Category Archives: Politics

9 Principles of Militant Pacifism

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Herein be a sensible list of Gandhi's 9 Steps to Increase Cooperation and Decrease Violence, some illuminating diatribe, and some confections about mnemonic devices.

 

please post these on your website or email them ..

 

Gandhi's 9 Steps for Teaching Peace

 

Dancing Penguins Should Have Long Nights Doing Fancy Polkas

1. (D) Define the conflict.

2. (P) It isn’t you against me .. it’s you and me against the problem .. the problem is the problem.

3. (S)  List the things we do share. Need for food, shelter, water, safety, & art, for instance. Need cats too.

4. (H) Don’t ask antagonists for the self-justifying ‘What happened?’ Ask for a factual list of ‘What did you do?’

5. (L) Practice active Listening Skills..not passive brooding sullen hearing.

6. (N) Resolve conflict in a neutral  place. Treaties are not made on the battlefield. Too toxic & hot there.

7. (D) Proceed with doable steps. Don’t try to swallow the pumpkin whole..Have a single piece of pie to start.

8. (F) Practice forgiveness skills, not vengeance skills. Go quickly to neutral..on the way to eventual forgiveness.

9. (P) Purify my heart. Purify my own heart. Easy to see stubborn flaws, lousy attitude, & blindness of others…   

<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office” />[10. Practice active Laughing skills. Sweet sweet irony cools the melon.This is a bonus step.]  

..adapted from pp.40-41 Colman McCarthy's I’d Rather Teach Peace

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Fierce pacifism. We're talking fierce pacifism. People annoyingly label pacifists as nice; namby-pamby; passive. Flay that. All I care about is that people aren't dead or mutilated while I stand by drooling in some theo-patriotic trance. So, not dead, not mutilated. Limbs and soul and heart intact. . . . I hurt your feelings? I'm too abrasive? I uncivilly trash the false use of Jesus? Who gives a fig?  I care about your still being alive to get all huffy. . . . It's like all the puritanical hoorah about Janet Jackson's bosom when we  have  people without healthcare. You don't seem to mind your children being exposed to images of Leaders who do not fight for a living wage. I'm a fierce pacifist not because I'm lilylivered but because I can't take how immensely stupid it is to kill strangers. . . Don't tread on me. Or I'll rip out your remaining eye. But metaphorically, pilgrim . . .

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These steps unfurled show you can teach peace indeed! I hope you'll copy & paste the little piece above & send it along to people. I make a copy of them 4 to a page (3.5″ x 4.25″) and hand them out to people.Fold them in half and they fit in the wallet.

 

 I’ll gloss this more or meringue this more soon. Am too sleepy at the mo. Whatever time of the 1440/86400 (minutes or seconds of your daynight) this finds you deliciously in, don’ let the 12 ftTall Lîzards getcha down. We do win. Because we’re more fun, & the multi-verse or many-poem place finds calculating-success-in-money bizarre and certainly unevolved and unintelligently designed! Eat lots of buttered toast.

 

mnemonic devices .. I was so flayed again today by the galloping greed of the 12 ftTall Lîzards, the have-mores, who are hoovering any confident pursuit of happiness from 90% of their fellows, that I needed a restorative spate of recreation with mnemonic(knee-mahn-ik)devices. A mnemonic device is some nifty trick so you can remember something. A lifetime later I still remember A Rat In Tom’s House Might Eat Tom’s Ice Cream as the mnemonic device whose first letters spell arithmetic. George Eaton’s Old Grandmother Rode A Pig Home Yesterday spells geography. Muy yum (the only palindrome I ever invented – a palindrome meaning that it reads the same backwards as forward, the most famous probably being Madam, I’m Adam.)

   The enduring quality of a mnemonic device speaks in miniature to the astonishing power of story to the human brain – we really prefer stories to crack or chocolate. The rat sentence is a tiny story. George Eaton, Granny & the pig. It is this bardic, storyness that makes us rich – those who spend their time accumulating paltry bottomlines wear emperor’s clothes.   

     As I  wander the Earth with my Teach Peace sign I hand out mnemonic device for remembering Gandhi’s 9 steps for decreasing violence, increasing non-violence or conducting cooperation. Gandhi was very practical, not mystical. In this case, the first letters highlight a key word in the practical steps  that increase cooperation.

 

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Hell, Catharsis, Militarism, Abolition of War

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Hell, Catharsis, Militarism, Abolition of War

 

the abolition of war, the pro-peace world, begins today with you

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If I may unexpectedly speak up for the dumb and tasteless. I have one friend on Earth with whom I have burrowed well-below Hell in our obsidian humor. Nothing has been more cleansing of neurosis, cleansing of the aegean stables of the soul. I never would have guessed, but the really darker and more preposterous we go, the more tender and softer and sweeter of soul we become — because we are lying a lot less.

As a small example, my dearish dead mother had the mildest almost unnoticeable case of german measles when she was pregnant with my older brother Peter. He was born a 100% vegetable. It was always a hushed-tones, look down pensively at your shoes family tragedy. (He lived with no function but breath & bowel in an institution until he died when he was 25.)

