, brother."
"Well, Jesus," I stated, getting frustrated with our conversation because, well, he was right, "I'm fucking tired of the whole thing. I'm tired of this world collapsing. I'm tired of the horrific poisons unleashed upon this world by my fellow human beings. I'm tired of war. I'm tired of genocide. I'M TIRED! I just don't understand why it is so difficult for people to understand that killing each other isn't cool. That poisoning our world isn't cool. That being mean and cruel to others to get what you want isn't cool. I don't feel like there is a whole lot I can do about it and that everything I have done has had little or no effect. But I have to keep on trying."
"What is the first right?" Jesus asked me.
"Health," I said.
"That's right. And it is the same everywhere. If you are unhealthy it is a sign of something. That something needs to change. Same with your world. If it is unhealthy, then something needs to change, and you know this. But you have neglected your own health which only contributes to the unhealthiness of the world."
Jesus flicked his cigarette butt towards a bare tree and it turned into a white moth and flew away. "Mitakuye Oyasin," he whispered.
I tossed mine out and it fell in the white grass and smoldered, "mitakuye oyasin," I whisper.
"You're daughter is a representation of everything you struggle against in your personal world and she is defiant and strong willed like everything you struggle against in your personal world. You cannot change her, brother. She is who she is and she will change on her own, if she changes at all."
"Look, Jesus, I've had this same conversation with others. You ain't telling me anything I don't know. I Love the kid, but I know she is going to lack greatly in gratefullness, compassion, empathy, and harbor strengths in being mean and greedy. As much as I Love her I realize I can't be around that all the time. She does her utmost to be mean to Shusli and I and she can't be trusted. She is a liar and a thief and a back stabber as well as all those wonderful things I've seen in her. The spirit she carries, the kindness, compassion, Love, empathy, is all being stood on for strength for the meanness she has become to strengthen her greed in the world."
Jesus smiled.
"I don't know what to do, Jesus, so I have taken many giant steps back. Her mom is finally doing something, but the core person she is, that greedy mean person, is absolutely strong. She lacks depth. I mean she has depth, but she stands on it to be the person she is.
"I don't think I can do this anymore, Jesus. It is just so fucking hard. She sucks up so much of my energy and Shusli's energy and the energy of everything all around her to get what she wants. I've tried everything, Jesus. Everything I could think of. But her armor is so thick and all I can toss are pebbles and pour water. It just takes too much energy, so it is time for me to step back or away altogether. I've started stepping back already. That seems to have had no impact on her at all whatsoever, so I truly believe that our relationship is gone, it is just a matter of time. I mean, I'm no Jesus, Jesus, and I can't see the future, nor would I ask you to look into the future for me because that is my responsibility, but this is a pattern that seems to scream our relationship is over, it is just a matter of time.
"Jesus, Jesus, it hurts too much for it to be anything but pain anymore, and youz all have told me I'm living into my 80's, and then this. I don't want this mean cruellness into my 80's.
"And the world, she is a metaphor of America and America of her. I can't change things, but what else am I gonna do, watch TV."
Jesus pointed his face gently and sternly at me. I met him half way until our noses were a few inches apart and I could feel his breath on my face. He smelled like Girl's Blend and flowers.
"A great man once said," Jesus stated, "'things rarely turn out the way we expect them to, but they always turn out.'"
"You mean someone said that before me?" I asked.
Jesus laughed a hearty laugh. "You think you're daughter is stubborn.
"You know," Jesus said, "I have thousands of appointments to make every day. At least in your human concept of time. Sometimes millions. These are honest prayers of people who want my help or dads help or both, or help that doesn't involve either of us. Some of them I talk to just like I do you. Others I can be as simple as something catching the corner of their eye. Sometimes I can make all these appointments all at once, again, using you allz concept of time. Sometimes I take them on individual basis. Sometimes I mix it up. Sometimes I'm just too tired and send in other spirits who are, in all honesty, just as great as I am...using you allz concept of greatness.
