Author Archives: wendy fleet

The theo-Military Budget & Militant Ridicule

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The theo-Military Budget & Militant Ridicule

the Marshmallowists ..

the intergration of lucid waking with lucid dreaming  

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    Purrs Nicety addressed a seminar of clowns about to be deployed into the Dream Scheme to terrorize the Insane Leadership of the USofA Inc with sneak barrages of marshmallows.

     Purrs was a master strategist of guerilla Ridicule. “The RovBuCondRumsChenian Ilk can be howitzerily guarded in the K1, the full kinesthetic, solid-density, daylight plane,” said Purrs with a sly, if not snide, chuckle. Purrs sported the Puss in Boots look, complete with large blue hat with swashbuckling pink feather. Feline-pirate chic. She was, however, a Ridicule Assassin who fought fang and fought claw to embarrass the Putative Mighty.

    “Do you realize,” growled Purrs, “that they steal the happiness of their kittens to build weapons systems?” Her hackles bristled with furry fury. “No one – and I mean no one – dares speak out against the bloated, obscene, insane military budget. Not a chirp, not a squeak, not a bark, nor a howl. Either the hypnotism or the intimidation is complete.

    “Last class I told you all to memorize the Far Looney Bleeding Heart Extremist Agenda. Lobosuave, can you recite it for us?” Lobocake was something of a teacher’s pet, it must be said. Purrs clearly preferred him to any other comrade-in-marshmallows.

    Lobocake gave her his taunting wolfish grin, “That pesky Far Looney Left Extremist Agenda is universal healthcare; a superb, public K-College education for every child; a treasured and revered environment; a robust living wage; and nationwide free wireless internet ultra-broadband. We’re asking those who generally agree to memorize these and blurt them out to friend and foe at every opportunity. Healthcare, Education, Environment, Wages, Ultraband.”

   “Thanks, Lobo,” preened Purrs who was clearly smitten. “Now, these jerkbeciles are talking cutting Medicaid and the prescription drug benefit, closing schools, and gutting American civil rights, and we may not talk about – even mention – the next-generation DDX destroyers or more Trident submarines or more D-5 missiles or F/A22 fighters or V-22 Osprey aircraft or the strangelovian Robust Nuclear Earth Penetrators or any of that fantasy Missile Nonsense aka Star Wars program? Their present destroyers, submarines, aircraft, bombs are going to be challenged by whom?

    “We could put a non-maintenance moratorium on all Weapons of Mass Mutilation development for 5 years. Simply buy out all the workers and companies affected and re-deploy them to build super schools and the infrastructure of the WiFi Nation. We’re spending $820,000 per minute on theoMilitarism, not counting the extra $200,000 per minute on rubbling the rubble in the quagsands of <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Iraq.

     “Fundamentalist Christianity is an anti-jesusian, virulent sidebar. The real 8000 lb gorilla in America is the Church of Militarism. To speak out against it is a burn-at-the-stake heresy-equivalent. They do you with the gatling gun and finish you off with a flamethrower.

    “Dare to suggest that 99% of military spending is a colossal waste of money and in come the bunker-busting bombs, soon to be nuclear for cruds sake.” Purrs derisively settled her bright silver fur with a quick shake.

    “Sir Nickety,” said Lobo with that insolent droll drawl, “Before you outline the Dream Scheme marshmallow raid, Operation Pelt, can you elaborate on the stealth psychology of theoMilitarism in 21st century USofA Inc?”

    Purrs cheshired. The clowns at Clown School InterD were a droll rowdy and raunchy lot. The nice thing about traveling in OtherLand was that you could change your body style as handily as the earthbound could change from a denim workshirt to an Hawaiian shirt. Last night she and Lobo had shapeshifted into human guise for some claw hammer and tongs recreation. Because their passions were medieval, he called her Sir Nickety as a kind of petitchouism.¹ Last night between bouts of smackdown, they’d discussed the sickening dangers of theoMilitarism.

    “ It’s probably easier to use the magic glasses of the view back from Y3000,” said Purrs. “In the Year 3000, we do not mutilate the children of strangers to solve adult disputes. We do not allow overwrought young men to drive suicide cars, the cheaper death, nor suicide tanks, the expensive death. The accumulation of stockpiles of WMM, Weapons of Mass Mutilation is seen as obscene and stupid.

    “The cult of Militarism is a very very virulent disease, and sadly its extirpation takes all of human and cosmic ingenuity to accomplish. It takes a drug cocktail of 3 parts Ridicule, 1 part Kindness, and, for the caretakers, huge doses of Vitamins OH and DD. Vitamins Obsidian Humor and Vitamin Damned Doggèdness.

    “All addicts’ hallucinations hijack the basic bio-survival circuits. Similarly the paranoid is unshakably convinced of the perils because the seamless internally-generated evidence is so intimate. External evidence does not access the theo-romanti-spiritual-sublime circuits where the self-generated molecularly-intimate tinctures are enzymily oozed, igniting a conviction for which people will actually end their existence. When these constellations of hallucination are lemming-amplified by fellow cultists, koolaid will be swilled.

   “Even most of the white-hats in 21st century America are either semi-infested themselves with milder forms of the theoMilitarism disease which are still potent enough to distort vision — or are clear-eyed and justly damned afraid.

    “Luckily, in OtherLand, Marshmallowists can be deployed with Weapons of Mass Ridicule and begin the psychic rehabilitation these hijacked entities, the Ilk, need to begin recovery. Their oneiro-security is negligible. We invade their sleep with our improvised marshmallow devices, our IMDs. Into each doppelsleeper’s gaping and snoring mouth, the Ridicule Counter-Militarism squad leader drops a marshmallow. The rest of the clown troops glide by, and marshmallow by marshmallow bury an Ilk’s dreambody in derisive marshmallows. The caboose or last clown out leaves a small keyring-sized plastic pineapple as a sign that it could have been grenades instead of marshmallows, but the uninfected soul goes for k-suave.

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to be continued .. ..

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quik Glossary .. petitchouism = petit chou is little cabbage in French, an endearment; extirpate = uproot; k-suave (k = K1 or solid earth day-density/suave – soo-ah-vay  = sweet, mild, smooth, gentle, harmless, uninjuring);

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6 Vulture . Cib . Owl . South . tzolkin 136  10.15.05  sat

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Judy Miller .. Chalabi's girlie girlie, & Scooter's, & Lou's, &c

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This is all pleasantly vicious gossip from the last few days. If you're too fine for that sort of thing, skip this. We'll be back to being high-minded tomorrow. 

 

Judy Wudy Miller .. Chalabi's girlie girlie,

& Scooter's, & Lou's, &c

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I thought this last paragraph of the permission-to-talk-to-the-grand-jury letter to NYT's chief shrill shill for the Iraq war (she gulped down slitherer-in-chief Ahmed Chalabi's koolaid) Judy Miller in jail from vice president UnLiving Dead Chenoid's Chief of Staff Scooter Libby was an urban myth made up by some enterprising blogger, but no, he really wrote it to her. Very very odd.