When my friend started to beat upon and mock my 'retard' vegetable brother in the crassest terms, I was completely shocked and offended. But this friend is very funny, and he was pitbull and would not over some weeks let it go. Finally, I really laughed and it amazingly released my wegetable brother from this grim prison of miserable memory and I could have the several pretty memories and not have to dwell in memory-hell. It was like bursting a festeringly secret bubo.

I'll admit there are Hells we've, he & me, harrowed that I would not dream of sharing publicly in this present world yet, but I

can say that obsidian humor will be a necessary psychic-medical technique to excise what is mostly prissy and janus-faces & rump-saving about our protections of the immobilized and fossilizedly Sacred Past.

Now of course we are not mean to the naive or unarmed. We are only that pristine and fiend mean to each other, as master teasers must be. But, in truth, I can hardly talk any more to those who can't be teased. EggShellism is so terminally tiresome. I have a very longstanding friend who is from the US MidWest and the slightest tweak gets a Kicked-Puppy look. Our real communication is significantly truncated.

 

I am convinced that art is the eventual primary substitute for war. Let’s posit as a thought experiment that we do get to, as I believe we must, the Abolition of War as we got the Abolition of Slavery. Now some very smart folks thought slavery necessary & inevitable, predicted economic collapse without it, &c. War is now the Inevitable Social Condition, the sine qua non of immutable human nature..

    Pish tush. Balderdash. Piffle. (That’s a hat-trick of disdain.) If we set our minds to the Abolition of War as a grail goal and we make every decision in its light, we will outwit the slouched Beast and spend out Lives, Fortunes, and Sacred Honor on the Pursuit of Happiness through Art and other Ingenuities.

    There are several Golden Keys. Art, about which more anon. But obsidian humor. Now that is what let’s you travel on the dark side of the moon and return intact. Traverse the bardoes from which have arrived these heartshrunk, serious Leaders who betray their humorless humanlessness daily more vividly. Laughter, dark laughter, is in my experience the final strength, the anti-gravity, the lead turned to gold.

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

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

   A whole huge corn field can rest plotting in a silo – it is a kind of lumpy moonshine, cornshine, that is forked out from the top by the wide ten-tined silage fork. Cows love silage. Cows can get quite drunk on it. Having been brought up by cows (<?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Holsteins; the black & white ones; modern art on the hoofs), I have utter respect for them, but drunk + cow is very droll.]

   Obsidian humor, daring it, delving it, is a love that steep and that deep. It begins beyond the Pale. It begins with the  letter after zed. Few jeopard it. 

 


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9 Jaguar . Ix . Ocelot . panther . North . tzol 74 . 08.14.05 sun
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the pro-peace world begins today with you
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The Alamo, Dead Children, & Dick Cheney

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The Alamo & Dead Children & Dick Cheney
   part 1
   Sometimes there are <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Alamo moments that gain in icepick-in-the-left-eye piercingness. Other lines-in-the-sand crossed diminish in ferocity of ache, but remain iconic in the steles¹ of your own story.
    Meeting you crescendos into a catastrophe of raw joy and raw terror. Our exquisite, excruciating obsidian humor is the last mystery, the unholiest sweet fact I grab before I plummet, wings on fire, into the Abyss. Our unholy humor is what makes me forgive the Universe for its goddamned Sins.
   That you bastards could call dead, mutilated children collateral damage is a scarlet fact so disgusting, so repugnant to the human of heart that I have crossed into an incandescence of rage.
   I will not accept a world in which the hissing and falsely pious utter the phrase collateral damage. To whom collateral?
    I could, in concept, possibly bear it if you fell blubbering to your knees keening screaming, tearing your over-starched white shirts from your chests in grief. But this mealy-mouthed measured crap. It is cursed.
    I crossed a line from past which there is no return. If you can utter the phrase collateral damage when you mean bomb-shattered – your bombs — dead, mutilated children, you so dishonor the dead that I revile you. You do not get the life you lost; you do not grok the life you lost; you do not drink the tears of the dead. There are no obscure wars. There is no collateral damage.
    In the Alamo, there came a time of decision. William Barret Travis drew a line in the sand with his sword. Step across this line and you offer you life and your sacred honor to a Fate certain to be cruel.
    Unmasking your Big Lies, Collateralizers, and your Vicious Euphemisms is my duty to the Dream from the Land of Nightmare. I will not sleep.
<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office” /> 
part 1 + 1
    Professor Quetzal said, “We’d better enlist our readers in the National Child Mutilator Registry campaign. Child Molestation is self-evidently grotesque. Children should be left to cheerful, raucous abandon without fear of being furtively pawed by some cretinous aging drooler.
    “However, one-to-one in seriously sick from the ethical perspective is the Child Mutilator. Until our Leaders and their Fervent Followers, the Killer 12ftTall Lizards in Human Disguise are mellowed by the de-euphemizing vaccine all the sane are so panickedly trying to develop against this Plague of Addiction to Big Lies, for our own protection we must have a National Child Mutilator Registry.
     “If you have mutilated a child or mafially contracted persons or armies to have a child mutilated on your behalf, we need to know so we can keep our uninfected cheerful clown children from your virulently contagious influences. At least until we develop the vaccine. Sadly, many of your diseases are hot-airborne. We do not want our delightstruck clown children paralyzed and disfigured by the viro-botulisms of your baleful creeds and greeds.
    “Face twisted in a simulacrum of sincerity, you cry, ‘It’s in a good cause, these wars!’ The mutilation of a child can not be in a good cause, ipso facto. Child molestation is supremely disgusting, but if you can go one boschian rung lower on the ladder of ice down into cold Hell, Child Mutilation is one re-eat your-own-vomit degree of more sickening.
    “At least the Child Molester has to be faced with his own disfigured self-loathing in the mirror every morning when he shaves.”
      The Blue interrupted, “Unless he’s a taliban child molester who never shaves.”
    “Goaaal!” said Salma Nella whose hatred of religiopatrio chest-thumping hypocrisies was ivory – 99.666% pure.
    Quetzal smiled that smile to which Myrth was addicted. For the sake of the joke you had to maintain a deadpan, but with the faintest northernlights of extra glow in the aura around his face and an extra burnish of the mischief in his brown eyes, Quetzal nodded the wry nod.
    “The Child Mutilator wants some anodyne layers of denial between him:or:her and the brain-exploding acts they are allowing in their name. The mafia does contract hits so the blood-splatter evidence is on someone else’s cheap suit. But the Mutilated-Children karmic score goes in your column, pilgrim, by not one digit less. A child:mutilation is a child:mutilation is a child:mutilation. You can’t pretty it up unless you’re depraved or insane.
    “If I have to live next door to someone willing to call child-mutilating collateral damage, I want to know.
    “If you in your hometown take a grenade and throw it at a child or mow them down with an M16UziAK47, you go to jail, get battered with outrage and shunning, get wired up in the fry chair and e-lek-tro-cuted. If the mutilated child is exactly the same End, but your Means is a noble son dropping a bomb from 10,000 ft or mowin’ ’em down with the M16UziAK47, you get parades, holidays, and sousa music? You do go to Karmic Jail, and it’s a profound security prison, let me tell you, and that is a faint solace for us.
     “But if you had to touch them as they died; if you had to push their wheel chair; if you had to look over their shoulder into the same mirror as them as they have to see every day that they’ll never be pretty again; if you had to sit with them as they watch unmutilated kids play basketball or soccer. The jury that judges you is dead children, pilgrim, mutilated children. Not the protoplasmic jelly in the womb you so luridly defend, but the once-leaping, once-laughing, once-hopscotching whose hullabaloo and delicious lives you spindled, mutilated, folded, and collateralized.”
 
