pogblog Glossary .. [on-going .. update 09-19-06]

pogblog's Glossary .. updated 09<?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />-19-06

pogblog's Glossary amplifies pogblog's fierce & droll vocabulary — both the coined or invented stuff & the nifty or nefarious words you may not have discovered yet; for people who love words as much as mangoes or a great forward pass or an icepick in Dick Cheney's right eye; or for the just plain baffled .. With obsidian humor and assorted other confections and delicacies of a certain melodious madness ..

includes:  àdroit; aleph ocean;  amethyst; anodyne;  après; assonance; Big Lie; blogovel; blood-dimmed  tide;  Blue/Bleu; Bush html stop; carpe comedy;  cf; chatoyant; clint; clive/full; contest(pogblog Glossary Game); crapaud; Digrif;  e=mc2; eclectic; enfers sanglant; enriched light; filigree; FixedIntelGate; frabjous joy;  frisson; full clive; funes; gallynipper; gateau; grb gamma ray burst; grok; gwatwareg; hasyasattva; hoi polloi; holosphere; karlsputin rove; legerdelengua; lq/lizard quotient; luddite; Mardi Gras; masochists;  maw; meme; mobbal; multiverse/many-poem place; mystery; nada; noosphere; obsidian humor; oneiro; passive belligerence; perfect pain; pinguid; pog; political engineering; polyglot; reagan's law; riro/reptile in reptile out; spooner; spiteful puffadder; stele; stynking synnes vile; suburbanality; sursurly; third base; toot doot; tzolkin; vouchsafe; vrai; wmd brain; warp-rinth; wolfofwolfs;

05-05-05 dedicated to obsidian fuller, an daily birthday present tinct with whimsy — enfers sanglant, amigo lobo, ami de ma vie, toujours et un jour .. 

image
andy goldworthy please see dvd rivers & tides

àdroit  .. clever or nifty from French; C’est àdroit – That’s clever. (Sorry about this recent obsession with àccènts – I just learned the trick of doing the accents on the keyboard in balky, not-so-friendly usually, mostly passive-belligerent MS Word. I’m in a zèal; no worries, it will pass. [To do the backward accent, it’s Ctrl, accent /on key left of the number 1/, then type the ‘e’ or ‘a.’ To get the other accent, it’s Ctrl ‘ (apostrophe), then the letter.] Actually the root of the word is à droit. Droit = right in French. Gauche = left.) I’m going to add ‘agauche’ to ‘adroit.’ One could say “That was a tad agauche perhaps” and have it be more a glancing blow than declaring, “You are clearly an imbecile.” (Yes, yes, I know ‘gauche’ exists, but it’s more harmful and doesn’t have adroit as its escort to the Word Ball.) Très àdroit .. very clever .. trezahdrwah. 06.05.06
 


aleph ocean .. the aleph ocean is where we live when we seemingly sleep or when we dearly & daffily muse or other meanderings of consciousness from the rigider paths of sense and logic . Its leitmotif, its signature feel is a melodic celtic knotting of times and of densities. 10.22.05
 

amethyst .. The OED entry is:1580 SIDNEY Arcadia II. (1654) 141 The bloodie shafts of Cupids war, With amatists they headed are.  //Oh my. Beastly Cupid’s arrows are tipped with amethysts? That explains it. My heart is stilled. 06.18.05

anodyne .. a drug, a repression, a cotton-candyifying layer of insulation between your conscious mind and the atrocities, large and small, (and never secret to the hapless universe) that you have committed willfully and have tried to hide &/or justify with creeds or legerdelengua, slithering sleights of  the forked tongue. 08.13.05

après ..  means after in French, as in après-moderne which is what comes after post-modern; will probably get gutterized as après-modern, but I'm fond of the French flair; ah-pray-moh-dare-n; 06.03.05

 

assonance .. is the vowel echoes, often internal that give a phrase or a sentence its full-bodied richness. Consonance is the consonant equivalent. Both these elements of the music of writing comprise alliteration. 05.30.05


Big Lie
.. The Big Lie was perfected by the Nazis and slid into American politics in a brazen way in the 2000 coronation. The basic idea is that you can say something even the opposite of the truth often enough and with convincing conviction enough and the innocent will believe it. WMD. Healthy Forests Act. Clean Air Act.  . . .How are the naïve, thee & me, so easily duped? Well, there’s the RaceHorse Haynes Factor. 30 years or so ago, I was watching the Dick Cavett Show, like Larry King, but smarter, wryer. It’s important to this fablet, this parable to remember that Dick Cavett had a Tom Sawyer, boyish, good American lad appearance. RaceHorse Haynes was a dashing famous superlawyer of the time. He was from Texas and oozed charisma by the bucket. One was, as I’m sure his juries were, spellbound. The shocking, nay shattering, point he made that has stuck with me all these years came when he said, “Dick, if you had murdered – minced —  your sweet old granny, I could guaranteed get you off in spite of ironclad evidence. You do not fit the unconscious inner picture that each juror has of what a murderer must look like. To them, you look too handsome, cute, baby-faced, blue-eyed to be a killer.

    “On the other hand, this gentle soul who has never so much as bruised a fly, if he has a certain dark and creepy look, they’ll convict him every time on the flimsiest evidence or no evidence.”

     So Karlsputin Rove and Ralph Reed and George Bush don’t look evil. And even Dick Cheney sounds avuncular so they say.

   The reason the Big Lie works on us sweet sheeps so effectively is that the words are spoken in the Form of Truth. (Like with a killer, we're sure we know what lying looks like.) I thought repeatedly for 20 years until this very day that my pathological Gambler friend was redeemed, cleaned up, telling the Truth this time because if I looked and acted like that, I would be telling the truth. He tells a seamless Lie better than I tell the truth. You believe the bastards because you’re not a bastard. . . Cynicism is not the response though. Alertness is. Trust but verify. 07-31-05

 

blogovel .. a blog novel — like pogblog's ToadSpawn, Be Gone! the Exorcizm of GeorgeBush from America's Soul — a mad dickensian masterpiece of serial venom. We coined the word as far as we know. Read ToadSpawn, Be Gone! 05-05-05

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

blood-dimmed tide .. from Yeats, The Second Coming; http://www.well.com/user/eob/poetry/The_Second_Coming.html  The ‘slouches’ in the last line is also echoed in the beginning of pogblog’s Love letter to Lewis H. Lapham, June 2, 2005.

   The poem’s “The best lack all convictions, while the worst/Are full of passionate intensity” remains as forlornly chilling as when he wrote it. And “…but now I know/That twenty centuries of stony sleep/Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle” describes the present berserk jesus-mania with a grim precision.     

 

Blue/Bleu .. the Blue, as in ‘it came out of the Blue’; le Bleu (lu[r] Blu[r]), cf  sacre Bleu! in incestuous permutation leading to diabolique (devilish) Bleu or diabol Bleu – to whom/which one is damned grateful for the shower of present it suddens upon lucky one. Bleu happens. Suddenness is its mischievous leitmotif, its signature. It’s the opposite of an iridescent, a chatoyant big floating soapbubble popping & pooff, it’s gone, nada, nothing. Pooff, presto, magic, the Bleu arrives chatoyant with no unsightly gestation & no annoying labor pains. (Things may arrive out of the Glum, the gelatinous color of mucus, but not with the pristine delight of the ohyippee presents the tricksy Blue abounds upon you.) 05.30.05

 

</bush> .. my favorite bumpersticker of late. (Tho I was pretty chuffed by Is it 2008 yet?)

   The Bush thing is an inside joke and it’s probably evil of me to explain the punch line, but this is how it works. In html, the behind the scenes code which allows you to make things <b>bold</b> or <i>italic</i>, for instance, it goes like this: <b> begins the bold. Everything is bold until you put </b> which stops the bold. So </bush> would be stop or end Bush. Droll. 01.29.06

 

carpe comedy .. seize comedy. If I were to have some leitmotif other than besottedness with beastly Digrif, it would be carpe comedy. My good friend jeweller, Mark, who has his cool stuff in the SFMOMA, made me a silver dogtag that says carpe comedy. 10.22.05

 

cf .. means compare;

chatoyant  .. is from the reflection in a cat’s night eye; it is that strange glistening eerie-descence that tiger’s eye stones have; a luster like shot silk or oil on water; 05.30.05

 

clint; clinting; clintful; clintness .. My thoughts about “Clint” have previously been unprintable because I was one of the unfortunate thousands who saw that denture film-noir, Bridges of Madison County,  a penance for some unknowable wrong. This wretched film in which Meryl Streep did star shows you can do a silk-purse turn in a pig's-ear flick. ¶ At least as comiko-horror films go, the shots of Clint in the bathtub with his crêpy neck wattles are memorable if only one were into gigadizzguzzt. Not because he was old and horrible (gee, we all will be & will want to have been kinder), but because of his ineffable, upwelling-of-stench clintness — he whittles his lines. Wattles and whittling — what a treat. With the shower-stabbing scene in Psycho, we can induct the infamous Clint's-wattles scene into the Horror Scenes Hall of Fame. ¶ Usage: It was so clint, so skin-crawling to have to see Karlsputin Rove gumming up the phosphors on my tv screen. The overflow of sewage onto the street was clinting with the eerie glisten of mucal rot in an oily corruption attended by those paparazzi of insects, the dung-eating flies. (for cedral755 who planted the first pogblog poster across the Pond!) 6-25-05

