The Rot at Capitalism’s Core

The Rot at Capitalism’s Core

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   Let’s explore the rot at capitalism’s core. Now, friends, this is only one trip to the heart of this darkness. There have been many before and, gods swilling, many more to come – though one never comes back from a contemplation of capitalism unscathed.

    Even PBS (In USofA Inc, the least corporate major channel – one on which you could see someone playing a violin), even PBS which aspires to a soul and a heart only has Business Week. It has no Labor Week show which would on-goingly examine labor concerns.

    Let’s guillotine the iconic false idea, brayed at every opportunity by the HaveAlotMores, that we wouldn’t have an engine of invention without money-competition. Pick your interjection: Crap! Balderdash! I have done all my creative work deliberately as a passionate amateur because I can give my whole untrammeled soul to it – to the zigs, the zags of mischievous, demanding creativity. I would say that whenever I did forays into doing my stained glass or my political organizing or my Rhapsodic Life TV shows for money, I lost the astonishing compression of passion that I had had as a pure amateur, a lover of the thing. I still did them extremely well, but the real Zone of Zones is amateur. You think your gift or passion will be ratified or improved by the money, but do you really think Mick Jagger wants to sing Satisfaction again? The Muse loves the lover, not the Banker.

    This whole idea of Follow Your Bliss so rarely works out creatively that I would radically amend it to Follow Your Bliss except for Money.

    So capitalism is constructed as a Religious necessity on an entirely false idea – that people will only excel for money, then more money for more excelling. Nonsense. My life and a zillion others disprove this utterly. The best people I’ve known have labored with unflagging diligence and discipline for pittances or no money at all. For the beauty of, the fascination of, the rightness of the project itself. So the idea that competition is a necessary fuel to effort and excellence is a dangerous and stupid and enslaving knee-jerk slogan. (Ask the FattHogggists, for an instance, whether they play golf or bridge as well as they possibly can – and nobody pays them for it.)

    The whole stock market is a something-for-nothing scheme. That short-term, short-sighted, so-called profit is stolen from the real labor — by entitled people who do nothing for it whatsoever. Our economy is hideously organized around bank-worth which can be obscenely unequal, not human-worth which is fabulous-creation-of-the-universe equal.

    Trust me, I too am blinded and blinded by the horrific tonnage of societal baggage and judgments we all haul around – we and I are argus-eyed-blind so many blindnesses do we ignorantly and worse, often stubbornly, inhabit. (The peacock’s tail has dozens of brilliant ‘argus eyes,’ any and all of which can be blinded.) I too am blinded. But I fight for sight.

    If we can (some day) agree and grok¹ and funes² that each person’s life time is as exactly valuable to them as yours is to you, then we begin to build the equal-worth fellowship world and to feel shame over the cut-throat world.

   We should not reward the pirates and the pillagers and the corporate looters who rape, pillage, and maraud with the nod-&-wink pass wearing a business suit gives. We gotta quit applauding these suckers. “You have a staggeringly huge bank account? Ick, how sad for you. How unimaginative that you allow all that money to fester.”

    The Navajo insist on a collaborative model. If they have a footrace, the young buck who would clearly cross the finish line ‘first’ in our individual cut-throat vision only ‘wins’ there if his strength is brought to bear to get the old people and the little children to the finish line too with him. It is how many people you bring with you that is the victory.

    To call ourselves “the richest country on Earth” as we so bloatedly and gloatingly trumpet is bizarre if not evil when we ignore and worse condemn the appalling numbers of poor. (I would suggest to my christian brethren and sistren that every poor person is Jesus or Jesusia testing your eyes of kindness. Do you see sweetly? Or do you deny, your vision blurred by Covetousness and Greed? The eye of the needle awaits you and narrows day by day.)

    I constantly hear the poor condemned. As a teacher for 40 years, it is never the fault of the student. It’s our job to teach them motivation, to be ingenious enough to engage and nurture their talent. A sane and wholesome economy – our national household — would require figuring out how to encourage and engage these disheartened folk in our fruitfulness which cannot be called prosperous until they join the parade.  

  A human experience is utterly precious and unrepeatable – dare we allow any life to tarnish?

   The poverty-stricken are the collateral damage in an economy structured like a war. Just as I refuse to accept the mutilated child in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Iraq as ‘collateral damage tut tut shrug,’ I refuse to accept a poor person as a necessary casualty of necessary capitalism.

    Until we become both aware of and sickened by the lives diminished by our opulence, we cannot begin our recovery from our unholy addiction to Money.

 

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¹  grok .. indispensable Martian for ‘understand in a way that you utterly drink deeply’; from Stranger in a Strange Land by Heinlein, an very interesting old sci-fi, sadly steeped in an appalling misogyny, but there it is. 

