Matthews/DeLay Muck; new Google feature request; McCain KoolAid; & Etc

Matthews/DeLay Muck; new Google feature request; McCain KoolAid; & Etc

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Polemics & Poetics of the week

by pogblog, hither & yon,

out & about in BlogLand

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to Nemesis of Evil about elections, local & otherwise:

Not only must one stick velcroically to Talking Points, but the Points can't be longer than what fits in a fortune cookie. And more than two Points is stretching the ability of your audience to recall at all. Sigh.

 

“A Bumper Sticker trumps an Essay every time.” (from some weaselly but correct political operative)

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to chancelucky  on his piece on immigration as the child of illegal immigrants:

Chancelucky, you “… believe strongly in a minimum wage and working conditions standards for all countries …” We clearly have to fight the union fights for a [global] middle class all over again.

 

Some of the 104 million dollars per minute we're spending on the Military Budget would go a long toward schooling & health caring & clean airing & dwelling your grandchildren.

 

Is Reagan declaring from the grave, “Mr. Bush, tear down this wall”?

 

Is the wall going to be electrified? What have we come to?

 

If we spent all this massive Wall 'n War Money building up social systems in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Mexico, in Iraq, in Africa, & our own country too, we could have a widely prosperous world.

 

(I just saw that 40% of house purchases are going for “2nd homes.” How in any world can we give tax breaks on a 2nd house before everyone has one house? And how come homeowners can take their dwelling expenses off their taxes and renters can not? It would certainly help renters to build up a down payment for house #1 if they could take a good portion of their rent off their taxes.)

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to Chris Matthews (hardball@msnbc.com) re Matthews' loathsome sycophanting with Slime Prince, Mr. DeLay:

Dear Chris,

 

I've had my share of political disappointments & horrors (JFK was shot on my 19th birthday for starters), but this obsequious chat you had with Tom DeLay off camera broke my heart. I could not imagine you brownnosing to any politician like that least of all a megalomaniac like Mr.DeLay.

 

You're supposed to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable in your morality, aren't you? It isn't a partisan thing, but a power thing.

 

“I owe you one, no, I owe you two,” you fawningly say to Mr. DeLay after being snide about Hillary. I felt sick.

 

I would have been appalled but I was suddenly too exhausted to be appalled. Exhausted with all you expensive suits who have forgot their roots and want to be 'inside' so bad that you lose your bearings. Judith Miller was bad enough — et tu Chris Matthews?

 

I've watched you every day for years. I feel such dismay — and betrayal really. I thought you were a journalist not a toady.

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4-6-06 2:10:57 am

On Salon to Farhad Manjoo re McCain's loss of integrity:

Perhaps you missed Jon's [Stewart’s] interview on the very same show with the real authentic person, Studs Terkel. Studs said a democracy is about being able to say “Bugger off” to the sycophants, to the totalitarians of patriotism or of theism — that if he met George Bush he could (& would) say, “Bugger off!”

 

Well, John McCain should say “Bugger off!” to Mr. Falwell, a vicious weasel who has no credibility with any half-decent person. How can you cut McCain slack for this?

 

Bush is the guy who approved disgusting racist push-poll phoning against McCain in South Carolina, yet McCain was running around the recent Republican gathering in Memphis (Where is St. Patrick when we need him?) saying that Republicans had to support Bush now that he's low in the polls, vote for him in the straw poll instead of for me. This is lower than a lizard's belly on the Integrity-o-Meter.

 

McCain is a KoolAid salesman with a conservative voting record in Congress. 'Hugging' Bush? There are things you cannot do and still be called a person of integrity. Note the 'grit' in integrity. It isn't easy — that's why the word is so hallowed. For Mr. McCain, it's become hollowed.

 

'Hugging' McCain when he's winking at the truly loathsome Falwell is embarrassing for Stewart and for you. Mr. Falwell is cut from Ku Klux Klan cloth of putrid hatefulness.

 

 How many lizard-belly-slitheringly-low expediencies does Mr. Forked-Tongue-Talk McCain have to perpetrate for you fellas to remember your spines and say, however wistfully, “Bugger off, John!”

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4-4-06 3:41:17 pm/

to MMOB Mainstreet Moms Opposed to Bush:

 

Dear Sarah,

 

If phones aren’t your bailiwick, could you forward this to whomever bleeds online phone banks? Thanks!!

 

CLEAN UP PHONE LISTS EARLY

 

I did a huge amount of phoning for MMOB both early & for GOTV in 2004. I am desperate to talk to someone at MMOB about getting the Lists cleaned up early!!!! I was phoning in Florida & Ohio for GOTV and the Lists were still FILTHY with moved & dead people & disconnected numbers.

 

This cleaning up of deadwood must be done early to maximize our effect for GOTV. (I have done a lot of professional political phone bank work for the Democrats & for non-partisan issues.) We should explain to our phoners how essential this seemingly tedious cleaning up of Lists is AND how essential IDing your voters is and letting them know how much their single vote counts.

 

It isn't about persuasion, it's about IDing & motivating. Most amateurs don't know this.

