In today's continuing saga of the schoolyard showdown between the shirts and the skins, let's look at some of these kids' backgrounds and thus their, what we can almost call their, innate motivations...
First, there is little Dicky. He's a smart kid, wears glasses as you know. He's been in the schoolyard business for a while and knows a thing or two about motivating the schoolkids, even ones who have no idea they're bullying others on behalf of Dicky.
Then there's the cherub, Glenn. He's the one you always see standing on top of the slide or jungle gym yelling at the top of his voice like Tarzan.
And finally, there's Sarah. She's a little bit country, a little bit rock-and-roll (pre-1960s, of course).
These three were once at each other's throats, thinking they had only the schoolyard to fight over. Then, after summer vacation, where all three of them were taken on foreign excursions with their parents, they discovered that one schoolyard is nothing.
Thus, Dicky, Glenn and Sarah joined forces and controlled not only the schoolyard but also, through subliminal control of their parents, they extended their reach into local businesses, the media, and of course, other schools.
These Three Knights of the Tricornered Table were older in thought than they were in years (Sarah had been sworn in as both a Damsel and a Knight, earning bonus points with the group for her ability to switch roles instantly). They knew their destiny. They were not like other children. They were going to rule large parts of the world.
The knights used mass hypnosis to convert other kids to their cause. With these new recruits, they tested the defenses of their enemies, including those who thought they were friends of the knights. As one new set of recruits learned to hypnotize more recruits, their power reached critical mass.
You have learned through these simple tales that the knights were no sheep. They were born leaders. One day, tired of the bland cafeteria food and the robotic programming of their teachers, the knights, using their mobile phones they so easily convinced their parents to supply them, along with other surveillance gear they "acquired" from stores, they decided enough was enough and called on their troops to start a coup.
Now, you and I think we know that a bunch of pre-teens does not have real power. After all, they haven't matured. Well, that's where perceptions are deceiving.
Unbeknownst to us, the knights had recruited more than just other children. They had brought into their fold military leaders, journalists (both those in the know and those who reported whatever they were told to report without thinking why), local law enforcement, school teachers, housewives, retirees, college students, office workers, unionists, anarchists, and a whole slew of people who were tired of being told what they were supposed to think.
You and I have been around a while. We've seen the occasional school or prison riot that is usually quelled quickly because the appropriate authorities are brought in to shut down the rebellion.
The Tricornered Knights had created no regular riot. They had built consensus among the disenchanted and unempowered like most revolutionaries are prone to do. In addition, they had recruited business and military leaders who were also tired of the status quo. This was no riot. It was the first successful coup on record in this part of the world carried out by grandchildren of the TV generation, the children of the Internet generation. The Tricornered Knights, the self-proclaimed leaders of the Smartphone Kids, had figured out how to take over the world from adults who all along thought their children's computers and mobile phones were learning tools or diversions to allow the parents to have their grownup fun.
In the next episode, we will look at more details of this coup and how it set in motion a global revolution with the common people taking over the elitist fortresses of commerce, toppling both political and economic giants like tornadoes turning over trees like twigs.
In future episodes we will analyse how this tiny schoolyard showdown made the Maoist Revolution, the American Revolution and the Russian Revolution look like happy walks in the park. Once again, calloused hands will be the signs that show solidarity, including office workers whose calloused fingertips indicate years of carpal tunnel torture at the keyboard. The new revolutionary motto and battlecry: "Your children are no longer yours!" Those who were well-dressed, well-spoken, and who owned fancy houses and cars will have been tossed onto the trashpile of history.
19 February 2010
18 February 2010
O Brother, Thou Art Here
Now, looky here. I ain't much of one to make a fuss about that 14-year old boy whose children's doctor father couldn't keep under control. But me and the missus, we watch ourselves in public all the same. We listen to them fancy words them others use like Sanskrit, Arabic and such just as much as we listen to them mountain boys and inner city boys with their warrin' words. Boys'll be boys.
Well, now, see, me and the missus, we like to take trips ever now and then. See what this fair country of ours has to offer, it bein' the home of the free and the Braves.
Wasn't too long ago we was drivin' through the countryside, taking that big ol' interstate highway just to see what all the fuss is about.
What fuss, you ask?