 

clive, full .. many centuries ago, or tomorrow depending on where you are in elegantly celtic-knotting time, there was a bloke from Avalon, the mystery island of magic off the British Isles where the air always smells like sun-hot ripe apples — a bloke named Clive Owens who was a ‘movie star’ with well-more than his share of smouldering élan, and the damned English accent. There was some woman I talked to who said, “Oh, him, he never moves his face.” Well, that’s because he can move what’s between him and your face, you stupid cow. // There was a slangy phrase at the time, ‘the full monty’ which meant you were willing to take it all off and show your dangly bits. A step up the Michelangelo’s-David ladder is, luckily preserved on celluloid, the full clive. So if one is willing to go full out, (and I like you), it’s full clive. You don’t use it for bastards like the Maggoty Minions.  06-12-05  

 

coin .. to mint or invent a new word or a new usage of an existing word;

 

pogblog poster Global-Game-CONTEST: you can email pogblog@yahoo.com & we’ll send you the template for the small two-to-a-page pogblog ToadSpawn Be Gone! posters. Or make up your own. (Be cool.)

 

Send us a pict of pogblog poster in any place and you’ll win a PRIZE, and an automatic entry into My Own Custom Entry in pogblog’s Glossary – you pick the topic, pogblog writes the entry for YOU.

 

Wall Drug was this “mega-tourist trap” in South Dakota. It had signs for a hundred milesevery 200 feet saying “See the prairie dogs at Wall Drug.” The prairie dogs were mangy stuffed things, but as it was the only place to get a root beer in the hellsummer heat. You went to Wall Drug , or died. Wall Drug had this global sign game going for years and they even ended up with someone holding up a Wall Drug sign on Mount Everest. Pogblog wants Mount Everest too, but also Vermont and the Gobi desert or wherever you’re going. Pictures with cows get bonus points, as picts with giraffes or cats. Gehry’s museum in Bilbao gets, like, an entry in the Glossary AND in the Love Slave Hareem. Yo Yo Ma, Bela Fleck, or Clive Owen holding a pogblog poster, and well, gee. 06-25-05 

 

crapaud .. toad in French; crah-poh; as in C'est crapaud, mon cher .. That's really rather toad, my dear. 06.03.05

Digrif .. an on-going character; the word means laughter in Welsh;  05-05-05 

e=mc2 .. the formula is wrong which is why they can’t understand the 90%, all that dark energy and dark matter !haha!; all that extra stuff that they don't grok is the tissue, the fabric of your dreams and imaginations — standard science is still looking through the wrong end of the telescope so it cannot measure this substance yet; the formula is really e=mc8 (infinity sign) because anything that ‘exists’ has a nanomicro signature that makes it unique; cf  no giraffes, only one giraffe + one giraffe + one giraffe; 05.30.05

eclectic .. if you only get one word, take this one — it means taking the best from all possible sources; so you get wide-hearted;  rich (not the greedy kind but the embracing kind) the  golden rain of abundance; and oh frabjous joy, you get the somersaulting luck of having to pay lots of attention so you can separate the chuff from the chaff; 06.03.05

enfers sanglant .. Enfers sanglant, visages des porcs! means Bloody Hell, face of pigs. I’m mostly in the inventive invective mode of William S. who could swear at you in more vivid guises than a porcupine has quills; ohn-fairs sang-glaw(n), vee-sahzhuh day pork; 06-11-05

enriched light .. the CatsPurrDynamagik Machine uses the more elastic lights as you come and go from sleep or, if you're a little used to it, in blissfully slothfull musing states. This is cheaper than Walmart — <em>free!</em> and no exploited labor. The whole point of the coming ahaus and quetzals in the next five years and onward is to give the alchemic techniques of 'turning lead to gold' to everyone. Pb–>Au. Once I get Zin Nia & Fucky's Manual amanuensissed out, just reading and re-reading the pieces will switch on the patterns of energy dynamiks as much or as little as you want. Like the crop circles, the healing is a kind of anti-congealing or unclenching of intellectual and emotional toxins — a fountain of truth if not of perpetual youth.  Amused truth.Cheaper than Ginzu knives. It's as if the vrai or true crop circles are miniatures of the gobos of enriched light that are being pulsed into the EM grid of Planet Home.A gobo is a patterned filter you put over the end of a spotlight, say, to make patterns of light & shadow fall on the stage. Thus, the shaped light that is coming into the planet is phototuning your dna et cet. Some of the enriched, shaped light inpulses will have a hummingbird quality, others will be slow and serene as a swan swims. It's all free and yours all yours if only you pay some deft attention and relax your eyes — and unclench your mind + heart + viscera. 09.19.06     

filigree .. Is what you dimly call love, the insane rage, the filigree of mad mirth he and I pitilessly feel with each other worth that exile? Filigree is a dainty web of precious metal, an haunting elf song wrought into a tiny token, a lace of metal, a braille grail jewelry you could feel in the dark, that dark where all souls journey implacably alone sometimes, at times arranged by Fate’s deranged whim – that filigree to remind me in that doomed silence which may or may not end of our dread mirth which we dared, holding only each other’s hand over the uncalculatable abyss. So is it worth it, Digrif, my friend in obsidian mirth, my cruel ironist, this exile for which I paid my whole soul? Timelessness will tell. 07-11-05

..

FixedIntelGate .. Please remember that this outing the identity of Joe Wilson's wife is just one big spoke in the wheel the hub of which is FixedIntelGate. We sent people to war on 'intel fixed to fit the policy' (Downing St. Memo) a facet of which Wilson revealed and they wanted his reputation emasculated — 'his wifie sent him.' . . .FixedIntelGate is a deep shame and danger to our freedom. Going to war on what the rest of the world clearly sees as fixed intel will increase the recruiting terrorists for generations.

 

frabjous joy .. from Jabberwocky, LewisCarroll; 06-11-05  http://www.jabberwocky.com/carroll/jabber/jabberwocky.html  

frisson
.. (free-zzaw[n]) frisson, or French for shiver, is a sort of onomatopoetic (cf buzz & murmur) kind of word – if you say it out loud in what you imagine is a very French manner, you will feel cool.   05-05-05

..

full clive .. see clive, full;

 

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, Swen, 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.  5-18-05

 

gallynippers .. are faeries, they floppily fly between worlds, appear & disappear. They look like enormous mosquitos (as if they could drink or nip a gallon of blood, hence gally-nipper), but they are achingly harmless. They are preposterous – their legs are so long & spindly. It’s a sin to kill a gallynipper.

gateau .. means cake in French; gah-toe; 05.30.05

ginger rogers .. “Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did except backwards and in high heels.” One of the greatest drolly liberating lines of all time by the treasured Ann Richards, 1988 Democratic Convention keynote. Succinct. 06.18.05 

..

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.  5-18-05

 

grb .. stands for gamma ray burst – discovered in the 60s; “exotic, mysterious flashes pack the output of many galaxies into a single pulse that lasts seconds or less” – and that is exotic on any plane, http://www.space.com/scienceastronomy/astronomy/mystery_bursts_020516.html;

cf  “the consciousness-altering pulses that are emitted by the Hanab-Ku, the Cosmic Center” [http://www.calleman.com/– This relates to the Mayan energy-matrix calendar which pogblog honors because the path forward is holospherical not linear like the cursed Gregorian calendar and that ‘convenient’ atrocity, the metric system, may it boil in many liters of oil, which has taken measurement of distance and quantity out of poetry in one fell fell swoop. “Could you hear the heartbeats of my anguish across the lonely miles, oh my beloved?” “Could you hear the heartbeats of my anguish across the lonely kilometers etc.” I wasn’t trying to defend ‘good poetry,’ just the on-the-endangered-species-list poetic impulse. A poetic impulse looks not unlike a zebra. They tend to be solitary animals. They don't do herds. ‘He inched across the searing sand on his belly, a pilgrimage to an oasis, a mirage no doubt like other wet heavens.’ You can’t 'centimeter across the searing sand.' It’s a sin to kill an inch. 06-18-05


gwatwareg
.. means irony in Welsh; 05.30.05

 

hasyasattva or silliness warrior; increase the gladness of all sentient beings by as many very tiny kangaroos as can waltz on the head of a pin; pogblog coined this hasyasattva word because the notion of ‘decreasing suffering’ breaks the hypnotic suggestion rule of putting the ‘command’ in a positive cast. “Don’t fall off the ladder!” is an embedded command to fall off the ladder: in order to comprehend the statement you have to imagine falling off the ladder. “Hang on to the ladder” is the better form of the statement. So kind folks wandering the Earth talking earnestly about  'decreasing suffering’ are causing all of us to gloomily, if unconsciously, contemplate suffering, oh woe is we. On the other hand, if you talk about ‘increasing gladness’ — in order to understand the statement you have to imagine some facet of gladness, a step on the somersaulting path.     06-11-05