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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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¹ stele .. a carved band of scenes from your life; like you would find in your chapter of the akashic record where the universe, helplessly, keeps the record of every thought and heartbeat of your life, benighted, noble, petty, delightful tho they may be.
anodyne .. a drug, a repression, a cotton-candyifying layer of insulation between your conscious mind and the atrocities, large and small, (and never secret to the hapless universe) that you have committed willfully and have tried to hide &/or justify with creeds or legerdelengua, slithering sleights of  the forked tongue.
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If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of rage for justice, rage for peace material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com
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It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.
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the pro-peace world begins today with you
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Futile, Ignoble, Murder, & Daleks

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Futile, Ignoble, Murder, & Daleks

 

I’m moving this blogversation Above the Fold. The first half is from friend of pogblog, nicodemus, and nic gives us the justly appalling perspective from the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />UK – see ousels as ithers see us.² The second ½ is pogblog’s response.

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

 “Cindy's son died for an ignoble cause, peddled by a bunch of satanic minions, lusting for oil, gold and power, driven by hatred of humanity as their only god. Their weapon is fear which they used to stun good people of America to put them in charge of their destiny. Meeting with the soulless Dalek¹ asking it questions to which it has no answers would only deepen brave woman's grief and despair. The slave media would praise Dalek's answers, prepared by its spin-doctors and embargoed for the end of a 3min meeting. They would ridicule her questions and call her an enemy of the USA.

If Cindy's son had died defending his country and his family from an invading army, that could have been seen as a noble cause. But dying for a bunch of self-obsessed liars and their mad schemes is, to my mind, a murder and should be dealt with as such. Something the great and noble American people should seriously consider. Today, if possible, but tomorrow will do.”

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from pogblog

Thanks, nic,  for the savage eloquence.

Yet, the dictionary and all our distilling and training fails (or quails?) at the evilly symphonic menace of these bastards. It's like using brightly-colored cowhide shields against phalanxes of M16 wielding zombibots. Our words aren't horrible enough. We have words fit for a human world beset by the Plague and Plagues of Ignorance, Dark Hearts and Dark Ages. These clearly anti-human Menaci require colder, ruthlesser words. To even say cold or ruthless implies that they dwell where there may have been warmth to lose or pity to lose.

I've only slowly been realizing how much more infected we are, how far the societal blindness & hypnosis has spread in enervation. How neutralized our white blood cells were.

A few of us have had an immunity, but translating clear sight for clearish action is where the noos.blogosphere is going.

The Big Lie slouched its way toward America to be re-born.³ It is so simply difficult to believe the Lies as Big as the ones these brutes slide about, detectable only to those listening keenly for a tell-tale faint hissing-of-snakes sound.