 

²  funes .. Funes is the borges character who remembers everything in a blakean heart-exploding honor of universe-in-a-grain-of-sand detail. The key image is that Funes cannot understand not only how any 'dogs' can be lumped together, but even more, how dog, Puffy, asleep in the idle sun-blasted afternoon street at 2:13 pm can be considered the same dog as that dog at 2:14 pm.

    We smear and lump and clump stuff to a dimmed degree of dullness that we surely live in the back broomcloset of Plato's cave, unalert and unillumined. Anyhow I add funes to grok as a more whole and paganly holy embrace of perception. I will, thus, give myself this credit: te funes — I 'get' rather a lot about you, tho I forlorn of painting your portrait as it really deserves in any medium except my curiosity and devotion. 

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13 Lizard . Kan . South . tzol 104  09.13.05 tues 

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Top 12% .. Bottom 12%

Top 12% .. Bottom 12%

 

    “As a civilized society, do we measure economic success by how well the top 12 percent of our population is doing, or the bottom 12 percent?” [David Alexander/Powell, <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Ohio; 083105 Letters to NYTimes]

     I really thought we’d put a stake in that blood-sucking Vampire, SupplySide Economics, in the ‘80s when it proved a think-tank Bright Idea that failed abysmally in the Reality-Based World. But behind a smokescreen of supposed Values, the giga-Greedy have slurped our blood all the way to the Swiss Bank. Of course true Christians or true any kind of gentle and loving Fellows would not count profit until AFTER the (fellow) workers had been kindly dealt with. The idea of screwing every centavo out of a workforce is so ugly that you know the people doing it have forfeited most of their humaneness and all of their claim to inclusion in the Family of Humanity.

   This Religious adherence to the theory of “Efficient Markets” against all evidence shows the denial of an addict. Somehow these insecure souls bolster their faux self-esteem by brandishing their Bank Accounts. Like other addicts, they are in deep and repulsive denial about the effects of their bloodthirsty, bloodhungry behavior on their (human) family.

     As we alchemize from the cutthroat competitive model of clearly outmoded capitalism (Does your skin not crawl? Can you really continue to mouth the nostrums?) to a collaborative model of fellowship, we have to toothpick open the eyelids of the HaveMores in order that they grok the human rights of the Bottom 12% without whom they clearly would not BE the Top 12%. The HaveMores did not earn the sweat-equity in their supposed accomplishment.

    I think every elected official and Top12%er must agree to spend one full week every two months living on the minimum wage (for the government official) or on the lowest wage in their corporation. Just as leaders would be required to send their own child or grandchild to combat (Let them wonder if every time the phone rings, Is this the ‘I regret to inform you’ phonecall?) in any war they claim noble enough to declare, they should walk the walk that these are sufficient wages – put their way of life and their families'  way of life where their damn Think-Tank policies are. Other Real People have to live these Stupid Scripts. And when they say, Oh You can climb the ladder, that still leaves somebody at the bottom of the ladder in the foul rag & boneshop of the damned slum, you FattHogggist. Nobody can live a proper and flourishing life on minimum wage. I don’t object to what are so euphemistically called disparities, but when you’re making $431 to my $1, and I have no health care and no hope of accumulating a decent pension, you’re getting more than your share. And we do share the planet, pilgrim.

    Real Leaders always got dirty with the foot soldiers, bared their own breast to the enemy sword at the very front of the charge. Who would have followed them otherwise? These pipsqueaks loot with the law. Rape the days of the (fellow) workers. Pillage the hopes of our childrens’ futures.

       How can it possibly count as profit if your (fellow) workers are not flourishing quite a little? How can you look yourselves in the mirror? The Bottom 12% is the mirror of the Top 12% — every cent you gain beyond what they have is at their expensive. You are not worth more than they are at the Gates of Heavens or Hades or Cielos or Nirvanas. Naked, nobody counts your filthy lucre. Those scales weigh only kindness.

      Shame. It is time to say Shame.  

 

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12 Night . Akbal . Hearth . West . tzol 103  09.12.05 mon

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#2 Quicksilver Quips, Tidbits, Obsidians, Halcyons 091105

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#2 QuQuTiObsHa

 

#2 Quicksilver Quips, Tidbits, Obsidians, Halcyons 09.11.05

 

<^> My friend Rosiland dropped off the first Militant Pacifist teeshirt on the planet as far as I know. Her friend Judy designed it for me. I am so stoked. The Militant is white letters on a red background stripe. The Pacifist is pale blue on a dark blue background stripe and the pair is tipped at about a 30 degree angle. It is completely cool. I plan to wear it 24 hours a day forever.

    Why Militant Pacifist?  Well, I’m sick of people thinking of pacifist as being weak when with two moments of reflection, it is a much stronger and braver position than adolescent flailing in bullying violence. And it’s time to fiercely mean the abolition of war.

    At the Mountain View Art & Wine Festival I was told again by an officious volunteer that, as I was walking quietly with my teach peace sign, I had to “go to the Free Speech Area.” Pfffft. ‘<?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />America is a free speech area. Because of the 1980 United States Supreme Pruneyard court decision, I have the right to protest in a place to which the public is generally invited. I don’t have to go to a holding pen. I’ve already been through this with the chief of police.’