 

I believe phoning in the key states is the most important single activity we can do. I'd give an arm to be able to talk to your phone bank people. I was shocked at how dirty the lists were on the last weekend and the last few days.

 

(I was THRILLED to be able to have lists on the computer to call out of state. Procuring and managing the key-state phone lists is the name of the game in 2006.)

 

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4-4-06 3:04:13 pm

A Request to Google for a New Feature:

Dear GMail & Google .. I desperately and many times every day long for ANOTHER AutoFill on my Google toolbar if that's the correct phrase for that thin strip with AutoFill and Options etc.

 

The AutoFill that's there would be what it is. (I use mine for popping in my gmail sign-in name.)  The SECOND MAGIC AUTOFILL (AutoFill2) would have a little dropdown menu and one could set it up for extra email names & other names or words or phrases that one is having to pop in here and there on the web (Like my website url, for example!!!) that are a gigantic pain in the large hinder parts to type & type & type tediously and annoyingly. As I go the rounds of commenting on various websites, I'm always having to type in my darn url & if I just had an AutoFill macro do this for me, it would end all kinds of aggro and I would have left the Isle of Shadows for the Isle of Apples & DeLight. (Five more phrases would be five million times better than now. If we could go for zetta-bliss, 8-10 phrases would end the present triage: “Which phrase or name or url do I actually waste my time typing the MOST?.)

 

PLease, please, please. Everyone would LOVE it.

 

[I can be even more specific about what I think would work wonderfully if you wish. It's very clear in my mind how to make it sleek.]

 

Thanks,

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4-4-06 2:43:45 am/ on chancelucky on Gross Domestic Product:

Until someone dares to speak of the 563 billion lb gorilla in the room, the true 3rd rail of USA politics, the Military Budget, your children will be impoverished to stuff the maw of greed and fear.

 

Religion and the Military Budget tragically delay the enlightenment of common sense and common wealth around the world.

 

Gosh, the RFK quote takes me back. When I think of the dreams he came to have, the alchemy from his life of privilege, compared to these Present Menaces, I weep again.

 

The sun does return tho. We gotta keep our hearts bright.(And our satiric knives sharp! It's satire or despair, so hip hip for pithy.)

RFK quote: “What the Gross National Product means and more importantly what it does not mean”

“Too much and too long, we seem to have surrendered community excellence and community values in the mere accumulation of material things. Our gross national product … if we should judge America by that – counts air pollution and cigarette advertising, and ambulances to clear our highways of carnage. It counts special locks for our doors and the jails for those who break them. It counts the destruction of our redwoods and the loss of our natural wonder in chaotic sprawl. It counts napalm and the cost of a nuclear warhead, and armored cars for police who fight riots in our streets. It counts Whitman's rifle and Speck's knife, and the television programs which glorify violence in order to sell toys to our children.

“Yet the gross national product does not allow for the health of our children, the quality of their education, or the joy of their play. It does not include the beauty of our poetry or the strength of our marriages; the intelligence of our public debate or the integrity of our public officials. It measures neither our wit nor our courage; neither our wisdom nor our learning; neither our compassion nor our devotion to our country; it measures everything, in short, except that which makes life worthwhile. And it tells us everything about America except why we are proud that we are Americans.”

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4-2-06 4:35:19 pm .. Mr. Bush et Ilk & Power

Power is the crack cocaine of emotions. No one on this green Earth has ever smoked power as pure as Darth Dick & insecure GW. It makes George feel so strong and so right. Dare he look in the mirror & see all the ghosts of the dead behind him and their weeping families? Or the folks without pensions or living wages or the slower terror of no-health care?

 

He is blinded by all the hailing to the chiefs and the carefully sycophantish audiences.

 

He forgets that the president in the United States is supposed to be a citizen servant.

 

I ask myself if when he isn't president, do you see him tirelessly going around the world trying to get clean water for poor people or conquer the horrible guinea worm like Carter and Clinton who mean this serving thing? Nah, I don't see it.

 

The Constitution isn't about service to Mr. Bush (except lip service), it's about power. He's an addict. You can see the buzz, the twitching around him. He isn't comfortable in his own skin in spite of what they say about him.

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4-2-06 3:58:52 pm

to gsmso, GoldStar Mom Speaks Out 

 

I reckon we're in the Last Stage of the Throes of Final  Desperation.

 

I am haunted & haunted by Vietnam's Ho Chi Minh's saying, “We will fight you for 300 years. We live here.”

 

As (self-seen benevolent) imperialists, we do not comprehend the ill-clothed cheaply-armed single-minded patriots (from their own point of view) tho we were that ourselves against the hugely better-armed and better- trained English back at our beginnings.

 

And these folks, gee, you can't even win their hearts & minds with dreams of USA teeshirts & ipods & scantily-clad starlets. All our hard & soft weapons are essentially useless or offensive.

 

I wish I could trust the darn 60% to hold fast, gsmso. I fear that at the slightest subway blast, they'll all leap back on the xenophobic, uberpatriot bandwagon. Then GigaDick & Ilk will mutter darkly, “I told you so” even tho they probably planted the bombs themselves. I don't trust the 60% yet.