 

hoi polloi .. the many, the unwashed mere mob before whom one ought not to cast one’s pearls; not the elite like us; it really should just be the polloi, but this is the way it slid through history; cf the El Camino; Greek; hoy puh-loy; 05-30-05

 

holosphere .. The next quantum in élan, in vivid being, is the holosphere. Right now as you read this, out of your noosphere hearing is whalesong, the infrasound that drones magnificently, often plaintively, sometimes mischievous, from planet side to planet side in the depths deeper than Everest is high – below the abysmal depths are the hadal depths, Hades deep, miles upon miles down and dark. According to both bizarre and fairly measured traditions, we are coming to the ‘end of time.’ Soon. This does not mean the end of being. It means the expansion into the wider holosphere. The end of the dominance of linear time. And of patriarchy, hierarchy, the exploitative models. We won’t give them up just because they are bad and sodden with shortsighted ignorance, but because they are like looking through the wrong end of the telescope – they’re limiting. It will feel awkward to give up the familiar boxes, the comforting structures and become aware that we all look at the same moon and are held from escape velocity by the same molten core. Under all our feet are twinkling jewels and lots of irony, I like to think….When we quantum to holo, we will be appalled by some things we stood by for. Allowing the mutilation of children in the name of any jingoistic fervor, for instance. We will not be hypnotized by moving striped pieces of cloth no more. Sometimes it’s hard not to be a lemming when all the little rushing furry bodies are flashflooding toward the cliff – how could so many fellow lemmings be wrong? . . . One of the swell things about the holosphere is that if you want to tune into the whalesong, you’ll be able to. Like after the telegraph, your reach of attention and perception will be augmented. It will be like the aliens landing, but they land inside your understanding and whether they are allies or demons entirely depends on your filter, your translator. See also noosphere. 07-31-05     

    

   

Karlsputin Rove .. 'nuff said. (cf Rasputin, the creepily evil powerracker who actually ran the deaththroes of the czars); 06-26-05

 

legerdelengua .. slithering sleights of  the forked tongue; cf calling mutilated children collateral damage; or the Clean Air Act, that boondoogle for major polluters (aka campaign contributors);

 

LQ .. Lizard Quotient; If we say that Mr. Cheney’s LQ or Lizard Quotient, is the platinum standard, a perfect 100, the Grand Imperial Lizard, the benchmark, then the rest of the Lizard Cabal ranks down in scalyness from that apogee. When in the USofA Inc Nation, our Emperor George is defrocked in your insight, in your insight, one by one we see clearly, the ghastliness is that his scalyness is revealed. It’s like the Gorgon of yore, if you glance upon the unclothed Lizard, you may turn to stone. You will certainly be petrified. Better to keep your rose-colored glasses on.  [This makes you queasy? Goes too far? What is far? Pogblog didn’t blow up any kids today on your behalf.] 06-14-05

 

luddite .. a luddite is someone who sees machinery and technology as dehumanizing. In reaction to the industrial revolution in the early 1800s, the actual Luddites homecrofting textile lace & knitter folk were precursors to the Union movement. But the notion of luddite has an undertone of being against progress, against the newfangled. As a gizmos-geek, I tend not to be a luddite tho I am strongly pro-Union – I love weekends which they brought us, and the middle class, sadly fast disappearing into the maw of the FatHog Cogists. 07-31-05 

 

Mardi Gras .. “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. 9-10-05

 

masochists .. ‘For masochists in Hell, there is no suffering.’ Ye owls, that’s droll. It is not original to pogblog, but is one of three jokes I’ve ever been able to remember. Don’t know the adroit devil who made it up, but bless them. Lucifer loves you. 06.05.06

 

maw .. gaping mouth; dragons who gobble maidens have maws; gobbets (or large hunks of as yet unmasticated maiden) often stuck in the jutting teeth in a dragon’s fetid maw; cf corporate maw: you are devoured by the corporate maw; you disappear into the corporate maw; 06.04.05

meme ..  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. me-m(uh).

 

 ¶  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. It’s absurd, friend, it’s obscene. We can’t take care of all these people. Our sweetly blossoming 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. Think about it. Pass it along. 06-06-05    

    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?” 09-10-05

 mobbal .. mah-bull, of the mob, also euphemistically called tribe, nation, town; 06-30-05    

multiverse .. multi-verse or many-poem place; where we live. The fables often refer to manypoem as the blossomer-forth of all this fascinating tinder in which we are immersed. 05.05.05

 

mystery .. Meeting you crescendos into a catastrophe of raw joy and raw terror. Our exquisite, excruciating obsidian humor is the last mystery, the unholiest sweet fact I grab before I plummet, wings on fire, into the Abyss. Our unholy humor is what makes me forgive the Universe for its goddamned Sins. 08.13.05

 


nada
.. means nothing in Spanish; nah-dah; 06-04-05

noosphere .. Our lively mote awash in galactic seas is waking up. There come big surge-times in our story – the invention of the printing press, the steam engine, the telegraph. Expanding our attention-point, turning on more of our transformer, our brain and bones. We are presently in a crescendo of rising, of brightning energy, élan. . . .The Next-Age weirdos, of whom, like of the Democrats, I’m wryly and proudly one, are attuned to various facets of this shimmering phenomenon. I don’t cleave to any version with the zeal of a convert, but I can feel the stirring, the purring of the planet and its denizens awakening quantumly to a new holo-mosaic of how consciousness is patterned. One can literally feel this alchemic symphony of pulses in one’s bones. If you don’t notice it yet, you will. It is both fuerte or strong and dulce or sweet. . . . . Dear <b>Teilhard de Chardin</b>, mid last century philosopher, spoke of the lithosphere, the biosphere, and the noosphere. To which I, with humble glee, add the holosphere. . ..Litho means stone  The lithosphere was the primeval furnace, lava rock of the planet which dreamt and cogitated and desired for a long long time and blossomed forth the biosphere which is the lichen and the lemurs, the octopuses, oaks, giraffes, and us. (Culminating in cats, the quintessence of terrifying design.) This all rambled around, raucous and timid, amoeba, hippopotamus, and condor, until forth was effervesced the noosphere, a knowledge sphere, a heady stew of trivial and stupendous information. (Sadly, you cannot call the noosphere a wisdom sphere, yet.) See also holosphere. 07-31-05

 

obsidian humor .. from panther stone; Veriest dark humor; the kind of ironic humor during the magnetoquake of a pole shift: who knows that compass, the angle of refraction or distraction? Obsidian is a densely glassily perfectly opaque black stone (formed by lava hitting water); used by Quetzal Originals to make knife blades and objects of art. Obsidian is a myrth so black, so impossibly preposterous that all subjects are on-limits (not necessarily for all audiences – this may be projectile bile, but not casually flung); all subjects are fodder, grist, silage to feed the devil cows of your delicately diabolique, obliquely hilarious, intricately twisted mind-heart, élan-coeur.

  [Silage is most deliciously mature but still robustly green whole corn (maize), stalk and corn ear including the still soft cob inside the absurdly sweet rows of corn kernels. This is all coarsely chopped (nowadays by a huge bladed machine) and blown in to a silo, that tall cylindrical building on farms. The corn silage compresses and ‘pickles’ and ferments and waits for winter.

   A whole huge corn field can rest plotting in a silo – it is a kind of lumpy moonshine, cornshine, that is forked out from the top by the wide ten-tined silage fork. Cows love silage. Cows can get quite drunk on it. Having been brought up by cows (Holsteins; the black & white ones; modern art on the hoofs), I have utter respect for them, but drunk + cow is very droll.]

   Obsidian humor, daring it, delving it, is a love that steep and that deep. It begins beyond the Pale. It begins with the  letter after zed. Few jeopard it.       5-18-05 1:49:06 pm   ..

 

oneiro .. (oh-nigh-roh) the Greek root for dream; 05-05-05

 

passive belligerence .. passive agression on steroids; deeply, sometimes slyly sullen; one of my favorite coinages — you know people who are passive belligerent; you may even live with one, and, if so, may gods help you in your hours of  need for universal mercy. 06-25-05

perfect pain .. perfect pain is an intensity of grokking and intricacy of affinity coupled with a helplessness — as if you must be on parallel tracks, always together, never touching. And eternity is very long. 10-10-05 

pinguid .. 'fat, unctuous, greasy' from 1828 Webster's; its root meaning is roughly fat juice or fat sap — the sap of fat. Fits Karlsputin's pinguid pipsqueakery. I first came across it a 100 yrs ago in the secondbest book in the universe, The Horse's Mouth by Joyce Cary, a book about an old artist, Gulley Jimson, who has to paint walls — with heroic paintings of feet. Gulley saw an oil slick on the Thames and used the word 'pinguid' as I recall. Though I'll admit that the word does sound more Nabokovian. All artists must read Horse's Mouth which taught me to see and to take laughter as my highest value, tho often obsidian. (The movie has zero to do with the book to which the plot is adjunct. It's the sentences the sentences and the raw seeing.) 07-21-05   

 

pog, pogs .. This word pog is coined to escape all the labels for all the organized Religions.  The acronym of People of goodwill and good works only –> POGWAGWOs –  pogwagwos — pogs for short. (Only should really probably be often . . .);  05-05-05

 

political engineering .. I heard this from either Eugene Jarecki of Why We Fight (which I tenter-hookedly await) or Franklin Chuck Spinney, a Pentagon insider who says we’re spending the ½ trillion Military Budget for – not much. The notion of political engineering in this case is that the fabulously clever manipulation of, say, the B2 bomber. Instead of building & assembling it in one locale which would be efficient, every single state has a piece of building the B2 bomber. Thus when a new generation of the B2 bomber comes before the Congress OR the notion of stopping the program entirely as being obsolete, everyone has a stake in maintaining it. Jobs in the district. Money dispersed.