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My only reservation about using the conceptually-icepick spot-on Daleks is that even evil in Dr. Who had a comic quality and these Menaci are as absent comedy as they are pity. (Not whatever that we therefore should be. Obsidian humor is indeed our only Ultimate Shield.)

The theofascist menace is every bit as dangerous to the simple and delightful cause of humanity as nazism was. By theofascist I mean the unholy, the obscene ménage a trois of hyper-inflated Religion, Government, and Corporations, a purpose & policy meld of such power and reach that ordinary warm-blooded people mammals were not evolved physically, psychically, emotionally, or culturally to be as lidlessly vigilant as these Snakes require.

The theofascist menace is every bit as dangerous to the simple and delightful cause of humanity as nazism was.

 

People say Oh no, don't use that word nazism to compare. I mean this word theofascist to be more strong,, more fuerte, more strident of danger.

The deaths are billions of little lessenings of human cheer and prosperity that the Snakes suck out of the global system. It is its relative invisibility that makes it so hard to fight. The major weapons are mis-used words and twisted thoughts. They use our very cognition against us.

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pogblog

 

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¹ from Wikipedia

The Daleks (pronounced “DAH-lecks”; IPA: 'dɑːlɛks) are a fictional extraterrestrial race of mutants from the British science fiction television series Doctor Who. The mutated descendants of the Kaled people of the planet Skaro, they travel around in tank-like mechanical casings, a ruthless race bent on universal conquest and domination, utterly without pity, compassion or remorse. They are also, collectively, the greatest alien adversaries of the Time Lord known as the Doctor. Their most infamous catchphrase is “EX-TER-MIN-ATE!”, with each syllable individually screeched in a frantic electronic voice (download sample). Other common utterances include “I (or WE) OBEY!” to any command given by a superior.

 

² from Robert Burns The Louse

O wad some Power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae monie a blunder free us
An foolish notion . . .

 

³ from Yeats — here's the poem I echo, one of the great poems of the 20th century .. and, forlorn it is to say, “the darkness drops again.” The emphasis below is mine.

 

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert.

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

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Do visit nicodemus & be fascinated.

 

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

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

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Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved

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the pro-peace world begins today with you

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the Crawford Petition . . .

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Anyone in the World can sign the Crawford Petition.

 

 

I was looking at the wonderful petition that people are signing to support Cindy and the Crawford Protesters.

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I wasn't studying it, I was just grinning and crying all at the same time & making a few quick notes for myself. Later it occurred to me that everyone should see these tidbits from teh Crawford Petition and be inspired to go sign.

 

So the “attribution” has to go to the Crawford petition itself. Go look — it'll rock you. All the states upon states and the foreign countries, all the tones and attitudes and passions and determination. Thousands and thousands of people have signed.

 

Here are a random sprinkling of phrases and words from the Crawford Petition.

 

“George's pride goeth before his fall . . abomination .. deranged man .. until you name yourself dictator for life ..stand up to the vultures who are pulling your strings, George .. Cindy, you have exceptional gumption .. hypocrisy of the Coward from Crawford .. under the command of the puppetmaster Karl Rove .. .. the extreme degree of deceit .. a grieving mother forced into the Crawford Ditch .. Bush's turn to run but he can't hide .. I love my country, but hate my president” …

 

From <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Pasadena CA, “I am ashamed of anyone who is still being fooled by this Administration.”

 

My own observation is that George is cringing in his palatial spider hole now.

 

If you can't get to Crawford, you can start your own homegrown army of one protest. You only feel ridiculous the first few forays out. Tiptoe in.

 

I am happy every day that I've been walking out with my Teach Peace sign for 1036 datys now. My little bit. It adds up.

 

pogblog

pogblog@yahoo.com if you have questions or need a pep talk.

 

 

 

http://pogblog.myblogsite.com/blog/_archives/2005/8/8/1119017.html

 

http://pogblog.myblogsite.com

 

 

 

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html below if you want to include it in a blog Comment.

 

///

<b>The Crawford Petition </b>.

 

<i>Anyone in the world can sign the Crawford Petiton<</i>

 

I was looking at the wonderful <a href=”http://elandslide.org/elandslide/petition.cfm?campaign=cindy”>petition</a> that people are signing to support Cindy and the Crawford Protesters.

 

I wasn't studying it, I was just grinning and crying all at the same time & making a few quick notes for myself. Lateritoccurred to me that everyone should see them and be inspired to <a href=”http://elandslide.org/elandslide/petition.cfm?campaign=cindy”>go sign</a>.

 

So the “attribution” has to go to the petition itself. Go look — it'll rock you. All the states upon states, all the tones and attitudes and passions and determination. Thousands and thousands of people have signed.

 

Here are a random sprinkling of phrases and words from the Crawford petition.

 

George's pride goeth before his fall . . abomination ..deranged man .. until you name yourself dictator for life .. Cindy, you have exceptional gumption .. hypocrisy of the Cowardfrom Crawford ..under the command of the puppetmaster Karl Rove .. standup to the vultures who are pulling your strings, George .. the extreme degree of deceit .. forced into the Crawford Ditch ..Bush's turn to run but he can't hide .. I love my country, but hate my president …

 

From Pasadena CA, “I am ashamed of anyone who is still being fooled by this Administration.”

 

My observation is that George is cringing in his palatial spider hole now.