 

I remember being in the lonely 10% back in the winter of 2002-2003 and being cursed & reviled by these very people. This new additional 50% have got to hold out against the best propaganda machine in the hisherstory of the universe.

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4-2-06 3:39:57 pm Why we are baffled by the Present Menaces

The Cheney Rose! Now that's funny. The difficulty is in our imaginations. We cannot imagine people this loathsome. And if we could, we certainly can't imagine them as our leaders. They really are protected by our credulity, by our naive inattention and simple beliefs.

 

There may be cracks in the Masks of Myth (cue Star-Spangled Banner, cut to backlit waving flags) at last. 

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4-1-06 9:49:51 pm To a friend about changing my walk-about sign from Teach Peace to Dream Peace:

 

One of my handful of cause celebres for my Golden Years(of hard labor, no pension, no health care, but at least I can write about it!!!!) is the Integration of Lucid Waking & Lucid Dreaming. By changing the sign, I get to bring up my fortune cookie on peace ('Did you know we're spending $820,000 per minute on the Military Budget. Imagine if we spent some of that on education instead') and broach the notion of dreaming as a resource. (Like for Einstein & Edison & Mozart. Mozart got his symphonies “whole” from “lively dreams.”) 

 

Dreaming is the one resource the sonsabitching corporations can't control and exploit. We each can learn to dream lucidly and actively just like we learn to ride bikes or read black squiggles on white paper. It is really just holographic reading. I imagine every parent and friend asking “How was your night at school?” in the morning.

 

A recent piece on pogblog speaks to this lucid waking/lucid dreaming project. Fort Mason Gate — Dreams & Worlds Unfurl. 

 

Anyhow, having learned to “market” awareness of peace with a sign on a stick, I thought I'd get both my causes on one sign. I still need to design & tweak the fortune cookie for the dreaming pitch, but I've found the way to do it is crossing the street at a green light with someone who has asked about the sign. Gets you to have the elevator pitch really trimmed down.

 

The new sign is actually an increase in optimism because I know lucid/active dreaming is the next technology for the planet. And this one money can't control — which makes me giddy with In Your Left Ear Filthy Capitalist Pigs Joy.

 

I was so happy when I grokked getting both Rabid Joys on one sign that I did a little softshoe. Almost as droll as the old hag, the greybeard loon, wandering like the Ancient Mariner with a sign on a stick buttonholing hapless Wedding Guests & holding them with glittering eye — “Dream!” — “Peace!”

 

Grok on ..

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4-1-06 7:43:22 pm .. an answer re Pamela P. Willesford’s Diary

As soon as this inflammatory Diary material gets wider distribution and KRaven KRove sees it, the diabolical wheels will begin turning to wipe Switzerland off the map as a diversion from GiganDick's infernal liaisons and to test the 700 bunker bustin' bombs on real citizens — I mean collateral damages.

 

I mean who's gonna get riled up if Switzerland is scorched? We have no plans for after the armageddonizing. Do you really imagine serious sectarian violence in Switzerland? The Zwingliists smiting the Calvinists? KRaven KRove doesn't want us to bother planning for the post Mission Accomplished phase. It's all a video game to him anyhow.

 

That pesky Pamela is the first chink in the Cheney armor tho. Once the Pamela P. Willesford’s Diary gets syndicated, the cheneyempire will begin its slow-mo implosion fall.

 

I'm proud to have contributed the shove to the first domino. Tho clearly I won't live long after they find out who first published the document. It's worth dying, tho, for the freedom of my fellow citizens from corporate & religious totalitarianisms. 

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4-1-06 6:53:07 pm on chancelucky’s piece about American Idol:

Twin Towers of Babel in current Iraq, apparently — or is it Triplet Towers of ships passing in the night firing on one another? ( Shia, Sunni, Kurds.)

 

Iran-Contra seems so Little League compared with these Present Villains. I mean Poindexter — dusted by Karl Rove. Well, who isn't? (Ollie North isn't even a KRaven KRove wannabe. And the Present ZettaVillains have a real odd dearth of Fawn Hall types — except now at last for the matahariesque Pamela P. Willeford)

 

As for Yeats, his Second Coming has always been the definitive modern poem: “And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?” To keep us up to date, for Bethlehem read Babylon & instead of Nero fiddling while Rome burns, we watch American Idol?

 

(That may sound a little arch & I don't mean it to — I obsess over Stewart, Colbert, & Rose & that eats into my protesting time & writing satire time just as much.)

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on chancelucky re American Idol #9

How truly peculiar. I have never seen AmId.(AI to me is a swell movie by Steven.)

Reading your usual articulate description of something I know nothing whatever about is a disorienting experience.

First, you have a *27″* TV?? I guess that explains why I'm in the stone age. Watching a show must look as if you're watching a tennis match with that much screen space to keep track of.

This experience makes me realize what it must be like for The Young to hear us talk about Kennedy or Carter or Yeats or Iran-Contra etc. Like, Who in the heck are they talking about & what does it mean and why does it matter?

It's sobering & revealing to be so out of the loop with no visual or type or relative-meaning references. It's hard to gauge when you're being sly or being sly but not really etc.

I have no idea who you're inventing or insulting or if you're insulting. It's an interesting experience.