  The tentacles of the Military Budget Colossus Octopus are so entangled throughout the nation that the Gordian Knot seems simplicity to cleave compared to this Octopoid sucking the lifeblood from our future. To supply gigaTaxCut payola to the gigaRich, medicare, school loans, and food stamps were gutted – yet the gargantuan $820,000 per minute Military Budget is never mentioned, like the Seventh Name of God. The fake Big Boy Republicans bathe in the midal gold which they send in geysers and gushes of ye Olde Faithful — the Military Budget she nevair go dry, swig down the Dom Halliburton champagne, Big Boys, theys macho mucho more where that came from, Ponce de Military Budget, the Perpetual Fountain of Graft.

   Then my dear Democrats are gonadsless – afraid to be seen as soft on Killing & Dismembering & stomachless for Collateral Damage. (That the Republicans are soft on healthcare, soft on education, soft on the environment, soft on the future no one seems to be able to say out loud.)

 “The military industrial Congressional complex is a political economy with a big P and a little E. It's very political in nature. Economic decisions, which should prevail in a normal market system don't prevail in the Pentagon, or in the military industrial complex.

   “So what we have is a system that essentially rewards its senior players. It's a self… what we call it, we call it, we have a term for it, it's a self-licking ice cream cone. We basically take care of ourselves. And that's also why we have this metaphor it's Versailles on the Potomac.” Chuck Spinney in interview with Bill Moyers on NOW.  [http://www.pbs.org/now/transcript/transcript_spinney.html] 

“Have you seen these figures that CEO pay at Lockheed Martin went up from $5.8 million in 2000 to $25.3 million in 2002. I mean, that's five times increase in less than three years. CEO pay went up at General Dynamics from $5.7 million in 2001 to $15.2 million in 2002. It went up at Honeywell from $12.9 million in 2000 to $45 million in 2002. It went up from Northrop Grumman from $7.3 million in 2000 to $9.2 million in 2002.” Bill Moyers, same interview. pog entry 01.29.06

 

Reagan's Law as the moniker for pogblog's Campaign to Inititate a Child Mutilator's Registry is the coinage of chancelucky(http://chancelucky.blogspot.com/), a frequent pogblog commentator. It is a felicitous phrase indeed and as Digrif noted “pitchperfect.” Goaaaal! chancelucky! Pogblog tels us that “The Child Mutilator wants some anodyne layers of denial between him:or:her and the brain-exploding acts they are allowing in their name. The mafia does contract hits so the blood-splatter evidence is on someone else’s cheap suit. But the Mutilated-Children karmic score goes in your column, pilgrim, by not one digit less. A child:mutilation is a child:mutilation is a child:mutilation. You can’t pretty it up unless you’re freakin’ insane.

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

 

Please read the whole Child Mutilator Registry piece called Blog Throat, Radical Pacifism, & reagan’s Law, the Child Mutilator’s Registry on pogblog’s Main Page.06-25-05

 

 

riro .. reptile in, reptile out . . .Sad to say, once you've 'seen' the Lizardry in Our Leaders, you simply cannot unsee it. I've tried, longing to sleep better. I reckon it's like seeing auras or something, once you can see in that spectrum of light, you're stuck with that new knowledge. //There was a time about four years ago when I saw a pict in a newspaper of Mr. Bush in profile. I gasped. there it was — the unmistakable resemblance, the reptile profile. Holes in moles, I thought, maybe this rumor about the super-scientists in Atlantis doing dna experiments of reptile human hybrids wasn't just some gaseous New Age crock. (Now, now, a lot of New Age stuff is rivetting and inspiring; you just have to keep your discernment.) No doubt about it, riro –> reptile in, reptile out. 06.13.05

 

spooner .. as in darling spooner. Spooner was a daffy if not daft professor who had a legerdetongue which led him to transpose initial sounds in a phrase; the most famous is blushing crow for crushing blow; spoon, spoonerism; cf quisling & google which have also become lower-case ordinary words – sometimes a nifty, & sometimes a dubious alchemy. A quisling is a traitor (you know who you are who broke my heart, you quisling) — interesting that it never became benedict or arnold who was much more famous really. 06.05.06

 

stele .. a carved band of scenes from your life; like you would find in your chapter of the akashic record where the universe, helplessly, keeps the record of every thought and heartbeat of your life, benighted, noble, petty, delightful tho they may be. 08-13-05

 

stynking synnes vile .. from OED, 1450 NE. Stynking sublime phrase. 12.01.05 

 

suburbanality .. To torment a friend, I thored the word ‘suburbanality’ at him, as the master of lightning wielding, dear Thor might have, had anything in his experience prepared him for suburbs or banality. It was part of the patois of devoted mean by which we communicate in our obsidian way. There is the Golden Mean, a pleasing & harmonious proportionality. There is our Obsidian Mean, a pleasing and reckless splash in the sea of ebullient chaos and returning, so far, to the Shores of Reason with barracudas of odd truth.

     Because my putative friend is an original in so many ways, it irks him no end to be lambasted with suburbanality. It would be one thing to be called a hick or a hillbilly or a rube, a kind of reverse pride of which one might preen. But suburbanality? There is no pretzeling which can make that in any iota cool. Just as it tickles him secretly to be called an original, it prickles him to be dubbed suburbanal. Even Achilles had that pesky heel, dear. 01.29.06

 

sursurly .. cf sursurreal .. sometimes a word needs some steroids to possibly comprehend the horribleness of the totalityranny of the Reign of the 12ftTall Lizards Disguised As Human Beings. It surboggles the surbewildered mind, not sursurprisingly. 06.18.05

 

third base .. “George Bush was born on third base and thinks he hit a triple.” A line from the splendid Ann Richards, ex-governor of  Texas, in her 1988 Democratic Convention keynote speech. As nifty a remark about the presumption-of-privilege have:mores as one might whittle. See also ginger rogers; 06.18.05

 

toot doot .. A silly rendering of ‘without any doubt’; sans toute doute – without all doubt. Either avec (with), pron avek; or sans (without), pron saw(n) – you just think the ‘n’, you don’t really nail it. (Anglicized it’s sans—like sands without the ‘d’.  05.30.05

 

tzolkin .. roughly, a tzolkin round is a 260-day piece of the Mayan energy matrix (which we mis-name a calendar); it’s like setting out a new holo-chess board; each day has its own pulse or energy or note or pitch which shimmers through that day; a tzolkin is a gobo – a gobo is a cutout shape in tv & theater that goes over the end of a ‘spotlight’ and as the strong light is shone thru, that shape is cast on the curtain or on the stage – spinning stars, say. 06.01.05

 

vouchsafe .. means that you grant me a special privilege; can have hints of ironic undertones; it means that you ‘trust me with x or z, or even with your ecstasy’; is very formal & medieval – the kind of way knights talk – ‘If you vouchsafe me with your honor, cousin, I will defend it unto the death’; 06.03.05

 

vrai .. vrai is true in French; pog uses it also as truly – which is a tad fractured, but c’est la vie; pron. vray;  05.30.05

 

wmd brain .. if pogblog has an “accident” or an “heartattack”  — it isn’t an accident; it isn’t an heartattack;    pogblog drives very carefully and hasn’t been to a non-chiropractic doctor since 1979. Pogblog does have a wmd brain and the Lizardos are not going to like it! I’m under the radar now, but they’ll be hauling out the hemlock soon enough and I want you not to fall for their lizardiavellian lies. Keep up the fight after they get me: Duelling epic poems, dueling satire, the clang of unsheathed irony. We’re better armed than they are for the battle of wits which will appear slowly in the next decade like a polaroid  developing. But they are exceedingly cunning and they hunger after our warm-blood. Never underestimate a cornered Lizard. 06-14-05