“You went into jail in the summer. It is fall now. You will have stories to cover — Iraqi elections and suicide bombers, biological threats and the Iranian nuclear program. Out West, where you vacation, the aspens will already be turning. They turn in clusters, because their roots connect them. Come back to work — and life. Until then, you will remain in my thoughts and prayers — With admiration, Scooter Libby.”

All the bloggoagoggosphere is speculating that it's code for “if you don't stay connected (& on connected message), look out, cowgirl.” “Thoughts & prayers” — ???? Sounds a tad hazily gazing over a glass of champagne in low light to me. Not exactly a source to a journalist. Too many trysts under the scowling portrait of Uncle Dick in the outer office after hours? 

////

 

It was EMBARRASSING to see Judy Wudy Miller on Lou Dobbs — she was being so girlie and flirty and submissive and sychophanty, I all but womitted. “Oh Lou,” bat eyelashes (I didn't know real people actually did batting eyelashes — I thought it was only Barbie in some pubescent guy's fevered imagination) bat eyelashes, “oh Lou-ie, your littly whittly calendar counting my days in jail gave me so muchie wuchie hope!!!” — bat eyelashes, sigh, sigh. One could all but see the hearts as 'i' dots. Groan — took woman-kind back at least 2 centuries. I wanted to say Get a Room.

 

It was ghastly.

IF Cheney were indicted, I would spontaneously bust into a bloody confetti of Compleat JOY

 

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Chancelucky wrote a very droll piece on his chancelucky blog about the NeoCon's Poets Society which you'll enjoy. To which I added the following Breaking News.

 

In the interests of Image Warming, ChanceLucky, I too have been hired by an increasingly, if I may say so, frayed Karlsie Rove. Karlsie and I had a little fling once upon a fairy-tale time, oh my, but we're all back on a pretty professional basis now that he took up with that <b>Scooter-leavings slattern Judy Miller</b>. I heart Karlsie, but he's trying to keep her from talking by doing her favors, nudge, wink.

I am negotiating for a new Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream to be called Karl Roves Band: NeoNutCons, 10% of the profits to go to the Scooter-Karlsie Defense Fund — ScoKaDefenFu. It will be a Noble Cause. This delicious vanilla ice cream will contain peanuts, walnuts, almonds, cashews, pistachios — the leitmotif of this wonderful new ice cream is NeoNutCons — Lots o' Nuts!

I am including an excerpt from the super double secret transcript I found on pogblog that gives further info on the Judy A. Miller complex of infatuations. I'm not trying to suggest that she slept her way to the top of the DC Mis-Info Chain — I'm stating it baldly — including my once-squeeze Baldy Karlsie, may he live an eternity of conscious torment!

I think Chalabi just unzipped & she went all girlie & believed him about the non-existent nukes. “Oh Ahmed, you are so strong. Please tell me more.” And kinda like Mata Chalabi, he plied her with fantastical tales.

Next day phone call to NYT, left on private phone message machine — “Miss Judy, I will not see you again and show you my Saddam-sized weapon of mass distruction if you do not print my stories on the front page of the New York Times. Why do you think a flighty birdbrain like you was ever planted on the NYT staff in the first-place? It's pay-up time. This is Ahmed. 555-555-3450.” [The zero where the 'six' should be is a code for 'no sex' according to my college prof talking about 'A Perfect Day for Banana Fish' & the 507 number on the hotel door. Who knew?]

Return call, on machine “Please no, please no, my Chalabi. I must see you so our aspen roots can intertwine. Please be mine. I cannot print your stories on the front page because they do fact checking! Of course, unless I slip some on the side to the fact-checker. Who is a burly brute. Please no, please no, my Chalabi.”
Well, the rest is, as they say they say, history.

There is a subsubsubunder-alles rumorrumorrumor surrumor that the Lurker In Your Dreams, Dr. Lurker could take an indictment in the neck. But I don't think even Fitzgerald The Noble would have the huevos to do that. He wouldn't live through the afternoon. Dr. Lurker would cue Armageddon for sure & go off to the underground Dr. Lurker Haven under that mountain in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Colorado. My fear is that he is already there with his pus-dripping finger poised over the Armageddon Button.


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If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of pogblogian material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com
………….<^>……………..
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:
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5 Eagle . Men . West . tzolkin 135  10.14.05 fri
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the pro-peace world begins today with you
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The Horizontal Model & the art of collaboration

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Horizontal

The Horizontal Model and the art of collaboration

An introduction: equality of qualities

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    G.Ro TesQ had been rescued from the thin air of the Grueling Heavenly Realms. Back home on Earth in new washed if not new-minted simple humble happiness, G.Ro had returned to laud the Horizontal.

    “I am G.Ro TesQ,” she said quietly as she gave the keynote speech at.the ConCon in the millennial Earth Year 3000. ConCon was the global.consciousness convention that convened annually in these times. “All of Earth's old troubles came from the Vertical Model which had

kept its heel on the throat of the human spirit for centuries.

    “Simply turning the axis of understanding to horizontal solves 99% of both human horror and human awkwardness.

    “First consider the range of densities our consciousness crisscrosses in a life's experience. We have spaceless/timeless thought. We have dreams, daydreams, fantasy, imagination, memory. We have the precious. moving kinesthetic present, seemingly sequential and solid. Now, in the dominant Vertical Model, as invisible as space, our religions have posited a non-solid, spiritual realm which is above us–is better, purer, less gross than our terrestrial experience, all muck and rut.

    “Of course, conveniently, the priests, monks, gurus, and shamans had the key to our escape.

    “What I'm about to tell you is radical because I have searched the literature of the globe and that literature is invariably full of the higher self or the soul or spirit, all more valuable and more wise than we sluggish, lesser, benighted earthdwellers who will ascend' in death or enlightenment to our truer selves.

    “If we see consciousness vertically, a ladder to be climbed, we are falsely forced to see ourselves on the lower rungs staring up at the compassionate rump of the priest, guru, monk, shaman who precedes us to the heights.

     “If, on the other hand, we rotate the axis of consciousness to be sideways, we can more correctly and coherently see the spectrum of our consciousness as including all the densities with no greater value implied. Just as in light, ultraviolet is not better than infrared, our less-dense experience is not better that our solid experience, only different.

    “The old Vertical Model organized millions, then billions of people for millennia. In a rough sketch, the Vertical Model puts God up in Heaven & the Devil down in Hell. God & his angels in idealized pure heaven and us down on gross, coarse Earth. The lower chakras are coarse energy, the upper increasingly more sublime. We are basically a colony of heaven. And when we refine ourselves enough, we'll get a white robe, join the junior ranks of the choirs of angels and be allowed to kiss the big toe of God. And then when we've really refined our unruly consciousness, we get to dwell in the vast seamless rippleless nirvanic stillness for our Good Behavior. Thus, depending on the phase or fullness of my rage, the virulent or pesky Vertical Model came about because the daggone Head got an inflated or puffed-up view of its importance to the whole system though it can not even digest a single groat–not a single grain of barley or grow a single toenail.