 

If you can't get to Crawford, you canstart your own homegrown army of one protest.

 

 

The petition url. 

http://elandslide.org/elandslide/petition.cfm?campaign=cindy

 


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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
………….<^>……………..
It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.
………….….<^>……………..
Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.
copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved
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If You Can't Get to A Peace March .. Carry Sign in Your Own Town

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If You Can't Get to a Peace March,

Carry Your Sign in Your Hometown

 

Yes, just you by yourself . . read on ..

 

NOTE: Below the first post here is the same post in HTML so you can paste it or pieces of it on other sites.

 

Re rights of a protester , I always put it simply to the police when they harass me and threaten me with arrest.

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

“The United States Supreme Court Pruneyard Decision of 1980 gives me the right to protest in a place to which the public is generally invited.” [Like a mall, a festival etc. The equivalent of the  “public square” in our times.]

 

As I quietly carry my 16″x18″ Teach Peace sign on a 4' 7″ stick (stick = 1 ¼ ” x ½ “), I have been surrounded by police on four occasions recently and threatened with arrest, but as long as I refuse to move, AND clearly know about Pruneyard, I'm all right.

 

I've been to the City Council to speak firmly but not obstreperously about my rights to walk out and speak out via my sign. I finally spoke directly with the police chief about Pruneyard and the local police haven't bothered me much since then. My body language suggests I am not being moved off by the standard issue intimidation.

 

Though in a neighboring town I was surrounded by riot police in black exo-skeleton uniforms  a couple of months back.

 

I'm up to a 1035 days in a row going out with my Teach Peace sign.

 

Please note that I made my sign the exact size that would fit into my own space standing on a bus. I turn it upside down when I go into stores.

 

 If you can't get to Crawford,

make your own sign 

& start walking around

your own downtown

a little every day!

 

You'll only feel foolish in the beginning. Later you feel foolish when you don't have your sign!

 

If you need encouragement or tips, be sure to get in touch with me: pogblog@yahoo.com  

 

Tiptoe in. It's all about beginning, and suddenly it adds up to 1035 days.

 

rage on,

pogblog

 

info on dick cheney & ‘collateral damage’ 

 

 

http://pogblog.myblogsite.com

 

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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:

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ffwofw

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Below in HTML

 

<b>If you Can't Get to Crawford,

Carry Your Sign in Hometown,</b>

 

<b>Yes, just <i>you</i> by yourself . . read on ..</b>

 

Re <b>rights of a protester</b>, I always put it simply to the police when they harass me and threaten me with arrest.

 

<i>”The United States Supreme Court <b>Pruneyard Decision</b> of 1980 gives me the right to protest in a place to which the public is generally invited.”</i> [Like a mall, a festival etc. The equivalent of the  “public square” in our times.]

 

As I quietly carry my 16″x18″ Teach Peace sign on a 4' 7″ stick (stick = 1 1/4″ x 1/2″), I have been surrounded by police on four occasions recently and threatened with arrest, but as long as I <b>refuse to move</b>, AND clearly <i>know about <b>Pruneyard</b>,</i> I'm all right.

 

I've been to the City Council to speak firmly but not obstreperously about my rights to walk out and speak out via my sign. I finally spoke directly with the police chief about Pruneyard and they haven't bothered me since then.

 

Though in a neighboring town I was surrounded by <a href=”http://pogblog.myblogsite.com/blog/_archives/2005/8/8/1119017.html”>riot police in black exo-skeleton uniforms</a> a couple of months back.

 

I'm up to a <b>1035 days</b> in a row going out with my Teach Peace sign.

 

Please note that I made my sign the exact size that would fit into my own space standing on a bus. I turn it upside down when I go into stores.

 

<a href=”http://pogblog.myblogsite.com/blog/_archives/2005/5/19/874131.html “><b>If you can't get to Crawford, make your own sign and start walking around your own downtown a little every day!</b></a>

 

You'll only feel foolish in the beginning. <i>Later you feel foolish when you don't have your sign!</i>

 

If you need encouragement or tips, be sure to <a href=” http://pogblog.myblogsite.com”>get in touch with me</a>.

 

Tiptoe in. It's all about beginning, and suddenly <b>it adds up</b> to 1035 days.

 

rage on,

pogblog

 

<a href=”http://pogblog.myblogsite.com/blog/_archives/2005/6/23/967407.html

“>info on dick cheney & ‘collateral damage’</a> 

http://pogblog.myblogsite.com

 

Dimensions of a Perfect Protest Sign .. Army-of-One Protesting

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Have Protest Sign Will Travel .. draft

the pro-peace world starts today with you

You do not have to wait for some formal Protest March tho I go to those too as I can. Start your own army-of-one micro-protest march today.

As of 10.03.05, me & my Teach Peace Sign have been out doing our peace-abouts for 1090 days in a row. . It only felt foolish the first day.

The dimensions of the perfect Protest Sign that will work best for your protest over the longhaul. My 16″x18″ Teach Peace sign is on a 4' 7″ stick (stick = 1 ¼ ” x ½ “),

The reason for these dimensions is that they fit in your own space if you are on public transportation, going into a store, or putting the sign across the back seat of your car. The sign clears your head as you walk with the end of the stick cradled in you hand.