It's like a Tower of [Articulate] Babel.

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3-29-06 3:56:34 pm pog on pog dlareme

Inner emeralds can be abundant.

 

And, actually, if you think of the constellations of jewels shining under your feet wherever you walk, there are an abun-dance of emeralds. Use your third, fourth, & fifth eyes. Quel frisson!

 

Then again, one emerald would be enough to suffice for eternity.

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to a friend re privacy on the internet

3-26-06 4:23:06 pm/ The first thing that occurs to me fundamentally about identity is “facetted.” And that's probably truest metaphysically anyhow? Certainly there needs to be a core privacy and anonymity that is protected, but it is freeing to be able to splash around without all the baggage of a lifetime of calcification of an identity one may not be identical with. An identity as work of art begun not by one's parent but by oneself is interesting and an unexpected adventure. Perhaps this should be stated overtly? — but I think most people realize that the blog world is this art facet of self. faceted       

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3-26-06 3:05:04 am/ goldstar mom speaks out re Mr. Bush at Press Conferences

I'm glad you brought up the bizarrely inappropriate laughing and the squirming [of Mr. Bush at Press Conferences]. There's also the rude pointing and the lurching forward onto an elbow on the podium with the chin jutting out. All of this incongruent behavior is the guilty and barely suppressed unconscious writhing to get out and finally tell a truth. It's like he's trying to hang on to an inner eel.

 

He does a good job of caricaturing himself. If I had a boss who acted that disconcertingly and dangerously disconnected, I'd quit.

 

I can't quit my country though.

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

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

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Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

copyright pogblog 2006 all rights reserved

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12 Monkey . Chuen . Raccoon . West . tzol 50  04.08.06 sat

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the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

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

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Stage of Desperation .. Dick Cheney

Stage of Desperation .. Dick Cheney

 

03.19.06

 

On Face the Nation this Sunday, Cheney says that [the terrorists] “have reached a stage of desperation.”

 

Can one's bones crawl? The man is so crazy — not metaphorically, but clinically, rubberroom, straitjacket sociopath really nuts — and he has nuclear bombs he can, like, actually use and Iran is pissing him off.

 

This “have reached a stage of desperation” statement is so darkly and deeply deluded, so precise and perfect a projection that one squeams and screams. 

 

This is a case example of  projection so fine and delicate and complete, it's like finding a fossil of some extinct, rumored giant insect captured in midflight in amber. It's so frightening so creepy that I should turn into a pillar of salt just having glimpsed it. The idea that they have “reached a stage of desperation” is so delusional that one's breath is stopped like being kicked in the stomach.

 

This is the day when we know with no doubt that Cheney is completely unmoored from reality. 

 

Be very afraid. This man is unwell in the uber-extreme.

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

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

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Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

copyright pogblog 2006 all rights reserved

Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:

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6 The Road . Eb . Grass . Rattlesnake Tooth . South . tzol 31  03.20.06 mon

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the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

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

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President George Bush Gives His Foot to the War Effort

President George Bush Gives His Foot to the War Effort

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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.

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

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

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Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved

Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:

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

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the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

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

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Paint Your House With Anti-War Slogans

There's a guy in our town who paints the side of his house with foot high-lettered  imprecations towards his pet-peeve city council persons. In blood-red paint. Of course we all think he's crazy.

 

Lately however, the reason I most wish I owned my rented house for is that I could then paint the side of my house with $820,000 per minute/Military Budget and an extra $200,000 per minute/Iraq budget.  

I talked to a singing teacher today and I realized that we could afford a lush and individual and astonishing education for every child in this country IF we spent 1/2 the money we spend on destruction on the real defense of our country which is superb education.

We are stupidly cutting out all the smart stuff like singing and drawing and small classes which give all kids a rich chance to get hooked on the drug of learning.

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Note — I've managed to counter-fortune-cookie a few of their memes.

'Stay the course' I have made 'Stay the STUPID course?'

 

Cut & run — Leave when the Mission's Accomplished —  May 01, 2003.

 

Support our Troops — We urgently support our troops coming home intact of life and limb.

 

To the death penalty advocates who blow off Jesus' radical ideas of turning the other cheek and loving your enemies — Remember that eternity is very long. Every thing is going to exactly happen to you that you wished & perpetrated upon others, directly or by proxy. Imagine this deeply before you forsake mercy. 

 

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Education

& Electric Perception Outwit War

   

    When you look back from Y3000, it’s clear that what saved us from war, from state-sanctioned human sacrifice, was, as it is in Y3000, art and perception, an electric perception. Art-thirst replaces blood-thirst. Seeing art, doing art. And when we let loose all that art on the Planet, it shines pearlescent all the way to the FarStars.

    The following fable, Gwatwareg, is as close as I can get in words to showing you the thinking of & the feeling of the integration of lucid waking with lucid dreaming — the rhapsody, the woven song of day and dream, electric perception. Education and fate, ole sly Fat E, brought me this present, this man made of night.  