    When a volunteer next to her was very rude for no reason, I snapped at him. His girlfriend said simperingly, “I thought you were for teaching peace.”

    Pfffttt. I’m not for teaching nice. (See Put an IcePick in Nice for the full lowdown on this.) I care about the abolition of deliberate death and mutilation, not about hallmark cards, better manners, and norman rockwell. I’m not against manners, but I’m not willing to live in a gutter to defend them.

 

<^> The $200,000 per second spent in Iraq figure is a wonderful meme. Meme ..  (pronounced meem; rhymes with moonbeam.) A meme is the idea equivalent of a gene or virus; it’s an idea (good or offal) that spreads around the world; e.g. “the world is round.” For a long time, the prevailing stench was that the world was flat. Then the meme of the world being round infected the general understanding. I’m not sure it exactly fits in with meme – I never thought about it til this very moment, but that picture of the planet from space had meme qualities; also that horrific picture of the napalmed little girl as if a sane species could drop jellied gasoline on people. ¶ The one concept I want to have be a world-sweeping meme is the idea of 2ThenAdopt. Now the world population is 6,446,038,867. Please every-sparrow-fall recall that one billion is 1000 million. Projected in 45 years about 9 billion bodies breathing &c. It’s absurd, friend, it’s obscene — we can’t take care of all these people.

     Our good will and lessening prejudices and ignorances keep getting tsunamied by a population running amuck. If the notion of 2ThenAdopt could spread, then people could have whatever sized families they wanted or could afford, but we could stop flooding away all the progress by holding the biology at a standstill, behind a dam of good sense until the social systems could catch up. 2ThenAdopt.

   The more people you ask, “Did you know that we are spending $200,000 per minute in Iraq?” – the more people can be disgusted by the waste of human and financial resources in this benighted war. Disgust can lead to action finally. (The real figure is more like $416,000 per minute, but I use the $200,000 per minute as a figure that no one can argue with. See the Math, sources, and more detail.) This way we can spread the $200,000 per minute meme and accelerate the process of Declaring Victory & Coming Home – the true support of our troops – wanting to save their lives from  death or mutilation.

    Beat the drum. Tell one friend or colleague. No one believes it. They shake their heads and say, “Really?”

  

     <^> “No Mardi Gras,” sez the sursurd and vile and vapid Rev. Shanker. ‘It was God’s magnificent mercy that wiped out the City of Sin and Mardi Gras.’

     Me, I say, Mardi Gras? Why not Lundi Gras, Mercredi Gras,  Jeudi Gras, Vendredi Gras , Samedi Gras, Dimanche Gras? Fat Tuesday, Fat Monday, Fat Everyday. All days Yippee & Yummy. God forfend we have fun, I suppose. Pffffttt, I say to these Reapers of Grim.

 

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like obsidian; halcyon; .

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11 Wind . Ik . Whirlwind . North . tzol 102  09.11.05 sun

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

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Fronds

Fronds

   
   
Stiffly folded, elegant palm fronds are the origami of our local gods, Gla and Glo. The palm trees soar eighty feet in the air on preposterous one-foot diameter bare trunks and burst into a fireworks cascade of fronds at the very top.

    Gla and Glo are tricky and somewhat slothful. Hedonists at heart. They absolutely refused the iceberg/polar bear/penguin gig when it was offered.

    “Forfend!” Gla had put the ‘d’ on the end of the word like a hammer giving the last whack to a nail. With acid sweetness she had added, “Give that ghastly gig to Pessie, the Grumpy Pussy who thinks stark white is becoming and who likes to suffer. He’ll say, ‘Frozen, bleak. Howling wind. Yum.’”

    Gla and Glo settled in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Northern California and indolently and brilliantly set about making it the gentle paradise it is. If you think stirring some dirt, water, sky, sun and presto —  palm tree is ho hum, you’re one of the bleating blind and deaf who’ve come to inhabit this swell planet in such ignorant herds.

    Into a nut the size of the end of your thumb, Gla and Glo managed to pack the holo-holo of the sky-sweeper palm tree. The holo-holo is the minute, whole sense (holo-optic, holo-audic, holo-olfact, holo-kino, holo-gusto) rendition of the tree which will emerge magically making itself out of dirt.

    Gla and Glo knew that Sol3 was going to be issued grade D, biped sentients which were agog-impaired with limited attention spans. In addition to making these benighted beasts comfortable, Gla and Glo hoped to stir sparks of grade C or even grade B sentiment from these dull Processing Units with dazzling tricks like the sky-sweeper palm.

    Among the felinoa sapiens who guard Sol3 from the malignant space vulteros who feed on the brain-dead and soul-tepid and the Republican, the sky-sweeper palm made Gla and Glo’s reputation. The palms were a splendid and impossible joke. Glo had done the preposterous soaring trunks — a glorified stalk really — which swayed dangerously in the strong local afternoon winds.

