An Outlaw After Midnight .. the pain of pacifism

An Outlaw After <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Midnight

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    I think of the other outlaws after midnight and what we pay and what we owe and how down and dirty is it going to get. Almost all my ties are cut now. I own nothing but rage. I have you, my darling, in my mind like an ember-coal under a dove-grey silt of ash – I have but to blow on the thought of you and the lava of you in my heart is re-revealed. But the rest, like Dante’s 10th circle of Hell, is cold or colder or coldest. Hate is not hot in the end.

    They say love solves everything. I have not noticed that to be so. It is hard to know which is more gigantic in these Present Menaces, their gigantic Greed or their gigantic Stupidity? If you know, please tell me. I long for something known.

   “Why are you an outlaw, Miss,” asked a young journalist named John Plume, who wished he dared to bear that unflinching look into the darkness of their hearts, but wanted to hear the blindness secondhand. I remember the color of strawberries. I remember the celadon color of your eyes struck with a shaft of sun, the color inside the curl of a breaking wave. I see so clearly now that the sight of their other-than-human not placable, not relenting obscene bastard midas meanness drove me blind.

      “I went blind, Mr. Plume,” I said not unkindly because he was so earnest and not bereft of hopes, even high ones – he reminded me of myself once upon a time – “I went blind, Mr. Plume at first only on Mondays and Thursdays, because the ratbreath bastards became so brazen and so gruelingly cruel and my brothers and my sisters were still bamboozled by their skillful gigantic Deceits. One day my right eye just burst into tears of blood from watching their Lies in full color on CNN. A friend of mine said, ‘Ye gods, Belle Z. Babe, your right eye is weeping tears of blood.’ I smeared my hand across my wet cheek and saw that it was so. ‘I’m not so surprised really,’ I said to him. ‘Why is your right eye not weeping tears of blood?’

   “I cannot believe that we just go to sleep at night and let day after day pile up like corpses along side the highway of history while these bastards loot and steal right out from under our noses and we do not whimper, not even like a kicked dog. Where in the hell, Obol, amigo de mi corazón, is our dignity and our sacred honor? Such sheepery and lemminghood disgust me about ourselves. They don’t even have to bestir themselves to defeat us. They must be putting saltpeter in the junk food. Are we tamed by aspartame?”

    Mr. Plume looked at me bemused. This was an hour when my fractured vision, which was like looking through shards of broken glass, had some light not only darkness. I saw him begin to see.

    After midnight us outlaws devise and revise. How do we move the Titanic an inch away from the iceberg that is looming in our sweet comrades’ dark while they don’t or refuse to know? A militant pacifist, I only get keen words in a noisy world. If you begin to see, begin to do small disobedient acts. Stealthy subversions. Our planet should be tended not plundered. I sharpen the guillotine words on our behalves.

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If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of rage for justice, rage for peace material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com

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Flint . Edznab . Knife . North  tzol 118  09.27.05  tues

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the pro-peace world begins today with you
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Quantum Philosophy

Quantum Philosophy  

  

   “Because it should be vivid and squawking like a parrot, sudden on a jungle branch, mocking. Because it should be as fragile and potential as a dandelion puff. Because it should be putting your finger in the socket of the universe and being amazed at the bloody blazing. All tigers burn. All bushes burn. All walls burn. You dwell in a controlled conflagration of ferocious delicacy. Like the inside of a ripe pineapple, it’s all gold juice, your life.”

    Viv Id was teaching a class in lucid waking in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Quantum School. Her team teacher, Pond Scum, had asked her why she’d spent a life working at busting philosophy out of its turgid and tepid academic prison.

    “Because your moments should be like coming upon a rattlesnake as you round a corner in your path. The ominous rattle, the coiled snake, the implacable eyes. you become perfectly poised, the inessential is vanished, calfed, as icebergs fall, away, and you are left bone and heartbeat. You are utter and gathered in a single place. It all acutely matters. That acute mattering is the moving point philosophy ought to reveal to you, remind, reheart to you. For – for washing the dishes. It’s all dangerous. It’s all delicious.

    “Just like priests, ministers, gurus stole from us the rage and rampaging, the immediate intimacy between us and Iz, philosophy got all safe and studied. Religion preferred obedience to the promethean fire. The desolating horrors of monotheism and of detachment. You can’t tame philosophy and not be just left with a Golden Retriever or a mangy pelt on the wall. Philosophy is a wolf, and she’ll bloody rip your throat out if you don’t become wise in the ways of the wild.”    

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9 Cane . Ben . Reed . East  tzol 113 . 09.22.05 thur
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the pro-peace world begins today with you
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Jesus & Jesusia

 Jesus & Jesusia

 

   Ja Guar was the renowned Director of Planetary Films. He staged what might be called morality plays on the stages we call continents in earthside lingo. His consort and cohort Gata was the chief script writer for the plays which melded actors and amnesiaized participants.

     On Earth the distilled venom vs honey – Are you poisonous or are you sweet? – melees of consciousness were focused a lot on the hairless biped, where on a more watery planet, the ceffs or cephalopods, the octopi might dominate the soap opera scene.

    When the script writers lost control of the domineering Religion Christianity, Gata was called in to do some re-writes before this Religion of Peace blew every one off the planet. <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Hiroshima and Nagasaki hadn’t made enough of a dent to sate the virulent ebolaesque e christiani, a disease where you made damned sure that your enemies whom you were supposed to love bled from every orifice and from bullets holes if the other orifi weren’t enough. This was the most virulent strain of the Religion Virus that had been developed any where in the Cosmos. And the Galactic Palaver was plenty worried in case the plague became space-borne. Everyone longed for the spread of the Worship of the Gigantic Teapot from Terengganu instead. But that was not to be. To have a really virulent strain of Religion, it has to be absent the humor gene.