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Gwatwareg

 

    Falling heels over head for Gwatwareg was dumb and dangerous. Like taking a shine to plutonium. Too hot and pitilessly radiant for my soul to survive. I knew that coming doom with a Damascus-sword-keen clarity. A knowledge which slowed my plummet not one whit. The splat was going to be inevitable and gut-strewn; one could only hope to prolong the oh-I-understand-why-Leda-submitted freefall.

     By the way, the legendary Damascus-steel alloy contained glass and other now-mystery elements, and it is said that a true <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Damascus sword edge can cut even an evanescent waft of silk cloth in half before it can fall to the ground.

    In the worlds of dark matter, my lucifer, Gwatwareg has invented, displays, inhabits a force après-magnetism — an exotic, erotic field within which I was transfixed. If holomusic were a fountain upon which one magic-carpetily floated, it felt like that, the force of him – symphonically buoyant.

    It’s like in the ocean, all waves are attached to the whole sea, the mighty wave at Mavericks and the ripple in a fjord near the Artic Circle. Gwatwareg’s humor was an ocean like that with many moods and many beaches all at once. Perhaps I didn’t submit so much as I was immersed? Does a fish submit to the sea?

    All the flame in a forest fire, if you were within it, not the pain but the vermilion motion: In a vast forest of maples in the Spring, before the white man poisonously came, the sweet rising of all that sap: Gwatwareg was irresistible. It was more like photosynthesis than like magnetism, his alchemy: there was an exchange of sunlight for apples or buttered corn. He was a devil, the devil, and I denied him nothing. My soul was the least of it; the origami of my soul was the least of it.

    When the most ancient amoeba in an unbroken chain through all those aeons of midnights became me, I gave him all that evolution; that resolution; that luck.

    Under the ocean, in the rivers too there are at least three million, seven hundred & forty-three thousand pearls gleaming snugly in the odd gluck of oysters and all that pearl light is what illuminated the first night we made love after all the centuries of implacable rutting. He wanted a kind of terrible truth from you before you caught a unicorn-glimpse of his actual strange honor.

    He seemed made of darkness, of night, but then he moved and you saw he was a panther. He was feline. The droit de seigneur. The languor, the outright imperial laziness. Obsidian, the color of panthers, his humor never missed the perfect quick attack. Falling heels over head for Gwatwareg was dumb and dangerous, but I never had a choice.

 

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See gwatwareg & Leda & droit de seigneur & après-magnetism below

& Check pogblog’s Glossary for other brave & nefarious words.

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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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copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved
Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:
http://pogblog.blogharbor.com
9 Monkey . Chuen . Raccoon . West . tzol 191  12.09.05 fri   
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the education-obsessed world begins today with you
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gwatwareg means irony in Welsh;
droit de seigneur means ‘the right of the king’ & refers to the right of the king to have the wedding-night virginity of any vassal’s wife or of any slave girl any night.
après-magnetism means after-magnetism or post-magnetism;
 
In the sentence fragment above,  “…one could only hope to prolong the oh-I-understand-why-Leda-submitted freefall,” Leda was a maiden in Greek story who was ravished by Zeus in the guise of a great swan most memorably immortalized in one of Yeats’ most famous poems, Leda & the Swan: 

A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
                                        Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?

William Butler Yeats

Machiavelli, Karlsputin Rove, & Dick

Machiavelli, Karlsputin Rove, & Dick

 

The key to AllPolitics (this is the Niccolo Machiavelli Standard, NMS, the political gold standard) is the fortune cookie and the acronym. Put it in a fortune cookie if you must be so prolix. “No new taxes” is a classic. Stupidissimo to the max, but velcroaic.

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Better tho is an acronym: WMD. Without WMD, we would never have gone to that quagsand war. Even a phrase or a word would have saved us all this chaos and blood. An acronym makes even stupid people feel in the know. Once you're an insider around the water cooler, you will countenance awful things — think fraternity initiations on steroids.

 

Now the gloss on the above. Niccolò was remarkably savvy. He knew how to codify wickedness or ruthlessness. He was kind of the satanic Hammurabi. The Perfect Pragmatist sans coeur. (Not that ole Hammurabi was warm & fuzzy. For instance: “The witness who testifies falsely is to be slain.” So ‘Bye bye, KarlBoy.’)

 

The Present Menaces are the genetic offspring of  the Inquisitor DNA Line and the Machiavelli DNA Line. They are half-living and half-dead which is why their auras are so grimy. I have described looking at them with eye3 as if one were seeing an oatmealy churn of clotted white Styrofoam particles with the ends of barbed wire floating in the turgid mix. In Dreamer’s Book of the Dead, Robert Moss describes the heavy energy of the unquiet dead as “dense energy stuff that looks to inner sight like gray, used chewing gum.”  In the gluck I’ve seen around Mr. Cheney, the key quality is its foul opacity – it is designed to hide and as one’s blood congeals in response, one fears to imagine what that sluggish though vigilant opacity conceals?

 

Power makes right. If you (Dick) are doing it – even torture – it is ispso facto right. Might makes right is a snazzier phrase, but misleading. These folks are largely in the shadows. It’s not the trumpets of armies, but an orchestrated secret ruthlessness that is the hallmark of their method. Make no mistake — Mr. Cheney is the Villain in Chief. No psychiatrist would not recoil if they could see the sociopath Mr. Cheney has become. He sees and feels himself beyond any normal moral rules. He can break the rules for ‘our own good.’ And he gets to decide which rules and when. Tyrants were always thus. They know better than we what’s good for us. If only we could see what they (madly) see, we would understand.