    Gla had fashioned the ecstatic spray of pleated fronds with their large stiff folded fan-shaped ‘palm’ attached to the tree’s crown by a five-foot long stiff flat stalk. Hanging from the end of each stiff fold is a languid fringe whose sensitivity is akin to whiskers for a cat.

    Decoding the merest breeze delicately, the slender frond fingers answer the gossip, the news with an ethereal melody. In the very late afternoon when the angle of the sun is just right, when the winds subside to evening zephyrs, the frond fringe flashes with crackling molten gold sparks flung with passion and abandon into the sunset air.

    The lion-drawn chariot of Day departs, gaudy, resplendent. The shadows lie like panthers stretched beside the emerald bushes. The Night Gods arch their eyebrows and spread indigo softly across the landscape. Gla and Glo, content, watch their beloved sky-sweeper palms turn to pen-and-ink silhouettes against the spangled sky, settle to slumber, and purr. 

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8 Rainstorm . Cauac . Redbird. West  tzol  99  09.08.05 thur

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Cat .. & Braised Human

Cat 

    When they finally landed again, there was a devastating misunderstanding. They set down on the Jasco plain in southern Mexico, the place from where they’d departed in the Pleistocene. One of the startled terrestrial greeters, in the confusion, the billowing dust stirred up by the starship, the shock, had blurted, “Habla Espanol?!”
    The translator implants embedded in most galactic citizens were marvels of ingenious technology, but millennia come and millennia go in star travel and in spite of updating, mistakes creep in. “Habla Spaniel?!” the translator implant relayed — the star creature’s countenance clearly fell, the air of beatitude replaced by distaste or maybe even horror. “Spaniel? Indeed not,” the star creature declared, whiskers twitching, calico fur bristling, “Hablo Cat.”
    Felinoa sapiens had of course been masters of the universe since time’s infancy when riding the bucking galactic waves of furious young energy required reckless and brilliant deft sleek courage. Cats had evolved a welding of intellect and emotion, savvy and instinct that was the envy of lesser sentients. Cats had planted experiments on suitable planets and periodically revisited these planetary sites to observe the progress of the stock. The human stock on planet Earth, for instance.
    Fire Cat, Owl Cat, Nova Cat were the first master cats to set foot on Earth since the Pleistocene. They had been getting mindgrams from their miniature cousins whenever they wanted an update on the human herds. Humans were among the most vicious and intractable of the experimental stock being grown in this minor galaxy, but the young ones made excellent veal. “Braised shanks,” Fire thought, licking her furred lips. “Chops, charbroiled, rare,” Nova laughed, gold eyes blackening at the tasty thought.
    Owl Cat rumbled, “They thought their God was a large pale fellow with a beard. We ate God steamed — with a glaze, didn’t we?” Nova and Fire snickered.
    The three masters of the universe were making a courtesy call on one of their young cousins, a Burmese who lived in
Mountain View, California. Jester was an elegant glossy dark-chocolate-colored cat who kept two humans of middle age — beyond being half-decent veal really. Jester planned to plead on behalf of his human housemates, Ned and Nelly. Through the mindnet, he knew of the planet-clearing roundup which was coming, and in spite of the fact that humans were unkind to their own kind, generally greedy, and certainly ungenerous to other species themselves, Jester just couldn’t bear Ned and Nelly’s being butchered up into steaks and chops and ground round and put on the deep-freeze freighter for the trip to the Galactic Center warehouses where the terran delicacies would be dispersed to rich Cats.
    Let them round up the Dog People who were dumber anyway and had fewer sensibilities. Jester wanted to save his pals who could almost be cats. Couldn’t a handful of Honorary Cats be spared?
    Though a tenth the size, Jester was as beautiful as the star cats. His short silky fur was a burnished nutmeg, his eyes gold. Fire Cat was vain, a rare calico with an antique pattern from the First Days. Nova was jet black with a white tuxedo front. Owl Cat was a barred subtle gray, a full six-foot-high with a plumed tail. Bravely and with great dignity and glee, Jester faced his enormous star cousins and pleaded Ned and Nelly’s virtues.
    Glancing quickly at the others who were also suppressing smiles, Fire nodded gravely and said, “Sure, kid, cut a few out of the herd if you want. The Meat Merchants at Galactic Central don’t need to know everything.” Nova added, “Tell you what, little friend, we’ll send out the Dog-Loving Humans first. Spaniel!” the fur puffed out on her tail. “We’ll leave all your cat people on Earth til next trip in a millennia or two and maybe they’ll mend their grotty ways, get more kind and respectful, and finally get smart enough to be worth taking off the Big Menu.”   
    