        “Well, Ja Guar”, said Gata, “I’m trying to back-burn this puppy. We moved in an half million extras, the finest psychic-stunt beings in the cosmos – beings willing to wear the stifling and constricting fleshsuit and to live in deep cover for from 2-80 years to play this one big scene of devastation on the Gulf Coast of Turtle Island.

    “Each of them is Jesus or Jesusia and the hope is to wake the dormant kindness in the e christiani afflicted by exposure to the real suffering of Jesus and Jesusia. The Afflicted are resistant to norfloxacin, cefotaxime, clavulanic acid, and to reason or evidence. In addition to the drugs, there is evidentiary therapy, but the Afflicted, like those affected by the barley Blight madness in the Middle Dark Ages, are raving mad and it is difficult to interrupt their acute theophrenia.”

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to be continued    

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1 Serpent . Chicchan . East . tzol 105  09.14.05 wed

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the pro-peace world begins today with you
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Rev Shanks sez Destruction Shows God's Mercy

<?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />New Orleans Residents: God's Mercy Evident in Katrina's Wake

By Jody Brown and Allie Martin with pogblog's gloss & apologies
September 2, 2005 & September 8, 2005
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(AgapePress) – Two Christian leaders in New Orleans are testifying to God's mercy [God’s great mercy was clear to me all along too] in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. One suggests that the death toll could have been much higher had it not been for [good ole] God's mercy [He could have arranged for nobody to die hideously, not even the vehicularly challenged, stricken poor, but, well, He didn’t] — and the other that God may have used the hurricane to purge wickedness from the city. [Purging is good. Definite. Terminal. No one wants a God who maybe wishes, maybe washes. Tire-iron between the eyes like Katrina – that’s the kind of Decisiveness we desire in a Deity.]

 


Chuck Kelley is president of New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary, with facilities located near the southern banks of Lake Pontchartrain and in Chalmette, east of the city. Baptist Press reports that Kelley now finds himself homeless and with only a few personal belongings following Hurricane Katrina's devastating blow to the New Orleans area. But the seminary leader says he is able to discern [like those special 3D, Deity-D glasses?] God's hand [maybe the left Hand didn’t know what the right Hand was doing?] in the situation.
 

“Imagine what would have happened if New Orleans had taken a direct hit [instead of Biloxi which God loves less],” he tells BP. “The levee did not break until after the storm was clear and the winds had died down and the rescue workers were able to get out.” Had the levee given way during the hurricane, he says, “untold thousands of people [instead of told thousands of people]” would have been killed. [I may be delusional, — being fond of you is clearly delusional – but I am not DELUSIONAL. The tormented calculations these folks have to do to preserve their DELUSIONS is fascinating if odious.]

“It's a terrible tragedy [perpetrated by merciful God tho?],” Kelley says of the devastation in and around New Orleans, “and we still don't know the scope of it — but the evidences [through sewage darkly, perhaps?] of God's [sewage-strewn] mercy are there. We rejoice [Rejoice? Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Hurricane, He has trampled down the levees and loosed His terrible swift sewage?], in the fact that He has got the whole world in His hands [Wish He’d quit making a Fist], including the city of New Orleans and the seminary.”
 

Kelley's faith, despite his personal situation, remains steadfast. He explains to Baptist Press that he is confident of God's provision. “When we get to the end of this story,” he says, “the last paragraph [What is this ‘waiting thing’ exactly? The good news couldn't come in the second paragraph?] is going to be a testimony to the greatness and glory of our God, who is able to do all things well [especially sewage], and able to provide every [except at the SuperDome & the Convention Center, I guess – Satan musta disguised those up with christianonite] need.”
 

Rev. Bill Shanks, [a Real Piece of Work – no Namby-Pampy Pussy-Footer he], pastor of New Covenant Fellowship of New Orleans, also sees God's mercy [Go, God!] in the aftermath of Katrina — but in a different way. Shanks says the hurricane has wiped out much [Why not all of it? Just asking.] of the rampant sin common to the city. [Being God, He couldn’t have done this with mercifully Less Sewage abounding? Amazing Sewage, how unsweet the stench ..]

 

Rev. Shanks explains that for years [See, they had time to Mend Their Ways, those crafty witches et sin-ridden al – nice God didn’t just spring this on them – they had their chances] that he, Rev Shanks, has warned people that unless Christians in New Orleans took a strong stand against such things as local abortion clinics, the yearly Mardi Gras celebrations, and the annual event known as “Southern Decadence” — an annual six-day “gay pride” [God does not like gay people and this cleansing hurricane proves it. All those dead babies would have grown up to be gay unless they had been mercifully spared that horrible fate by nice God who loves all his flock — minus the gay people] event scheduled to be hosted by the city this week — God's judgment would be felt. [Well, they all got theirs, didn’t they! Well done, God!]

 

New Orleans now is abortion free. New Orleans now is Mardi Gras free. New Orleans now is free of Southern Decadence and the sodomites, the witchcraft workers, false religion — it's free of all of those things now,” Shanks says. “God simply, I believe, in His mercy purged all of that stuff out of there — and now we're going to start over again.”

 

The New Orleans pastor is adamant. Christians, he says, need to confront sin. “It's time for us to stand up against wickedness so that God won't have to deal with that wickedness,” he says.