 

Mr. Cheney is apparently very convincing. I read a New Yorker article some years back. The author said he walked out of the first interview thinking what a fine fellow Mr. Cheney was, Until he got home and read his notes and saw the unspeakable things Mr. Cheney had said. Mr. Cheney has had Mr. Bush upon an hypnotic leash. (Anyone but his own father, whom Mr. Bush despises — unconsciously because his mother despises George1. She thinks of her husband as a weakling, a kind of daff.) George is thinking that Mr. Cheney seems fallible with the Gigantic Mess in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Iraq. That he George could set out on his own, sans Karl, sans Dick. This is very dangerous too because most of the information which has been poured into George’s ear for years has come from a man avalanchedly going mad. (Note that life-long friend Scowcroft tellingly says he doesn’t recognize Mr. Cheney anymore.)

 

George’s quasi-independence, if it transpires, will not be a pretty thing to watch. He will not have moderation, balance, and sense. He’ll lurch too far in one direction and either obdurately stay on the false course or overcorrect. He is not independently developed as a personality. He has been a puppet and a husk, liking the post 9-11 adulation. He may feed upon the military venues, but his façade such as it was is busted and he is a spoiled adolescent – a popinjay — at best. He is more impressed by himself than he has earned.

 

I want to get to fortune cookies and acronyms, but that’ll have to wait for another night.

 

WMD .. Worms Make Dirt.  

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3 Serpent . Chicchan . East . tzol 185  12.03.05 sat

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the education-obsessed world begins today with you

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Dream With George Bush

Dream With George Bush

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I had a long dream in which I was being nice to George Bush. No, no, not biblically nice. We were alone in a rustic place. I was talking to him about the original simple palaver of radical Jesus before it got all hyped up with the poison of power. And most poignantly I was talking about Ho Chi Minh, the winning <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Vietnam general, saying, “We live here. We would have fought you for 300 years.” Mr. Bush said, “He said that?”

 

What surprised me was how kind and warm I was – genuinely diplomatic – a whole lot more diplomatic than I feel in DayLand. I touched his shoulder and held his hand. Good for me for putting the cause of peace before the vain desire for vengeance.

 

You’d have to grok the rabidity of my disdain for the zealoted Mr. Bush to ingest the alchemical slow shock Day-I felt at Other-I’s diplomacy. It was a lesson, no question, to inhabit-observe a more sweetly and deeply accomplished self. I haven’t figured out what to do with it yet. Day-I is still fraught with venom. Other-I was sincere. It wasn’t an act she was using for purposes. Day-I did manage to anti-heisenbergally not interfere with all my pent-up umbrage and recoiling. The chance to do a purer act for peace was clearly too profound to fuck up with bile.

 

I can see and agree with the necessity of that transaction for peace, but tho I grok the revelation, I do not now inhabit that perspective directly — which is quite a bi-location phenomenon. I mean is it an attitude I can put on like a cowgirl hat? Or inhabit like a gehry house instead of my velarde st. house? How do Day-I relate to this clearly wiser, better-tuned, further, Other-I? She was centrally ‘me’ – it wasn’t that I was outside her watching her like she (or I) was a clone. The whole event is a phenomenon I don’t understand yet if ever – I’m just reporting to you as honestly as I can find the sentences for in a nation which doesn’t honor the daily experience of multiple dimensions unless they’re acceptably Religious.   

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1 Night . Akbal . Hearth . West . tzol 183  12.01.05 r3 thur

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the education-obsessed world begins today with you

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The Real Pornography .. stynking synnes vile

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The Real Pornography .. stynking synnes vile

 

     Obscene Accumulation is the Real Pornography.

     Back in the also obscene nuclear-weapons accumulation days, I used to wail and rail, “Let them steal our tiny piggybanks to build enough nuclear weapons to obliterate all living things and reduce all human structures to vapor and/or pebble-sized rubble 5x over. I won’t even squawk about that. I am willing to go that far in assuaging their paranoid fantasies.

     But the 6th world-rubbling? The 7th? The 10th? No. They have powerful inner demons that have to be fed. But they don’t have to be fed our children’s education and universal healthcare (certainly a jesusian idea) and a minimum wage which does not bring us shame. $14000 per minute for the fantasy Missile Crackpot Scheme aka StarWars? $200,000 per minute for the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Iraq war? Nope.

     So, there is a sin of scale. SUVs seriously suck, but Hummers are an Express Ticket to Hell.(Arnold has 8 Hummers – you do the Math on how fast he gets to the 10th Circle of Frozen Tears.) SUVs are the vehicular equivalent of microencephaly – the smaller the brain (& no doubt the dawg), the more bizarrely enormous the vehicle.