I used a kind of colored (apricot for some reason) mat board — the kind of stuff you get at an art store. After lettering, these twopieces of matboard got stapled back to back all around the edges.

 I used black magic marker to do the letters which I'd pencilled in. Best to have just simple big letters. People are mostly driving past youand don't have timeto read or see any little decorative stuff. I picked the words Teach Peace because of the sentiment, and because of the size of the words. (I love a statement like Power to the Peaceful, but it won't workona daily sign  — too many letters.) 

Have sign awareness at all times. Be aware of whether the sign is up-right enough for people walking towards you to read it. If you're standing on a street corner, think about the angle of you sign towards the on-coming traffic.

Before you go into a store,  turn your sign upside down!

Waving at & getting eye-contact with each passing car is advanced, but it increases your impact immensely.

Some Talking Point Tidbits. I stay relentlessly on message. Get your rap down & say the same brief thing to everyone. They've never heard it before. So you should make it brand new and impassioned for them each time. (I use the html here so you can just paste them in a comment on another blog.)

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

<b>In my continuing fight against TheoFascism</b>, I have been using two numbers to great effect:

 

'As we speak, we are speading <b>$14000 a minute</b> on the fantasy Missile Crackpot Scheme aka Star Wars and <b>$200,000 a minute</b> on the Iraq QuagQuicksand Debacle.'

 

Also useful is to remind people is that one billion dollars is 1000 million dollars. ('A billion' is what I call a <i>dirigible word</i>. It is one of something that seems to float teflonally up there somewhere. 1000 million shocks people.)

 

I go back to the hell-years of <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Vietnam when we heard the <i>identical</i> garbage about Vietnamization. I've stood by the Wall at midnight and seen by haunted moonlight what we paid for <i>that</i> hallucination.

 

<b>“We live here. We would have fought you for 300 years if need be.”</b> That’s what Ho Chi Minh, winning Vietnamese leader, said. Remember that figment Vietnamization? It didn’t work. 

 

<i>Iraqiazation will not work.</i>

 

<b>They have a 300 year supply of cheap explosives and young men willing to die.</b> They live there.

 

What delusion allows any one to think it will get better?

 

My neighbor's 24 year-old son got his whole head blown off in Iraq.

Support our troops by Bringing Them Home Now.

 

It is not going to get better.

Who wants to be the last soldier to die in Iraq for a mistake?

 


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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
………….<^>……………..
It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.
………….….<^>……………..
Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.
copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved
Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:
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ffwofw
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Sacred Honor Ground — Do NOT Move .. rules for peace protest

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Sacred Honor Ground .. Do NOT Move ..

rules for peace protest

 

I have suggested to the protesters in “Working Vacation” Crawford on their website (below) some parts of these tactics gleaned from a life of protest since when I first had the discussion in Northern Vermont with my first husband Michael about whether I (the appointed wielder of the ax) would have to chop off one big toe or three of the lesser toes. He was not going to go to a land in civil war, <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Vietnam, and kill people he did not know well enough to hate. Generically hating any Them was not in his nature.

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

The key to this threat to Cindy Sheehan, a Gold Star mother protesting outside the Imperial Ranch is if the Crawford 50 protesters are threatened with arrest:

Do Not Move One Inch.

 

The last civil disobedience I had with being wrongly bullied by riot police a month ago (carrying my teach peace sign), I said, “Arrest me if you must. This 3-feet-square of ground where I stand is the last piece of real and free America left in this city tonight and I am not moving.”

 

The hundreds of riot police in their black riot exo-skeletons milled around me and had both furtive & frantic conferences, hissed in my face, and threatened me with arrest, but finally they did not arrest me. For three hours, my stupid knees were shaking as they had their noses in my face, but there is something about stillness that doesn't activate the attack in the predator or something.

 

Several episodes in months before this, they slyly would get me to “just move over here out of the way” or “just come talk to the Captain so we can see what we can work something out.” They’d been trained. I hadn’t – yet.

 

Now, my old gams hurt so much that I shook my legs around like some dervish after a few hours, I was so tired, I just wanted to go home, but I did not move out of my Sacred Honor square. One police officer tried to tempt me to move by being nice and saying, “You must be so tired. You can go sit over there if you want. I would.” The one other nice officer offered me a bottle of water, for which I would have normally killed by the end of the third hour. No. Bad cop, good cop. No. Just don't move out of your Sacred Honor square.

 

Several would stride so close to me that the stiff starched sleeves of their uniforms brushed my face. It was pretty much their whole bag of intimidation tricks. Most of them were hissers or shouters or bullhorners. “This has now been declared an illegal assembly,” from the bullhorn and the black(!) heliocopter deafeningly clattering ominously and endlessly overhead, “Disperse at once or you will be subject to arrest.”

 The percussive noise of the heliocopeter is a very effective weapon. It instills fear at some level out of conscious control. “Disperse at once or you will be subject to arrest.”

 

No. Be smart about where you're willing to stand for 3 hours, and you have to be willing to be arrested, but the stillness works.

 

And steal this line— it made me feel braver and it flummoxed them: “Arrest me if you must. This 3-feet-square of ground where I stand is the last piece of real and free America left in this [city, town, road, &c] today and I am not moving from here.” I said it over and over, every time they tried a new gambit. Those darn long black riot sticks are scary. Do not move.