    “The higher self doesn't have digestion and mucus and dirt under the fingernails. One could wax as rhapsodic about digestion as about Christ consciousness if we were less prissy and overfastidious about what qualities we invited through the spiritual front door.

    “A simple shift of 90º¸ puts us in the new Horizontal Model where all the considerable ills of the vertical hierarchical model fall away. The Horizontal Model shifts the axis of metaphysical, ethical, epistemological, psychological, economic, and sociological understanding from hierarchical to equal-and-various.

    “The Horizontal Model is a model of collaboration. In the Horizontal Model we discover the preciousness of the immanent vs the transcendent. The immanent is an indelible relationship with the brilliant manifested world, recognizing mobius how it's lit from within. The transcendent energy is too thin, not sufficient, not sufficiently engaged, leading to spiritual anorexia. True compassion must be horizontal. No judgment, only evaluation. The body is not neurotic or restless or even greedy. It is the ethereal which keeps pushing the adrenalin button or drives the body to eat when it is not hungry. All sins are sicknesses of the soul. The excesses of the soul. The most natural state for the body is joy. What body would choose suffering? It is the confused or thwarted soul which incurs morbidity. The ethereal drives the body to visceral or lower chakra disturbances or distress when it pushes the sweetness buttons past grace and elegance and delight. The ethereal drives the body to anorexic or upper chakra disorders when it idealizes deprivation and detachment.”

    G.Ro TesQ chuckled, “Certainly constructing the Horizontal Model requires a lot of naps. Perhaps it is because, catlike, I take so many naps that I don't have this head/intellect/spirit prejudice that infests the holy and alternative literature. Napping, my head's not at the  top, it's not higher, it's just to the left and my feet to the right. These distinctions are not trivial. The hidden prejudices in the language deeply affect our profound feelings of value. I sometimes think I should wear a shoe upside down on my head as a hat to remind us to keep our heads on the ground.

    “Your horizontal waking brings democracy not just to politics, but to thought and feelings, an equality of qualities. We need to bring all our qualities and talents–woven–to bear on the moving present. The emerald earthflame in each molten molecule. The honey in each enchanted molecular dance.

    “We need to internalize and eternalize this new model, the horizontal spectrum. Co-llaborate. Co-amaze. Co-applaud. Co-kindle. Co-ignite. Co-weave emerald strands of enchantment from whatever qualities apply to the precious moving present.

    “Co-cheetah. Co-wall. Co-play.

    “Immanent not transcendent. Co-radiant.”

 

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

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

…………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved

Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:

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3 Cane . Ben . Reed . East . tzol 133 . 10.12.05 wed

ffwofw 976§8941/24d17h28m25s31.98g5.1g/1098

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the pro-peace world begins today with you

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The Land of the Dead is Lively

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

The Land of the Dead is Lively

 

    The first one who died, my father, I was numb. The second one who died, my first husband, I screamed. By the tenth big death before I was 29, I was pissed. Furious, not drunk.

    This heaven-and-hell folderol is a misleading way to talk about the Land of the Dead because though the heaven-mongering Christians, who began as a simple religion of the powerless, have had the power, the press, and the propaganda for a lot of centuries, the AfterLife Truth is much more complex, and, luckily, a ton more fun.

    I didn’t think when I was a child feeding the shiny newborn black-and-white Holstein calves their buckets of faintly pink milk that I would grow up to become an expert in death. It just happened. There’s no degree you can get in this one. The Major Universities don’t have Death 101 on the curriculum. The Major Religions Lie because they got detached from Mystery. The Other Side, the non-carnate, the less dense — of which the AfterLife is but a facet — is often too raunchy, sly, anarchic, boisterous, and fragmented to be a useful example for a solid, sequential existence. Thus the preachers and teachers, seldom lit from within, hid the truth, abridged it, sanitized it, pietized it, forgot it.

    When, to my shock, I met my disoriented father shortly after he’d died, his color was quite blue. He was swaddled in bandages, and was being cared for by bustling midwife-like beings who were tending his unreconciled passage from the solid carnate world to the non-carnate realms. They were kind. He had died too young at fifty-two. The hospital had killed him with misdiagnosis. The doctors said Whoops, shrugged, looked abashed, and then down at their brilliantly-shined shoes. When I first met my father in OtherLand, of course I just thought I was crazy.

    When I met my first husband, Michael, who had died too young at twenty-eight — his car slid off an icy Vermont road into a tree — When I met Michael in an other-density garret, cooking a hamburger, the fat sizzling loudly in the frying pan, I was just utterly glad to know that he hadn’t vaporized into some black hole of nothingness. The black hole of nothingness being the most cruelly unbearable. I still thought I was probably crazy.

    Depending on who you are hearing this, you either think I’m still crazy or are holding your hand to your mouth grateful that it happened to someone else too or you’re so used to this inter-realm stuff that it’s not exactly ho-hum, not really old hat, but it isn’t molecularly shocking nor bone-marrow creepy, throat-clutchingly terrifying anymore either.

    Father, husband, brother, stepbrother, stepfather, mother, mentor, headmistress, eighteen-year-old cat, all the eight grandparents of course. By now my horror has transmogrified to raw rage. Higher realms indeed. Our dear Earth realm is so high and glorious that non-carnates, responsible and derelict alike, shove and claw to get a ticket on this most intriguing of galactic roller coaster rides. I distinctly blame religions for grabbing power by devaluing this solid terrestrial experience.

    Don’t get me wrong — I’m grateful for my non-carnate and semi-carnate experiences. Learning to fly, walking on water, floating through the ceiling. Giddy stuff. But I will not have us be a colony of heaven. We are the experts on relatively sequential time, on solid experience, on being able to actually eat a whole chocolate chip cookie, to drive where we’re going and not end up somewhere else.

    Our beloved realm is a masterpiece of reality engineering — there is no higher place to be. Different, just different. I sometimes think that if I could get that single point across, I could be at peace. Of course that single point would change the world. We would know that every daily thing is holy, radiant. Awe and delight would be our steady state, daily little explosions of radiance. We could then greet heaven with the strength of our own earth beauty and stand in the galactic councils not as slaves or puppets or children, but as tellers of our own tales, proud and various.

    I had never met my ex-husband's parents when they were alive. Mr. Martin was a high school principal in a medium-sized <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Iowa town. Mrs. Martin taught home economics and was a devout Christian. I was a vivid redheaded pagan. They would have disapproved of me mightily.

    When I met Mr. Martin in OtherLand, however, he was driving too fast in a bright-yellow open touring car, had on a loud black-and-white-checked sports jacket, a jaunty hat with a sprightly red feather, and a tiger lounging in the back seat with whom I sat. We got along famously to my huge and relieved surprise.

    Mrs. Martin when I met her was almost nun-like in her retreat and shyness of soul. I think Earth had been too rough and ready for her. But she loved her brilliant, vulnerable son, and could, freer of Earth's particular prejudices, honor that I loved him too.