   

wolfofwolfs .. mon lobo suave, mon lobo feroz  hecho del agua, .. .. .. In the waters of  delight, honey, you is the waterfall, all lavish splash. In the forests of delight, you is the wolf of wolfs, all silver danger under the moon. In the cosmi-circus, you is a four-trick pony with hoofs of gold and a mane of fire. Kismet dealt me a hard hand with thee, a new and terrible tarot And the reason I cannot leave or deceive is that it would be like betraying dawn or a fawn – done by some but it would be wrong. The fun we get to have is so damned earned. Our relationship is distinctly, probably entirely, medieval. It’s like open-heart surgery before anesthetic. The pain is profound; the laughter can be as bright red as blood and pure. Pure laughter is the lead turned to the gold. ..  .. .. ps. Like Clive Owens, you have a sudden stillness which is all potential – you could explode in a any direction at any time. (With you behind your lazily easy façade, it’s strobed –  sequential sudden stillnesses.) It is a very dangerous and distilled and compelling quality. It is why you are both so unbearably sexy. It is achingly rawly male. It is feral barely cloaked with civilizedness. You are both brothers of the Great God Pan – nothing remotely Christian about you. Untamed, and untameable. Damned dangerous is what you both are. Luckily I am a mutant with a very high tolerance for brutal radiation. o8.27.o5 

 

warprinth .. warp-rinth ..Maps are not truth, but they are links, useful links by which you can follow a theme or a thread. Warp-rinths are a kind of pattern of tunnels through time that orient you to certain threads in either a life of surpassing beauty or a life of surpassing ugliness like Karl Rove’s. .. A labyrinth may seem confusing, but it is a path. Warprinths are just such paths through times as well as spaces. .. Consider Mavericks, the greatest break on the planet – a wave so thick, deep, and powerful that only a handful of the greatest surfers dare ride it. And it killed the best of all time. Surfing the Akashic Record is like riding Mavericks except that you’re not just dealing with that one wave in one time. The times can slip a chron on you and you lose the thread. (Your mind can be mangled in time-riding certain time-waves.) It’s very tricky, though sherlockianly fascinating, of course. I’ll explain more about that another time (haha), about how to stay oriented in time when navigating the Akashic Record. Think sense of smell. 11.13.05

 …………….<^>……………..
………….<^>……………..
If you know or are 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..2006 all rights reserved
Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:
http://pogblog.blogharbor.com  
8 Vulture . Cib . Owl . South . tzolkin 216  09.20.06  wed
854 days/2y4m01d left/1441  
ffwofw3279.§26d2h33m11s33.84g3.25g;
mozart..9.77g  
..
the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..
.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military Budget on education instead
………….<^>…………….
 

A quixote of quirk

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

                                                 hammer ucla edu daumier

 

A quixote of quirk 

 

coined 4ya, panlobo:

 

a quixote of quirk: the unit of obsidian droll + whimsy required to sustain a comic life.

 

This fell lightningwise from The Blue when I read about the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Hellas, “the amount of information needed to convey a civilization … about a billion bits.”

 

“I can only wish a quixote of quirk to befall you, my erstwhile putative pal.” –Fleet 

  

//

p.133, Scientist in the City, James Trefil

“So the old saying is true. A picture is worth a thousand words – in fact, if a word is worth 36 bits, a picture is worth 222, 222 words. / “Once you understand that every message can be analyzed in terms of its information content, you can apply the idea to all sorts of unexpected things. Human DNA, fro example is the genetic “message” that parents pass on to their children. The genetic code is contained in a sequence of molecules along the double helix of the DNA molecule. Each position can display one of four molecules so each position represents two bits of information. there are 3 billion positions, so the total information content of human DNA is about 6 billion bits—three sets of the Encyclopedia Britannica.

   “People involved in the search for extraterrestrial intelligence (SETI) have thought about the number of bits it would take to convey the content of a civilization. Although we haven’t had much experience carrying out this sort of project between the stars, we have had a good deal of experience communication through time. You could argue, for example, that what we know of ancient Greek civilization is contained in the information in a few hundred books and pictures. SETI people define a unit called the Hellas—the amount of information needed to convey a civilization—to be about a billion bits.” 

//

7-8-06 11:36:42 pm

http://www.daviddarling.info/encyclopedia/H/Hellas.html

Physicist Philip Morrison estimated that what we know about the civilization of ancient Greece amounts to somewhat under 10 billion bits of information – a quantity he therefore suggested be called a “Hellas“. The communication of cultural information between stars, he proposed, can be conveniently discussed in terms of this unit. For example, the amount of information we would need to convey to an extraterrestrial race in order to give a comprehensive picture of our own culture would be on the order of 100 Hellades.

 ….
http://history.nasa.gov/SP-419/s3.1.htm
Although no one can deny the excitement that would accompany a physical visit to another inhabited world, most of the real benefit from such a visit would result from communication alone. Morrison has estimated that all we know about ancient
Greece is less than 1010 bits of information; a quantity he suggests be named the “Hellas.” Our problem therefore is to send to, and to receive from, other cultures not tons of metal but something on the order of 100 Hellades of information. This is a vastly less expensive undertaking.

 

Note: Hellas is also the Greek name for Greece.

 …………<^>…………

……..……<^>………..…..

If you know or are 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 2006 all rights reserved

Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:

http://pogblog.blogharbor.com  

4 Deer . Manik . West . tzol 145  07.13.06 thur 

923 days/2y6m09d left/1372  

ffwofw728.§26d2h33m11s33.84g3.25g; 

 

..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military Budget on education instead

………….<^>…………….

Satan, Satana, & the Christian Circle of Hell

Satan, Satana, & the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Christian Circle of Hell  

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

   Satan & Satana surveyed the special Circle of Hell reserved for Christians. Yes, all of them, every last one. The blatant hypocrites fell down the Gone to Hell Chute, but the ones who didn’t shriek out against the insidiously vicious hypocrisies became Hell Dwellers as well.

   Satana sighed. “All religions enslave and enslaver the mind, the heart,” she said as she nuzzled Satan’s red, leathery ear, “but seeing as we get the refuse from all over the Dimension, I’m still agogagog at how poisonous the faux-holy Christians became after they made their cursed pact with Power.”

   Christians are so virulent and fetid that they actually have to be separated from the rest of Hell’s Dwellers – because an eternity of conscious torment is one thing, but an eternity with Christians is cruel & unusual punishment for even the zealously villainous of other stripes.

   Nothing, and we mean nothing, is more annoying and hellworthy than pious drips who hector you with their petty and oleaginous moralities. This nasty pox of a bilious religion doesn’t even have a lively story to bribe you into pretending to heed its creed. It would have been toxic enough to let them stew in their own juices. And making them re-eat their own vomit was their daily, well, bread. But it was Satana who struck upon the genius notion of piping in the secret flatulences from the boudoirs of America.

   Americans were so overfed in a starving world that their secret outgassing production could have cut their fossil fuel consumption in half if they could just be taught to outgas into special collection canisters. Breaking-wind alternative-fuel could outdistance the hilltop windfarms by far.

   Hell with its advanced vapor technologies had no trouble whatever collecting these chartreuse bubbles of stench gassed off in private by the prim suburban masses across America. The belchings were left to Heaven.

   No one in the Christian Circles of Hell was allowed to get a cold.

   Why were Christians so worse? They ranged from ferocious and quite ceaseless conviction that they had the Exclusive True Word to a passive belligerence that quite quelled Mirth. All the monotheisms were staggeringly humorless. The Bible and the Koran were not vaudevillian tracts.

   It was Satana who instituted the program whereby innocent folks who had been bludgeoned & beleaguered by Christian faux pieties and authentic hypocrisies could donate flatulence to further the stench spectrum of torment inflicted upon the dead Christians, a sect who had allowed, when not promoting, tax cuts to the fatter-than-camels gigagreedy HaveMosts. This Flatulence Bank was very popular. Bean futures rose. If God could have been bothered, he would have beat off and sent a perpetual rain of bitter seed down upon these overweening whiners who allowed people to be poor while the war machines were gloatingly, bloatingly fed and polished. Each war machine had a phalanx of servants while the poor had crusts. It was damnable. And, indeed, it turned out to be so.

   There wasn’t enough standing that could be blown up, so vast were the warehouses of bullets and bombs. Yet the Christians all sang the Star Spangled Banner, Hosanna, and said Amen to the rocket’s red glare. They did(patronizingly)pray for the poor, as if the poor could eat prayers.

  They would not give the poor food, shelter, medicine, or education except the most meager, but they did give them loaves-and-fishes amounts of fear with sides of trepidation.

   There were two things in America that no one dared speak against: virulent Christian hypocrisy and the $820,000 per minute Military Budget. Hell got them and treated them as they had earned, but it would have been twice as nice if the AboveGrounds had woken up and spoken up. Christian kebabs in Hell didn’t make up for the deluges of humorless pieties (a tautology) and pitiless worship of warships and of explosives in phallic shipping containers.

   Satana shrugged and ughed and stamped her cloven hoof. “Hell is failing to roast these people hot enough, pitchfork these people piercingly enough, vapor these people stenchily enough. We simply have insufficient retribution devices and schemes to make them pay enough. Eternity is too short.”

  Satan gave Satana's pointed tail a tender tug and patted her consolingly on her red rump.

…………<^>…………

……..……<^>………..…..

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 2006 all rights reserved

Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:

http://pogblog.blogharbor.com

9 Night . Akbal . Hearth . West . tzol 242  01.30.06 mon

ffwofw715§26d2h33m11s33.84g3.25g; 

..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military Budget on education instead

………….<^>…………….

