Monthly Archives: September 2005

Quantum Philosophy

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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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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: pogblog@yahoo.com
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It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.

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Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.
copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved
Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:
http://pogblog.myblogsite.com
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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What Does Your Mind Weigh?

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What Does Your Mind Weigh?      

    What does your mind weigh?  Do some thoughts weigh more than others? Do thoughts of hummingbirds weigh less than thoughts of Sisyphus' damn boulder? Where's the Periodic Table from Imagining a Slow Dance With You to Planning  French Toast to Obsidian Humor? This stuff is anti-entropic. 
    I can't wait for the extra-physics to be contemplated, pursued with the lithe zeal that we had with Fig and other adventurers in K1 physics. (K1 is the full K or reliable kinesthetic solidity we generally experience in our Day Life. The sturdy persistence of K is the notable genius of the masterpiece of reality engineering we call Earth. Other densities and dimensions have their quirks and charms, but have less stable K.)  
    Many of the great scientists freely admit that they received their Central Insights from The Blue who pretty benignly rules  DreamLand. Yet they never grokked that different extra-physics that they traveled in and inhabited as often as the interstate highways and byways of the Day Planet. It's very curious. It’s like the odd blind spot where the optic nerve hooks up –you can be looking directly at a star at night and simply not see it unless you look slightly to the side.
    All  the rich stew of memories and alternate experiences that you have and I have are called the Collective Unconscious by Jung and the Akashic Record by others. Nothing disappears. Nothing. Yeah, contemplate that. Oh dear. Woe is we. We must end up pretty humorous and forgiving in the very long run because all of our [poetic, exquisite, petty, filthy, venomous, sweet, raunchy] flickers and twists tattoo the perfectly sensitive hide or emulsion of the multiverse who can’t forget. This is all that missing stuff right in front of their noses (or above their noses) that they can’t account for. Maybe its too scary to go “Whoa all that stuff I haven’t any control over or clue about! Gee, I’d have to start in kindergarten and here I am so smart and accomplished.
    “You mean that scrawny old kook in a loin cloth in some cave in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Tibet is actually a zillion times richer than me in the currency of the Night? And he can take it with him?”

     Until we integrate lucid waking and lucid dreaming, we will be driving our maserati minds in first gear.

    It was ridiculous to take drugs in the Sixties – an invitation to synapse-snafu, but the impulse was completely understandable. People knew immense amounts of experience were being neglected or ignored. With proper training, you can be lucidly awake – deftly intent – all the time and see that the whole world is burning in the forests of the night and of the day. With proper training you can lucidly do alternate experience without crapshooting your faithful synapses – you can learn to shift gears or shift dimensions.

    There are a lot of vaganzas we can have for some practice and if lucky some instruction. (Avoid serious instruction like the plague. Serious instruction must be false. Carpe comedy, however obsidian.)

     Ah, extra vaganzas. Muy yum. Starting with licking everything  as if it were an ice cream cone which is what good poets do and is a good beginning.  

 


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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: pogblog@yahoo.com
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Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.
copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved
Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:
http://pogblog.blogharbor.com
8 The Road . Eb . Grass . Rattlesnake Tooth . South . tzol 112  09.21.05  wed
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the exuberantly pro-peace world
begins today with you
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Kafka Reels && Re-Reels +

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Kafka Reels && Re-Reels +

Kafka returns to lend a hand. Notes from his pals pogblog & Cara Mel:

 

ÞÞ..Þ..ÞÞÞ… ÞÞ..Þ..ÞÞÞ… ÞÞ..Þ..ÞÞÞ…

One does reel at BabsToinette of Laissez-les manger le gâteau infame. I keep thinking the maze & spinning lurching besmirched kafka qualities of our time will — must (how much quease can one universe stand? — slow down, ameliorate, at least abate? But no, every day when I wake up it's beaucoup plus bizarre, mucho màs extraño, veel bizarder. Note: pinching myself doesn't help. It seems this nightmare is for real.

Naturellement, like a marble cake, the dream swirl in the nightmare confection is excruciatingly beautiful, appallingly exotic and erotic. I have had the bone-marrow sweating privilege of inhabiting the Planet at the same time as The Funniest Man Who Ever Lived (for someone with a taste for obsidian humor, the darkest, the snarkiest, the malarkiest, the flirkiest, a humor from which no light can escape) and at the same time as the Silverest Cat Who Ever Lived.

I ask myself — WHO in the Hell is the Script Writer? What grim and humorless ArchGod can keep coming up with new dizzguzzting twizts for KarlBoy to creepily perpetrate? The mind surboggles. The language lurches drunkenly. Who can keep up? The synapses are in a constant state of head-on collision shock. from pogblog

 

ÞÞ..Þ..ÞÞÞ…

     ‘Dear Frankie, at first I thought I should be formal with you – the great Kafka — because of all the esteem we hold you in and the fact that I have always seen you look like something out of a coffin but upright.’

    ‘Ah, Miz Mel — or seeing as we’re being so intime, may I call you Cara?’  Seeing a moue, a small shrug and a slight wildly becoming blush, Franz continued lustily. ‘I have been mistook. I love sunbathing by and idly dogpaddling in the second great <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />river of Hades, the river Mnemosyne, indigo in the evening and turquoise at dawn.’

    ‘Oh Frankie – we thought you’d covered the silent despair, the peculiar, the creepy traps the modern Greed-Ridden World was chaining the frolicsome souls of men in. The self-inflicted conformity that we walked unwhipped back into our cages, our lionhearts dazed, our wild bright eyes glazed. That was then we thought in the often brighthearted Sixties. Now we see, now we’ll be free. No one ever imagined, I swear to you, that that, that your time was the mild, the less lethal version of the crippling disease of Greed and of Greed’s slavering handmaiden War.’