"I like talking with you. You just see me as human and spirit, at least when I appear as human to you. Nothing more and nothing less than you. Nothing more and nothing less than any of those around you and all humanity, including your daughter. I really enjoy that you don't idolize me, and that you don't look to be idolized. You are out in an attempt to change what seems unchangeable. You take your desire to help seriously, and are humble. You have many faults, but they don't matter to you as much as leaving a better place for generations to come. And you accept your flatness and stagnation at this time as a sign that you have burned yourself out and it was time to talk with someone like me again.
"Relax, brother. Take your time unless something requires immediate action. You're car is falling apart because you feel like you are spinning your wheels and going nowhere. Don't spin your wheels. You are trying to take care of your car, but it is a real pain in the ass TO YOU! You are trying to take care of yourself, but it is a real pain in the ass TO YOU. Take care of the world as best you can, but you can't do that from an unhealthy place as you have beaten yourself into.
"Take it from me! I'm Jesus, for Christ's sake!"
We both had a good laugh at that one.
"Jesus, tell dad and grandma I Love them," I requested.
"They know, and send their Love back. Don't forget that, brother.
"Looks like your appointment is showing up," Jesus said.
I looked out the window to see a car pulling into the parking lot. I look back at the passenger seat. Jesus is gone and there is the pouch of tobacco that I gave him in his place on the seat with a little note:
"Thanks again, but I think you need this more than I do. You know it is a prayer, and you need to pray like you are praying in this story. --Jesus"
"...praying in this story," I think, easily confused. The note turned into a white moth and flew toward a moon made invisible by clouds. Time to get back to work.
"I Love life," I say to myself, and open the door to my truck, the smell of tobacco and flowers in my hair. A few tiny white flakes falling gently to the earth.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
It Says It All!
just give it back!"
Happy Birthday!
January 17, Thursday, was my birthday. "I'm 44," I told folks. "Like the gun," I'd say with a smile.
Shusli took me to Todai for lunch and we did the radio show together. What a wonderful birthday present. She also bought me "The End of America," by Naomi Wolfe, and a pair of sweats. My favorite part of the radio show was actually yesterday, Friday, after Shusli came home. She told me a co-worker heard our show and said, "You guys are radical."
Then we headed out to do the TV show. Jim, David, and I were interviewed for Northwest Native News. I don't do being interviewed well, unless it's for a job. I rambled when it was my turn. I was nervous. I don't like that kind of attention. But it was OK.
We had Onestaa on the show, a graffitti artist, muralist, dancer, and rapper. He'll be at the winter powwow, Wacipi, today at the Sylvania PCC campus, 12000 SW 49th.
I just tried looking up Northwest Native News on the internet, and you know, I could be wrong about their name.
Anyway, I had a great birthday because, during the interview stuff, Shusli said she didn't want to hang around because it was boring, so she took off, and came back with a cake that had a gun in it for my birthday...OK, it didn't have a gun in it, but it did have the number 44 on top, and that's a gun...right?
I Love you Shusli, thank you for the wonderful birthday!
The Northwest Native News crew, Mark, Leslie, and Mystique.
I took a photograph of Jim Lockart, filming me, photographing him, as he filmed the news crew filming the interview with David.
I took you allz picture through the camera. This is what you looked like.
Onestaa saying he caught a fish this big...
A good reason to take out the damns 1
A good reason to take out the damns 2
Why I am the happiest and luckiest man on earth, Shusli Baseler-Johnson.
Happiness
The day before my birthday
I had a dream.
We were all standing around
amongst many pallets
piled high with happiness...
...and we were
very happy!
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
The Weather
Probably the best winter weather we'll get 1
Probably the best winter weather we'll get 2
huh...huh huh...huh...perty
Seagull yearning for his beloved sun 1
Seagull yearning for his beloved sun 2
Seagull yearning for his beloved sun 3
Time to reflect 1
Time to reflect 2
What war is really all about
Monday, January 14, 2008
Education
All my dreams that I can remember have involved education. I am receiving an education through video (both cartoon and actual life), actual schools, libraries, school hallways, field work with my educators, riding on school busses, etc. These have been going on for about a month and I can recall no other dreams or pieces of dreams that involve anything other than being educated.