Jester purred and cheshired. Ned and Nelly would never know, but he was glad to have saved them and the other cat people too. He was pleased the dog people would be gone. He hated Roscoe, that loud dumb mutt next door. It would be less smelly without them, canine and caninophiles alike.


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7 Flint . Edznab . Knife . North  tzol 98  09.07.05 wed  
ffwofw 711§8769§24d7h47m33s1064§1887
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Fierce Schools .. Quantum Schools

please check pogblog’s Glossary for unfamiliar & coined words.

Fierce Schools .. Quantum Schools

 part 2, draft ..

(Pls see herein below if you haven’t read The Burning Child, the foundational piece for the Quantum Schools series – or read it again. I just did. We need to grok this stuff.)

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

Now, in our new Manhattan Project of Education, we want to explode brains-&-hearts wide open and bring aesthetic and invention power to an intense and playful, sustainable crescendo of lambent planetary lights — northern, eastern, western, southern lights – to each Burning Child. … Every hour we spend in the fear-based theo-milito-think, we are losing ground.

 

First let’s talk about improv for awhile. It would be the first class I’d put kids in – outta the womb into improv. Improv teaches confidence, mischief, collaboration, glee. And a way of thinking intensely more useful than the default find-fault thinking that pollutes American thought patterns. The very first rule of improv is Yes-and. “As a rare pink platypus, what do you think the next break-out discovery in nuclear physics will be?”  “Well, as a very rare and if I may be so modest as to mention it a recognized genius pink platypus, I think the next powerful discoveries in nuclear physics will be etc.”  Improv insists on the mind accepting the premise and building on it. The fruitfulness and power of this approach has to be experienced to be believed.

    Perfectly ordinary folks off the street can learn improv in three minutes. I’ve done it with amateurs for years. The reason Yes-and is so different is that you say for instance 'Let’s invest the $200,000 per minute we’re spending rubblizing <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Iraq on superb K-College education in this country.' (See Burning Child below.)

    People default to the dialectic – for, then auto-against. Start listening and you'll notice this tedious pattern. The first thing people will list is all ad nauseum the reasons we can’t invest that kind of money in schools. Once you begin to notice this dour cast of habitual mind, you’ll chuckle as person after person does this No-but thinking. If you’d taken the opposite view, they probably would have opposed you just for the habit of it. Except for the knee-jerk tut-tut quantum-down Ain’t it offal kind of wallow in misery chat. “Can you believe all those looters in New Orleans?” “Tut tut Isn’t offal? How could they?” Hungry maybe?

     If the only truly honored investment was in the human experience on the planet – with the indelible conviction that each person’s life time is as precious to them as yours is to you, we could end up with a Buenopia – not some unachievable perfectionist Utopia, but a Buenopia – a place pretty darn good.

    I suppose it’s time to mention that I do not consider law school or doctor school or business school to be education. These are fancy trade schools and they have their place perhaps, but by education I mean what has been traditionally called a ‘liberal arts’ education. You learn how to learn, how to holo-think on the original sources from the greatest philosophers, artists, inventors, alchemists, chemists, etc.  An enchanting  interwoven program like James Burke’s Connections would be a core approach to the kaboom  fascination of intellectual history and the astonishment of being alove and alive.

    A society which makes its people Cogs in a Bottom-Line Machine is evil – literally anti-life (Live spelled backwards is evil.)

     We have so much to consider in our journey from an Asylum Planet where anyone still is loose who would call a mutilated child ‘collateral damage’ to a Frabjous Planet where every single centavo is spent on human delight and invention.

      Ah ah, don’t default to all the reasons why not. Go Yes-and. Ask yourself how many young filmmakers are killers or robbers? Connect kids with the Zone – the Zone of Creating and the most outcast they tend to be is in ghastly fashion choices. Huge weapons-scale investments in art and invention and the integration of lucid waking and lucid dreaming — and you get your end-run around the war-thirst, but more on that anon.

   Always remember as an article of fact that in Y3000, people are not – not – mutilating each other and building statues to the mutilators in the town squares anymore. We do abolish war. So we’re part of the pioneers who figure out how to get there. Cool.          

 

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The Burning Child .. Quantum Schools

draft 1

 

“You never change things by fighting the existing reality. To change something, build a new model that makes the existing model obsolete.” Bucky Fuller

 

   We cannot fix where we are. We cannot fix the gordian snarl we’re in. We must take the small but distinct quantum step to the Sane Fruitful Vision where we act in the gloryful, gleeful, liberating light of the fact of The Burning Child.

    Once you see that, as every bush burns, every child burns in the forests of delight, you will be honor-bound, duty-bound, future-bound to make complete superb K-College education an emergency Manhattan-Project national priority beginning today.

    The once-stolen treasure of children who blossom, not stunted, whose education is subsidized at $14,000 per minute + $200,000 per minute + $820,000 per minute – the treasure once stolen for death-dealing instead of life-dealing now fuels armies of carpenters and artists who build schools, schools that look like the vatican, the cathedral-care taken, the whimsical gargoyles, the sistine chapels cafeterias. Your learning, burning child, is sacred to we.