The boys over at the co-op, most of 'em is purty good people. Our families, if they ain't kin, have known each other long afore the Civil War, and a few of us have land connections goin' back to the War of 1812 and one or two back as far as the American Revolution. Some of the families has been cavortin' with each other a bit too much so we get a fair share of folks who ain't all there in one way or t'other.
Bill is one of those I's referrin' to specific like. Bill's a good boy. He pulls his load. Always has, always will. But Bill's not always sure about the way things is. He gets confused about who's runnin' the show.
At least that's what me and the boys had figured out. Until this last trip me and the missus took.
See, Bill's been tellin' us for many a year that there's a secret ain't nobody 'round here's been told about. Bill said he was out one night chasin' lightnin' bugs when he seen a bunch of commotion out by the highway. He walked across the Carters' property and the Gilberts' property until he got up by the interstate guardrails. There, to his amazement, he seen these funny lookin' men wearin' light blue uniforms and they was makin' funny marks on the back o' highway signs.
I tell you I've heard this story of Bill's more times than a dog licks his hindquarters. And it smells just as funny every time.
Bill sometimes'd mention he saw one of them fellers drop a pair o' special glasses on the ground. Bill never would say what happened to the glasses.
Just before me and the missus took our trip, I stopped by the co-op to refreshen my supply of chewin' tobaccy and snuff. The missus has a thing for that mentholated snuff so I makes sure I keep her an extra can in case we caint find none on the road. Just as I was puttin' the goods on my IOU card at the checkout counter, I noticed a pair o' sunglasses I ain't never seen before. I put them on the IOU, too, and walked out.
In the sunshine, them glasses was useless even though they had shiny tinted lenses so I threw the glasses on the bench seat in the truck and drove me and the ol' lady onto the two-lane that takes you from the co-op on down to our one city traffic light.
The light was red so I sat and waited for the light to change. It's got a little hitch to it 'cause it won't change unlessin' someone comes up to both sides of the light so we sat a good spell.
The missus asked me why I bought the sunglasses when I already had three or four pair sittin' on the dashboard. I told her you caint never have enough of 'em 'cause you need one for mornin' light, one for noontime light, one for afternoon light and one for lookin' good at the burger bar on Saturdays. I love my ol' lady but she don't understand nothin' about men.
Well, since I weren't wearin' them new glasses, the missus put 'em on. She looked real good in 'em, too. The tint made her eyes all purty and blue, even though she's normally got hazel-green eyes.
Just afore the light changed, the missus asked me what that writin' was inside the green light. I told there weren't no writin' in the green light. She told me there was but couldn't prove it by me. The light changed and Cled was in his 4x4 behind me revvin' his engine so I tore on out o' there to show him it ain't about the size of your shocks but how you use your stickshift that matters.
As we approached the noisy interstate highway that my pa still blames on what has torn this country asunder and won't never be fixed until we get rid of cell phones, CDs and MP3 players and get back to the good ol' days of CBs, 8-tracks and rotary phones, the missus asked me why there would be signs pointin' out where the tanks and ammunition dumps is located.
Ever now and then, me and the missus like to put a little hooch in our tobaccy. It kinda juices up the taste and gives you a buzz while you're sittin' on the back porch after downin' two or three steaks with the kin and listenin' to a NASCAR race on the radio. So, I figured the ol' lady'd snuck a pint of hooch into the truck and was playin' around with me.
"What tanks?"
"That's what I'm askin' you 'bout!"
"Where'd you get that idea?"
"Right there on that sign, darlin'! There's a bunch o' blue words!"
I looked to where she was pointin' and all I could see was the galvanized backside of one of them interstate highway signs that usually tells you ya got more miles to go than you want to know.
A buddy of mine's got a little factory down in a holler 'bout two or three miles from our doublewide. He does a bunch o' odd jobs to keep the bills paid, including some galvanizin' work for the state gub'ment. He makes the signs to the gub'ment's specifications and they take the signs and slap on whatever green and white coverin' they needs for wherever they're puttin' the signs. I've watched him work and I ain't never seen him put no blue words on the signs which means either my missus was pullin' my leg or the gub'ment was pullin' the wool over our eyes.
"Now how come you can see them words and I caint? You hittin' the hooch without me?"
"You know I wouldn't do that." She turned her head and the glasses slipped down on her nose. She turned back around and let out a hoot. "Well, looky there. I caint see them words now."