I am currently reading "Culloden," as my previous posts have mentioned. As well, I am listening to "Four Against the Arctic," by David Roberts, on CD. "Four Against the Arctic" is about an old true life Russian legend about four Pamori from Maizen (sp? on both) who sailed into the Arctic for the usual walrus and fox hunting in the summer weeks where such action is capable. This adventure was taken up in 1743. Four men got stranded due to weather conditions that blew their ship off course. The rest of their crew of 14 were possibly killed in the ice, but such documents about what happened are unclear. These men survived for 6 years and 3 months in these harsh conditions, with one of them dying a few months before their rescue in 1749. It is also about the research done by one David Roberts and his rather crazy adventures through the modern world of research all over the world as well as the rather interesting Russian bureaucracies. He adventures to the area in which these men survived, and that is where I am now. David is searching for the cabin in which these men survived for so long under such harsh conditions.
Me, I am a driver. Lately, the conditions of my life have led me to boredom, as well as for my wife, Shusli. Life is boring in this winter stretch with the almost constant presence of clouds and at least a drizzle of rain daily...often much more. These conditions have not been stress free, but as I read of adventures and harsh torture, genocide, etc., I cannot help but feel like not a whole lot is happening. ...booorrrred...
I think of the constant conditions without family for all those years those four men endured in what is even now described as a lonely place. I've had dreams of floating on a flat chunk of ice, naked, in the dark calm waters of icy land many a time. Thinking of plunging myself into the water that is so dark and mysterious and would claim my life should I do so. I never do in those dreams. I just sit, or lay, amazed at the beauty that such a harsh place in the world carries. And it feels like the world is asleep in a boredom. A boredom of waiting... waiting for something... something to happen...
As I said, I am a truck driver. And in this rainy weather, when it is raining, I am mostly wet. I acquire moisture inside my coat, and am usually wet until my day is over. When it is not raining, I fare well, but life is interesting...and boring...
Recently, I trained a driver, kind of. The man, a nice enough fellow, could not back up a truck. This, of course, raises my suspicions. With the type of activism I do, I am always wary of such folk who claim to be capable of something...and are not. He supposedly drove for Fed Ex for a year or so, but he also could not work a stick shift. Fed Ex, he told me, have nine speeds, and since he was there for over a year, you think he would be capable of getting a truck up a small incline with easy effort in a stick. But such efforts were...difficult...for this man, who not only killed the truck we were in and incapable of getting it up the hill (I had to take over), he had also done something similar with another driver. For me, and many other drivers I know, once you learn a stick, it is almost impossible to forget. Today, while at my second stop, I was told he didn't show up there until 10:30am one day. On a bad day, like today [I had to go to a Plaid to get batteries for my pager], I am there at 4:30am. That is a rather large difference. He was also at one of my stops that I am at by 7:30 even on a busy day at 2:30 in the afternoon. The man no longer works there. That, amigoes, is about the extent of my adventures lately. Maybe the man lied, maybe he really can't keep a stick shift in his memory, maybe he always had difficulties backing up (but in a box truck?), ...more than likely it was nothing.
Shusli and I have been almost frantic about getting the heck out of this neighborhood. We would either move to Coos Bay or somewhere around here closer to nature. Our neigborhood has three well known meth houses (see Shusli's blog) within a block. We are constantly barraged by noise. Yesterday, Eli informed us that there were gun shots fired just across the street. In the end, however, we have kind of surrendered ourselves to staying here until at least September, most likely until the summer of '09. We will scrimp and save (it is tough not buying mochas on a frequent basis for me, but shit, big fucking deal! It's not like I'm stranded in the arctic or surviving in a prison in Inverness where my dying comrades are constantly moaning, the dead are left at our feet, and I am waiting in our shit and piss for days on end to be tried and hanged for fighting back.) until we have a nice downpayment for a house, or we may do whatever the conditions deem need to be done depending on if the collapse has come by then.