Believers, he says, are God's “authorized representatives [franchisees?] on the face of the Earth” and should say they “don't want unrighteous men in office,” for example. In addition, he says Christians should not hesitate to voice their opinions about such things as abortion, prayer, and homosexual marriage. “We don't want a Supreme Court that is going to say it's all right to kill little boys and girls [except in Iraq], … it's all right to take prayer [& I, Rev Shanks, prayed for the slow and horrible deaths of as many sinners as possible and did God answer my prayers or WHAT!? It shows what the Lord Jesus and his Dad, God, can do when They really put Their Minds to it.] out of schools, and it's all right to legalize sodomy, opening the door [or breaching the levees?] for same-sex marriage and all of that.”

 

Shanks heeded warnings to evacuate New Orleans, and is currently staying with friends [Wouldn’t it be fun to have Thanksgiving dinner with all these folks?]  in the Jackson, Mississippi, area.

 

© 2005 AgapePress all rights reserved

[except the freedom from satire to which there is never a right]


[Thank whatever stars amuse you that you don’t have to live inside a brain like these authorized representatives writhe within. No wonder there is only one joke in the bible.]

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for the unvarnished article: 

http://headlines.agapepress.org/archive/9/22005b.asp

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If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of rage for justice, rage for peace material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com

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9 Light . Ahau . Flower . South  tzol 100  09.09.05 fri

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the pro-peace world begins today with you
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Go to Mutilation .. “War” is a Euphemism

Go to Mutilation

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    Instead of saying Go to War, if we say Go to Mutilation, we strip away the monstrous notion that War, that Mutilation is noble. We’re going to Mutilation for fight for freedom? People need to recoil if they hear a Mutilation-monger – whether it is their neighbor or their president.

     Remember, dear reader, that my premise is that in Y3000 human reject war as absolutely as we reject child abuse today. (Of course war, of course mutilation is the worst degree of  child abuse – no worse harm can be done to a child than death or mutilation.) I believe that we end Mutilation as an accepted tool of cloved-hooved statecraft much sooner that Y3000. I’d reckon we will have eradicated the mutilation virus by 2038, 33 years from now. But because I don’t find it fruitful to get hung-up on dates, I’ve picked a timeframe only the NeoNutCons can dispute. Once we refine the memes, the mind-vaccine will spread very fast. People will recoil and rebel against the obscene waste of humane resources that the Mutilation Machine sucks out of your child’s brain.

    Because we are learning to stay on message, let’s have today’s recounting of the Extreme Left Wing 5-Point Agenda: universal healthcare; superb K-College education; a treasured & revered environment; a robust living wage; and nation-wide wi-fi.

    When we spend $200,000 per minute on Iraq; $820,000 per minute on the Mutilation Machine annual budget beyond the Iraq quagsands – those sum are being subtracted from healthcare, education, environment, robust wages, and a wired nation.  

     The pro-Mutilation crowd will jump up and down and hiss ‘n holler, ‘Whoo, whoo, Remember 9/11, They’ll get us here if we don’t mutilate them there.’ Balderdash.

   3000/425,000. The plane-wielding jerks are much less destructive than the cigarettes-wielding jerks. Yes, we should be vigilant and smart. But not, I may inject mildly, hysterical. This full-bore red-line the Mutilation Machine hysteria has not served us well even in its own terms. We have proved a red-coat dinosaur among insurgent lemurs. We have already lost.

    But we will have wiser leaders and, more important, we will teach ourselves not to be bamboozled by false fervors.

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Notes:

(1)On 02.27.1968 Walter Cronkite said about the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Vietnam debacle, “To say that we are mired in stalemate seems the only realistic if unsatisfactory conclusion.”  It was seven more years until it was finally over on April 30,1975. I hope we can do better. Mr. Kissinger implies that it was the divisions at home that prevented us from winning. Ho Chi Minh said, “We would have fought you for 300 years. We live here.”

 

(2)Cindy Sheehan spoke of people “who don’t have skin in the game.”

 

(3) Karen Meredith, Gold Star Mom from Mountain View noted that since Mr. Bush’s vacation (‘hanging loose time’) began, 31 soldiers had been killed in Raq.

 

(4) Whole cities are getting wired by MetroFi and Aiirmesh. South Korea has 60% broadband penetration in its country. And its broadband pipe is 20 Mbps moving to 100 Mbps compared to Comcast’s broadband boast of 1Mbps. We is smokèd. Effit, we is radically charred.

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If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of rage for justice, rage for peace material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com

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8 Death . Cimi . Twins . North . tzol 86  08.26.05 fri

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The Real Pornography

The Real Pornography

Toad Spawn Be Gone! Chapter 10

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     Obscene Accumulation is the Real Pornography.

     Back in the also obscene nuclear-weapons accumulation days, I used to wail and rail, “Let them steal our tiny piggybanks to build enough nuclear weapons to obliterate all living things and reduce all human structures to vapor and/or pebble-sized rubble 5x over. I won’t even squawk about that. I am willing to go that far in assuaging their paranoid fantasies.

     But the 6th world-rubbling? The 7th? The 10th? No. They have powerful inner demons that have to be fed. But they don’t have to be fed our children’s education and universal heathcare (certainly a jesusian idea) and a minimum wage which does not bring us shame. $14000 a minute for the fantasy Missile Crackpot Scheme aka StarWars? $200,000 a minute for the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Iraq war? Nope.

     So, there is a sin of scale. SUVs seriously suck, but Hummers are an Express Ticket to Hell.(Arnold has 8 Hummers – you do the Math on how fast he gets to the 10th Circle of Frozen Tears.) SUVs are the vehicular equivalent of microencephaly – the smaller the brain (& no doubt the dawg), the more bizarrely enormous the vehicle.