    ‘Cara Mel – you are lovely by the way – we return a few bardos or layers of K¹ closer because of the emergency. Plato’s napping but near. Rocket Socky, an original in any agora, is speaking with me this evening at your friends’ Clown School InterDimensional. What’s your greatest danger? What would you have us speak to tonight in the dreaminar?’

     ‘There’re a few. Cynicism. Apathy and its cousin Inertia. These are what I fight every day, fearing the young and the dreamers will be wounded and quail, be dimmed of eye, hidden of heart.’ 

        ‘OK, We’ll address tonight the mass inoculation by clouds. We took to heart your excellent paper on the ingenious water transport system on Earth, What better way to move vast quantities of water around than with clouds? Therefore what better way to move mass amounts of inoculations around. We plan to seed the clouds world-wide with what you might call a humor vitamin or tonic. Everyone will be refreshed with what your friend pogblog, also winsomely plump if I may say so, calls an obsidian humor, the darkest, the snarkiest, the malarkiest, the flirkiest, a humor from which no light can escape. Nothing else will get you all through this great battle with Greedor, the forces of Aggrandizement and use of people.’

    ‘Frankie, I saw a paper by Rocket Socky on the distribution of brutal humor by cloud and then river then corn then tortillas. I saw a pict of him by the way on the holonet and he was wearing a pair of bright red high-tops. I love seeing him as a 30 year-old, gallivanting around. The stupid history books were all so bonebreakingly boring. Socrates. Kafka. We thought you all were duds on the stud front, not doods with tood.’

   Kafka preened. It was fun. These new folks had élan.

   ‘I understand that you all will shortly do the more essay form of action items?’

   ‘Yeah 7/8 of the folk won’t even be conscious of the inoculations of obsidian humor. their blood will be a more dark, sweet candy apple red, but they may not grok or funes it. Most of your fellows in harmless arms are still quite linear, though warm of heart. We try to do 1/8 fractal and even that quite grammatical. Only you and Gato Gateau are cleared for the grb mad ride.’

    Have you ever done a grb, Frankie?’ Cara Mel handed him a card with grb defined on it in holobraille. He ran his fingertips over it lightly and read it outloud to her, like a spoken song.

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

‘grb .. stands for gamma ray burst – discovered in the 60s; “exotic, mysterious flashes pack the output of many galaxies into a single pulse that lasts seconds or less” – and that is exotic on any plane, cf  “the consciousness-altering pulses that are emitted by the Hanab-Ku, the Cosmic Center.”  This relates to the Mayan energy-matrix calendar which pogblog honors because the path forward is holospherical not linear like the cursed Gregorian calendar and that ‘convenient’ atrocity, the metric system, may it boil in many liters of oil, which has taken measurement of distance and quantity out of poetry in one fell fell swoop. “Could you hear the heartbeats of my anguish across the lonely miles, oh my beloved?” “Could you hear the heartbeats of my anguish across the lonely kilometers etc.” I wasn’t trying to defend ‘good poetry,’ just the on-the-endangered-species-list poetic impulse. A poetic impulse looks not unlike a zebra. They tend to be solitary animals. They don't do herds. ‘He inched across the searing sand on his belly, a pilgrimage to an oasis, a mirage no doubt like other wet heavens.’ You can’t 'centimeter across the searing sand.' It’s a sin to kill an inch. 

   ‘Yeah, that’s it,’ said Frankie the Kafka. ‘Well make their first oneiro-project choosing a totem animal and doing some shapeshifting. That always lubricates the poetical and the hilarious.’

    ‘Remember to define all these terms like oneiro as dream for them. this will be a very mixed group. Some of the oneiroscouts come from cultures like the Senoi who grow up with dreaming skills and others will be from places like America where no one ever asked them even once how their dreams went last night or what did they learn or bring back in trade from the FarStars. So remember to at least put in some clues for the treasure hunt along the way.’

   ‘The first thing I’ll get Rocket Socky to do is send them to pogblog’s Glossary and the powerful Search function on the left side of her blog. They can find all the secret handshakes there. How we all hate obscurity. It’s time to tell the secrets as brazenly as possible.’

    ‘Sweet dreams, Frankie,’ said Cara Mel.

  ‘And thee, Cara, and the lovers of sweet Earth, a jewel of the Galaxy which will shine again.’

from Cara Mel

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¹ K = kinesthetic degree. Standard waking Earth is K1. Many dreams and alternate experiences have less stable K. It a genius of masterpiece Earth that it has such sturdy, persistent K.

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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: pogblog@yahoo.com

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Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved

Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:

http://pogblog.myblogsite.com

7 Monkey . Chuen . Raccoon . West .  tzol 111  09.20.05 tues

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the pro-peace world begins today with you
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New Info 09.24.05 — Save Saturday September 24 for Peace Protest + Directions

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updated 09.24.05  ..

Wear warm clothes or take layers — when I reached Millbrae midday on Friday, I all but froze. See you there!

Please NOTE changes in Bart Schedules & other details as of 09.16.05.

pogblog permanent link for this info: http://pogblog.myblogsite.com/blog/_archives/2005/8/27/1173188.html

Save <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Saturday September 24 2005 for Peace March.

If you wonder what difference your bothering to get yourself there might make, if your friends are wavering — clearly the huge pro-peace Marches in the Vietnam era hastened the end of that grisly War — not soon enough, but much sooner than if the Marches hadn't been big.

(NEW NOTE 09.21.05 — BART trains may be very crowded — hardly even standing room if you leave it til too late — so consider this in your plans! But remember they will be crowded with fellow peace people so have an adventure no matter what.)