I might've repeated fifth grade but I ain't dumb. I just was spendin' more time on the football field, the baseball field and the tobacco fields than what Mrs. Bridges told my folks I oughta be doin' in order not to be socially promoted. I like Mrs. Bridges. She's a real good Sunday school teacher but she don't always know what's good for a farmer's son, so my pa told me.
Anyway, I took one look at the missus and wondered if'n it might be them glasses that was causin' her to see visions.
"Let me have those glasses, willya?"
"Sure, honey."
I put those shades on and lordy be, sure 'nough there was a bunch of words, not only on the sign in front of us but also on the reflectors runnin' up the side of the interstate. Tanks, ammunition, the amount of each at the nearest location five miles away.
"Darlin', I think these glasses ain't shades. I think these're them glasses that Bill saw them funny fellers wearin'."
"What're you talkin' 'bout?"
I pulled the truck off t'the side o' of the road and proceeded to tell her Bill's story, word for word. I think the missus woulda laughed off my story, she knowin' Bill like the rest of us, but these glasses sure made a case for what Bill seen that night. We decided then and there to follow the road signs and see just what, if any, truth there was to Bill's story or if this was some sort of gub'ment hoax meant to hide somethin' even bigger.
I pulled back on the interstate, wavin' at a feller drivin' a tractor-trailer rig like the one my uncle Jimmy rides and drove on down to the next exit where them signs said the ammo dump was located.
You ain't from 'round here so I'll tell you 'bout this exit. It was nothin' for a long time. Then, them Overbys, them come into some money. Nobody's for certain how they got it but they put that money into a flea market. At first, it were a bunch of metal sheds. Then, after the flea market business was good in the '90s, they expanded and build a long metal storage buildin', bringin' all them outdoor flea market stands inside. Business really took off after that so they added two or three more buildin's and afore you know it, they was practically runnin' a shoppin' mall, with kiddie rides, an ice cream shop, a gun shop, a garden shop and an oil change place. They also built a gas station out by the exit. We call it the one-stop shoppin' extravaganzer.
Well, wouldn't ya know the signs all pointed to the Overbys' place but it weren't the flea market but a big hill out behind back I ain't never noticed before. The signs led me and the missus to a big gate with one of them push-button entry things you see at the fancy entrance to that gated community built for rich retirees over toward the outskirts of town.
Did I tell you I was a juvvy? That's juvenile delinquent to you town folks. I was good at bustin' into stores and takin' cash registers back before storeowners got smart and put their money in banks at night. Well, them juvvy days taught me one thing. A big lock means there's big stuff somebody's not wantin' you t'see.
I took one look at the missus and she grinned real big. We nodded at each other, meanin' we both agreed we had to see this thing to the end or we'd just be itchin' with curiosity the rest o' our lives. So, I parked the truck over near some other folks' vehicles and the missus and me wandered over to the fence back behind the buildin' where we figured nobody's goin' to be lookin'.
I found an old drink cup on the parkin' lot and tossed it over the fence. The missus and me pretended that she wanted the drink cup back so we both hopped the fence. I picked up the cup and led the ol' lady up over the hill as fast as we could, lookin' back to make sure no one was takin' a gander at what we was doin'.
Glory, glory, hallelujah, the truth is marchin' on. There, over the top of the hill was a couple o' guards standin' in front of a big door. It was bigger than the door at the tractor-trailer quick oil change place down at the other interstate exit. Them guards and the doors was painted sky blue. With the glasses on, I could read that this was Hostile Crowd Control Ammunition Storage Facility #348. I shook my head. The missus said the sign read State Agricultural Test Station without the glasses on.
One thing I didn't figure on was runnin' into no armed guards. We'd left the shotgun and rifle in the truck although both me and the missus had our shoulder-harnessed firearms on us. Well, I like a firearm showdown just as much as the next feller, as long as I'm watchin' it on TV, that is. Unlessin' someone's tryin' to break into my place or messin' with kin. But this weren't no backyard family quarrel. This was official professionally trained guards up against the county turkey shoot champions.
Me and the missus backed down offa that hill as quiet as our young'ns sneakin' out at night to go skinny dippin'. Once we got back to the parkin' lot, we drove as slow as Grandpa Jake on the way to his weekly barber appointment, he bein' bald and never havin' no real set appointment time, just a place to sit a spell and get away from his sister, Great-aunt Agatha. We took our sweet time. We weren't lookin' t'raise any gub'ment flags or get pulled over by no county mounties on our way back to our home and castle.