    I’m hoping to get us to think about not an Utopia, but rather an Buenopia – not perfect but good enough. In that world which will be wrought by the progressive work we begin and continue now, we will have solved the pathology of the real Pornography, Obscene, Filthy Accumulation. How? Well, the main task of artists is to show the Frantically Rich that those riches, like ole Midas did find out, don’t ultimately satisfy. There is enough money that makes you and your family comfortable and safe. Massive accumulations of Money that sit in your bank account fester spiritually. You don’t earn or need $33 million dollars in some year. It’s sick. You don’t need $90,000 bucks a day. You don’t need a tax break. You need prayer. That the poor sonsabitches whose lives and labor you hoovered all that lolly from don’t wake up and think “It’s a lovely day for a Guillotine.”

      It absolutely earthquakes my mind that people are offended by a glimpse of Janet Jackson’s bosom or the burning of a flag and we are talking Mt. Everests of Bosom & Flag Dudgeon here and Congressional Hearings with pompous and pious speeches, — and somebody gets 33 million bucks and the minimum wage is 7 bucks an hour and nobody twitches? My mind-heart struggles with the human Math – how much does what matter what?

     I have to recommend to you an always free consultation with my friend Dan Gero, a journalist and philosopher from Mars. Of course he’s in disguise. He doesn’t want to get incinerated, smithereened, or dissected. I can get you in touch with him though if you’re earnest. A long chat and a cup of tea with someone from another planet is very sobering. Excruciatingly illuminating. You try to explain that a free market (hahaha) always brings the best result. It doesn’t. It brings random and insane and clearly stupid results, but it an article of  economic theology that it always works better than, say, that Satan of Capitalists, the Government. I got a Rapture Ticket I can sell you if you believe that.

   Explain slowly and clearly to a patient philosopher from another planet why we get so twisted in a nutknot about Janet Jackson’s bosom or some such and the polite sympathetic look in his kind alien eyes is unbearable. When you see your species from the vantage of someone from another planet whose insight isn’t clouded by tribal prejudices (the human tribe), there’s a fair amount of nonsense that’s too ludicrous to defend.

   “Well,” I said, “in the dominant Religion in my nation . . .”

    “Excuse me,” he will say softly, “What’s a nation?”

   “Uhh. Well, it has a square rectangle of colored cloth that you wave on a stick. Your rectangle of striped colored cloth tells you which nation is yours, sort of. You have a special rousing war song. You hardly ever kill people who wave the same colored rectangle of cloth even if you hate them. If they have a different colored rectangle of cloth and your government says to, you kill them even if you like them. Or you kill them even if you don’t have a clue whether you would like them or not if you sat down together to have a burger and a beer.You kill people who step over your border if your government is really mad at them.”

   “What’s a border?”

   “Uhh. Well, it’s a line that separates my nation from Juan’s nation.”

    “We have very powerful holo-telescopes on Mars. I’ve never seen such lines. We can count the trees in your forests, but I have never seen these lines?”

   “Uhhh. Well, they’re there. Uhhh. Well, they’re on pieces of paper we call maps. They matter. We kill for them. We die for them. I’ve never seen one either. But. But they’re there. They’re very real to us. I don’t know why.”

   “So you were telling me about the dominant Religion in your nation, now that I understand what a nation is.”

    “Yeah, in the dominant Religion in our nation, they have one special day a week where they go drink the blood and eat the flesh of their God’s Son.”

   When you tell these kinds of things to a philosopher from another planet, and you see the politely veiled recoiling look on his face, it’s hard to want to have ‘Human’ stamped on your Galactic Passport.

    As a friend of mine says, “We have our work cut out for us to get 'equality of human value' around our whole spaceship. Capitalism has significant strengths. One of the great flaws of untended capitalism, however, is its collateral-damageizing of workers. Stupid becomes bad becomes evil when you aren't watching. It'd be better to go back to beads and barter if paper money and then just chicken scratches symbolizing paper money become more important than the people.”

    The idea that unless people are motivated by Continually Basted and Stuffed (like the Thanksgiving Turkey) Greed, we will devolve into uninventive sloth is absurd, but it is an Article of Faith justifying the Grotesque Accumulations Of Cold Gold. Let’s take three counter-indications. Most artists make zilch until after they die and then all the Richies buy up these symbols of something more meaningful than that Bottom Line.Us artists work like dogs for zilch.

    Legions of  women before the modern era did godszillions of useful volunteer work for centuries without money remuneration. Similarly almost all of the people who labor like dogs in non-profits are lousily underpaid, but they do the work anyway.

    Europeans who are hugely more taxed manage to have verve enough to continue to be entrepreneurial at a rate comparable to America’s verve — with much more public accountability.

     So we can take greed as necessary motivation off the table. It’s a hoary crock that gets hauled out in these arguments and somehow stops all further thought. Forget it. It’s stupid. It’s not true. 

    We’ll explore more of the solutions to the Real Pornography of Obscene Accumulation under the kind but relentless gaze of our Martian friends, unblinded by economic creeds, but for the moment, begin to study and dream and mull over a future in which you cannot feel or be lionized as powerful and successful if the planet, our Buenopia, is not pleasant and prosperous for also the least among us. Where you don’t get to have Two Mansions until everyone has one Swell Hut with indoor plumbing. A kind of inner gyroscope of justice, or a  justice-cap to Obscene Accumulation. I am not, by the way at all against your having a lot more than Mark or Mary, but there is a sin of scale. Along with them 3 Rs, we might want to start also teaching one J – the simple human math of justice.