 

What can’t you tell about a society by what its schools look like? We got enough to lay off taxing you so you can have a 2nd mansion and a 3rd Hummer — and the school buildings completely suck? Is this what we want to say about ourselves? Shame.

 

   We should have a Manhattan Project of building and equipping the next quantum level of schools. Quantum schools. In 10 years all national schools should be splendid. We should be exporting school technology, not weapons technology. Our national security utterly depends on this urgently expanded education technology – most of which is wetware obviously. We will need to integrate lucid waking with lucid dreaming to make use of the full range of humane experience and resource.  

   We do not need one single new weapons system. The weapons we have now are sufficiently plentiful and sufficiently hideous that we can declare a moratorium until 2029 on any consideration of new weapons. It’s not like even in the dungeons of their sick and sickening fear-ridden imaginations the Death-Dealers can conjure up some opposing power fiendishly devising weapons that will unman us. We are the Boogie Man. Claro que si, so shuddup Weapons Mongers.

    So the new Manhattan Project, the Fierce Education Project, “It’s the Education, stupid!” starts fomenting education by in 3 years establishing South Korean-grade broadband – wi-fi – not wire the whole country, but unwire the whole country, every hamlet, every alley, every valley immediately.

   Hello, Mars to Earth, it is a scandal, the USofA Inc is a 3rd world communications-capacity country. We’re losing the race that matters. We’re running the last century’s race. Just like we needed the electrification of America, we need the wi-fi-ification of America. Don’t blather on about how the government can’t do things well. Piffle. It can do lots of things well. It built the InterState Highway System. It built the fxxxxxg atomic bomb in two blinks. Now we want to explode brains-&-hearts wide open and bring aesthetic and invention power to an intense and playful, sustainable crescendo of lambent planetary lights — northern, eastern, western, southern lights.

    The nation must invest in a giga-light 14” titanium metal-hinged laptop for each citizen to go with the continental wi-fi. This would cost about 150 billion dollars max, roughly ¼ of the 2006 projected military budget. If  America is to survive, least of all thrive, this is the first investment to make because the Future Fierce School is mainly mobile, the world is your school, and you plug in anywhere. (The nano-cyber-enhancer is implanted and telepathic, but that’s a few warp-miles down the star road.)

   

    The glorious schools we will build or restore have a 90% social function so people don’t lose total flesh touch. Presently we in the USofA Inc are the atavistic fight-or-flight old-Reptile-brain-stem equivalent in the rampanting symphonikizing noosphere, the world brain-soul.

    Every hour we spend in the fear-based theo-milito-think, we are losing ground.

 

Notes:

(1) We will need to invest in a buy-out of the military-industrial complex and a retraining of those personnel for a constructive rather than a destructive mind-set. This will be fabulously expensive, but it’s as cheap now as it will ever be.

 

We will be responsible for the promises made to the present military personnel and veterans. They are, however, as out-of-date as buggywhip manufacturers and the sooner we quantum-step past our old-rut-thinking the sooner we begin to blossom in the new world now being pioneered by others.

 

(2) $14,000 per minute (cost of the fantasy Missile CrackPot Scheme aka Star Wars) + $200,000 per minute (cost of Iraq quagsand) + $820,000 per minute (partial annual military budget, not including most veteran costs); 

 

(3) We have to keep our eye on the 3000/435,000 (9-11 vs annual tobacco-related deaths) prize – so-called terrorism, as revolting as it is, is a blip in the dangers the country actually faces. The obscene and absurd skewing of resources to this false Bogeyman is crippling our future, retarding our children.

 

This is draft 1 of The Burning Child – Quantum Schools.

 

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6 Earth . Caban . Earthquake. Heron . East  tzol 97

ffwofw 1161§8769§24d7h47m33s1063§1887

10 Rabbit . Lamat . South .  tzol 88  08.28.05 sun 

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Not Jobs, But Slave Opportunities

Not Jobs,

But Slave Opportunities

 

Quicksilver Quips, Tidbits, Obsidians, Halcyons 090405

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

<^> FatHoggists provide not ‘jobs’ but ‘slave opportunities with invisible chains’ – only changed from 1863 perhaps in that they don’t so overtly force open your mouth to check your teeth.

From Hubert Herring, NYTimes (emphases mine) – “Again last year, according to a new report from the Institute for Policy Studies and United for a Fair Economy, the ratio of the average chief executive's pay to that of production workers at 367 top corporations [is] … To be exact, for every dollar bill in a worker's pocket, the boss gets $431. And here's a nugget of perspective: If the minimum wage had kept pace with bosses' pay since 1990, it would be $23.03 an hour. … Which bosses are really raking it in? Some of the big money is in war. At companies with at least 10 percent of revenue from military contracts, chief executives' pay tripled from 2001 to 2004.” Go war, Yippee. Tra la la. Skipping all the way to the Swiss Bank Account 

 

 <^> Pens that write in weightlessness? The Russians simply use pencils.