Readin', Writin', 'Rithmetic, and Dreaming

Readin', Writin', 'Rithmetic,

and Dreaming

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

I'm definitely an optimist in the longish term. I am convinced that the integration of DayLand & DreamLand, the cosmiNet, will re-orient our energies in a sustainable way. We'll have a 'place' where violence and aggrandizement don't kill & impoverish.

 

We'll be able to afford to be our brothers' keepers Earthside — or more elegantly in these wiser times, the keepers of our kin — bipeds, in other words.

 

Please, as you would ask your spouse, How was your day?– in the morning, set your alarm 1/2 an hour early for a mutual muse and ask her/him How were your dreams last night? We are ineluctably involved in a larger, very multi-faceted consciousness & it's time for us learn all our capacities.

 

Similarly you can ask your child at breakfast, How was your night at school? They are learning every night from a fabulous reservoir of cosmic experience, and if you attend to their TV & Books & Music, why aren't you attending to their Dreaming? (Tho, of course, they are unlikely to be 'kids' in their dreams!!)

 

There is no skill and distilled joy and fascination that will serve your child or spouse or friend better than to encourage them in active or lucid dreaming to go along with their lucid waking.

 

I recommend giving folks of any age, Dreaming True by Robert Moss, a wonderfully readable master of multiple worlds — grounded, sane, funny. (I was particularly interested to find that Harriet Tubman used lucid dreaming as you might a folded paper map to guide her Underground Railroad folks safely past the hounds and ravening overseers. Not taught to us in our history books.)

 

I know some people think Oh my life is so busy and hectic, I can’t take on any more information. Piffle. We use a trifling 10% of our brains if we’re Einstein. We have storage and comprehension to burn. Think brandy. Distilled. You’ll find dream travel vivifying as much as any possible trip to the sea side or mountain peaks. And good for the fossil fuel crisis, by the way.

 

The 90% of our brains, fallow for most, is hanging out waiting for you to wake up to your multiD, superfab, holovideo game. Sony, XBox – what jokes they are compared to the gig in your head – or full body really.

 

It is true that we will have to be prepared for an emotional calculus that we aren’t in the slightest trained to be aware of least of all grok. We must figure these 5D chess games out tho or the undertones and undertows of our DayLife will be distorted by our self-imposed blindspots. We will be compelled to develop an obsidian sense of humor as vivid as seeing, hearing, touching, tasting, smelling – obsidianing – the 11th sense, astwere. Our shuttered normanrockwell worlds will be shattered – but they are false anyway and the hum below our hearing tells us that. At some point we have to unclench our minds, get out of the cocoon, & find what we find.

 

It is the complex configurations of friendship and ‘love’ that are baffling & bone-aching to our sentimental day minds/hearts. Let’s say that things are more beautiful, but not so pretty?

 

We’re already in the adventure. A question is whether we’ll open our eyes like on the roller coaster or keep them clenched shut?

 

You have to imagine that you’re on at least three interlacing roller coasters at the same time. That’s what all those extra synapses are there to grok. It’s not harder than breathing; you just have to accept that you can breath out of the homewaters. There is a certain vertigo or discombobulation or vortexiness sometimes, but like sealegs, you get dreamlegs, and you can shift from hither to yon and back from yon to hither. Be fascinated and have fun, and you’ll be fine of fettle and mettle too.  

…………<^>…………

……..……<^>………..…..

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 2006 all rights reserved

Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:

http://pogblog.blogharbor.com

3 Earth . Caban . Earthquake. Heron . East . tzolkin 236 01.24.06 wed

ffwofw587§26d2h33m11s33.84g3.25g; 

..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military Budget on education instead

………….<^>…………….

Bush’s Lethal Zeal: Religious Insanity Runs in the American Family.

Bush’s Lethal Zeal:

Religious Insanity Runs in the American Family.

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

Images of God – ioG — or no-images of God – nioG – are what fuel all this righteous killing & fabulously, excessively expensive purchase of ordinance – FEE-POO aka the Military Budget, $820,000 per minute. Plus an additional $200,000 per minute for <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Iraq.

    A few strips of striped cloth plus ioG or nioG and out come the scimitars or humvees or ieds of wrath & Bob’s your dead uncle. And not one mealy-mouthed politician will call it crap: CxxxSxxxxxg Ridiculous Adolescent Pablum. (Pablum is the pre-chewed, bland, paste without taste faux cereal gluck we feed to infants on the pretext that it is digestible.)

   not one mealy-mouthed politician will rise up & say, “I do not take Jesus ExxAxx Christ to be my savior – I do not join the brotherhood of blood which has slaughtered and belittled through the centuries.” By my cloven hooves, I declare to you that not one will stand up & say, “Brethern & sisthern, this religious flapdoodle is killing folks & we gotta kick the habit. Yep, cold turkey on comforting, grandiose hallucinations with murderous side effects.

    From now & henceforth, inculcating this claptrap crap upon the unsullied young will be considered child abuse – leave their beauty-able, wonder-able minds alone. Sniff, snort, or exhort that JC drug & you get a scarlet J tattooed on your intoxinicated, lethal forehead so we can know to shun your non-happy-heathen rump.

   Instead, lie down on the ground and lay your cheek against the precious dirt of Earth & utter not a sound. True awe is unspeakable & leaves you speechless.

   all our leaders are drugged & mugged by one theopatriotic drug or other. They are killing people in the name of ioG, Jesus, Allah, God. Folks, in all good conscience, we gotta Just say no to thetheo-thug drug.  

   Now, worshiping saguaro cactus or humming birds or pogblog’s silver Burmese perfect cat, Frolic – that could be fun and a tug of the forelock to eternal hilarious delight. Pick an idiosyncratic worshipee per day and bow & scrape as you will. Our universe, hallowed be thy infinite names.

  “Hey Jane, hey Joe, who’s your worshipee today?”

   “Today I’m worshiping French toast with lotso melted butter and organic, grade B, pure maple syrup. Muy yum!”

   “Oh well-done, Jane! Today I’m worshiping my dear beloved pillow who supports me tenderly in my darling sloth and my bliss-sodden naps.” Thus & so4th.

  Get your life, really.    

……<^>………..

Notes:

One immutable principle re doctrines: if it allows for killing anybody, it sucks.

Monotheism kills.

Friends don’t let friends take the God-drug.

‘Spirituality’ is the methadone of religion-lite. It still murks up your conscience. It is still enslaving & enslavering.

Clearly, any intelligent God would have designed an avocado with a seed the size of a peach pit. Ergo, clearly & inescapably, God is dumb. Or God simply isn’t.  Take your pick.

….<^>……………..

[Pog, you asked for my memo on the Bush et Ilk’s Lethal Zeal & How Religious Insanity Runs in the American Family. I am happy to share this with you under the seal of the confessional astwere. America is still willing ‘in flaming fire to take vengeance’on the hapless unbeliever, so let it not be known, friend, that you wander from the strait paths lest you be ‘punished with everlasting destruction’ and other not daffodilesque nor lilyesque mercies. This document could fry you in Hell where you would dwell in an ‘eternity of conscious torment.’ Herein lies the UnderBelly of the Beast. Believe me my dear pogblog — Your affectionate & anxious friend, Dr. Common Sense.]

…………<^>…………

……..……<^>………..…..

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:

http://pogblog.blogharbor.com

1 Wind . Ik . Whirlwind . North . tzol 222  01.09. 06 mon

ffwofw577§26d2h33m11s33.84g3.25g; 

..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military Budget on education instead

………….<^>…………….

President George Bush Gives His Foot to the War Effort

President George Bush Gives His Foot to the War Effort

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

George I (as in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Washington) actually led his troops into harms’ ways. George III, tho more indispensable than George I apparently – forfend we risk his hide, did decide, finally, on Christmas Day (CHRISTmas Day, by the way, you stupid heathen) to demonstrate the necessity and nobility of the Iraqian Cause & Course by chopping off one toe for each 500 dead & 500 mutilated. (A cumulative thousand per toe – not a toe for each 500. Of course, there are abundant mutilated to add to the sum.) (Americans, duh. Counting Iraqis is for yellow-bellied bleeding heart defeatists like Howard Dean. If it weren’t for Howard Dean, we would have had victory in Iraq already.)

 

George III doesn’t want people to think he is just shipping off mainly poor young men to the slaughter streets & yellow-brick IED roads.

 

No, no – tho he evaded Vietnam, he feels his noble responsibility as President is to walk – well, limp now – the talk. As of Dec 31, 2005, George III has gallantly contributed four & .356 toes to the noble Cause & Course.

…………<^>…………

……..……<^>………..…..

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:

http://pogblog.blogharbor.com

5 Cane . Ben . Reed . East . tzol 213 . 12.31.05 sat

ffwofw§26d2h33m11s33.84g3.25g; 1179;

..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military Budget on education instead

………….<^>…………….

Cheney viperiens extremos & the Humor Transplant

Nov. 05. In my hapless and indelible optimism, I keep waking up like Pippa believing that !today! we'll get it and proceed to the Frabjous Projects of silly abundance. Let's build stuff. More bilbaos please. Cathedrals of Education and Art. But Mr. Cheney abides so far. I am trusting he ain't Methuselah, however.