Saturday September 24 2005 will be I hope the biggest peace mobilization ever on the planet. (Local Mtn. View/Los Altos/Palo Alto CA directions & times below. Train/Bart; or Carpool.; or Special Busses;)

I myself always go to where the March itself ends. This March will end about 7 walkable blocks from San Francisco City Hall at Jefferson Square Park at Gough & Turk. (Details below.) I get there between noon & 1p. (If you want to make the March itself at 11a from Dolores Park, see below or SF ANSWER's site or the Busses from Palo Alto, info below.)

 “Please plan on going to the Protest nearest you on Saturday September 24. The more bodies on the street, the better. Remember if it's rainy, go anyway. Tell your friends. This is the moment to show up.”

This is the moment to show up.

 

Mark off the day on your calendar.

 

As chancelucky reminded me, Gandhi said

“First they ignore you, then they ridicule you, then they fight you, then you win.”

 

If you were to come from Mountain View CA to go to San Francisco City Hall on CalTrain & Bart:

(I always take my 16″ x 18″  teach peace sign on a 4'7″ stick on the public transportation with no problem. I do carry it sign-down on the trains themselves.)
Caltrain = 800.660.4287 x2 itinerary planning;
MV à Millbrae;
 = $7.00 daypass;
Caltrain MV àMillbrae 8:19a/arrive9:08; 9:19a/arrive Millbrae 10:08a/49m;
10:19a/11:08a/49m; 11:19a/12:08p/49m;
[Wake up at San Mateo, Burlingame, then Millbrae.] 
 
Caltrain return Millbrae àMV
3:24p/4:14p/50m; 4:24p/5:14p/50m; etc.
To catch the 3:24p, leave Civic Center
2:35p/arrive Millbrae 3:12p; etc.
If spending evening in SF,
9:24p/10:14p/50m;  also trains from Millbrae at 10:24p & 12:24a – NO 11:24 train; Your day pass is good for the 12:24a train.
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BART = 650.992.2278 x3, x3 itinerary planning;
from Millbrae to Civic Center stop = $3.55/$7.10 round trip; Have $5, two $1, & a dime so you don’t need change. OR just do $5 + three $1 and print an $8 ticket for speed.
<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office” /> 
Take any Bart train
from Millbrae to Civic Center /29m.
starting : 8:51am-ish, a train leaves every 20 minutes;
8:51/9:11/9:31/9:51/10:11/10:31/10:51. These trains AND the ticket-buying machines will be crowded – leave early.
The stop just before Civic Center is
16th & Mission (If you want to make the March itself, get off here at 16th &Mission and walk straight up 16th 3 blocks (16th, Valencia, Guerrero, Dolores) to Dolores, go left 2 blocks to Dolores Park.
 
If you want to go to where the March ENDS and the Rally meets : Take the UN Plaza exit out of  Civic Center Bart Station and walk a few blocks toward Larkin St; Go RIGHT (North) on Larkin St. a few blocks. Turn LEFT on Turk for 4 blocks to Jefferson Square Park at the corner of Gough & Turk.
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Bart Return from Civic Center to Millbrae:
Take SFO/Millbrae Bart train;
2:26p/arrive Millbrae 3:01p; 2:46p/3:21; Etc.
IF spending evening in SF,
next to last chance = Bart at 9:26p/arrive Milbrae 10:01pm/ lv Millbrae Caltrain10:24pm;
last Bart train at 11:26p/arrive Millbrae at 12:01am no later to catch last CalTrain at 12:25am;
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Saturday September 24 Peace Rally
to San Francisco City Hall (Plaza) & then to Jefferson Square (map).…
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Special Busses from Peace & Justice Center in Palo Alto.
Meet there (directions below) at 10A. PLEASE Make a Reservation with the Center by phone or email so there will be enough busses.  Email peace-bus@peaceandjustice.org    650-326-8837. Suggested Donation $20 but no one will be turned away — you pay that day, but call ahead!! Signs can be brought with you. The busses will go to the beginning of the March at Dolores Park & then to the end point to take you home.
 
Carpool meeting place from Peace & Justice Center in Palo Alto. (I'm sure there is some donation, but I don't know what it is yet.)
 
“On Sat Sept 24, PPJC will be used as a carpool meeting spot — we're suggesting people gather here at 10 a.m.  We're at 457 Kingsley Ave. in Palo Alto (Kingsley & Cowper); our phone number is 650-326-8837 if  people want more info.”  Yahoo Maps says (from MV) take Central/Alma; rt Kellogg; lft Bryant; rt Kingsley. 
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for Mtn. View CA USA every Friday 6p-7p peace protests at the corner of Castro & El Camino, check
Mountain View Voices for Peace
 
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http://pogblog.myblogsite.com 
pogblog@yahoo.com  
ff

Compulsory Cannibalism

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Compulsory Cannibalism

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

   “Compulsory cannibalism: if you had to eat everyone you killed, war would end damn fast,” said Abbie Hoffman.

 

Another sign at the 03.15.03 SF Rally: Mirth on Earth. Power to the Peaceful is a perennial favorite of mine. This sublime guy with an huge pink wig had a beautifully lettered sign saying, If you don’t choose peace over war, aliens will land in my wig. A sign like that makes humanssooftenunkind worth saving after all. Jonathan Schell talks about the ‘unredeemably stupid fatality’ that leads to war. On 11.29.02, I was talking to a guy about how ‘Mr. Bush & Mr. Hussein won’t get any dust on their shoes.’ He said that if like George Washington they were required to be out there themselves, then he would listen to them. I said, “Why aren’t we called pro-peace?”

 

I wrote then a little piece called Dead is Dead. On 9.13.02. Before I had made my teach peace sign on 10.09.02.