 

<^> Where’s the puttering? The strolling? The napping? The siestas? The musing? The lolling about? They keep us with Frantic on the Simmer if not the Boil, in a state of pre-Panic, a Festering of Fear that leaves us in a perpetual adrenal debt nigh unto bankruptcy. An adrenal exhaustion ripvanwinkling us from action – from civil disobedience or civil uprising. From sharpening the figurative Guillotines.

<^> I wish my teeth had been implacable.

<^> Do unto others means paying them a wage you would take. Means putting your kin’s skin in the War (properly called the Mutilation).

 

<^>

I love thee so dearly,

I love thee so severely,

I love thee so fearlessly

That I even find your lice nice.

 

<^> Always remember that the 12ftTall Lizards Disguised as Human Beings Who Purport to Lead Us are not the same species as we. We remained mammal at (warm) heart. They are cold of heart (Remember ‘collateral damage'), lidless of eye. They prefer property to human beings. We stop a whole rescue operation because some teenager took 15 polyester Atlantic Falcon sports’ jerseys? The iconic 'looting' shot played ad nauseum sadly without the original audio which would have told you (I heard it myself) that there was a report of another levee break and fear of a yet more tragic rise of lethal flood waters – and those ‘looters’ were people frantically trying to break into a boarded-up hotel to give people a ‘vertical evacuation’ escape to higher floors than the street by the convention center where they’d been abandoned. This was explained in the original audio that accompanied that video and was later detached while the video played as b-roll for tut tut looting stories.    

 

<^>  You’ll get tired of the number of ways I put the following Agenda List, but that’s what Staying On Message is about. I recommend that we embrace their Talking Points' derisive description and say, “Yep, that pesky Far Looney Left Extremist Agenda is universal healthcare; a superb K-College education for every child; a treasured and revered environment; a robust living wage; and nationwide free wireless internet broadband.” If you generally agree, then you need to memorize these and blurt them out to friend and foe at every opportunity. The acronym for Far Looney Left Extremist Agenda is FLLEA – amusing, therefore easy to remember. Pogblog commentator yogaartnat submitted the elegant Happy Elephants Embracing With Burros as a mnemonic device to remember the Far Looney Left Extremist Agenda Talking Points – Healthcare, Education, Environment, Wages, Broadband. (See more about ‘mnemonic devices’ in pogblog’s Glossary.)

    Over time pogblog will talk about the vignettes that go with these basic agenda points, but getting the stripped-down, Fortune Cookie version of them down is the first step.

    It would be droll if it weren't so dangerous — the chat show Automatons who are Sent Forth with Talking Pointsnever failto tar anythong progressive as 'being associated with manipulated by or promoted by “the Looney Left”; “the Looney Left and MoveOn.org”; “the Far Left Extremists.” Listen & you'll hear it and what's amazing is that no one ever challenges it. It's so much part of the background static that the anchors et ilk probably don't even notice it. But it lundermines the credibility of what ever actionis being taken. I say we turn the tables as above and defang their ominous tone by embracing the Far Left term and always coupling it with a simple mantra of the short 5 point Agenda as above. 

 

<^> Remember Saturday September 24 for the biggest Peace Rally ever we hope — all over the country. Detailed info on pogblog here.

 

<^>

Q. Who was the Flounder of Our Country?

A. George Fishington.

 

 

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4 Eagle . Men . West .  tzolkin 95  09.04.05 sun

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$200,000 per MINUTE in Iraq

$200,000 per MINUTE Spent in Iraq

A Letter to The Media & other truffles of bittersweet chocolate rage.

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

Dear Media,

 

As I have been walking by myself with my now-battered teach peace sign in my local downtown for 1061 days in a row, I find the most jaw-dropping figure to tell people is to say that we are spending $200,000 per minute on the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Iraq war. (I’ll put the Math below.)

 

I tell them that the Far Loony Left Extremist Agenda is universal healthcare; a superb K-College education for every child; a treasured and revered environment; a robust living wage; and nationwide free wireless internet broadband. That $200,000 per minute would make a big dent in getting these well-started.

 

Now we have Katrina. The supposedly beneficent $10.5 Billion signed for by the 12ftTall Lizard Disguised as a Human Being Who Purports to Lead Us is only 1 ½ months of the quagsand in Iraq. Down-payment this, white boy. I am so rasputinally filled with rage that I fear spontaneous combustion.

 

I implore you to get this comparison out there. Even my fervent anti-war friends did not know the costs of that felonious folly Iraq. The word ‘billion’ is one of the best propaganda weapons the repulsive Karlsputin Rove et Ilk, the 12ftTall Lizards Disguised as a Human Beings, have. It’s a dirigible word – it floats above us vaguely huge but hollow. I always say ‘1000 Million’ instead of ‘Billion.’ Then when you chunk the Iraq costs down to the minute, people jerk their heads back and gasp. $200,000 per minute. On the street I can snap my fingers — $200,000, $200,000 — $200,000 per minute.