Until then, maybe these dreams of education will continue. Maybe we will be bored until spring comes along (is boredom natural in winter?). Maybe excitement will come or we will create it ourselves. Who knows? Until then...
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Six Years and a Day
Happy Birthday to you.
Happy Birthday to you.
...Yesterday, of course, was the birthday of Guantamo Bay prison. It is six years old, and there were many protest celebrations going on all over the world. As we all know, there have been horrific forms of torture and all sorts of other great acts of cruelty happening there. Many of Zubek's sensory depravation torture techniques have been tested and improved upon. Leave it to America to be so creative about cruelty.
Oddly, I am finding paralell in the book, "Culloden." I have read through the horrors of the battle and am now in the wonders and terrors that happened afterward. No wonder so many Brits Loved the shit out of Adolf prior to him bombing the shit out of their nation that is. I'm sure many still did after that, making much money in the process, just like the wealthy in this nation. Anyway...the prisons of Inverness after Culloden were absolutely horrific. The descriptions are enough to sicken the hardest soul. The dead being left in cells until their are around a dozen. The beggars being forced at bayonette point to drag them off and bury them. The stench. The moans of the wounded and dying. Laying and living for months in their own filth. The innocents being arrested along with with guilty, as it were. Amazing.
Some shit just doesn't change.
Happy birthday dear Guantanamooooooo!
Happy birthday to you!
Friday, January 11, 2008
Whattya Know, It Is Another Attempt at a Gulf of Tonkin Incident
I was listening to Democracy Now today, and they were talking about the Strait of Hormuz incident, if you will. That is the where the U.S. alleges that five Iranian speed boats were trying to attack U.S. ships in the Strait of Hormuz in order, of course, to further the genocidal attack plans of King Dick and co-King George. Turns out that all the evidence is pointing to the Iranians as being correct, that the incident was fabricated other than the fact that there were five speed boats and U.S. ships in the strait at the time. The tapes played by the U.S. are turning out to be the fabricated part. You can also read Gareth Porter's article on IPS news.
This, of course, coming on the heels of newly declassified documents that confirm what most new all along about the Gulf of Tonkin, it was fabricated in order to take the U.S. into an imperialist war with Vietnam.
Dick, George, why not be honest. You can say something like this, Dick:
"I, King Dick, have unilaterally declared war on Iran because they refuse to give up their resources to me and my excessively wealthy and extremely greedy friends. Prepare to die!"
Then you can have George parrot you:
"We are going to Iran with war...errr... Iran egged the White House...errr... No, I don't want any prestel...er...pretzels... Ummmmmmm! [Long pause staring stupidly into the camera.] GIVE US YOUR FUCKING OIL, YOU ASSHOLES!"
I mean, this fabricating shit has just got to be so fucking embarassing for you, don't you think. I mean, getting caught with your hand in the cookie jar, as it were.
I'm just sayin'.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Uninspired
I have been very uninspired lately. I think it has been this long and drawn out stupid battle with Felicia and her mom. I am taking some steps back. With the frontal attacks and back stabbing both of them have done, the fact that I have very little time really with Felicia, I am just not into it right now. And I have been very uninspired. I have hardly taken any photographs. I haven't really been writing much. I've been keeping my nose in the news and reading "Culloden."
I have a few comments to make about the recent naval incident involving a U.S. naval ship and five Iranian speed boats: GULF OF TONKIN! MEXICAN AMERICAN WAR! There are so many ohters worth mentioning, but my brain isn't working all that well. Send the U.S. Navy into disputed waters, get a reaction, react defensively, get video, START YOURSELF ANOTHER UNPOPULAR FUCKING WAR!