    These pow-wows with the dead are not frequent; we don't hang out. My dead, anyway, do not hover. I think it is wicked that the veil is so impenetrable. When I get the chance to rail at heaven's haughty hierarchy, I shall.

 

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

………….<^>……………..

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

…………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved

Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:

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2 The Road . Eb . Grass . Rattlesnake Tooth . South . tzol 132  10.11.05 tues    

ffwofw 927§8941/24d17h28m25s31.98g5.1g/1098/3yrs & 2 days

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the pro-peace world begins today with you

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The Part of Art

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The Part of Art

What part does art play in solving the quantum equations of the next human leap into a kinder destiny?

Idyll # 1

I wanted to tell you about the kilim exhibit. Some years ago in the De Young, I think. I wandered through the immense marbled halls hung with remarkable kilim or ‘Turkish rugs.’ The work, the dedication. They were beautiful. They were compelling. Their symmetry spoke of a holy determination to honor God. Everything had to be tended — the sheep, the thread, the dyes, the wood of the loom. The apprentice becomes the master. How many moons rose gold and set silver? The songs chanted. The water fetched in a battered wooden bucket after morning prayers. The rugs appeared in a powerful and obedient symmetry.

There were rugs more than 700 years old. Some men worked on cathedrals. Some men worked on kilim. Honor was paid to the Creator.

After more than an hour of rapt contemplation, I came around a corner and saw yet another kilim. It hit me with such a shock, like I’d been struck by lightning — seared like that. From the 14th century, there like a message straight to the secret center of my heart was this magical, astonishing, asymmetric kilim. It was wildly celebratory, and broke all the rules. I felt a surge of joy so deep and fierce I wasn’t sure I could live past that very moment. Yes, oh yes, one could be different. I was not ever completely alone again. He dared. I dared. As long as we sought as much beauty as we could stand, it was wonderful. Tears just ran silently down my face in greeting, in gladness. People swarmed thru the galleries, but somehow I was alone around this corner as if the universe wanted to grant me this special audience with this kindred spirit from the deep past.

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Addendum tothe Part of Art


I should add a sentence or two about the symmetry vs asymmetry.

The key is that all of the other kilim or rugs “appeared in a powerful and obedient symmetry.”

'My' kilim, on the other hand, was “magically & astonishingly asymmetric kilim. It was wildly celebratory, and broke all the rules.”

The symmetry of the others was a visible & outward & deliberate & expected sign of the obedience to God, presumably Allah. The exquisite and intricate care taken to have the left side mirror the right side and the top mirror the bottom was part of the woven reverence itself. This as the way it was done.

And all the symmetry was either completely or very abstract & symbolic, also part of not daring to suggest any imitation of God Allah.

Whoever this other weaver was, s/he wove a scene which would be quirky avant garde genius even today. It had bold birds and vines, not photographic, but filled with juice and mischief and coyness and just verve. It was sophisticated, funny, brilliantly wrought and utterly against the tide of the time. Dangerously so probably.

Having never myself danced to my time's tune, I felt this savage sudden kinship with a fellow spirit across the centuries. It fortified me and gleed me too in my quest for the grail of untamed truth.…………….<^>……………..
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If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of rage for wonder, rage for peace material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com
………….<^>……………..
It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.
…………….<^>……………..
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copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved
Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:
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1 Monkey . Chuen . Raccoon . West . tzol 132  10.10.05 mon      
ffwofw 313§8941/24d17h28m25s31.98g5.1g/1097/3yrs & 1 day
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the pro-peace world begins today with you
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Church .. deftly intent

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Church

   “Church. You’re always in it. Actually there’s no way out of it.”

   Bunga Low was the favorite daughter of the famous fin-de-siecle low-cost housing architects Pavi Lion and Ken Nel. In the new century Bunga was being interviewed for the cover story of Global Gazette, a mildly progressive rag. Bunga was transfixed by the architecture of consciousness — How do you get people to fling open their doors and windows to the zephyrs of awe? She was one of the three interviewees for ‘The History of Hypocrisy,’ one of Global’s more adventurous cover pieces. 

   Bunga continued, “What an hilarious con job got perpetrated upon us. From being every where and all ways immersed in and accompanied by Holy, some slicks snatched our birthright right out from under our noses, and we hardly even quacked in umbrage.

   “True, this happened a long time ago, but their perpetual propaganda has kept us from too much awkward questioning about who holds the reins. We remain obediently doggèd, or is it cowed?

   “Whatever, they got us buffaloed to the degree that even those of us who have slipped the traces feel at least insidious echoes of guilt. 

   “If the keepers of the keys ripped open our brains and poured in joy, tore open our hearts and poured in beauty, they’d bloody deserve the job, but when was the last time you came out of any church, mosque, synagogue, or meditation hall laughing out loud, hugging the lamppost, grinning like a fool?

   “Imagine if you knew you were always in church, that each of your 2,522,880,000 seconds was under the Scrutiny and within the Freedom of the Divine. (These are our words too, you know, Freedom and Divine and SuchLike.)

   “Imagine if you knew that you could dare put your finger in the socket of the vivid universe. Indeed that you dare not not dare.

   “If you do not violently love the sky, you must be all but dead. Blue, all that blue, deeper than the blue sea. They should teach you rapture, how to find it, how to feel it, each of your two-and-one-half billion unrepeatable seconds.”

   Bunga laughed at a sudden memory and said, “You never know what will be the key to irrevocable reverence. Of course, the ultimate point is that every single thing is a key, but there are odd favorites that, because they are so unexpected and personal, accompany you through your life.

   “Oh, there’s all the flashy stuff, sunsets, full moons, gorgeous mountain views, thundering ocean surf. They invigorate, illuminate, stir, amaze. If they were jewels, one might wear them to a ball.

   “But what took my secret heart was a wall. I am so mammal, impatient, frolicsome. When I really met a wall, I was astonished, and a little wistful that I had gone so much of my life without knowing any walls. That walls were so willing to stay walls. To stand tall and be a wall and never cut out and go gallivant.

   “I was so touched by a wall’s willingness to be a wall that I was suffused with faith and joy. It was so bloody sweet and preposterous to have all spiritual contumely and fear felled by a wall.

   “Earth is defined really by its steadiness and sturdiness of image. You can count on it. You can particularly count on a wall.”

   Lowering her voice, Bunga continued almost slyly, “You never know what it will be, so you have to stay watchful lest you miss it. Not greedy or demanding or clutching at things, just watchful.

   “‘Urgency’ is too stirred up to maintain all the time, but with a little practice you can be deftly intent all the time. Then you begin to notice each thing’s pulse and gossip. It all chats and chirps and sings and preens.

   “One of the big ‘inside’ church mistakes is imagining that humility is dull or solemn. Obedience is dull and solemn. When you get humble and start attending to your fellow miracles, it is a pleasant, riveting din. The palm frond, the gear shift handle, satin, crayons, they all have a story to tell.