…….

Today <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />10-28-05 7:20:54 am Friday, we are awaiting Mr. Fitz and the FixedIntelGate Report. I’ve been up for the many hours and will be adding material at the bottom of this essay-which is an hub of the Obsidian Humor series.  

 

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

Cheney viperiens extremos & the Humor Transplant

 

     Myrth said, “In ClownSchool InterD, we don’t just get to indulge in fugu. There is fugu discipline. Fugu is the expert filleting of the exceedingly poisonous Hypocrisy fish, especially those found in the Religious and Political Oceans of Hubris. Gods alone know that our keen tools and our only wyrd and terrible weapons – Be ye terrified ye 12ftTall Lizards Disguised as Human Beings – our wyrd and terrible weapons are words. It’s necessary and fun to kebab the 12ftTall Lizards. I love weapon-words third only to the silver cat and the feloniously handsome Fuller. But we need to turn sword-words into plowshare words after we’ve welcomed the unfanged and unblinded, reasonably cheerful and modest 12ftTall Lizards back into the gallivanting human family. We need to explore with you students of comedy how people live in the aprèsWar world.

     “First let’s remind ourselves of the three great Greek philosophic constellations of inquiry: metaphysics; epistemology; ethics. Metaphysics deals with what is real. Epistemology with how we know. And ethics with what is good. The epistemology, the how of thinking, being, seeing is a lot of what ClownSchool InterD is about.

    “What do you do when you’re not gnashing your teeth; not wasting obscene sums of money on megalomaniacal weapons systems like the fantasy Missile Nonsense System aka Star Wars; and not lashing out at people who snog a Different Deity than you do?   

    “Sursurprisingly, there is a way to live fruitfully and passionately and cheerfully without waking up in the morning rarin’ to perfect more Schemes to mutilate children.

    “But first, the ClownSchool InterD psybio team works holoday round perfecting the Humor Transplant operation that deflates the crazy hubris of the 12ftTall Lizards to bring them back into genuinely empathetic human scale. The radical and aggressive treatment probably necessary for cheney viperiens extremos is emergency splenectomy. The metastasized spleen just has to be hacked out on the spot—at the bus stop (As if any of them would ever ride a bus!) or at the dinner party with the butter knife or at the humvee sales lot.

   “Hustle ‘em off to the ClownSchool ER and stick an Irony Transfusion IV into the soft skin inside the crook of their left elbow (the one nearest their vestigial heart) and play Mozart, Yo Yo Ma, Bella Fleck, and Hui Ohana til you see them giddy with grin. For a Cheney or Rove equivalent, this treatment could take years.

     “For people in less acute stages of satanically septic Reptilianosis, a course of ironyotherapy treatments are critical to recovery. Severe religiopatriosis is, like stroke, an attack whose redemptive recovery is long term – you’re never cured, you’re always a religiopatrioholic in recovery. The high the 12ftTall Lizards get is so fauxEupho that you have to kiss your left little finger 8x a day at the very least to protect yourself from the toxic effects of the effluvius and supperating contact corruption.

   “ ‘What!?’” you 12ft Lizards cry in unbridled disbelief. ‘What?! kiss your left little finger 8x a day at the very least?’

    “ ‘What!?’ the clowns cry, ‘You’re sharing our supersecret occult ritual with the 12ftTall Lizards Disguised as Human Beings? Not. You can’t. It’s our, well, our thing, our secret handshake.’

   “Shhh. It’s ok. They won’t be 12fttall Lizards any more. Their swollen spleens will be removed or de-inflamed. The kissing the left little finger 8x will help them keep on the yellow brick path to recovery.”

   “Well,” Salma Nella groused, “ok, I guess. I liked having one exclusive thing. They had the Jesus blood-drinking, fleshing-eating thing; cathedrals; heavy bishops’ rings that clunk on your head at your first communion; psalm books; hymn books; stained glass windows. I wanted some gear, some paraphernalia, a hash pipe equivalent or two. But at least our Kiss8 secret. Dammit all, Myrth.” Salma glared. “Oh, ok, go ahead and spill the bloody beans.” 

   “Here goes, ClownSchool InterD clownfants. Kiss8.”

…………….<^>……………..

………….<^>……………..

……

ClownSchool InterDimensional .. Where we learn at the interface between lucid waking & lucid dreaming. And have conscious forays into OtherLand. 

 

From the musical South Pacific, a daring song for the time:

 

“You have to be taught, carefully taught, to hate all the people your relatives hate¹, but you could be taught, carefully taught to dare like a columbus to set sail on the seas of your own art. Nothing could be more of a preposterous chance than those abzurd ships, the Nina, the Pinta. They dared and you can too. And the gold you find by doing your art is more pure and tarnishless than any treasured metal. 

…………….<^>……………..

 

¹ You've got to be taught
To hate and fear
You've got to be taught
From year to Year
It's got to be drummed
in your dear little ear
You've got to be carefully taught

You've got to be taught
To be Afraid
Of people whose eyes
are oddly made
And people whose skin
Is a different shade
You've got to be carefully taught

You've got to be taught
Before it's too late
Before you are 6 or 7 or 8
To hate all the people
your relatives hate
You've got to be carefully taught

from South Pacific 1949

 

………….<^>……………..

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:

http://pogblog.myblogsite.com

6 Water . Muluc . The River . East . tzol 149  10.28.05 fri 

ffwofw 771§8941/24d17h28m25s31.98g5.1g/1115

..

the pro-peace world begins today with you

………….<^>……………

Obsidian Affinity

Obsidian Affinity

 

Sometimes you've been so bleak that you conclude that there is too much tunnel and too little light. Then vicious and cunning Fate arranges a tryst so sweet and funny that you figure you will forgive her one more time for her unfathomable treacheries.

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

Affinity is not on the Periodic Table of Elements. But it is elemental, yes, and sublime in its alchemies. There are all kinds of magnetisms that Science don’t scio, but something keeps the kaleidoscopic patterns of dust adhering to butterflies’ wings through storms. (Touch a wing carelessly and you can see how easily this could be smudged, gratuitously wrecked) – somehow in all our fond and fierce bashing of each other’s sensibilities, the patterns remain pristine, though changed. It is a magic. Obsidian humor. Ours is always an Orpheus and Eurydice story, though who is lost and who is found varies. The dark and the danger, the precipitous, the quicksand, the changes of danger – the flak of ancient stories, the skein of  dreams waiting to be dreamt – the druids invented us and tell our tales, our infinity of affinities, in Faery.

…………….<^>……………..

………….<^>……………..

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:

http://pogblog.myblogsite.com

6 Wind . Ik . Whirlwind . North . tzol 162  11.10.05 thur

ffwofw 185§8941/24d17h28m25s31.98g5.1g/1128

..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you

………….<^>…………….

 

 

Crow-Fly by Synchronicity

obsidian is shinier & blacker than coal .. & never capitulates to diamond.

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

Crow-Fly by Synchronicity

 

    A crow’s wing must read the ebullient air, that grail, like braille? Feeling a bosomy intimate terrain we cannot even see. That crow, my obsidian bird, can see where I’m going, tho I, more landbound, take the, if lucky, meandering route; if not, the jagged route.

    I am well into my third Great Experiment. Certainly the most damned dangerous in daylight terms – I mean, I could get run over by a train I can see.

  The first Great Experiment is chronicled in 800 words in a fable called Justice I find out through 20 years as a window washer that the fortunate super-educated could do their share of the grotty jobs so we would not have to have an invisible undereducated class of which we never speak in order to get the latrines cleaned.

   The second Great Experiment is mostly unchronicled except in the blognoire, the akashic record, a few sketches here on agogblog, and the posthumous papers. An intense and immense decade of my tender battle with Digrif, a demon with whom I’m addicted. (Well, you like breathing too, don’t you?)  Across the timescapes, it is fascinating, elating. Here in this cul-de-sac of time, it is sometimes so painful, my bones bleed. Monde tordu. Wry world. Twisted world. If I only get to keep the memory of one thing, I trade off the possibility of Justice for the whole world for our implausible story, him & me. 

   This Third Experiment is in the dark arts. Not wicked, though wicked people have plied them. Dark like night is dark. It’s a calculated madness. I am navigating the last third of my life by poetry, by synchronicity. Reading the runes. Like the crow’s wing upon the courtesan air, I am allowing myself to be blind to the modern exhortations of necessity. Listening so carefully, watching like the fox the rabbit, or the rabbit the fox, breathing in the hieroglyphs of scents,  I am sensible to the signs – not in some, I like to think,  cult madness, but in a keenness of attention to the poem into which Fate is writing me. The metaphor from the inside.

    It is a certain enchanted view, as we shaman are taught to recognize and endure, and, even, procure. But this is different. More abyss. More quicksand. More much more vertigo.