Also, Iraqi's have started selling their children. You can research that on the net, especially on Al Jazeera. At least two kids a week are being sold to mostly allegedly wealthy adopters. Don't get me started on Jolie and Madonna. What these wealthy folks are, are opportunists. They want kids and can purchase one relatively easy in Iraq. Things are so horrific there, that I do NOT blame the families that sell their babies. I blame the U.S., the forced poverty, and the opportunism of the wealthy. The conditions that the Iraqi's live in have been forced upon them by the empirical U.S. Rich people come in and want to take advantage of the horrific situation and buy themselves a couple of babies, and easily do so. There are fears of children being sold into slavery and sex slavery as well. Capitalism and democracy, it's good for you...if you're one of the rich folks purchasing your next kid.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Culloden and Other Battles
I am about 100 pages into the book, "Culloden," by John Prebble. After reading about William Wallace, a friend of mine, who is Scots, borrowed that book and loaned me this one on Culloden.
The Battle of Culloden took place on April 16, 1745 and was the end of the Jacobite Rebellion in which the Highlanders tried to help prince Charles Edward Stuart regain the throne of England.
I have heard about this battle for a while. How the Clans were buried in mass graves afterward. How the clan system of the Highlanders ended on that fateful day as well as the Rebellion.
What amazed me was the stupidity of Prince Charlie in the battle. As the Brits and Brit-Lovers stood toe to toe with the Highlanders of the Jacobite Rebellion on the Culloden Battlefield, there was a whole lot that went wrong. A few of the Rebel leaders stated that it wasn't a good day nor a good location for a battle, but had to stand toe to toe against the Brits anway. Those leaders were smart.
When the battle started, it was mostly cannon fire from the Brits into the lines of the Highlander Scots lead by Prince Charlie. Charlie had command of the whole field and was the only person who could give the order to charge. He held back, however, for an hour as the Brit cannons tore to shred the Highlanders. Basically, Prince Charlie was responsible for the destruction of his own Rebellion.
"Culloden" [1961] starts with the battle and will go on into what happened to the folks around that Rebellion afterwards. I look forward to reading about those good old patterns.
This brings me to the genocidal war with Iraq so King Dick and co-King George can attempt to steal the resources of the Iraqi people. This invasion, lead by the two Kings who are Chicken Hawks who don't know how to fight wars or battles, has lead the U.S. to an impending economic collapse not unlike that of the Soviet Union. This battle, allegedly to end terror but really to steal resources, will result soon in the starvation of five million Iraqi's. This battle has killed over a million Iraqi's. What helps in the sustaining of this battle is the fact that the numbers of U.S. casualties are kept low and thus keeping support of the American moronic population. I wish there was a massive uprising against this genocidal and globally destructive war, but there won't be. Let's be honest, folks, Americans just don't give a shit about five million Iraqi's about to starve to death, the fact that Iraqi's are now selling their children in order to survive, sanctions and destruction of the health care system are killing more Iraqi's, etc. In a way, I have given up on the idea of an uprising in the states and keep myself mentally prepared for an impending collapse. It is kind of liberating not to fight this constantly, keep my head up, and inform folks who may not know or understand. Basically I've changed my tactics to something more realisitic.
The last battle I'll talk about was with Felicia. We had Felicia for a week over the New Year, and it was terrible. I won't give the details because it was really a very awful week, but rather liberating at the end. Felicia is immersed in mall culture and has a great desire to get away with the crimes of stealing and lying as well as flunking out of school [currently at 4-f's and a b]. I have worked so hard these many years with the help of many, especially Shusli, to try to get Felicia to be more of a global thinker, kind and compassionate, honest, not a thief, etc. However, the patterns of her behavior and her mother's as well have proven as stubborn as Prince Charlie letting his Highlander Scots get decimated by cannonfire at the Battle of Culloden.
Unlike Prince Charlie, I know this is not a good time or place for battle. Shusli and I have faced the overwhelming odds of massive cannon fire, the inability to create a charge that would create change in my theiving and lying daughter who does poorly in school.
The cannon fire of Mall Culture, the small arms of willful stupidity, and the ability to make a powerful stand against folks who want Felicia to have a standing on life far and above that of the American Willfully Stupid Mall Culture, have indeed won the day.