   “I agree that all this energy can be dangerous and disorienting because unfortunately we are not taught in school or church to hold ecstasy naturally and simply in our hearts.

   “I would be the last to suggest that the standard church, mosque, etc. cannot be a delicious and generous part of the whole smorgasbord of wonder. I just regret and even resent that they have aggrandized such power and exclusivity unto themselves. Forbid. Sin. Punishment. Detachment. Us. Them. These are bludgeoning power words.

   “I don’t for a minute suggest that there are not rotten things we ought not do, but under the influence of wonder, one is reluctant to do harm.

   “If the churches led us to wonder, let it bloom in us, careen in us, then I would go back, and we could share glee. Perhaps one day soon.”


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If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of rage for wonder, rage for peace material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com
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It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office” />
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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
13 Dog . Oc . Wolf. North . tzol 131  10.09.05 sun      
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the pro-peace world begins today with you
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The Human Race is Deformed by Militarism

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The Human Race is Deformed by Militarism

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   Please note that all over the USofA Inc, there will be vigils on the day following the Death of Soldier #2000. We are at Soldier #1951 tonight.

    I wrote Grave of the Known Soldier .. Save Juan Smith #1999 when there were 146 kids left before #1999 for us to wake up, for us to stand up. Stand up. Now we’re down to 48. We still could save Juan Smith #1999.

   Every time I read this #1999 piece, it seems distilledly stupider for grown-up conscious beings with consciences to be pretending to solve problems by mutilating other people’s children at the cost of $200,000 per minute in Iraq, $820,000 more dollars per minute for militarism in general. (The idea that we need more next-generation destroyers or more trident submarines or more D-5 missiles or any Robust Nuclear Earth Penetrators or any of that fantasy Missile Nonsense aka Star Wars program while we in our small city and you in your town are increasing class size or closing schools entirely is pornographic past any bared bosoms or rumps. This pork & paranoia of bloated papally infallible military grand theft must be arrested if we are ever to thrive in the next age.)

     I have Grave of the Known Soldier .. Save Juan Smith #1999 for you below, but if your heart can stand it, also please read Hector & the Abolition of War which is as compelling a pro-peace piece as I ever get to write. If you have any wavering doubts about whether it is ever ok to deliberately kill anyone, those doubts end with this story.

    The anniversary of my beginning to go out alone with my  teach peace sign just around and about downtown is 10.09.2005. It will be three years exactly. Today is 1095 days in a row with my now beat-up sign. I went out this Friday evening to stand on a main corner at commute time, waving at the cars streaming by. People wave back or ignore me or honk or flash the peace sign. Only one ‘F**k Peace,’ whatever that could mean?

   Anniversaries make us gather and condense our considerations around some hub. A birthday. A marriage. How many years we worked some place. How many days in a row you've carried a peace sign. 2000 kids killed in Iraq. (Who counts the Iraqi dead? About 30 World Trade Centers worth. They aren't American, so so what?) William Blake of ‘Tyger Tyger burning bright in the forest of the night’ and of ‘the Universe in a Grain of Sand’ flays us to the anniversary attention in every hour. It is so solemn and splendid and giddy to be alive as long as we can stay awake and not sleep walk through our days – or nights, sooth be said.

    Blake exhorts us to know that ‘A skylark wounded in the wing, A Cherubim does cease to sing.’ And we hurl shock and awe by the explosive tons at the collateral children of <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Iraq? In Auguries of Innocence, Blake also says ‘Nought can deform the human race Like to the armor's iron brace. When gold and gems adorn the plow To peaceful arts shall Envy bow.’

    We are deformed by this war. It is too late in history to be mutilating children to haruumph that we are strong. If it weren’t so dangerous and stupid, we could howl derisively at the absurdity. No, George, no, we are making more terrorists and proving to them how very effective their suicide cheap-car driver is compared to our suicide expensive-tank driver. Ours noble, theirs craven? No, both insane. But conned and brainwashed by adults who never send their own children or, gods forfend, find the cause noble enough to go themselves.

    We got past one kind of human sacrifice in history. However, we still sing a war anthem and drink the putative blood of our deity. But we did get past separate water fountains for Colored and White (in my benighted town when I was a child). My mother was born in the year when women were considered human enough to vote. Big changes do happen. War is a dinosaur. We do dump militarism on the slag heap of history – how soon depends on you. When do you stand up? Kick Inertia in the shin. Apathy is only amusing and then vaguely in petulant 13 year-olds.

    ‘What difference can *I* make’ you waveringly wonder? Well, if the sonsa bitches woke up one morning and every single one of us who is adamantly pro-peace was standing out in front of her or his house or apartment house or trailer with a peace sign, do you doubt their gonads would jellify? There is a tipping point. The sooner you add to the body count for the helicopter photo, the sooner it ends. It is up to you.  

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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

09.24.05/59 days/84,960 minutes until the Death of Juan Smith #1999

10.08.05/45 days/64,800 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. Today October 08, we’re at 1951 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. Now on October 08, we have 1951 dead. Only 48 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, eloquently 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

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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

12 Water . Muluc . The River . East  tzol 130  10.08.05 sat   

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the pro-peace world begins today with you

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pro-peace, not anti-war

 

   It's the eve of the Big September 24 Peace March in Frisco. (I know they're supposed to hate being called Frisco, but that's just obdurate — Frisco is so cool, & after  32 years of living 40 miles south of that misty and mysterious city, I'm bloody gonna call it Frisco.)

   A few days ago I thought, Well, we should dub ourselves pro-peace rather than anti-war. This better obeys the powerful but slightly tweaky notion of what in hypnosis is called an embedded command. Stick with this because it is important in all your life. Once you see through the psycho-lingual trick, you'll grok it forever.

   If I say “Don't fall off the ladder!” — it's called an embedded command TO fall off the ladder. Because in order to comprehend the words themselves, you have to (unconsciously) imagine yourself falling off the ladder. The really helpful exhortation is “Hang onto the ladder!” or some such version which requires your brain to process actually hanging onto the ladder.

     The other subtlety of this is that you cannot do a negative. You cannot stop smoking. You do something else instead. You start breathing freely. You observe the sunset after dinner instead of smoking, or whatever. 

   (Larry King always goes to a break saying, “Don't go away.” I always shout at the screen, “Embedded command!” Charlie Rose & others say, “Stay with us.”)

   IF we say 'anti-war' instead of 'pro-peace' in this micro-embedded command, we are requiring people to imagine the war. IF we say pro-peace, they have to imagine something about peace to even comprehend the words.

..

   I have put Compulsory Cannibalism here because it's such a darn good piece of cherry pie idea. And I put the Grave of Known Soldier #1999 here too because this afternoon at the weekly major intersection mini-peace demo, one of our folks had taped 1913 on the street light pole. And I had written #1999 when we still had 145 dead kids to go. Now we only have 86 kids to collateralize. 86 families to shatter. Of course who cares about the Iraqi dead and their ruined mothers — they aren't Americans.   We could still save #1999 — who should haunt us all.   