    Reading in the New Yorker about the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />World Trade Center, our rage & disbelief: The ‘How could this act of brutal madness,’ the ‘Who could do, could conceive such a thing? seem obvious and emotionally rational. ‘The enormity of the act.’ The dazed, bereft people holding cheerful snapshots of the lost. Yes it was an irredeemably evil act. Yet we never as Americans imagine or connect that the vaporized souls in Hiroshima or Nagasaki or the dozens of wooden Japanese cities we firebombed were also someone’s sweetheart or son or sister. We have already proved ourselves terrorists, or deliberate killers of civilians, with weapons of mass destruction. Ye gods we ought to be humble. Instead we escalate in arrogance and sanctimonious patriotism.

     Dead is dead. Whatever fancy justification we prettify it up with, we vaporized over 200,000 civilians, and it doesn’t disturb our sleep. We had our reasons.

     They have their reasons.

     Until there are no reasons we can bear, we will not be actually human yet.    

 

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    Our local Peace Group, Mountain View Voices for Peace, is already planning a solemn March for after Death #2000. (If you haven’t had a chance to read Grave of the Known Soldier #1999, I have it here below for you. It’ll break your heart. I keep thinking we could still save this kid #1999 – he wouldn’t have to die.

     MVVP has members meet at the intersection of El Camino & Castro every Friday from 6p-7p, the height of the commute, with pro-peace signs and waving. (This is a major local intersection.) You could start such a group in your town if you haven’t yet. You can get more info and ask questions here. Or you can be an individual loon like me and go out a little every day with something like a teach peace sign as you go about your business to the post office or the library. See details on that here. (It’s only the first two excruciating forays you have to get past and then you feel foolish without your sign! I’ve been out 1076 days in a row now. It isn’t about me, or you – it’s about that one little girl or boy who sees a person willing to appear absurd to some for the sake of peace and harmlessness and that kid will grow up to be the next Martin or Mohandas. If I don’t have my sign, that kid may not see it. The butterfly’s wings will not start a storm of peace.)

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To me this isn't only about Ken or Casey or Roberto or Rachel  — it's about Juan Smith #1999 — is there ANY way we can save that kid? </strong>

 

“How do you ask a man to be the last man to die in Iraq for a mistake?”²

 

 

The Grave of the Known Soldier..Save Juan Smith #1999

 

What do we know about Sgt. Juan Smith who is doomed to die on Tuesday November 22 2005? 

 

Why does it bother me particularly that he is a huge fan of the fey  movie Spinal Tap, a celebration if there ever was one of harmlessness? Perhaps because it is unexpected that a 26 year-old has such quirky taste. I like that in him.

 

Well, he'll be 26 when he is shot in the head. The left side of his head. His brains will splatter onto soldier Raymond Callahan, his second best friend, a 22-year-old from Alabama whose mother, Joyce Callahan, voted for George Bush in  2000, but will never vote Republican again. Mrs. Smith, Juan's mother, dwells in a twilight of sadness.

 

Juan Smith's birthday is on November 8, so he is 25 now as we watch in August, waiting for him to die. Just turned 26 when he dies. He is a Scorpio with Pisces rising. Brave, dreamy, very very smart about the conscious world of day and of tanks, RPGs and rubble, and of the unconscious world, which runs the whole shebang in Iraqi, but which is never spoken of. 

 

Juan Smith does not have to die. He does not have to be #1999. We could stop it at once. Someone will be the last man's name on a stark white cross. The last man on The List. Maybe it could stop at # 1888? Mr. Bush could see that piling up more dead in flag-draped coffins we are not allowed to view will not make the war end better. It is going to end badly. We know that. Nothing will keep the insurgents from blowing up American soldiers for the next 300 years. Cheap explosives. Countless idealistic young men, sold, like ours, a bill of goods.

 

There will be some morning when The Lizard Leaders lie no more. Because nobody's buying their snake oil — well, lizard oil, I guess.

 

Damnit, Juan, I don't know what to do to save you. I do not know what to do. We talk now a little. I'm psychic. I've seen his death. He's seen me seeing it. He's imploring me to turn back time before it is reached so he can go home, marry the very pretty — not beautiful, but very pretty, Felicia, buy the blue pick-up truck his cousin could sell him in the first week of December if he could only live that long. Their first child would be named Joseph.

 

Is it Baquba? Taji? Al Asad? Abd Allah? I cannot read the address of the bullet yet. He has written the name of Felicia inside his helmet with a Sharpie. Felicia es mi ángel. He drew a heart above and one below.

 

Felicia keeps his tooled cowboy boots by her bed, waiting for his return. Which does not happen because we did not pour into the streets soon enough. We lamented, but did not act. As if our being embarrassed or discomfited was more unbearable than the death of #1999.

08.16.05 98 days/ 141,120 minutes until the Death of Juan Smith #1999

09.18.05 64 days/ 92,160 minutes until the Death of Juan Smith #1999

 

 ∞∙∞∙∙∞∙∞∙∞∙∙∞∙∞∙∞∙∙∞∙∞∙∞∙∙∞∙

Today, 08.15.05,  we're at 1852 American soldiers dead. To me this isn't only about Ken or Casey or Roberto or Rachel  — it's about Juan Smith #1999 — is there ANY way we can save that kid?¹ Today September 18, we’re at 1900 American soldiers dead.

 

Is there ANY way we can save Juan Smith #1999 using the energy and the smarts of people like you and Cindy and me and any darnbody at all?