You asked me why I'm sellin' these glasses for two hundred and fifty dollars and this here story's why. They ain't no regular glasses. You been about the hundredth person's been askin' me why but you's the first person who seems a bit more curious and maybe just almost believin' that what I'm tellin' ya is true. I won't give you no refunds. You buy these glasses and you gotta keep 'em. Not only that but you caint come back 'round here no more after you sees they works. I'm tired o' worryin' about trouble from someone I don't know - you get into trouble with these on your own time. I was gonna throw 'em away but the ol' lady said someone'd stop by our weekly yard sale one day and be willin' to pay big bucks for these glasses, all on account of the way I tell the story so truthfully. Most of you city folk who stop by make fun of my backwoods 'Big Brother' conspiracies, whatever that means, but some of ya, I can tell by your eyes, you knows I'm tellin' the truth. So you gonna buy 'em or not? Cause if you ain't, then I want you t'look at these autographed limited edition prints of Darryl Waltrip and Rusty Wallace. They're a real bargain, too, for authentic reproductions.
Well, now, see, me and the missus, we like to take trips ever now and then. See what this fair country of ours has to offer, it bein' the home of the free and the Braves.
Wasn't too long ago we was drivin' through the countryside, taking that big ol' interstate highway just to see what all the fuss is about.
What fuss, you ask?
The boys over at the co-op, most of 'em is purty good people. Our families, if they ain't kin, have known each other long afore the Civil War, and a few of us have land connections goin' back to the War of 1812 and one or two back as far as the American Revolution. Some of the families has been cavortin' with each other a bit too much so we get a fair share of folks who ain't all there in one way or t'other.
Bill is one of those I's referrin' to specific like. Bill's a good boy. He pulls his load. Always has, always will. But Bill's not always sure about the way things is. He gets confused about who's runnin' the show.
At least that's what me and the boys had figured out. Until this last trip me and the missus took.
See, Bill's been tellin' us for many a year that there's a secret ain't nobody 'round here's been told about. Bill said he was out one night chasin' lightnin' bugs when he seen a bunch of commotion out by the highway. He walked across the Carters' property and the Gilberts' property until he got up by the interstate guardrails. There, to his amazement, he seen these funny lookin' men wearin' light blue uniforms and they was makin' funny marks on the back o' highway signs.
I tell you I've heard this story of Bill's more times than a dog licks his hindquarters. And it smells just as funny every time.
Bill sometimes'd mention he saw one of them fellers drop a pair o' special glasses on the ground. Bill never would say what happened to the glasses.
Just before me and the missus took our trip, I stopped by the co-op to refreshen my supply of chewin' tobaccy and snuff. The missus has a thing for that mentholated snuff so I makes sure I keep her an extra can in case we caint find none on the road. Just as I was puttin' the goods on my IOU card at the checkout counter, I noticed a pair o' sunglasses I ain't never seen before. I put them on the IOU, too, and walked out.
In the sunshine, them glasses was useless even though they had shiny tinted lenses so I threw the glasses on the bench seat in the truck and drove me and the ol' lady onto the two-lane that takes you from the co-op on down to our one city traffic light.
The light was red so I sat and waited for the light to change. It's got a little hitch to it 'cause it won't change unlessin' someone comes up to both sides of the light so we sat a good spell.
The missus asked me why I bought the sunglasses when I already had three or four pair sittin' on the dashboard. I told her you caint never have enough of 'em 'cause you need one for mornin' light, one for noontime light, one for afternoon light and one for lookin' good at the burger bar on Saturdays. I love my ol' lady but she don't understand nothin' about men.
Well, since I weren't wearin' them new glasses, the missus put 'em on. She looked real good in 'em, too. The tint made her eyes all purty and blue, even though she's normally got hazel-green eyes.
Just afore the light changed, the missus asked me what that writin' was inside the green light. I told there weren't no writin' in the green light. She told me there was but couldn't prove it by me. The light changed and Cled was in his 4x4 behind me revvin' his engine so I tore on out o' there to show him it ain't about the size of your shocks but how you use your stickshift that matters.
As we approached the noisy interstate highway that my pa still blames on what has torn this country asunder and won't never be fixed until we get rid of cell phones, CDs and MP3 players and get back to the good ol' days of CBs, 8-tracks and rotary phones, the missus asked me why there would be signs pointin' out where the tanks and ammunition dumps is located.