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Compulsory Cannibalism

 

   “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 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

  

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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Quantum Optics & the Great AhaHa! .. a newer, funnier physics . .

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Note: please check pogblog’s Glossary for coined (invented) or unfamiliar words, tho for this article, there is a quick glossary below.  If you read this material with your mouth, as if out loud, it will be clear as a bell.

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Quantum Optics & the Great AhaHa!

part 1 .. otter around in the utter .. a newer, funnier physics

 

     The Nobel Physics Prize people are sweet, but antique in their visions and versions. One of the recipients of the Nobel Prize for ultraviolet laser short-pulse-light study , Dr.Theodor Hänsch of Max Planck Institute of Quantum Optics in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Garching, Germany and a professor at the Ludwig Maximilians University in Munich, says, “Eventually, we may be able to enjoy 3-D holographic movies.”

    Eventually, like last night?

    Oh, oh, oh, these pesky physics prof lads are so behind zee times, golly. Our brains do the 3D holographic movies we call dreams every night, physics doods.

     Holographic, holoaudic, hologusto, holoolfact, holokino – holosentido — movies around in which we walk every night. Nobel Prize that, profs. Put on your dreaming caps and do the pioneering study on the semi-permeable filter that separates the actuality planes so niftily for us and which we call the brain, de hersenen, le cerveau, el cerebro. Those photonic physics punks called artists and shamans otter around in the utter (study the exotic physics of  iziz, all-of-it) with considerable skill. Now we all need to get our terms of engagement more intratranslatable.

     The first of the 9 Gandhi-King Steps to nonviolence & to collaboration is to Define the Conflict. Peeps are often fighting about totally different stuff. You think we’re fighting about money; I think we’re fighting about whether you care about me vividly enough. So we need a rapprochement between repeatable science and photonic science.

    To be blunt, mon amigoas, what we’re doing ain’t working so good for millions of fellow sentients on our Planet Home. Planet Home could be a garden if we turned militarism to educationism, from lead to gold indeed. But the meta-physics matters – the what we allow to be really real – to count.   

   The scientists have got to belly up to the UniekBar, the Unrepeatable Bar, the thrilling and chilling realization that because Eternity is so long or vast, only the unique can in fact actually exist, tho there are bands of areas where the similarities work as repeatable for all macro-practical purposes. Scientists already know this but it’s awkward doctrinally when “repeat the experiment’ is like ‘Jesus is the only way to Heaven,’ not true but theo-bolstering to the exclusivity of one’s views.

     So there needs to be more truth in advertising from the scientists, and some more occasional semi-sobriety from the mystery-surprise-drunk photonikists who need to be better journalists of the otter-in-the-utter experiences and quit being boors and borrachos to the dear scientists who just rightly wanted to cool down the chaos from their own fundamentalist-religions-ridden era, cerca 16th c.

    Ole Plato had the quintessentially useful construct: the charioteer. You are the charioteer and your chariot is drawn by the white horse of reason and the black horse of passion – and if you do not get them pulling together, you just go around in a circle, one way or the other. Both horses being dappled is the eventual burbanked hybrid solution. Integrate lucid waking & lucid dreaming, the two sides of the brain, all the false dichotomies that keep us blindered if not blinded to the holospheric and presently vertiginous truth. There’s no way out of the reality sea, you might as well swim. Sulking only curdles the blood.

    Some general advice – the scientists need to burn their neckties and only do science in hawaiian shirts and Bermudas, and the photonikists need to quit always wandering around in their not recently washed boxer shorts idly itching their gonads – or the female fashion equivalents. There is peace possible in this Valley of Earthly Delights if we each have to learn a good deal about the language of reality with which we’re uncomfortable and less fluent. Multi-lingual, lasses & lads, that’s our figging salvation – more physixes, more ecumenical.

     And we have to with our eyeballs bleeding with misgivings and raw hope make the photonic leap to grokking that our real security is not in militarism but in educationism. We need to teach people to build and invent, not kill. It’s the future, il futuro, de toekomst, zukunft, le jour suivant.

 

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

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

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Quick glossary.. holosentido – the inhabited senses, the senses we can dwell in & not just view from outside like tv. Our earth experience is holoV, a holograph in which we dwell, except that it includes all the senses, not just seeing. Auditory/hearing; gustatory/tasting; olfactory/smelling; kinesthetic/feeling; Therefore holosentido includes holographic, holoaudic, hologusto, holoolfact, holokino. /// link to the 9 Gandhi-King Principles of Pro-Peace Collaboration; /// grok = deeply understand, drink in understanding; /// photonic physics &c = the post-quantum physics where the physixes of  all our experiences are integrated. /// borrachos = drunkards; /// Uniek = unique in Dutch; I like the polyglot or many-tongues feel – it makes me less parochial or narrowly local; /// peeps is affectionate slang for people; /// amigoas like felinoas sapiens is trying to balance up the gender wrongs embedded in the language; It’s not ideal, but it’s a start; /// Iz Iz, iziz,  cf Is Is .. the only completely true thing you can say; /// the future, il futuro, de toekomst, zukunft, le jour suivant – all of them mean future, except ‘le jour suivant’ in French literally means ‘the day which follows.’ /// dichotomies are divisions into two; /// burbanked is a tip of the sombrero to Luther Burbank who was the wizard of hybrids and who talked some roses out of their thorns, for instance.

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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

10 Deer . Manik . West . tzol 127  10.06.05 thu  

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the pro-peace world begins today with you

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Holoscope .. the horoscope evolved

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New today ..(Finally, friends — you've been asking & asking, so here it is.)

 

 Holoscope .. get tutored in the future. An holoscope is the horoscope evolved. A master reader in lucidity & life mastery writes very detailed insights particularly for you.  

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Some peoples minds-&-hearts are already quite fractal and some other folks want to keep LinearLand at least in sight, not over the horizon. I’m happy to accommodate either degree of adventure.

 

Short, medium, and long personal writings are available. Some phone consultations are available. Email pogblog@yahoo.com for fuller information and fees.

 

Some people also like the full-bore gallop of giga-vocabulary and some other people like to start with a more strolling translation of the more rambunctious words.  I do both. To me the point is to aid you in discovering the art you hide from yourself or which your daggone Inner Perfectionist keeps you from enjoying and daring as much as you gleefully might.

 

Email pogblog@yahoo.com for fuller information & phone number.

 

Jung said we should never discount astrology because it is the collected, accumulated wisdom of the ancients. And certainly in its blueprints of personality patterns, it is eerie and revealing. We assume that other folks will react and be struck as we are. Astrology shines some useful and significant lights on these varieties of response which are not like us. I treasure and am fascinated by these insights, by these revelations of the scripts off which we riff.

 

But we are coming into a more fractal, a more holospheric what would seem from now a controlled madness of experience where we become more conscious of our multi-dimensional selves. I haven't put out all the fables I've written on this yet, but if we look at ourselves from the future, we will make the transition to a lot more synapses firing in story and symphony ways with more relish and elegance and economy (in the sense of less flailing).