    I’m hoping to get us to think about not an Utopia, but rather an Buenopia – not perfect but good enough. In that world which will be wrought by the progressive work we begin and continue now, we will have solved the pathology of the real Pornography: Obscene, Filthy Accumulation. How? Well, the main task of artists is to show the Frantically Rich that those riches, like ole Midas did find out, don’t ultimately satisfy. There is enough money that makes you and your family comfortable and safe. Massive accumulations of Money that sit in your bank account fester spiritually. You don’t earn or need $33 million dollars in some year. It’s sick. You don’t need $90,000 bucks a day. You don’t need a tax break. You need prayer. That the poor sonsabitches whose lives and labor you hoovered all that lolly from don’t wake up and think “It’s a lovely day for a Guillotine.”

      It absolutely earthquakes my mind that people are offended by a glimpse of Janet Jackson’s bosom or the burning of a flag, and we are talking Mt. Everests of Bosom & Flag Dudgeon here and Congressional Hearings with pompous and pious speeches, — and somebody gets 33 million bucks and the minimum wage is 7 bucks an hour and nobody twitches? My mind-heart struggles with the human Math – how much does what matter what?

     I have to recommend to you an always free consultation with my friend Dan Gero, a journalist and philosopher from Mars. Of course he’s in disguise. He doesn’t want to get incinerated, smithereened, or dissected. I can get you in touch with him though if you’re earnest. A long chat and a cup of cocoa with someone from another planet is very sobering. Excruciatingly illuminating. You try to explain that a free market (hahaha) always brings the best result. It doesn’t. It brings random and insane and clearly stupid results, but it’s an article of  economic theology that it always works better than, say, that Satan of Capitalists, the Government. I got a Rapture Ticket I can sell you if you believe that.

   Explain slowly and clearly to a patient philosopher from another planet why we get so twisted in a nutknot about Janet Jackson’s bosom or some such and the polite sympathetic look in his kind alien eyes is unbearable. When you see your species from the vantage of someone from another planet whose insight isn’t clouded by tribal prejudices (the human tribe), there’s a fair amount of nonsense that’s too ludicrous to defend.

   “Well,” I said, “in the dominant Religion in my nation . . .”

    “Excuse me,” he will say softly, “What’s a nation?”

   “Uhh. Well, it has a square rectangle of colored cloth that you wave on a stick or run up a pole. Your rectangle of striped colored cloth tells you which nation is yours, sort of. You have a special rousing war song. You hardly ever kill people who wave the same colored rectangle of cloth even if you hate them. If they have a different colored rectangle of cloth and your government says to, you kill them even if you like them. Or you kill them even if you don’t have a clue whether you would like them or not if you sat down together to have a burger and a beer. You kill people who step over your border if your government is really mad at them.”

   “What’s a border?”

   “Uhh. Well, it’s a line that separates my nation from Juan’s nation.”

    “We have very powerful holo-telescopes on Mars. I’ve never seen such lines. We can count the trees in your forests, but I have never seen these lines?”

   “Uhhh. Well, they’re there. Uhhh. Well, they’re on pieces of paper we call maps. They matter. We kill for them. We die for them. I’ve never seen one either. But. But they’re there. They’re very real to us. I don’t know why.”

   “So you were telling me about the dominant ‘Religion’ in your nation, now that I understand what a nation is.”

    “Yeah, in the dominant Religion in our nation, they have one special day a week where they go drink the blood and eat the flesh of their God’s Son.”

   When you tell these kinds of things to a philosopher from another planet, and you see the politely veiled recoiling look on his face, it’s hard to want to have ‘Human’ stamped on your Galactic Passport.

    As a friend of mine says, “We have our work cut out for us to get 'equality of human value' around our whole spaceship. Capitalism has significant strengths. One of the great flaws of untended capitalism, however, is its collateral-damageizing of workers. Stupid becomes bad becomes evil when you aren't watching. It'd be better to go back to beads and barter if paper money and then just chicken scratches symbolizing paper money become more important than the people.”

    The idea that unless people are motivated by Continually Basted and Stuffed (like the Thanksgiving Turkey) Greed, we will devolve into uninventive sloth is absurd, but it is an Article of Faith justifying the Grotesque Accumulations Of Cold Gold. Let’s take three counter-indications. Most artists make zilch until after they die and then all the Richies buy up these symbols of something more meaningful than that Bottom Line. Us artists work like dogs for zilch.

    Legions of  women before the modern era did godszillions of useful volunteer work for centuries without money remuneration. Similarly almost all of the people who labor like dogs in non-profits are lousily underpaid, but they do the work passionately anyway.

    Europeans who are hugely more taxed manage to have verve enough to continue to be entrepreneurial at a rate comparable to America’s verve — with much more public accountability.

     So we can take ‘greed as necessary motivation’ off the table. It’s a hoary crock that gets hauled out in these arguments and somehow stops all further thought. Forget it. It’s stupid. It’s not true. 

    We’ll explore more of the solutions to the Real Pornography of Obscene Accumulation under the kind but relentless gaze of our Martian friends, unblinded by economic creeds, but for the moment, begin to study and dream and mull over a future in which you cannot feel or be lionized as powerful and successful if the planet, our Buenopia, is not pleasant and prosperous for also the least among us. Where you don’t get to have Two Mansions until everyone has one Swell Hut with indoor plumbing. A kind of inner gyroscope of justice, or a  justice-cap to Obscene Accumulation. I am not, by the way at all against your having a lot more than Mark or Mary, but there is a sin of scale — what they called in 1450 AD, stynking synnes vile. Along with them 3 Rs, we might want to start also teaching one J – the simple human math of justice.