Ever now and then, me and the missus like to put a little hooch in our tobaccy. It kinda juices up the taste and gives you a buzz while you're sittin' on the back porch after downin' two or three steaks with the kin and listenin' to a NASCAR race on the radio. So, I figured the ol' lady'd snuck a pint of hooch into the truck and was playin' around with me.
"What tanks?"
"That's what I'm askin' you 'bout!"
"Where'd you get that idea?"
"Right there on that sign, darlin'! There's a bunch o' blue words!"
I looked to where she was pointin' and all I could see was the galvanized backside of one of them interstate highway signs that usually tells you ya got more miles to go than you want to know.
A buddy of mine's got a little factory down in a holler 'bout two or three miles from our doublewide. He does a bunch o' odd jobs to keep the bills paid, including some galvanizin' work for the state gub'ment. He makes the signs to the gub'ment's specifications and they take the signs and slap on whatever green and white coverin' they needs for wherever they're puttin' the signs. I've watched him work and I ain't never seen him put no blue words on the signs which means either my missus was pullin' my leg or the gub'ment was pullin' the wool over our eyes.
"Now how come you can see them words and I caint? You hittin' the hooch without me?"
"You know I wouldn't do that." She turned her head and the glasses slipped down on her nose. She turned back around and let out a hoot. "Well, looky there. I caint see them words now."
I might've repeated fifth grade but I ain't dumb. I just was spendin' more time on the football field, the baseball field and the tobacco fields than what Mrs. Bridges told my folks I oughta be doin' in order not to be socially promoted. I like Mrs. Bridges. She's a real good Sunday school teacher but she don't always know what's good for a farmer's son, so my pa told me.
Anyway, I took one look at the missus and wondered if'n it might be them glasses that was causin' her to see visions.
"Let me have those glasses, willya?"
"Sure, honey."
I put those shades on and lordy be, sure 'nough there was a bunch of words, not only on the sign in front of us but also on the reflectors runnin' up the side of the interstate. Tanks, ammunition, the amount of each at the nearest location five miles away.
"Darlin', I think these glasses ain't shades. I think these're them glasses that Bill saw them funny fellers wearin'."
"What're you talkin' 'bout?"
I pulled the truck off t'the side o' of the road and proceeded to tell her Bill's story, word for word. I think the missus woulda laughed off my story, she knowin' Bill like the rest of us, but these glasses sure made a case for what Bill seen that night. We decided then and there to follow the road signs and see just what, if any, truth there was to Bill's story or if this was some sort of gub'ment hoax meant to hide somethin' even bigger.
I pulled back on the interstate, wavin' at a feller drivin' a tractor-trailer rig like the one my uncle Jimmy rides and drove on down to the next exit where them signs said the ammo dump was located.
You ain't from 'round here so I'll tell you 'bout this exit. It was nothin' for a long time. Then, them Overbys, them come into some money. Nobody's for certain how they got it but they put that money into a flea market. At first, it were a bunch of metal sheds. Then, after the flea market business was good in the '90s, they expanded and build a long metal storage buildin', bringin' all them outdoor flea market stands inside. Business really took off after that so they added two or three more buildin's and afore you know it, they was practically runnin' a shoppin' mall, with kiddie rides, an ice cream shop, a gun shop, a garden shop and an oil change place. They also built a gas station out by the exit. We call it the one-stop shoppin' extravaganzer.
Well, wouldn't ya know the signs all pointed to the Overbys' place but it weren't the flea market but a big hill out behind back I ain't never noticed before. The signs led me and the missus to a big gate with one of them push-button entry things you see at the fancy entrance to that gated community built for rich retirees over toward the outskirts of town.
Did I tell you I was a juvvy? That's juvenile delinquent to you town folks. I was good at bustin' into stores and takin' cash registers back before storeowners got smart and put their money in banks at night. Well, them juvvy days taught me one thing. A big lock means there's big stuff somebody's not wantin' you t'see.
I took one look at the missus and she grinned real big. We nodded at each other, meanin' we both agreed we had to see this thing to the end or we'd just be itchin' with curiosity the rest o' our lives. So, I parked the truck over near some other folks' vehicles and the missus and me wandered over to the fence back behind the buildin' where we figured nobody's goin' to be lookin'.