 

∞∙∞∙∙∞∙∞∙∞∙∙∞∙∞∙∞∙∙∞∙∞∙∞∙∙∞∙ 

 

The following is how it felt to begin to Damn It do something on-going and local and not just go to the safety-in-numbers big marches. If we had just two in every town doing this, think of it. This was a Guest Opinion piece published Jan 31 2003

 

Why I walk for peace

How does it feel to go out the front door and put your heartfelt convictions into public action?

 

Since late September 2002 I've been a lonely nutcase wandering preposterously up and down Main Street carrying my 16”x18” “Teach Peace” sign on a 4'7″ pole. At first you feel darn silly. But finally, after 46 solo peace walks, the acute self consciousness is wearing off because it is of course not at all about me, but about the future and about not smithereening young folk just as treasured as my 20-year old coworkers Silas and Gareth, or your happily careening young folk Pete and Jim, only with Iraqi names.

 

A droll and unexpected tidbit is that I think it's important to smile the whole time so that any given person seeing me doesn't think, “there goes that ole crank walking for peace.”

 

Well, I've always thought of myself as quite a jolly and smiling person. But now that I have to smile for peace and the benign future of humankind, I've discovered that we do not smile for two hours at a time. In the early going, my smile ached so bad in the grin muscle that I had to take aspirin to get through the day. Now, with all this “working out,” my smile is getting more buff and there's hardly a twinge anymore. But who would have guessed?

 

One of the chastening lessons of public action is the overturning and overturning of these stupid little stereotypes that lurk in the underbrush of your mind. “This kind of person is going to hate my sign,” you think. As you gird yourself to pass by them, they smile and whisper, “Great sign.” Some dude you're sure spends nights tossing back brews and blowing people up in video games says, “I want to thank you for being out here.”

 

I hand out wallet-sized cards with Gandhi's nine steps for decreasing violence. I found these in Colman McCarthy's book I'd Rather Teach Peace, which shocked me into realizing that we never teach peace in our schools, only war after war.

 

Yet in spite of the gloomsayers, in my own lifetime — a quick blink of the historical eye — we have made real steps to get past segregation and the trivializing of women, for instance. One day we will be beyond war too. We will teach peace. We will understand non-violence as a vivid force.

 

We'll stop spending more than a thousand million dollars every day on the military. We'll stop calling mutilated civilians “collateral damage.”

 

I'm telling you about my small, very local public action in hopes of giving you the courage to dare to take that dreaded first step out the door. Even if you are the only one out there for awhile, you give heart to people who see you. Only two folks have sworn vilely at me. If we want a more tolerant and sane world, I think we must accept feeling awkward, must act one step beyond our comfort zone in order to speak out, to show up.

— pogblog is a 31-year local resident, a former high school English teacher and window washer, and has worked on three San Francisco ballpark campaigns. She has been an anti-war advocate since Vietnam and has walked out downtown in her small some of every day with that teach peace sign for 1034 days in a row now. Just do a little every day. It adds up.

 

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

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

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pogblog’s Glossary for many brave & nefarious words;

copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved

 

Cindy Sheehan & the Crawford Protesters

[This meetwithcindy website has been down, but should return.]

info on dick cheney & collateral damage;

democrats.com, on-going & real

 

 

Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:

http://pogblog.myblogsite.com

3 Rabbit . Lamat . South .  tzol 68  08.08.05 mon 

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..

the pro-peace world begins today with you

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Become a Militant Pacifist . . Charred by Nagasaki

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Become a Militant Pacifist .. Charred by <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Nagasaki
..

I remember going to the Army Medical Museum adjunct of the Smithsonian in Washington DC as a child long long ago. Trust me, I happened upon this ghoulish place by Total Mistake. I'm sure it's most useful to the medical student, but to the 10-year-old seeing 30-gallon, two-foot-in-diameter glass test tubes with, say, an enormous elephantiasised leg from the knee down frayedly floating in formaldehyde was skincrawling. Row upon row of huge glass-tubed Everything in the place was diseased.

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

But the scorching, the charred memory was all the black & white pictures of Hiroshima and Nagasaki victims. Maybe, though I never thought about it til this exact instant — those pictures were the boschian journey through the darkside of the human blackheart for why I grew up to be a militant pacifist?

 

I have never seen anything else like those pictures since. They were probably so clinical and blunt and close-up because it was the Army Medical Museum and not thought of as for the general public. And presumably they had Army access to photos that reporters wouldn't.

 

The wreckage and the radiation effects and the so-far past Hell monstrous hurt to children and to men and to women and to old people and the visible burned burned pain. It ripped open my young soul to what violence actually is in the violently tortured poor flesh. Having seen it, you could not cause it.

 

Maybe you could bear and repress three such pictures in a magazine or some in a book, but this was walls of them in ruthless medical close-up absent any remnant of artistic composition or recoil. Just 'Let's look at the boiled eye pulped socket and the radiation boiled flesh.'

 

There is something about radiation burns entirely different from fire-burns. It is unnatural in a way I only remember from all that life ago. Fire happens from the outside in as if there were some layer, some human refuge left however tormented. But radiation burn is from the marrow out all at once a fury of the insanely enraged and offended flesh as if it were microwrithingly boiling the flesh right in front of your screaming eyes. 