    To say that synchronicity is a slippery slope is a bad time-rider’s joke. Am I really going to trust quixotic, clearly psychotic-able Fate to laying out clues like crumbs for the little bird? And am I supposed not to end up as rot-swollen body floating face down on the flood-sewage of <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />New Orleans?         

    Writers are used to being in the hand of Fate. When you get your own voice for sure at last, it’s like being knighted. You never need doubt the holy voice again. Soon tho, you realize that you are really an amanuensis for Something Which Speaks. The Ego does not write. It receives, like a pagan communion, the elixir. You are alive in the runes, the 3D of your sentences as they unfurl, the sentiments into images, around you. It is the alchemy.

   But to trust this impulse in your own living story with its bank accounts and rain and culverts as well as the parrots’ feathers is nothing if not risky. It’s being risqué may well not make up for how risky it really is.

     People who deny synchronicity are the wooden people who clodpatedly pay little attention. Synchronicity can be sly. Or Shy. Or bloody undeniable. As an example, a few years back, because of the crush of time, I had decided to stop taping my tv show of twn years, the Rhapsodic Life, where I performed 22nd century philosophic fables. I was very sad. I was parked in the Wells Fargo parking lot, crossed the street to the bakery for a consoling banana nut muffin, and as I passed the windows at the back of the store, this woman came running out of the store and grasped my hand with both hers, and said, “Your show saved my life.” Well, I guess I’m not quitting my show,” I laughed to myself. Manypoem (the multi-verse) can give you answers or nudges or kicks in the trousers, but 30 seconds later? It was compelling.

    Earlier this evening as I was fending off a bout of (financial) panic, actually behind this same bakery I swear – a vortex I guess & I haven’t been there in six months – the car which had pulled up next to mine had the license plate QUNTUM. Those of you who follow pogblog know that this Quantum motif is all over the blog. Quantum Schools etc. The thing that is hard to describe objectively is the precision and intimacy these bigger synchron moments can have.

    As you hang on a vine over the edge of a cliff, you say ok ok, I won’t panic yet.

    (I’d appreciate it if you don’t pipe in with rational advice because it only spooks me from the wild path I’m going to explore. I am convinced that as we clamber along in this next decade more & more sychron will appear and the parallel worlds will interinfluence each other more consciously. I’m a scout. Always have been a scout.)

 

Clearly there is gonna be a lot more about DUIS – driving [a life] under the influence of synchronicity, but I gotta go write some bilious romantic nonsense to Digrif.    

 

…………….<^>……………..

………….<^>……………..

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:

http://pogblog.myblogsite.com

9 The Road . Eb . Grass . Rattlesnake Tooth . South . tzol 152  10.31.05 mon

ffwofw 913§8941/24d17h28m25s31.98g5.1g/1118

..

the pro-peace world begins today with you

………….<^>…………….  

Rosa Parks. Weasel TV. .. from the sublime to the silly

Rosa Parks. Weasel TV.

.. from the sublime to the silly

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

I was writing some stuff to some swell folks in the bloggosphere & I realized it was the kernel of stuff I wanted to share with you dear pogblog readers. The way the bloggosphere works is that you may write a Comment about something sublime and then in a few moments about something sublimely silly. That’s why I like it, the O'Sphere. It, like life itself, is fractal. We like to tidy up our memories into faux linearities. These two pieces met at the same dawn while I’m drinking organic <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />darjeeling tea and eating 72% chocolate. That is vie.   

 

I’m still up for dawn; not getting up.

 

 ,,,,,,<^>…………

Rosa Parks Dared.

 

I grew up on a farm on the Eastern Shore of Maryland in the Fifties. There were the water fountains with 'Colored' & 'White.' The only place a traveling 'negro' family might rest their head along the several hundred miles on the Big Highway was down a dusty dirt road with a peeled and faded sign — not even Dew Drop Inn, but only 'Colored.' What most folks not from those places or times cannot begin to imagine was how utterly brave 'just staying seated' was in those years.

 

Some might say Ms. Parks is remembered “solely for refusing to give in to injustice” — there is no “solely” about it. 'Nice' southern white men could be so suddenly vicious, she could well have been followed off the bus and beaten to death or raped. The bitter meanness of many of the white people with whom I grew up is all but untranslatable in our time now. The gracious, mint-julep-sipping southern gentleman would turn into a slavering pitbull if crossed by a 'colored' person. It was jekyll-&-hyde.

 

You can see in the wonderful pictures of Ms. Parks in her youth how grounded she was. There are few enough among us who would possibly have dared to “sit our ass down” in a society like the underbelly of the American South back then. The things I saw 'nice' upper middle-class white people do and heard them say in those years were bloodcurdling. There was no recrimination whatever for perpetrating the vilest of the Shadow upon 'colored' people. It was terrifying and disgusting. (Think Abu Ghraib being done by your neighbors & nobody blinking an eye.)

 

Having done a fair amount of civil disobedience, I can tell you that the hardest thing is to just not move. Where is the three-square-feet of  the United States of America where you will take your stand as you are surrounded by policemen in black exo-skeletons and 2 ft long night sticks? It's the quintessence of non-violent action, not moving, but if you're standing, your knees go to jelly. Those kind of 'authorities' are very used to having intimidation 'work.' It not working is a real big threat to their pipsqueak bully self-grandiosity.

 

What Rosa Parks did was not just thrust upon her. She deeply dared. I will always be inspired by her turning rage into courage. Thank you Rosa Parks.

 

We surely must 'continue the work.'

……..

For Rosa Parks, please see chancelucky & Natalie Davis.

 

 …….<^>………………

Weasel TV

I had a nice flashback to my 5 years of doing televised improv with ordinary people off the street. I was talking to chancelucky's blog about saying that what he called re BushCo as Surreal Life should be SursurReal Life. I haven't quite coined a term for weirderthanDali or morepitchforksinrumpsthanbosch, but we're definitely there with these skincrawling lizards.

 

As for names like Chuzzlewit, Dickens is in a tie with Tobias Smollett (a heck of a name itself) for Name God. Smollett has Roderick Random & Peregrine Pickle. (On my Improv show, Weasel TV, my doppelganger Dame Polly Pickle [pronounced pick-kell] was a tip of the hat to Smollett as well as to Dame Edna & Hyacinth Bucket pronounced Boo-kay. Apropos of nothing, Weasel TV was the first galactic TV channel, as CNN was the first global one. We had time travel facilities and a lot of other cool stuff. We would go back and interview the babysitter of Genghis Khan & so 4th.)

 

One of my favorite planets we visited with Weasel TV facilities was the planet Nedrag (‘garden’ backwards for the anagramically impaired). On the Planet Nedrag, they had Zoos of Humans. We had two humans on and two of their zoo trainers. The Sentients on Nedrag were pretty disgusted by the hairless bipeds, but they enjoyed watching them mate (a la PBS documentaries, all very tasteful and narrated by deep-toned famous people you can’t quite recognize) They also like to watch the humans and eat and lie slothfully around. The Nedraggians would toss them peanuts — and cucumbers for some odd alien planet reason.

 

Dame Polly who uses my body when she visits, but likes hats and lipstick and enormous pink plastic shoes, is richer than TrumpGatesPerotTurner all in one bank account. Her cause celebre was Two, Then Adopt, a meme she promoted for a long time to get around some women’s baby addictions – Raise all you can afford if that’s your gig, but only two flesh + blood kids.   

 

I used to think we on Weasel were outre — but that was before the BushCo Administration came a long as a Category 666 of bizarre. Of course we were never in competition. We had a lock on warm-hearted & pithy outlandish. They have a lock on coldhearted kukluxklan without the sheets.

   

A friend the other day said, “Well, they, [the Bushoids], really haven’t got this oppression thing perfected yet. They don’t have the SS.”

 

I said, “Merde, man, they don’t need the SS. They got malls, football, and Humvees to keep people exhausted and drugged. You don’t need the SS when transmitting the Bread & Circuses directly into the home is so dead-cert easy. Honesty in blogalism, I am a pro-football nut having been a Johnny-Unitas Colts fan and a 49er fan in the glory years. Malls have just never gotten me, but not because I have any virtue, probably more because I don’t have any money.

 

Humvees. Well, the first Humvee is a felony. The 2nd Hummer is death penalty, against which I am in most other circumstances. (People who chew gum are on the cusp death penalty-wise.) Orange Arnold Schwarzenegger (orange from too many years of ManTan) has 8 Humvees, so poor ole Dante has to take a break from Heavenly concourse with Beatrice to invent a new and special circle of Hell for Arnold. What woeful oceanic inadequacy must a man feel who must have the ultimate codpiece vehicle, a Humvee? And eight of them?  Welcome to Planet Asylum where the inmates clearly are running the whole hebang. Duck & cover.

 

ps. Remember, those of us who wield Ridicule do win in the end eventually someday not soon enough but never despair because despair is never a lollipop flavor.

 

…………….<^>……………..

………….<^>……………..

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:

http://pogblog.myblogsite.com

4 Deer . Manik . West . tzol 147  10.26.05 wed 

ffwofw 662§8941/24d17h28m25s31.98g5.1g/1112

..

the pro-peace world begins today with you

………….<^>…………….