I found an old drink cup on the parkin' lot and tossed it over the fence. The missus and me pretended that she wanted the drink cup back so we both hopped the fence. I picked up the cup and led the ol' lady up over the hill as fast as we could, lookin' back to make sure no one was takin' a gander at what we was doin'.
Glory, glory, hallelujah, the truth is marchin' on. There, over the top of the hill was a couple o' guards standin' in front of a big door. It was bigger than the door at the tractor-trailer quick oil change place down at the other interstate exit. Them guards and the doors was painted sky blue. With the glasses on, I could read that this was Hostile Crowd Control Ammunition Storage Facility #348. I shook my head. The missus said the sign read State Agricultural Test Station without the glasses on.
One thing I didn't figure on was runnin' into no armed guards. We'd left the shotgun and rifle in the truck although both me and the missus had our shoulder-harnessed firearms on us. Well, I like a firearm showdown just as much as the next feller, as long as I'm watchin' it on TV, that is. Unlessin' someone's tryin' to break into my place or messin' with kin. But this weren't no backyard family quarrel. This was official professionally trained guards up against the county turkey shoot champions.
Me and the missus backed down offa that hill as quiet as our young'ns sneakin' out at night to go skinny dippin'. Once we got back to the parkin' lot, we drove as slow as Grandpa Jake on the way to his weekly barber appointment, he bein' bald and never havin' no real set appointment time, just a place to sit a spell and get away from his sister, Great-aunt Agatha. We took our sweet time. We weren't lookin' t'raise any gub'ment flags or get pulled over by no county mounties on our way back to our home and castle.
You asked me why I'm sellin' these glasses for two hundred and fifty dollars and this here story's why. They ain't no regular glasses. You been about the hundredth person's been askin' me why but you's the first person who seems a bit more curious and maybe just almost believin' that what I'm tellin' ya is true. I won't give you no refunds. You buy these glasses and you gotta keep 'em. Not only that but you caint come back 'round here no more after you sees they works. I'm tired o' worryin' about trouble from someone I don't know - you get into trouble with these on your own time. I was gonna throw 'em away but the ol' lady said someone'd stop by our weekly yard sale one day and be willin' to pay big bucks for these glasses, all on account of the way I tell the story so truthfully. Most of you city folk who stop by make fun of my backwoods 'Big Brother' conspiracies, whatever that means, but some of ya, I can tell by your eyes, you knows I'm tellin' the truth. So you gonna buy 'em or not? Cause if you ain't, then I want you t'look at these autographed limited edition prints of Darryl Waltrip and Rusty Wallace. They're a real bargain, too, for authentic reproductions.
First Nations Humour
Dog Head Stew (For Fifty People)
by Dorothy Pennington
Carefully prepare one medium dog head, removing teeth from jaw bones and hair, putting these aside for future use. Into kettle, add heaping handfuls of camos bulbs and cattail roots. The eggs from two medium-size salmon may be combined with water to cover, and place over fire and bring to boil for three hours.
It is customary to observe the rites of preparation in order to have all present appreciate the dish that will begin the feast.
At the proper moment, using the ceremonial arrow, impale the dog head and bring forth for all to observe the excellence of the dish.
Then allow fifteen to thirty minutes for all whites to excuse themselves and leave for home. Bury stew in back yard and bring forth the roasted turkey with all the trimmings. In this way, a 15-pound turkey will do. The others have been invited to the feast ... and the fact they didn't stay is their tough luck.
[from section III. The New Indians, Indian Humor, p. 75, in the book The Way: An Anthology of American Indian Literature, Edited by Shirley Hill Witt and Stan Steiner, (c) 1972 by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.]
by Dorothy Pennington
Carefully prepare one medium dog head, removing teeth from jaw bones and hair, putting these aside for future use. Into kettle, add heaping handfuls of camos bulbs and cattail roots. The eggs from two medium-size salmon may be combined with water to cover, and place over fire and bring to boil for three hours.
It is customary to observe the rites of preparation in order to have all present appreciate the dish that will begin the feast.
At the proper moment, using the ceremonial arrow, impale the dog head and bring forth for all to observe the excellence of the dish.
Then allow fifteen to thirty minutes for all whites to excuse themselves and leave for home. Bury stew in back yard and bring forth the roasted turkey with all the trimmings. In this way, a 15-pound turkey will do. The others have been invited to the feast ... and the fact they didn't stay is their tough luck.