 

Your holoscope is a map for you of this transitional, alchemic time. 

 

I offer holoscopes to you in much the way that you might get a horoscope. Except that the holoscope is much more personal than Scorpio with Leo Rising  and is written by a master writer. You may also give an holoscope as a gift.

 

Email pogblog@yahoo.com for fuller information & phone number.

 

See below the info I can use to incorporate for the Long- Version Holoscope after you sign up for one.

 

The questions which ask for the following tidbits are deliberately only casually personal – like the kind of stuff you’d share at a coffee shop. But they really help me make a response to you that resonates with your own inner metaphor & story structures. They are familiar decoration – to make your holoscope story homey in a few unexpected particulars. Don’t think.  Play instead. This is not a test. Playful is better. Please don’t pretty up your answers to look more sophisticated or some such imaginary category. The point here is the quick truth.

 

 

Please note: Your identity is absolutely confidential with me. I am happy for you to be 100% anonymous if you wish. If in doing a holoscope reading for you, I tap a vein of ore which is generally useful, I definitely may explore that vein on pogblog, but not in any way that identifies you – you are like a confidential source in terms of your identity.

 

Whne you sign up for a Longer-Version Holoscope story, I'll ask you to give the quick answers to these. 

  


Your Holoscope Tidbits Profile
 
If you prefer to copy this & dump it into Word to put in the responses, just paste it back into the text of an email because I don’t open attachments.
 
Just a word or several will do for each category unless otherwise indicated. Generally put things in order of preference, but don’t fuss about the order. Be jolly. (I mean several [2-5] for all of these. &c = et cetera.) Roar through this without fussing yourself. Don’t fuss about formatting either. Just stick your answers in after the category & Put a period at the of a group. Sample: Favorite writing implement(s)/pencil; quill. Or in a List, underline the one you choose: Favorite snack is popcorn, pickles, stilton cheese with ginger & mango; in & out burger; tapioca pudding.
 
Do as much or as little as you like. It takes about 40 minutes. The more you do, the more immediate to you personally your holoscope will be & that’s the key difference between an holoscope & an horoscope – it’s a story for you yourself, not for every Scorpio with Leo rising.
 
Note: I will not use all or even most of the tidbits. But it’s handy to have them depending on where your reading goes.   
 
Several favorite musicians from past & present/. Several favorite singers/. Favorite types of music/. Favorite foods, not desserts/. Favorite desserts/. Favorite landscape in order (ocean; mountains; desert; prairie &c/). Favorite dramatic movies/. Favorite comedies/. If you do theater, several favorite plays or playwrights/. Favorite musical/. Guilty pleasure movies (eg surfing movies &c). The best movie of all time/. Favorite artists/. Favorite scientist/. Favorite science (even if you’re lousy at it)/.
    Do you tend to harken to the past or to the present or to the future/. Greatest two invention of the 20th century/. What’s your favorite gadget/.  2-5 favorite sayings/. Several favorite phrases (e.g. unquenchable enthusiasm; skunks stink)/.
    Do you tend to think of yourself as more scientific, artistic, practical, dreamy/. Favorite sports to do (even if you don’t do them any more)/. Favorite teams as a fan/. Like, love, adore sports/. Disdain, despise sports/ Favorite ‘good’ books/. Favorite guilty pleasure books/. Favorite childhood books/. 3 favorite colors in order/. Go to museums/. Favorite museums/. Favorite movies stars from the past/. Favorite movie stars from the present/. All-time favorite guy actor/. All time favorite woman actor/.
    Favorite eras in order (ancient, medieval, 18th c, now, future, other)/. Favorite animals/. Favorite birds/. Favorite junk or comfort food/. Favorite trees/.
    When you are sad, do you get better by going off by yourself, chatting with family or friends, going for a drive, playing a sport, watching TV/. Favorite TV programs past/. Favorite TV programs recent/. What news channel do you watch most/. Favorite childhood stories, books/. Scariest childhood story or type of story/. Favorite childhood characters, human or not (from stories, movies, &/or books)/. Favorite pet(s)/. Have pet(s)/. Names of pets/. Favorite childhood pet(s) & name if you had a pet/.
     Are you a day person (when you have a choice)/. Or a night person/. In a fantasy story, you would be ————/. (princess, queen, prince, king, astronaut, intrepid explorer, baseball player, &c) Favorite historical heroes or famous figures/. Most hated feared historical figure (other than Hitler)/. Feared or hated fictional character/. Desert island book – the one book to take with you/. Favorite gem stone/.
     Birth date & year, place, time/. If you know your sign/. Rising sign/. Moon sign/. Are you an optimist, pessimist, cynic/. Your political party/. Is politics somewhat or very or extremely important to you/. Favorite political figures, past & recent/. Your favorite president/. Your least favorite president/. Most inspirational figures real or fictional/.
   Key qualities of your best friend/. Several favorite holidays/. The kind of art you like (painting, sculpture, architecture &c/.) Are you a loner or do you like to be around with friends or family/. Favorite comic book hero/. Your Religion or Spiritual path/. What was your childhood Religion/. Are you lapsed or rebelled or devout/. Most inspirational female figure, male figure/. What name do you wish you had that is not your own/. If you were a hero in an adventure book, what kind of hero would you be/. If you had a Native American name, what would you like it to be/.
     Most pressing area of concern in your life/. If you won a billion dollars, what would you do with some of it for fun/. If you gave some to a charity or organization, which one/.
    If you could start a very cool school in anything (not to make a living, but to share a passion), what would that school be/.
    Present or recent job/. Dream job/. On vacation if you really had a choice, you’d be active, indulge in sloth, other/. Where is your favorite country to visit or that you would wish to visit if you could travel/. Do you travel often/. Where/. Games you like to play/. Favorite childhood game/. Hobbies/. Do you draw/. If you could be anyone not yourself, real or fictional, anytime in history, who would it be/.
    Are you quiet, serious, funny, cheerful, morose &c/. Please pick 5 adjectives to describe yourself/. What is one of your very best qualities/. What is one of your very worst qualities/. If you had a magic wand, what is the one thing you’d change about yourself/. Your favorite flowers/. Married, single, divorced, living with someone, dating, limbo/.
    What kind of phrase would you use to describe your more secret self (Incurable Romantic; Visionary; Happy Sloth; eat Ice Cream & read Books; Other/.)
    If you are doing this anonymously, please give me a name or handle I can use to speak to you with/. Or even if I know your name, let me know if you’d prefer in your holoscope that I use another name or handle/.
 
    Please ask one-three (quick is fine) questions that will guide the shape of my holoscope for you/. Tell me your reason for wanting a holoscope – general curiosity; tonic; cosmic peptalk; relationship woes or growth; job/life direction; electroshock to a stagnant system; exploration of quantum & holospheric future; wild psychic adventure; all of the above; who knows; other/.
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<?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Readings & Educational Services Available
 
t Holoscope, the horoscope evolved.
 
t Quantum College Junior Year Not-Abroad/Masters /PhD
.. change your life to a degree just short of unbearable joy.
 