 

I think the figure of $200,000 per minute could be the skeleton key to unlock the dismay against this war for Middle America. They have a growing angsty distaste for the war already. They need a left-uppercut meme to set them back on their heels.

 

Sincerely,

pogblog

http://pogblog.myblogsite.com

pogblog@yahoo.com

 

    

The Math.

See most recently: More costly than 'the war to end all wars'; David R. Francis

August29, 2005 Christian Science Monitor

http://www.csmonitor.com/2005/0829/p15s01-cogn.htm

 

“In her estimate, Ms. Bilmes figures on $460 billion in military costs for the next five years, plus $315 billion in veterans' costs, $220 billion in added interest, and $119 billion for the economic impact of a $5 increase per barrel in the price of oil through July 2010. “I tried to be conservative,” she says.”

 

[I use / to mean ‘divided by’ so it’s easy on a calculator. The key to fitting this stuff on your hand or computer calculator is to remember that one Billion is 1000 Million.]

460 + 315 + 220 + 119 Billion = 1114 B / 5 = 222 B per year. 222,000 Million / 12 = 18,000 Million per month. 18,000 / 30 =  600 Million per day. 600,000,000 / 24 = 25,000,000 per hour.

25,000,000 / 60 = 416,666 per minute. I halved that to obviate carping.

///Those who own 8 Hummers (like Arnold Schwarzenegger) can’t imagine that people don’t have enough money for gas to evacuate. Or that they have cars too old to not quickly overheat in the slow slow going of the Evacuation Highways. (I myself would never take my old car on such an hejira – I know it wouldn’t make it.) That they have a parent too infirm to bear the journey in a car – a parent they care for at home because they can’t afford the $3000 per month fancy nursing home – or a nursing home at any price for that matter. Did the Supercilious Authorities provide public transportation out of the Killing Zone? Tut tut if only those beastly poor people would have done what they were told.

I wonder what psycho-illogical condition would cause someone to own a Humvee? I think it should be an automatic, one-way ticket to the Rubber Room, no questions asked, do not pass Go. Everything about owning a Hummer is disgusting.  Owning 8 of them would all but make me re-contemplate the possible justice of capital punishment. Certainly the stocks and shunning and the offer of seppuku.

///It’s interesting that when CNN & others want to make a moving remembrance of an unbearable event like Katrina’s wrath, they use still pictures.    

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3 Jaguar . Ix . Ocelot . panther . North . tzol 94 . 09.03.05 sat

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the pro-peace world begins today with you
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Frodoism .. How You Can Be a Hero Too

Frodoism .. 

How You Can Be a Hero Too ..

   I was lucky enough to get a bootleg copy of Fellowship of the Ring when I was a freshman in college. Nobody had heard of it in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />America. I had 12 major people die in my life before I was twenty-nine. (It got so I didn’t want to answer the phone lest it be another ‘dead call.’ The tones in those calls are all the same – the hesitation, the ‘I hate to have to tell you this,’ the furry edges around the voice, the lower register, the sotto voce, the impossible impassable silence after the sentence of death.) Well, Frodo et al  got me through a lot of Hell. When I came West in ’74  not knowing if I’d ever get back East to get any of my stuff – and I didn’t – the only thing I took with me was my hardback copy of Fellowship of the Ring.

    The reason the Lord of the Rings resonates so molecularly with me is that unlike Jesus in the bible, Frodo is not Divine, has no Big Time Nepotism, no Influential if Querulous Father, has no miracles, has only pluck and in the end, damned doggèdness. He is what the Brits call without reference to physical stature, ‘a stout fellow.’ His heart is sturdy. He presses on, regardless. There is a gallantry. Even when he departs in the End, he doesn’t rise to some Heaven, he goes to a Further Earth. This is all stuff that we could conceivably do. So our inner heroism and endurance is amplified. We are not down looking up

   And then there’s Lothlorien & Rivendell. In the gruesome struggle with orcs and other awful agents of Mordor, we come across a Lothlorien or a Rivendell where our charred hearts are mended and we get a crystal vial of elven light to hide in our bosom under the mithril tunic. We find allies who rekindle our magic.

    The thing about Frodo is that we can too against horrible odds against odious foes.

    The central bible story was done to me. I wasn’t a hero. I was a (preferably reverent) spectator.

    I think for these chilling times having an inner story like The Lord of the Rings will bring courage and solace and make us feel in our secretest heart that in whatever unknown part we are a hero even in perilous times, such as ours.

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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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3 Jaguar . Ix . Ocelot . panther . North . tzol 94 . 09.03.05 sat

ffwofw 1161§8769§24d7h47m33s1059§1884

 

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the pro-peace world begins today with you
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