 

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If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of rage for justice, rage for peace material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com

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6 Flint . Edznab . Knife . North  tzol 58  07.29.05 fri  8783§24d8h36m59s

♫ffsk 1295

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What's the Euphemism for Screaming?

What’s the Euphemism for Screaming?

  

    Next time you hear the phrase 'collateral damage,' I want you to leap up out of your chair and start screaming.

   Too boat-rocking for you? Too impolite? People will question your sanity? Your urbanity?

   You get to scream. The dead are very quiet. Perfectly polite. Perfectly polite are the collaterally damaged. You get to scream the scream they can not.

   Doing what’s right ain’t comfortable, ain’t polite. Solidarity of the living. The civil right to remain unmaimed.  

    Well, if every damn one of us leapt up and started screaming any time we heard some obscene mealy-mouthed insane euphemism like collateral damage, may be we could make a dent in their denial systems that lead to mutilated children – not collateral damage – children mutilated.

   There came a time when you had to say, “No, you can’t say ‘nigger,’ it’s wrong, it’s evil, and I won’t stand for it.” Now many a cocktail party in the early ‘50s was ruined by someone boat-rockingly, impolitely, finally, speaking up, speaking out.

   Living is a civil right. War is the last insane bastion of the double-speakers, the lunatic justifiers. War is state-sanctioned murder. War is state-sanctioned mass murder. Ohmygods, the ‘m’ word! Murder.

    As a planet we must pick a day – 9.5.05 would be good enough. Before that day all of history people were blind, do not blame them. Move on past the past. Til that hour they have an amnesty.

    After that day call it what it is. Killing is killing. Dead is dead. Murder is murder is murder.

   We do this telling of the whole truth now on 9.5. Or some other day, some other year, some other century. The abolition of war can be delayed but it does occur. The sooner, the sooner we can look our species in the mirror and bear it. The abolition of war, the pro-peace world, begins today with you.

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     Professor Quetzal said, “We better enlist our readers in the National Child Mutilator Registry campaign. Child Molestation is self-evidently grotesque. Children should be left to cheerful, raucous abandon without fear of being furtively pawed by some cretinous aging drooler.

    “However, one-to-one in seriously sick from the ethical perspective is the Child Mutilator. Until our Leaders and their Fervent Followers, the Killer 12ftTall Lizards in Human Disguise are mellowed, for our own protection we must have a National Child Mutilator Registry. If you have mutilated a child or mafially contracted to have a child mutilated on your behalf, we need to know so we can keep our uninfected cheerful clown children from your virulently contagious influences. At least until we develop the vaccine. Sadly, many of your diseases are hot-airborne. We do not want our delightstruck clown children paralyzed and disfigured by the viro-botulisms of your creeds and greeds.

    “You cry, ‘It’s in a good cause, these wars!’ The mutilation of a child can not be in a good cause, ipso facto. Child molestation is supremely disgusting, but if you can go one boschian rung lower on the ladder of ice down into cold Hell, Child Mutilation is one re-eat your-own-vomit degree of more sickening.

    “At least the Child Molester has to be faced with his own disfigured self-loathing in the mirror every morning when he shaves.”

      The Blue interrupted, “Unless he’s a taliban child molester who never shaves.”

    “Goaaal!” said Salma Nella whose hatred of religiopatrio chest-thumping hypocrisies was ivory – 99.666% pure.

    Quetzal smiled that smile to which Myrth was addicted. For the sake of the joke he had to maintain a deadpan, but with the faintest northernlights of extra glow in the aura around his face and an extra burnish of the mischief in his brown eyes, Quetzal nodded the wry nod.

    “The Child Mutilator wants some anodyne Layers of Denial between him:or:her and the brain-exploding acts they are allowing in their name. The mafia does contract hits so the blood-splatter evidence is on someone else’s cheap suit. But the Mutilated-Children karmic score goes in your column, pilgrim, by not one digit less. A child:mutilation is a child:mutilation is a child:mutilation. You can’t pretty it up unless you’re depraved or insane.

    “If I have to live next door to someone willing to call child-mutilating collateral damage, I want to know. Collateral? Damage?

    “If you in your hometown take a grenade and throw it at a child or mow them down with an M16UziAK47, you go to jail, get battered with outrage and shunning, get wired up in the fry chair and e-lek-tro-cuted. If the mutilated child is exactly the same End, but your Means is a noble son dropping a bomb from 10,000 ft or mowin’ ’em down with the M16UziAK47, you get parades, holidays, and sousa music? You do go to Karmic Jail, and it’s a profound security prison, let me tell you, and that is a faint solace for us. If you had to touch them as they died; if you had to push their wheel chair; if you had to look over their shoulder into the same mirror as them as they have to see every day that they’ll never be pretty again; if you had to sit with them as they watch unmutilated kids play basketball or soccer. The jury that judges you is dead children, pilgrim, mutilated children. Not the protoplasmic jelly in the womb you so luridly defend, but the once-leaping, once-laughing, once-hopscotching whose hullabaloo and delicious lives you spindled, mutilated, folded, and collateralized.”

 

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If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of rage for justice, rage for peace material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com

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14 Rainstorm . Cauac . Redbird. West  tzol  79  8.19.05

ffsb 872§8769§24d7h47m33sikhoudvanu

..


the pro-peace world begins today with you
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Fight for the Soul of Earth

<?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Fight for the Soul of Earth .. slumped over keyboard . .. .