 

“How do you ask a man to be the last man to die in Iraq for a mistake?”²

 

I actually asked myself when I woke up this very morning, “Would I sleep with Karl Rove if it would stop the war today?” I have to tell you it was a sobering question which I could not answer at once. You cannot possibly imagine how much I despise slitherer Karl Rove and how much stealthy evil he has done malice aforethought. But now after a few hours of thought, clearly yes, to stop the senseless death of another kid, I'd even do that.)

 

As I write this mid-August, 1852 American soldiers (sons daughters fathers mothers individual unrepeatable lives) have died in the quagQuicksands of Iraq. [Now on September 18, we have 1900 dead. Only 99 dead to wake up.

 

Can we possibly pull our ingenuities and resources together and save Juan Smith destined to be #1999?

 

That would give us 146 dead to wake up, write our Congress people, write Letters to the Editors. Save Juan Smith #1999. Or does the count drone on and we sit baffled, lamenting?

 

Save Juan Smith #1999.

 

pogblog

 

ps. Please send this Save #1999 link to your friends.

http://pogblog.myblogsite.com/blog/_archives/2005/8/15/1140249.html

 

All the contact info for House & Senate is at afterdowningstreet. Get on their emailing list for Actions. It is beautifully and heartfeltedly organized. http://www.afterdowningstreet.org/

 

² adapted from John Kerry’s 1971 speech before Congress; 

 

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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

………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved

Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:

http://pogblog.myblogsite.com

6 Dog . Oc . Wolf. North . tzol 110  09.19.05 mon

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the pro-peace world begins today with you
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The Shame Game .. Rove's Greeding Heart

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The Shame Game

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Dear Fellow Bleeding Hearts,

    First, I’d say let’s all be grateful we’ve got hearts to bleed. The Present Menaces have Greeding Hearts when they have hearts at all. How we could have allowed 37 million people in our nation to fall beneath the Abject Poverty Line of $14,680 for a family of three? You know and I know that that is severe poverty in this country with rents as high as they are.

    I recommend that you read Cogism below for a flaying examination of  corporate blood-thirst. The Next Revolution, preferably suave (soo-ah-vay), will be against the ghastly and inhuman Dominance of  Corporations in our fragile lives. We have become corporation fodder and the ghost of Kafka rises to call us to free ourselves from the suits back to human pursuits.

     Katrina washed our own people up on our shores.

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.

 

 The idea that we call ourselves the richest nation on Earth when we have this grotesquely vast underclass brings shame upon us. No lamp. No golden door. Only platinum parachutes for bloated CEOs who screwed up — captains who leave the sinking ships first.. It's time for disgust. It is time to rise and become more wise and more fair.

    I have never wanted a bloody revolution. But we must be militant pacifists I think: definite, determined, and bloody-minded. Else there will be blood blood. I think it is distinctly time to play the Shame Game.      

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Cogism ..

 