 

Walls of these pictures and your pity and horror rose until the idea of causing harm or closing your eyes to harm changed your very dna — never. Never will I be party to, excuse, stop speaking, I owe it to these silent ruined people who could have been as shiny and delighted and sunstruck somersaulting as I was.

 

So here I am. Militant pacifist. Never speak to me of collateral damage. Put yourself in the dark fire first. Dare not do this harm to another whose hand you do not hold in the very incineration moment. Dare not stand apart.  

 

pogblog

 

ps. It was that day in Washington DC that I stepped upon another species path. I did not care if I was the only one. I claim nor exalt kin nor kindness with a species that would do that deliberately charred mutilation to its own kind whose photographs I saw upon the walls. Better alone in the universe with no friend nor God than to be one of the glorified, sung and storied DeathDealers or one of their apologists.

 

Militant pacifism. It was and is a reviled view. I cannot recommend this deep a loneliness to you, friend, but if you cannot bear the lies and the slither of rationalization, your own heart will feel light to you and you will have earned the wholehearted right to hear the dawn songs of birds without the static of the screams of the dead that the Killers hear in their own forsaken child’s heart. There was a time before they joined the Legions of DeathDealers, before they chose to walk across the line of blood and justifiy the sword; the machete; the M16UziAK47; the jellied gasoline. Before they surrendered their will to the command of a Dark Purpose which feeds on the blood of the innocent under the guise of glory.

 

There must have been a day when an X became sufficiently distinct from an Y to become a different species. Whatever is in the blood or in the minutely coiled memory of my parents, I too wave farewell across a divide over which I will never return. The death you deal is evil. There is no camouflage for that. I am not one of you.

 

I looked at eternity and I accepted that utter a loneliness rather than drink radioactive human blood again – or have my military priests share that evil sacrament on my behalf. In my chalice is water.

 

My anti-war views have evolved this far now. I would not have described myself with the phrase militant pacifist at once.

 

I remember when I stood in some shocking lightning illuminated moment in the Nixon era and saw that war wasn’t just sad and too bad –ah, the necessary evil – but was insane. That if you put a man on the couch and had him explain his actions with armies and air forces and what he was commanding to be done, you’d call for the strait jacket and ready the RubberRoom. Unless he was your President. It’s clearly clinically mad and just because  so many people believe it doesn’t make it right or so. The earth was never flat no matter through how many generations or with how much God-granted authority it was proclaimed.

 

I recommend you stay with your fellows unless you have the stomach and sinew for a deep and silent dark which none could warn you of how far from human habitation it is, without the reassuring rustle and murmurs of your own kind. A very few will still speak to you and leave a bowl of soup for you to find. But none will hold your hand.

 


∞∙∞∙∙∞∙∞∙∞∙∙∞∙∞∙∞∙∙∞∙∞∙∞∙∙∞∙
…………….<^>……………..
………….<^>……………..
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
………….<^>……………..
It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.
………….….<^>……………..copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved
Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:
http://pogblog.myblogsite.com
2 Deer . Manik . West . tzol 67  08.07.05 sun 
for jamie 981§8783§24d8h36m59s ikhoudvanu
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the pro-peace world begins today with you
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08.06.05 .. unbearable echo .. Do one small thing

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Friends,

 

 2:13:36am.pdt.usa  08.06.05  . .

It is the unbearable echo-day of the first atomic vaporizing bomb being dropped on humans by humans.

 

I thought I bloody well better do some small thing to whisper, “I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry. We have changed.”

Below is the short letter I sent to the News organizations emails I found at this Downing Street Memo url: http://www.afterdowningstreet.org/?q=node/1202. 

     I copied each email address into my yahoo address book because I've messed up my primary email sender somehow. But there is a big push to get reporters to DO something different in this Crawford “Working” vacation for the next 50 days. You're welcome to copy and paste this letter if you want. Even if you emailed ONE, it would be great. Thank you, pogblog

 

ps. You can do any subject with these addresses As Much As Possible forEver.

 

//////////

Dear [Newsperson or Organization];

 


Please challenge the Iraqiazation myth & delusion with hard and repeated and repeated questions steeped in simple historical understanding. If you could interview some knowledgeable people from the Vietnam era who aren't just doing the fortune-cookie Talking Points. 
..

“We live here. We would have fought you for 300 years if need be.” That’s what Ho Chi Minh, winning Vietnamese leader, said. Remember that figment Vietnamization? It didn’t work.

 

Iraqiazation will not work.

They have a 300 year supply of cheap explosives and young men willing to die. They live there.

What delusion allows any one to think it will get better?

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

My neighbor's 24 year-old son got his whole head blown off in Iraq.
Support our troops by Bringing Them Home Now.
 
It is not going to get better.
Who wants to be the last soldier to die in Iraq for a mistake?
 
Thank you,
Your Name
 

…………….<^>……………..
………….<^>……………..
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
………….<^>……………..
It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.
………….….<^>……………..
Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.
copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved
Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:
http://pogblog.myblogsite.com
ffwofw
..
the pro-peace world begins today with you
………….<^>……………..