 

6:03:34a.pdt.us

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 Fight for the Soul of Earth .. Hmmm, found myself slumped over the keyboard of the Faithful Computer at Dawn, having, well, slumped against the wall of Castle Fati Gue apparently. The last thing I remember was at about 2:44am writing about us far-left looney left fringe left folk at a Solidarity with Crawford Vigil.¹ Then I was swaying & swooning trying to stay awake to do Preview at a Comment Screen one more time to make sure the html angled brackets were all closed.

 

Who even knew that in the Fight for the Heart of Earth one would learn some rudimentary html? It ain’t the Da Vinci Code, it’s HTML code in the <a href=>“http://pogblog.myblogsite.com/blog/_archives/2005/7/11/1018320.html”>noosphere</a>. No, no, no, I did not slump because I was ahopin’ beyond hope, that His Beastly Worship YouDon’tKnowWho would give me a buzz on Ye Olde Fashioned Phone Lines. It’s not that I actually long to hear his dulcet tones or nothin’ – nah, he can go sniffa sock for all I care, but we have a kinda deal that I won’t drink no beer unless he’s visiting or we’re aphonin’. Well, I really coulda used a beer, Boyo, after a hard 48Hours in a row Fighting the 12ftTall Lîzards Disguised as Human Beings Who Purport to Lead Us.

 

I have been derelict in my Task #1 on The Stay Outof the Culvert List which is finding an agent or publisher who would dare to handle my avant-reve giga-futur fractal-radical prose. You’re out there, or you, dear reader, know that person. Do by all means or by email contact me so we can begin that Publishing Adventure. (pogblog@yahoo.com) It would be nifty to be able to concentrate on the Writing rather than The Worrying about how long I can stay outa the Culvert² – or outa Gitmo for that matter. Financial Ruin Looms. I was clearly born to write a trenchant column, so somebody please hire me.

 

I have been derelict because I have been so offended. So offended that our country has been invaded by stenched souls willing to call dead &/or mutilated children, the born, collateral damage. Now, with my name-doppelganger Swift, I certainly ain’t against the occasional “stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled” plump milk-fed child. I am not a sentimentalist. But just blowing them to smithereens is an offensive waste in both nambi-pampi moral and strict capitalist Greedo terms. The least we could do is make tasty sausages out of the freshly killed. I mean where are the Entrepreneurs when you need them? Give the no-bid sausage contract to Halliburton.

 

Usually I am in a Rage against the LOML (Love of My Life – it may already be that acronym for all I know. I am not the LOHL –Love of His Life, but then nobody else is either, so it works out for the nonce), the Bringer of Beer, Harp preferably; or against the really rapacious Mr. Cheney, known not affectionately between me and my putative pal as Dick the dxxk.

 

 But the whole CollateralDamage Nation is rising my gorge this Dawn whose pearlescence they are spoiling because they Immensely Stupidly keep caterwauling on about The Far-Left Extremists. And we let them, friends.

 

Own the Far-Left Exremist Agenda. Say kindly and with patronizing patience and sorrow, “Yeah, that pesky Far-Left Extremist Agenda – We want [recite the List below] We need to learn a simple simple List and Stay on Message for 100 years if need be. Every question or challenge or insult is answered thusly: “Well, tho you may think that I am a far-left duck-billed platypus who is a danger to the nation, but the real far-left agenda we got is [see below]. Do not be derailed, do not be side-tracked into Talk about Homosexuality or Abortion. (Those are matters of Personal Ethics we will not solve here today. The Agenda we can fruitfully discuss is [re-state The List])

 

Remember, and tell ALL your friends, this is not about changing minds. Do you really think you are going to change Dick the dxxk’s heart with your Incisive Arguments? Well-observed, he doesn’t have a heart – I’ve seen the real x-rays – they take him in for a coronary lube job periodically. But even if he had a rudimentary heart, neither you nor I are changing his well-honed greedy and vicious mind. The political Trick and Task is to ID or identify your own voters and to energize your own voters. You peel off a few on the cusp or fence, but neither core group ever changes its mind.

 

We can de-fog the veils over the eyes of our natural allies, however. So, damnit, Stay on Message. What they know, and we’re tooo Damn Dumb to have figured out yet is that the audience that day or speech or chat at the coffee shop hasn’t heard The Message before or hasn’t heard it the required 10 times necessary for it to stick in the busy mind. And tho your friends may be ready for projectile vomit or projectile feces if you mention The Far-Left Agenda one more time, just bloody do it anyway until they too can recite it in their sleep.

 

Ye Owls, I just put “Gitmo” in my Spell-Check dictionary. Brave New World. (I’ve held out on “Rumsfeld.” Just can’t put it in the system as, like, normal.)

 

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¹ Below is the description of the Solidarity Vigil and includes a Handy Pocket-Sized Version of the Far-Left Extremist Agenda.

 

Flickering Candles, Steady Hearts

 

I wish everyone could have been here at the Mountain View CA Vigil — it was so touching.

 

There were 230-ish people gathered in our central city plaza at twilight.

 

One of the things that is so mis-reported is that the so-called 'far-left looney fringe' is an astonishing assortment of ages, races, creeds. I love looking across the earnest faces.

 

So many experiences shine like a lovely light from these folks, united in radically wanting an end to the killing; wanting wonderful healthcare for all our citizens, like the health care Mr.Bush and his family get; wanting an undeniably splendid K-college system in all 50 states; and a tended, treasured and revered environment. Real radical stuff. The “hateful, radical, looney left.”

 

Of course the 'looney left' stereotype is silly, but you look around and think am I really so crazy to want these things for our future?

 

(KIA 5.30.04) Lt. Ken Ballard's proud Mom, Karen Meredith spoke compellingly of the spark in Crawford; of all the amazing parents she's met in Gold Star Families. And of Ken, her beloved son. As she spoke all the candles flickered on the faces listening to her. She held a large photo of this handsome young man in his uniform looking out at you so intently. A young man, a consummate professional — who never gets a day older.