     I've been trying to grok the horror of these Present Menaces' creed of giga-greed. One always needs the fortune-cookie phrase or word. I got it: cogism. A ‘cog’ is one of a series of identical interchangeable teeth, as on the rim of a wheel or gear.
    Some more quick vocabulary is in order. These words have been floating around in the political lexicon but they don't quite grasp the present extreme American situation. What's wrong? Why is it so horrible and mean? Fascism is an unholy (tho usually holier than thou) alliance among business, military, and government. A theocracy is a government ruled by or subject to religious authority – not unlike our present mob who are swept by the winds of piety. Oligarchy — the rule of a few. Plutocracy — government of the wealthy. Yes, these words have been floating around in the political lexicon but they don't quite grasp the present extreme American situation. So what's wrong? Why is it so horrible and mean?
    I was gonna call the Present Phenomenon FatHogism and remark sardonically that They don't need to get fatter, They got plenty of bacon already, the FatHoggers. Ha ha. 
    My model of, like, a Buenopia, a society that works pretty well is <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Europe where they invented al fresco dining and even the bus drivers and janitors get four weeks of paid vacation a year to allow for life other than as a minion or a cog. Another basic self-evident truth ought to be that each person's life is as valuable to them as any other person's is to them. This seems even tautological, but our society does not act in that sweet and evident light.
    What's happened in a peapod is that to the giga-greed corporations, those grim reapers of the harvest of our labor, to Them, we are cogs. They screw us under the fog of socially-correct, slippery platitudes; tranquilize us with cars; sports; war; malls. But we are really interchangeable; we are cogs in the profit machine. They pretend that we matter, like the Leaders pretend that the soldiers they send to slaughter matter.
   They think nothing of buying up a company, putting its assets into new company-A & its liabilities into company-B which they then put into bankruptcy. Only to find out in the small print that bankrupted Company B is the company that now has all the disappeared pensions of the retired people and the promised long-term health plans of the workers, 2/3 of whom are laid off and replaced by temp workers who are offered no benefits whatever and eat it because they're desperate for a job of any kind — or unkind. In our Cogacracy, the platinum parachutists gobble up the assets and spit out the bones of the workers.
   The profit motive has taken such an aggressive and gruesome and all but medieval turn that it chills the blood. Even in medieval times the hoggishly rich were wrung out of a few pence by Fear of Damnation — tithing was considered de rigueur if you wanted to squeeze through ye olde eye of the needle instead of through ye latest tax loophole.
   At what point does profit go past a reasonable profit so you can live comfortably and become an filthy obscene profit? At what point does an filthy obscene profit become the moral equivalent of usury? This Midas/Miser Syndrome, this horrible acquisitiveness, CEOs gorging soullessly on their gold, has become, heaven does forbid, admired widely in America. Dear President Clinton said “Nowhere in the Bible does it allow us to exalt the rich over the poor.” Clearly not. Well, I prefer to also go to the undeniable bible (‘bible’ with a small ‘b’), the undeniable bible of the sky and the trees and the birds and the beasts. Naked we all stand in that holy light, without facades. The ditchdigger has no less strength and glory under the just stars than does a titan of industry. The titan of industry has hogged up on the backbreaking work of the ditchdigger. Dig your own damn ditches and see how you would wish to be treated, Cogist.
   I don’t mind grotesque differences in gross accumulation of cold midas gold. It just seems just that if you’re really so damn smart Mr. FatHog, you could figure out as an obvious ethical fiat how to provide healthcare for your workers and a wage that could lead to a 10th of your comfort.
   Every single elected official should be required to spend one seven-day week of each month while they are privileged to serve actually living on the minimum wage. And that same week be required to take public transportation exclusively. And no hoarding of tasty snacks to ease the week on minimum wage. No secret stash of expensive well-brewed beer. Chivas Regal would blow the budget. Compliance would be monitored in Minimum Wage Week. My friends, my dear perceptive luminous friends, how FAST – HOW FAST do you think the minimum wage would rise if the FatHogs had to live on it? How soon a gracious rise in the frequency of buses?
   We need to lash our hearts to every policy decision. We may not cogize people. (As E.B. White once said, “I’d as soon simonize my grandmother.”) We may not cogize people. The quality of mercy cannot be abridged.
   People are as afraid to speak out against obscene FatHog amounts of money in this country as they are to speak out against war. Well, I dare & you must dare too. Will you be able to face the lidless eyes of God who judges only that you were kind or unkind? God cannot blink and sees if you dwell in greed or in generosity. Cogism is not kind. It does not seek to uplift thy brother. That bum on the street corner? That is Jesus asking for a dime. It is always a test. It is Jesus to whom you are denying healthcare. It is Jesus to whom you are paying a meager minimum wage. It is Jesus to whom you are paying minimum wage so some FatHogger can have eight Hummers. Is there no place on the Richter Scale of outrage where the terror of the shaking wakes you up? Does it make you more secure to have more than 10 years worth of my annual wage in your bank accruing what? Interest? Spiritual mold?
   My capitalist friend Bill from Canada is a super-entrepreneur up there, but he pulled his business-card-sized National Health Card out of his wallet and said, “If I am sick anywhere in Canada, I can get help. You people are crazy in America. Single payer is so obvious.” It isn’t the people who are crazy in America, it is the FatHogging Cogists. It is the Cogists who imagine that there is anything right about making obscene profits on other people’s pain. There is a difference between profit and profit at any cost.
   It is not right to cut all the art and music out of schools so the mongers of fear and the mongers of giga-greed can buy more and more and more war machines. Our souls – your soul and mine – are stained by complicity in these giga-greed creeds. Our silence stains us.
   Let them roll in cake, our FatHog Cogist masters, let them stuff cake down their own throats like the foie-gras geese until their livers become swollen and fat and greasy. Let them roll in cake. But should we stuff their coffins with cake? As they, a new phantom, stand beside  their cake-stuffed coffin and look starkly back over their life, will they be glad for the bomb they bought to blow up a kid in Iraq? Will they hold content and deep in their heart the lives their free enterprise impoverished so their coffin could be stuffed with cake? There is no free enterprise. There is no free love. You must pay the peace of your heart if you do not do these things as right as you can. Be as harmless as  you can.
   It is Gandhi whose pension you stole, Mr. Free Market. The free market is costly. The free market is costly in human peace of mind. It is Martin Luther King to whom you denied healthcare, Mr. FatHog Cogist. Your giga-greed has consequences. It is not ethically neutral. God has lidless eyes. God does not blink. God does not look aside.
   There are too many Scrooges in America now. Too many accumulating and accumulating Scrooges. And too few Tiny Tims finally noticed.
   The thunder will astonish you. You will wake and your heart will break, your heart will break. You might have done right and you did not. If by your business or by your investments, you find yourself forgetting the faces and the tears of the people whose lives and whose labor are providing you your semi-annual dividends, you are become a Cogist. And if I were you, I would tremble at the judgment, at how long in hell it takes to pay off the debt you accrued in unkindness. A terrible toll will be exacted. The 10th circle of hell is not hot; it is relentless ice. To remind you. To remind you dreadfully of your cold cold cogist heart.

.

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ToadSpawn, Be Gone! The Exorcizm of GeorgeBush from America's Soul Chapter 8

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FAKE Katrina Commission Action

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FAKE Katrina Commission .. Action Alert

California & USA National info here below. Phones; sample email in html;

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Here’s some <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Northern California info for an Action Alert re the Fake Katrina Commission the Republicans are trying to foist off on the nation. Subpoena power is the total key. If we Democrats don’t have it, the Republicans completely control the toadies who can be summoned to appear.

 

You can find the same info where you live (except for our dear UK & European & Asian & Australian &c readers).

 

Clik link for email page:

House Democratic Leader Nancy Pelosi: DC: 202-225-4965 SF: 415-556-4862;

Anna Eshoo (14th District¹) Palo Alto: 650-323-2984;

Barbara Boxer CA Senator: SF: 415-403-0100;

Dianne Feinstein CA Senator: SF: 415-393-0707;

 

 

sample email:

FAKE KATRINA COMMISSION

 

Dear Anna —

 

Please support Nancy 100% in *not* appointing Democrats to the NOT-independent Katrina Commission unless Democrats are given Subpoena Power.

 

Thanks,

Wendy

wfleet@yahoo.com

650-966-1542

 

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sample email in simple html:

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<b>FAKE</b> KATRINA COMMISSION

<br>

<br>

Dear Anna —

<br>

<br>

Please support Nancy 100% in <b>not</b> appointing Democrats to the NOT-independent Katrina Commission unless Democrats are given <b><i>Subpoena Power</i></b>.