I have learned by reading books of history and current events and pyschology various patterns of folks from nations to individuals. Felicia and Lisa have dug a trench deep and wide across a battlefield that is open, are armed with the cannon fire of Mall Culture and small arms of Stupidity, and I look at them across the field on these stormy wet days and realize, this is a battle that I cannot win, and therefore a battle I will no longer fight. It is time to get my forces out of harms way and keep them safe to struggle elsewhere for other things that are worthy of struggling for where even if the chances are overwheling, I'll at least have a chance.
Since Felicia has stolen from Walgreens to this last Friday when she went home after a week long stay with Shusli and I, Shusli and I both have suffered greatly in this battle. It has been liberating for me, and I'm sure Shusli as well, to realize that Felicia will be nothing more than your average everyday mall rat immersed in pop culture as the one and only true source of life. This is not an insult toward her, this is just surrendering to the truth like I surrendered to the truth that no Americans will stand against the starvation of five million Iraqi's. I feel no stress to teach Felicia there is more to her world that the mall and pop culture, she does not and will not hear of it and neither will her greatest ally, her mother. Felicia will not go to college and will continue to struggle tooth, fang, and claw, to be willfully stupid. Being attractive to the opposite sex and being popular are the most important things in the world.
I surrender the battlefield to Felicia and Lisa and gladly step aside for their head long charge into American Mall Culture and Willful Stupidity. Oddly, this doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would. This last month has lead me to great suffering and crying on Shusli's shoulder, but this surrender is liberating. I no longer have to struggle to try and get Felicia to see beyond mall culture (and it's been a struggle). I no longer have to struggle to get Felicia to get good grades. I no longer have to struggle to get Felicia to try to be something other than attractive to the opposite sex. My struggle to create a compassionate, empathetic, intelligent, world viewed daughter has been abruptly stopped in this last month long battle. Instead of taking my forces full on into the cannon fire, I have chosen to walk away and not struggle that way any further.
I will still have Felicia every other week. I will end my Wednesday visits. And I will let Felicia and Lisa call their own shots as far as Felicia's life goes. My struggles lie elsewhere. Felicia shouldn't be a struggle. She should just be a 12-year-old kid.
Well, in a year or two, we'll see if Jerry Springer can't help straighten all of this out.
Friday, January 4, 2008
Change? Please!
After doing the "Mitakuye Oyasin" radio show, Shusli, Jim, Felicia, and I headed over to our friends house, Maire and Donovan for some tea and chat. Having missed Democracy Now that day, Maire informed us that the show was about the advisers to the front runners of the current presidential bid. I was extremely shocked that Brzezinski was adviser to Obama. Brzezinski, of course, being the designer of the Russian collapse via their 10 year war with Afghanistan so that they would be out of the way of U.S. global domination. Albright, genocidal F*** is adviser, of course, to fellow genocidal F***, Hillary Clinton. Kissinger is adviser to John McCain. No surprise, but a war criminal wanted in three countries as well as a genocidal maniac. So, folks, no matter how you vote, there will be NO change. The only change that will come is when we all get off of our asses and make assholes like these accountable for their crimes and actions and we all take back our world. ...I didn't think so...
[excerpt from the introduction to Amy Goodman's interview with Alan Nairn on Democracy Now]
Advisers to Hillary Rodham Clinton include many former top officials in President Clinton’s administration: former Secretary of State Madeleine Albright, former National Security Adviser Samuel Berger, former UN Ambassador Richard Holbrooke. Senator Barack Obama’s list includes President Carter’s National Security Adviser Zbigniew Brzezinski, former counterterrorism czar Richard Clarke, former Middle East negotiator Dennis Ross.
Rudolph Giuliani’s advisers include Norman Podhoretz, one of the fathers of the neoconservative movement. John McCain’s list of official and formal policy advisers includes former Secretary of State Henry Kissinger, General Colin Powell, William Kristol of The Weekly Standard, and former CIA Director James Woolsey. One of Mitt Romney’s top advisers is Cofer Black, the former CIA official who now serves as vice chair of Blackwater Worldwide. Vice President Dick Cheney’s daughter Elizabeth is advising Fred Thompson.