 

“What noble cause? What noble cause?”

 

“The idea of “staying the course to honor the dead” seems so absurd and obscene to a mother who knows the cost of that delusion.  More dead sons. “How do you ask a man to be the last man to die in Iraq for a mistake?”

 

No occupier beats insurgents. Ho Chi Minh of Vietnam said, “We would have fought you for 300 years. We live here.”

 

Ken and his friends did their jobs and did not complain. There were a few odd bits that stick in the mind though. The troops resented that Rumsfeld would show up in new desert boots, when so many of them had not received those boots yet.

 

It was thoughtful, grieving, determined people who gathered to send Karen Meredith off to Crawford on this coming Sunday and to be deep in their thoughts about what it is to be a true patriot, to love your country with all your steady, faithful heart.

 

..

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….

http://www.ltkenballard.com/

 

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If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of rage for justice, rage for peace material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com

………….<^>……………..

It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.

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Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:

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13 Flint . Edznab . Knife . North  tzol 78   08.18.05 

ffsb 1310§8769§24d7h47m33sikhoudvanu

.. 

the pro-peace world begins today with you

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Become a Militant Pacifist . . Charred by Nagasaki

Become a Militant Pacifist .. Charred by <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Nagasaki
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I remember going to the Army Medical Museum adjunct of the Smithsonian in Washington DC as a child long long ago. Trust me, I happened upon this ghoulish place by Total Mistake. I'm sure it's most useful to the medical student, but to the 10-year-old seeing 30-gallon, two-foot-in-diameter glass test tubes with, say, an enormous elephantiasised leg from the knee down frayedly floating in formaldehyde was skincrawling. Row upon row of huge glass-tubed Everything in the place was diseased.

<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office” /> 

But the scorching, the charred memory was all the black & white pictures of Hiroshima and Nagasaki victims. Maybe, though I never thought about it til this exact instant — those pictures were the boschian journey through the darkside of the human blackheart for why I grew up to be a militant pacifist?

 

I have never seen anything else like those pictures since. They were probably so clinical and blunt and close-up because it was the Army Medical Museum and not thought of as for the general public. And presumably they had Army access to photos that reporters wouldn't.

 

The wreckage and the radiation effects and the so-far past Hell monstrous hurt to children and to men and to women and to old people and the visible burned burned pain. It ripped open my young soul to what violence actually is in the violently tortured poor flesh. Having seen it, you could not cause it.

 

Maybe you could bear and repress three such pictures in a magazine or some in a book, but this was walls of them in ruthless medical close-up absent any remnant of artistic composition or recoil. Just 'Let's look at the boiled eye pulped socket and the radiation boiled flesh.'

 

There is something about radiation burns entirely different from fire-burns. It is unnatural in a way I only remember from all that life ago. Fire happens from the outside in as if there were some layer, some human refuge left however tormented. But radiation burn is from the marrow out all at once a fury of the insanely enraged and offended flesh as if it were microwrithingly boiling the flesh right in front of your screaming eyes. 

 

Walls of these pictures and your pity and horror rose until the idea of causing harm or closing your eyes to harm changed your very dna — never. Never will I be party to, excuse, stop speaking, I owe it to these silent ruined people who could have been as shiny and delighted and sunstruck somersaulting as I was.

 

So here I am. Militant pacifist. Never speak to me of collateral damage. Put yourself in the dark fire first. Dare not do this harm to another whose hand you do not hold in the very incineration moment. Dare not stand apart.  

 

pogblog

 

ps. It was that day in Washington DC that I stepped upon another species path. I did not care if I was the only one. I claim nor exalt kin nor kindness with a species that would do that deliberately charred mutilation to its own kind whose photographs I saw upon the walls. Better alone in the universe with no friend nor God than to be one of the glorified, sung and storied DeathDealers or one of their apologists.

 

Militant pacifism. It was and is a reviled view. I cannot recommend this deep a loneliness to you, friend, but if you cannot bear the lies and the slither of rationalization, your own heart will feel light to you and you will have earned the wholehearted right to hear the dawn songs of birds without the static of the screams of the dead that the Killers hear in their own forsaken child’s heart. There was a time before they joined the Legions of DeathDealers, before they chose to walk across the line of blood and justifiy the sword; the machete; the M16UziAK47; the jellied gasoline. Before they surrendered their will to the command of a Dark Purpose which feeds on the blood of the innocent under the guise of glory.

 

There must have been a day when an X became sufficiently distinct from an Y to become a different species. Whatever is in the blood or in the minutely coiled memory of my parents, I too wave farewell across a divide over which I will never return. The death you deal is evil. There is no camouflage for that. I am not one of you.

 

I looked at eternity and I accepted that utter a loneliness rather than drink radioactive human blood again – or have my military priests share that evil sacrament on my behalf. In my chalice is water.

 

My anti-war views have evolved this far now. I would not have described myself with the phrase militant pacifist at once.

 

I remember when I stood in some shocking lightning illuminated moment in the Nixon era and saw that war wasn’t just sad and too bad –ah, the necessary evil – but was insane. That if you put a man on the couch and had him explain his actions with armies and air forces and what he was commanding to be done, you’d call for the strait jacket and ready the RubberRoom. Unless he was your President. It’s clearly clinically mad and just because  so many people believe it doesn’t make it right or so. The earth was never flat no matter through how many generations or with how much God-granted authority it was proclaimed.