<br>

<br>

Thanks,

Wendy

wfleet@yahoo.com

650-966-1542

 

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¹ Anna Eshoo 14th District CA covers: In San Mateo County the communities included are:
Atherton * Belmont * East Palo Alto * El Granada * Half Moon Bay * Menlo Park * Pescadero * Portola Valley * Redwood City * Woodside.In Santa Clara County the communities included are:Los Altos * Los Altos Hills * Monte Sereno * Mountain View * Palo Alto * Saratoga * Stanford * Sunnyvale.In Santa Cruz County the communities included are:
Amesti * parts of Aptos * Ben Lomond * Bonny Doon * Boulder Creek * Brookdale * Corralitos * Davenport * Felton * Interlaken * Lompico * Scotts Valley * parts of Soquel * Zayante.

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I Blame Us For Duffism

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I Blame Us for Duffism

 

    I blame us for Duffism. Damn us for Duffism. Dithering & Duffism. The good news is that our strength is our weakness. By nature, we aren’t easily organized – we don’t have a totalitarian cast. We tend to live and let live. It’s why we’re cool with homosexual marriage. It’s why we’re pro-choice. Laissez faire. How you shuffle your cars is pretty much your business. And if you mention that our hearts bleed, we’re glad to have hearts to bleed.

   We tend to kindness. We err on the side of generosity. We jump to the best conclusion about you.  There are very few totalitarian artists, so most of the high arts and low arts are ours. The big, burly, creative, bustling cities are ours. the elegant, exotic cities are ours. We’re good, we’re beautiful, we’re interesting.

    The bad news is that we are afflicted by Duffism — remaining perched upon our duffs or rumps.  If it hasn’t burned your oatmeal chocolate chip cookies to recall that Al Gore was an almost perfect president for the time, you’re blinder, deafer, dumber. He was extremely savvy about the environment and the technological frontiers. He was actually compassionate. But we allowed the damned (& they are) Nader people, our brethren & sistren, to whine that he wasn’t the apotheosis. We did not take them by the scruffs of their scrawny necks and say do not let the perfect be the enemy of the good. Vote for Nader in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />California and Idaho, in the FC states (the Foregone Conclusion States) – do not dare to cast one vote for Nader the Nasty in Ohio or Florida. That is past even unconscionable self-indulgence to flaming insane. 90,000 stupid people voted for Nader in Florida and sealed our fate.

     Sometimes you just have to color inside the lines, children. Do you really like “the message” you sent? Who got hurt? Not GeorgeJr & Co. No, the little people took it hideously in the shorts – every one of us for generations will take it in the shorts, you stupid people. No, no, no, they are not “all the same” – that’s a pigpecker of an ill-informed petulant whine out the wazoo, and you 90,000-handedly ruined my old age, turned my golden years to lead. You let the perfect be the enemy of the good. You stood on Idiot Principle. The Little Knowledge Is a Dangerous Thing People. Idealism Run Amok. I hate you if not every hour, every day for making the boulder so much heavier.

    The agony is that we have the votes everywhere – cleanly, clearly, not  close. If 601 of you 90,000 had Got the Brain before the Election, we all could be constructing a brilliant world as we speak.

    You were smart enough and bestirred enough to get registered. That is well done. Now, if you could only consider the consequences of your actions beyond the knee-jerk herd of the-snippy-&-righteous surface. Of course they all suck compared to Enlightened You, but they do not all suck the same. You were looking through the wrong end of the telescope. You are the Tut-Tut Duffists, the Scolds.

     Then there are our Retard Duffists. The Retards who can’t velcro their shoes. Who can’t out of the two years between elections carve out the 5 minutes it takes to get thee to a library or a post office and fill out a registration form you can mail for free. Voting is not confusing. Vote for Gore or Kerry, not Bush. Period. Leave the booth. You do not need to vote for any other person or initiative. You don’t have to vote for County Water Assessor or for Prop 666. Stay essential.

    I would like registration to be even easier. It is a nuisance. Same day registration is good. There ought to be voting on the weekend. Get your damned absentee ballot. Yes, the electoral college is completely anti-democratic. Voting machines must have a paper trail.

    But look at the consequences of your ‘not getting around to it’; not ‘bothering’; of flailing into the ‘they’re all the same tantrum.’ Do they look all the same now? Ye gods, you cretins, get off your damned duffs and register and vote.

   And the rest of us long-suffering holier than thou enlightened people who did do our citizen duty – did register, did find out where our darn precinct is this year (Think absentee absentee absentee), did vote? So now we’re clucking – “Oh, oh, it’s the Tut-Tut Scolds, those awful Nader people; it’s our Retards who make excuses all the way to the Mall – it’s their fault. I did my part. Look at me, how fine I am. Change the architecture so I can fit my head through the door.”

    No, you self-satisfied Preener Duffist, the fate of the fxxcking precious Earth is at stake and you don’t get off so easy. It’s ordinary for you to vote intelligently. You pass Democracy 101. Well done. Now you have to do something – one thing – extra-ordinary. You don’t have to become a major-league political junkie pouring your heart into saving the fruited Earth. Just do one extra-ordinary thing. Take 5 registration forms from the post office or library and put them in your car. Check that the coffee-jerks at your Starbucks are registered. adopt one voter. Make it your business to personally adopt one voter each two years. If we each did that simple thing, we would double the Democratic vote.  The key is getting those 5 forms from the post office into your car.

    Of course I wish with blood dripping like tears from my eyes that you would get yourself to a Peace March, would stand up, speak out at the water cooler, with your knees trembling and your voice quavering – hell with your neuroses, friend, it’s Urgent Times for the Beloved Planet. It is always better to do one small thing than one big nothing. Don’t worry at all about being a coward. I’m the hugest coward ever. I just do one excruciating grain of sand at a time (and over time, it adds up to a pleasantly surprising anthill.)