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1 Night . Akbal . Hearth . West . tzol 183  12.01.05 r3 thur

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the education-obsessed world begins today with you

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Year Zero With Blood – Y3000 Sans Bullets

Year Zero With Blood – Y3000 Sans Bullets

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The time is Y0, the Year 0. (Not really Y0, of course, as there had been fabulous human history for more before the so-called Year Zero than after.) Still to come is the Inquisition, the Crusades. The manifestly destined wrecking of the Native Americans North & South from sea to shining sea. The importation of human chattel as slaves from <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Africa. The on-going oppression of women as a subtler chattel, or cattle. A myriad of ultimately aimless named-slaughters and unnamed dismemberments and indentures. A myriad is ten thousand so 4.9875 Stupid Slaughters a year is about right. The singed shuddering stench of the electric chair. Ah the glory of mankind.

 

Of course there was real and sweet and tender glory of dappled things seen by poets and notes written, mozartian and billets doux. I talk heartbrokenly about the smoky turquoise of your eyes and that is science and jazz, worth the synapses being arranged more complexly than mollusks’.

 

But I’m trying to compare for you that things can change in a few thousand years. Not the lyric and empiric, but the stunningly stupid. So by Y3000 we have plank-alongside-of-the head finally gotten some crucial things.

 

 It is insane to spend $820,000 per minute on weapons systems and other modalities of destruction.

 

Whoops, I forgot the extra $200,000 per minute on ‘off-the-books’ Iraq. We figure that out considerably before Y3000. Education R We, Yippee and glee all around. We get it in a flash flood down the arroyo of the collective consciousness and conscience around 2033. Oh, it would serve the world, the turquoise spaceship, better if every single centavo of our resources were devotedly devoted to education and fixing tsunamis, avalanches, quakes, and furacaos and so on. It seems so screamingly obvious from the vantage of Y3000. Just as we recoil from slavery, they recoil from our malignant waste, our belligerent narcissistic aggrandizement. And if not you directly, pilgrim, nor me – yet we allowed it. We were cowed. We were buffaloed. Apathy seeped into our unwary marrow.

    Further yet though, we wake. We refuse. We refuse to be duped. We refuse to be corporate cogs. We demand equality and happiness. We tend the planet and its denizens, very much including each other. Not in some simplistic norman-rockwell, hallmark card sappy way, but with respect and good humor and some semblance of sharing.

   We take responsibility – the ability to respond. We buy out all our military obligations to veterans. We train all those military age young folk to build and repair. They extend the wifi infrastructure and teach computers to young and old. We use people skillfully. We employ people in creating a planet we can be proud of in Y3000. As if the planet were a pearl and your soul a jewel I hold in my hand.

  

appendix: There is a tricky journey between here and there because we don’t all get sane at once. We have to have ingenious substitutes for aggression and belligerence to which many are adrenally addicted. Let them design very violent video games. You don’t prefer that to one single actual amputee where the stupid sods actually blew someone up? For gods’ sakes get the porn less hidden so we can hose it down with some dark humor.

   The more you fight, the more they fight. There is no victory that way, no matter your determination. It simply doesn’t work. They don’t bunch up conveniently in armies on fronts. Those days are long long past. You have to do an alchemy and shift their murderous intentions to tending. Teach them to protect rather than to destroy. It works sooner than you think once we get the line down the rapids. Education ∞.  

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12 Alligator . Imix . Turtle . East . tzol 181  11.29.05 tues

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the education-obsessed world begins today with you

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Insurgents Will Fight Us for 300 Years

Insurgents Will Fight Us for 300 Years

 

I'd be honored if you would borrow this, use it as a template, or use it as a spur for your own Letter to the Editor. I just sent this to our paper today. It's 139 words.

 

Editor:

   I always remember Ho Chi Minh, the winning <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Vietnam general, saying, “We live here. We would have fought you for 300 years.”

   The Vietnam Memorial with its 58,000 forlorn names is 150 yards long. If there were a memorial to the Vietnam dead of the same scale of writing etc, it would be nine miles long. We're not going to “beat” this insurgency in Iraq. There is no front line, no identifiable uniformed army to crush by might and determination. There are nine miles worth of IED (Improvised Explosive Devices) planters. Their young men suicide with cheap bombbelts. Ours with expensive Hummers and tanks. They'll die nine miles worth. They'll fight us for 300 years.

   The Murtha Option of immediately re-deploying a quick-strike force to Kuwait and otherwise taking the fuel of Occupation out of their fire seems sensible. 

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Remember that you always have to submit your name, address, and phone number with a Letter to the Editor.

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13 Wind . Ik . Whirlwind . North . tzol 182  11.30.05 wed

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the education-obsessed world begins today with you

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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.

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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.  

 

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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.”

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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. 

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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

 

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

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

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the pro-peace world begins today with you

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