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Compulsory Cannibalism

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Compulsory Cannibalism

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

     They have their reasons.

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

 

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

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

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

 

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

 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

 

 ∞∙∞∙∙∞∙∞∙∞∙∙∞∙∞∙∞∙∙∞∙∞∙∞∙∙∞∙

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Save Juan Smith #1999.

 

pogblog

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

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The Shame Game .. Rove's Greeding Heart

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The Shame Game

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Dear Fellow Bleeding Hearts,

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

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

     Katrina washed our own people up on our shores.

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

 

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

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

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Cogism ..

 

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

.

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

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

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copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved

Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:

http://pogblog.myblogsite.com

4 Rabbit . Lamat . South .  tzol 108  09.17.05 sat 

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FAKE Katrina Commission Action

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FAKE Katrina Commission .. Action Alert

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

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

 

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

 

Clik link for email page:

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

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

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

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

 

 

sample email:

FAKE KATRINA COMMISSION

 

Dear Anna —

 

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

 

Thanks,

Wendy

wfleet@yahoo.com

650-966-1542

 

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sample email in simple html:

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<b>FAKE</b> KATRINA COMMISSION

<br>

<br>

Dear Anna —

<br>

<br>

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

<br>

<br>

Thanks,

Wendy

wfleet@yahoo.com

650-966-1542

 

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

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

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3 Deer . Manik . West . tzol 107  09.16.05 fri 

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I Blame Us For Duffism

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I Blame Us for Duffism

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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See also:

Squawk & Re-Squawk.

The Eloquent Lamentors;

Do One Small Thing;

Dimensions of a PeaceSign;

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

………….<^>……………..

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3 Deer . Manik . West . tzol 107  09.16.05 fri 

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Evil Ain't Always Bad

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Evil Ain’t Always Bad   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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2 Death . Cimi . Twins . North . tzol 106  09.15.05 thur

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Jesus & Jesusia

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 Jesus & Jesusia

 

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

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

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

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

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

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to be continued    

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1 Serpent . Chicchan . East . tzol 105  09.14.05 wed

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The Rot at Capitalism’s Core

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The Rot at Capitalism’s Core

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

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13 Lizard . Kan . South . tzol 104  09.13.05 tues 

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Top 12% .. Bottom 12%

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Top 12% .. Bottom 12%

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      Shame. It is time to say Shame.  

 

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

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#2 Quicksilver Quips, Tidbits, Obsidians, Halcyons 091105

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

#2 QuQuTiObsHa

 

#2 Quicksilver Quips, Tidbits, Obsidians, Halcyons 09.11.05

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

  

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

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

 

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

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Rev Shanks sez Destruction Shows God's Mercy

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

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

 


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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

© 2005 AgapePress all rights reserved

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


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

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for the unvarnished article: 

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

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