    I have not sat freezing naked in a Tibet cave living on one dried berry a month praying for your wretched and lazy soul – I am not much holier than thou. But I do know that cynicism sucks – it’s like poisoning yourself and hoping the other person dies. I do know that inertia kills. Kennedy beat Nixon by one vote a precinct. Your vote may matter. Do not dare take a chance.

      Dear Turtle Island which is what North America was called before the Florid Hairless Biped genocided her (one man’s genocide is another man’s heroic conquest  . . .) – Turtle Island may yet become a powerful but authentically humble global-citizen-servant bringing our constructive ingenuity to bear on the fascinating future. We perfected the tools of destruction: It’s bombs, napalm, landmines into broadband and healthcare time.

    Do one small extra-ordinary thing. Let’s get off our arses, Duffists, and arise.

 

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See also:

Squawk & Re-Squawk.

The Eloquent Lamentors;

Do One Small Thing;

Dimensions of a PeaceSign;

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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: pogblog@yahoo.com

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Evil Ain't Always Bad

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Evil Ain’t Always Bad   

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    “This is a subject so difficult to talk about that my throat constricts as the words rise into the air. I who have lived with this knowledge for 23 years can hardly breathe to speak. Yes, I have come to tell you that what is evil ain’t always bad.” Belle Z. Babe spoke at the Tribunal as the lidless eyes of the Judges bore their fear, distaste, and fury like crossbows into her heart.

    At once, in the dappled inner glade which was her refuge, Belle Z. turned ruefully to Oak, her friend with the bright dark amber eyes. Like herself, Oak was of the ancient druid line of star-seed who loved the home planet Earth with concentration and glee, diligence, devotion, and somersault joy. The druids knew there was more than one time line, a fact they playfully and reverently portrayed in their intricate and passionate Celtic knots. Lightning is a druid sign because druids zigzag between times.

     While one thread of her experience had Belle Z. in a leg chain, in her glade, Oak put the back of his fingers to her cheek and suspended time with her. It was this ability to dwell in parallel and mobius time lines that gave those of druid blood their air of mystery to the single-sighted. Oak’s eyes were that dark amber struck by a shaft of sun. Not too far hidden under the surface of those lion’s eyes was merriment, mischief, and a daunting ability to concentrate. Oak shrugged, “We knew they weren’t going to like the wider truth being brought into the day light. Stay brave, Belle Z.”

     Back in the Tribunal, with no more apparent time dislocation than a heartbeat, Belle Z.Babe continued. “You didn’t like what Galileo told you either. The transition to an openly multi-dimensional consciousness is going to be rocky, but the costs of living a lie are too tremendous.

    “In the most simplistic terms, what is good’ in our Earth density of experience is not the same as what is good’ in our less dense ethereal realm of experience. “Thus evil’ ain’t always bad. Most true evil comes from confusing the layers of consequence between dimensions of experience.”

     Monger, the grim judge sneered at Belle Z., “If you let this evil out of the bottle, Mz. Z.Babe, you cannot contain it. We have kept the multi-dimensional truth from people because they are not ready for it. The danger is too great.”

    Belle Z.Babe shrugged one shoulder, “Monger, I have thought most of my lifetime about that —. It is a staggering concern. But I am convinced now that we must dare the whole truth. “If what is evil earthside is not necessarily evil in the ethereal realms, we must learn and teach how to act fittingly.’ How to act in a way that fits’ the realm of experience we presently dwell in.

     “Imagine for a moment that you and I meet in a dream and you murder me. In the land of dreams, murder could be a gotcha’ game you and I play. Or it could be symbolic between us of some rotten feelings. But because in the less-dense or ethereal realms where we inhabit dreams and other differently-consequential experiences, we pop right back up, the consequential meaning of murder is different. Therefore the ethics is different.

      “In our beloved earth/solid, relatively sequential-time realm, the consequences of war and pillage, rape, death, and promiscuity are all awful to our sturdy hearts. Yet simultaneously we dwell in levels of experience where such things have little more consequence than our actually being a character in a book we’re reading.”

     Belle Z.Babe looked at Monger’s pale ice-grey eyes directly with her green Celtic eyes and continued, “The kinesthetic intensity and time-duration intensity of Earth experience, as well as the depth and durance of emotions make consequence and responsibility different than in the diaphanous, more plastic realms where experience manifests at the speed of thought.

      “Here in this material masterpiece we have to collaborate with the nature of a stuff which has its own integrity and sturdiness.

     “Our behavior must be appropriate, must fit the space, the place wherein we immediately dwell. We cannot bring dream behavior into the solid day. This mis-taking of realms, this leeching of lusts and power struggles and emotional chaos into the consequential Earth is the source of most crime, legal and emotional. By staying primly and sentimentally blind to our multi-level experience, we avoid the complicated responsibility for our whole behavior.”

      In the glade, Oak grinned at Belle Z and said, “The constant aesthetic and ethical many-layered decisions that we hope are increasingly elegant and compelling finally make use of the 90% of that ultimate holographic and multi-D organic Celtic knot, the human brain, which has lain mostly fallow for all these centuries.

     “Of course it’s complicated and terrifying to juggle several time lines and densities in a clear, sound consciousness at once , but it’s complicated and terrifying now — and based on a wrong premise, a false foundation.

     “We must dare to trust the whole truth, to dream well and live fittingly at once.”

      “Deft and apt,” Belle Z.Babe agreed.

 

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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: pogblog@yahoo.com

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Jesus & Jesusia

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 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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