I will take up to five students of any age between 16 & 96 years old for a Quantum College Junior Year Not-Abroad. Certain people may wish to embark on a Quantum Masters Program. Upon which could follow a PhD.
 
What would this be about? Read all of pogblog’s Archives and you will get the drift – except designed to hone your passions. Or discover them.
 
I have been lucky enough to have lived an astonishing life. I’ve been a teacher for much of it. I would like to offer intensive tutoring in how to be on fire and stay sane.
 
None of this would count for Accreditation in your Usual School. It would change your life or your kid’s life to a degree of just short of unbearable raw joy. That’s the degree. Not widely available.

 
Please email me for brochure at pogblog@yahoo.com.   
 
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These are a few of the unsolicited testimonials from my TV students of every age, gender, race, and creed whom I taught from 2000-2005. They are too kind by far, but they are from the people I immediately affected. These gentle words are from my community TV students all the way from 16 years old to 83 years old.
…………. 
You have touched so many lives and been such a huge part of the success of people’s programs and the Station's national awards. Your dedication and special magic are an inspiration and support to all who come near your amazing teacher’s heart.  Mary J.
 
…for you personally and for all of us who cherish the idea and possibility of community TV and cherish you because it was you who instilled a love for it in us. You, who introduced to us the intimacy of a camera. From those of us you trained and always nurture. Roy H.
 
I will always remember the fun time I had in your class. youpassion and excitement are wonderful rare qualities, and I was blessed to be touched by them. Sheila M.
 
I have worked with many creative people across the US and internationally. You are certainly a jewel and have made remarkable contributions to the creative work of your lucky students.  Kim S.
 
We have a flame that needs to burn, and with your inspiration it will not be extinguished. Ray S.
 
You are a nonstop teacher whose wisdom pours out with such ease. Teaching and coaching are your greatest talent and virtue. You serve as an icon to personal integrity. Pat F.
 
Your skill, dedication and knowledge inspire me. Thank you for your motivation for everything, especially to get my show off the ground. Without that it could not have started. Arun P.
 
I loved listening to everything you taught me in the class, you brought so much light, wisdom, laughter and care to what you were doing with us. You are a kind, compassionate, passionate, charming, intelligent, magical, enlightening, fun, woman who has blessed my life with the life you share with me and the rest of us fortunate people who you blessed with your class. When I think of you, I think of what a great speaker and teacher you are and how I can possibly help you to share that with more people. Tia T.
 
You’re the best teacher ever. I wish somebody had told me to leave my Inner Perfectionist in Fiji 50 years ago! Joan H.
 
You are a gem of generosity, understanding and hope. Your good-hearted, good-humored character and skills inspire our whole class to take creative risks. Thank you! James C.
 
You are a treasure for community TV! You are full of love and life and I feel privileged that you are on this whirling, precious mudball.  Richard G.
 
You've served as a personal role model for me. I have never seen anyone throw themselves into their work with such obvious dedication and passion for their work as you do. Stan N.
 
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58

Druid Junior Year Not-Abroad .. & Masters & PhD

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2

 

Druid Junior Year Not-Abroad ..

& Masters & PhD

.. change your life to a degree just short of unbearable joy ..

image

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

By email & phone, I will take up students of any age between 16 & 96 years old for a Druid College Junior Year Not-Abroad. Certain people may wish to embark on a Druid Masters Program. Upon which could follow a PhD.

 

What would this be about? Read pogblog Ask Dr. Druid Archives & you will get the drift – except designed to hone your passions. Or discover them.

 

I have been lucky enough to have lived an astonishing life. I’ve been a teacher for much of it. I would like to offer intensive tutoring in how to be on fire and stay sane.

 

None of this would count for Accreditation in your <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Usual School. It would, however, change your life or your kid’s life to a degree of just short of unbearable raw joy. That’s the degree. Not widely available. I'm not interested in peak experiences … I'm interested in a peak life.

 

This is about alchemy of mind, about the integration of lucid waking & lucid dreaming. You will learn to write. You will find your own voice. Whatever your art is now, you will strip away the veils. If you haven’t found your arts yet, you will.

 

We will design a program that is tailored to your strengths and weaknesses, your budget, and your age. Some people need to gallivant. Some need to develop a fruitful slothism. Some, some of both probably.

 

For some, we could proceed entirely online. Others, it may suit us to meet occasionally. 

 

I will send you more details and the fee list if you are somewhere between darn & wildly interested.

 

Please include a few sentences about why you’re darn or wildly interested. 

 

Please put druid in the subject line.   

 

askdrdruid@gmail.com  


…………<^>…………..
…………………<^>…….
These are a few of the unsolicited testimonials from my TV students of every age, gender, race, and creed whom I taught from 2000-2005. They are too kind by far, but they are from the people I immediately affected. These gentle words are from my community TV students all the way from 16 years old to 83 years old.
…………. 
You have touched so many lives and been such a huge part of the success of people’s programs and the Station's national awards. Your dedication and special magic are an inspiration and support to all who come near your amazing teacher’s heart.  Mary J.
 
…for you personally and for all of us who cherish the idea and possibility of community TV and cherish you because it was you who instilled a love for it in us. You, who introduced to us the intimacy of a camera. From those of us you trained and always nurture. Roy H.
 
I will always remember the fun time I had in your class. youpassion and excitement are wonderful rare qualities, and I was blessed to be touched by them. Sheila M.
 
I have worked with many creative people across the US and internationally. You are certainly a jewel and have made remarkable contributions to the creative work of your lucky students.  Kim S.
 
We have a flame that needs to burn, and with your inspiration it will not be extinguished. Ray S.
 
You are a nonstop teacher whose wisdom pours out with such ease. Teaching and coaching are your greatest talent and virtue. You serve as an icon to personal integrity. Pat F.
 
Your skill, dedication and knowledge inspire me. Thank you for your motivation for everything, especially to get my show off the ground. Without that it could not have started. Arun P.
 
I loved listening to everything you taught me in the class, you brought so much light, wisdom, laughter and care to what you were doing with us. You are a kind, compassionate, passionate, charming, intelligent, magical, enlightening, fun, woman who has blessed my life with the life you share with me and the rest of us fortunate people who you blessed with your class. When I think of you, I think of what a great speaker and teacher you are and how I can possibly help you to share that with more people. Tia T.
 
You’re the best teacher ever. I wish somebody had told me to leave my Inner Perfectionist in Fiji 50 years ago! Joan H.
 
You are a gem of generosity, understanding and hope. Your good-hearted, good-humored character and skills inspire our whole class to take creative risks. Thank you! James C.
 
You are a treasure for community TV! You are full of love and life and I feel privileged that you are on this whirling, precious mudball.  Richard G.
 
You've served as a personal role model for me. I have never seen anyone throw themselves into their work with such obvious dedication and passion for their work as you do. Stan N.
 
………….<^>………………..
……………..<^>………………..
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