 

I recommend you stay with your fellows unless you have the stomach and sinew for a deep and silent dark which none could warn you of how far from human habitation it is, without the reassuring rustle and murmurs of your own kind. A very few will still speak to you and leave a bowl of soup for you to find. But none will hold your hand.

 


∞∙∞∙∙∞∙∞∙∞∙∙∞∙∞∙∞∙∙∞∙∞∙∞∙∙∞∙
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If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of rage for justice, rage for peace material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com
………….<^>……………..
It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.
………….….<^>……………..copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved
Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:
http://pogblog.myblogsite.com
2 Deer . Manik . West . tzol 67  08.07.05 sun 
for jamie 981§8783§24d8h36m59s ikhoudvanu
..
the pro-peace world begins today with you
………….<^>……………..

Jane, the 3rd Coming .. the blood-drinking was a JOKE

Jane, the 3rd Coming .. the blood-drinking was a joke ..

.

   Jane never set out to be the 3nd Coming, anymore than she set out to be fat or a redhead. She chuckled frequently when she told Ace, her chubby chum, that she understood why Buddhaha had laid on the lard – it was the laugh ratio, the ratio of chuff to chaff. You can’t trust thin people to be seriously funny.

    Jane had met Ace when he’d interviewed her for Carpe Comedy, a holozine he started on 02.11.2011, at the height of the planetary turbulence. “Well,” said Jane The Messiah, “ever since they so screwed up the reporting on the 1st Coming and now there's the entirely unnoticed 2nd Coming — so we are never ever doing Coming gigs without holovideo. You gotta actually see my lips move so you can’t lie about what I said.

    “The Nazarene was an OK guy, but without the holovideo, he got seriously tabloided throughout a gore-fest of history that he never had in mind, nor in heart.

   “That whole eat-my-flesh, drink-my-blood thing was an inside joke to get some guffaws around the supper table! Only crazy people would, like, do it.

    “The point of the 1st Coming was supposed to be to perk up poor people – to sock it to the stupid greedy who were pointedly un-invited to the stupendous party in heaven.”

    “Mz Messiah – may I call you Jane? – are you going to offer a less distortable delusion to pleasure the masses.” 

      Jane gazed at Ace for the first time. Sexy. Very sexy, she thought idly.

    A less distortable delusion. That’s our scheme, that’s our dream,” said Jane T. Messiah, laughing like a bowl of strawberry jello. “Not kill is, ah, hmmm, let's see — not kill. Not not kill with codicils. Not Not kill except if you've got on a different colored uniform (Murder by fashion offense?). Not not kill except when I hate your guts you stupid foreign (different [ skin; accent; taste in good cheese; quality of ululation. Check one]).  <?xml:namespace prefix = o />   

     “Thou shalt have much more fun. Thou shalt not interfere with the fun of thy neighbor or of thy enemy. The endlessly tedious & unfun white aka pink splotched christians in the USofA Inc left out the very very funny Gospel According to BeelzebuB, the only non-sycophantish, non-power-serving Gospel that J.C saved for his own scrapbook. The others he turned into confetti — 'Who writes this kind of pious rubbish? They should take their meds,' JC told me before he left soon after the denouement of the 1st Coming for a refreshing galactic gallivant. <?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office” /> 

    “One of the white christians' 10 Greatest Sins — the real pornography — is that they are as terminally unfun as they are greedy. Note, Ace, that the ultra-holy Americans don't put the chiselled list of their 10 Greatest Sins of Seriousness on the CourtHouse Lawn.”

   Ace said, “By the way, all I ask is that in even years, we change out the word God for the word Zeus on money, prayers, and in any pledges of allegiance so us good American polytheists get our turn. Fair is Fair.”

    Jane impaled him with a green-eyed look. A nerve, he thought, I've struck a deitific nerve. He quickly said, “I hadn't heard of the Gospel According to BeelzebuB?” hoping to deflect a present but unclear danger.

     “Of course JC was a polytheist, Ace. Not that you could call him a theist really, but he sure was poly. Poly and pan. All of his frisky and cheerful and artist-eye stuff got cut out of everything but BeelzebuB's Gospel. All this monotheism crap was a pure power-grab by the 12ftTalk Lizards in Human Disguise of the day. Had there been the Cuneiform Times back when, the Country Club Set is pretty much the same from millennium to millennium. Especially the simply ghastly nouveau riche like your present Bushes. There's nothing so agonizingly awful than a parvenu. These pipsqueak people have no class, only faux piety and genuine pretension. How one's skin does crawl at the idea that they are allowed in the front parlour. They are all noise and graceless greed.

    “After a large and fattening lunch, we'll get to what a crock the creed of gigagreed is. But I want to say a bit more about poly and pan before smorgassnacks. Monotheism is as ugly an idea as ever reared its scaly head in the pantheon of Religious Wrong Turns. JC wasn't an Exclusiveist. Never. He was genuinely generous and gentle of mind. He knew that a simple holiness was tricky to come by and that everyone had one pretty piece of the Giant Spinning holoKaleidoscope. Nobody has it all. And nobody has none. Ye owls, Ace, I'm hungry. Waffles, eggs, bacon, syrup, himalayan amounts of butter, french toast stuffed with hell, and even an honest omelette to finish. Muy yum.”

 

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………….<^>……………..

If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of rage for justice, rage for peace material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com

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♫♪♪♫♪♪♪♫♪♫♪♪♫♪♪♪♫♪♪

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13  Serpent . Chicchan . East . tzol 65  08.05.05 fri

♫ffsk 790  8783§24d8h36m59s ikhoudvanu

..

the pro-peace world begins today with you

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