[from section III. The New Indians, Indian Humor, p. 75, in the book The Way: An Anthology of American Indian Literature, Edited by Shirley Hill Witt and Stan Steiner, (c) 1972 by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.]
Freedom of the Press
This is a complicated topic to bring up. After all, those who've lived in countries where there is no such thing as free press press us to keep our news/entertainment complex running at full speed.
Yet, freedom requires responsibility, does it not? And if there are fewer and fewer official news outlets in comparison to the average citizen's ability to become an instant journalist, how do we teach responsible news reporting, knowing that completely uncensored news contains sensitive information?
I approach this topic because of the set of copycat murders that have taken and will take place during this lull in economic times, where people with no sense of humour get wound up in their thoughts that their only outlet is a violent ending.
By reporting and dwelling on details of murderers, we give a voice and/or thoughts toward murderous action for those who haven't yet formulated how they can get out of their current miserable conditions.
Now, I can look at this anthropologically-speaking and say that it's just our species weeding out the marginal personalities but even I, with my satirical/sarcastic sense of humour, am not that cold. We're talking about real people here, both those who could have been helped and those they murdered when help was not available.
We are one species. By that, I mean we are all the same, we are seven billion copies of the same person, we are one big family. Therefore, we should not hesitate to get to know one another, talk to our neighbours, break down the invisible social barriers and quit thickening our falsely-protective cocoons.
I don't need a crystal ball to know we're going to see more and more people reach the end of their livelihoods and want to end others as they go out with a big bang. My concern is the intensity of these follow-on copycats. We are social creatures who tend to herd together, even in acts of unspeakable atrocities. Inside that herd are those who are competitive, including how they want to outdo the last great criminal act of the herd members.
In an effort to help others in need, I recently reached out to my neighbours during the crisis of one set of neighbours. If we all did the same, we could reconnect the old-style, smalltown family ties of previous times. In this day and age of electronic social networking, we still need plain ol' hugs and frank in-the-face conversations with one another.
You do not need to kill someone to make your life complete! It's okay to be humble and ask for help. We can move in with one another, if need be.
If nothing else, take a walk. Exercise is one of the best ways to burn off pent-up energy. Do not resort to violence. It's unnecessary.
In the education of our children, a healthy sense of humour should be one of the foundations of life-coping skills we teach. When we're at our wit's end, we can still find a way to smile, which often leads to insights to a new path out of our predicament.
Eight and a half years after 9/11/01 and most Americans have become used to the safe sound of airplanes overhead. Now, what will we say to our friends who get a sudden urge to fly their private planes? What will we say to our friends who complain about their children's uncontrollable behaviour? What will we think of our friends who display violent tendencies or won't talk about blank places in their CVs?
It is well with what you can call my soul. I accept that whatever will happen to me is meant to happen to me because it happened and we can't turn back the clock. However, that doesn't mean I'm willing to accept arbitrary acts of violence against my person that could have been prevented with some simple acts of kindness to strangers by strangers.
During WWII, this country enacted a set of censorship rules. With the Internet's uncensored setup, we have created a wonderful gathering place for people of all sorts of dreams, desires, personalities, quirks, hobbies and backgrounds. How do we make our society less prone to violence, including individual acts of violence or group-centered (gang) violence? Is censorship possible? Is it necessary? How do we reach out to those in need if we shut them out? Why is it always after the fact that hindsight showed us what we should have seen? Where is the social progress that promised us future people with insight to see problem people around us and act on our instincts to pull those problem people aside for counseling or other means of making them less problematic?
I'm concerned we're going to take the direction of creating a stronger police state, devoting more and more of our tax collections to incarceration and clamp down on openness altogether, using censorship for promoting a one-size-fits-all social message. In so doing, we would limit our futures.
I look to you for other solutions to our current crisis of random violence (i.e., domestic terrorism). It's up to you and me to solve this problem. There's no magic bureau or agency or department that has an infinite set of solutions already worked out. We are one people, including those in the private and public sectors. Together, we make this a better world or we fall apart.
We have faced these crises before and survived. In fact, we've thrived since then. But we survived and thrived because we took action, not because we stood by and let apathy rule the day.
I use the freedom of the press to communicate with many of you out there who are working to get our people up and permanently off this planet. The Space Monkeys, we often joke. There are those of you, including the space monkey subset, who communicate for an even greater cause (meaning we all do). We must act with more compassion for those around us who we might normally ignore in our daily rush to accomplish our nearly impossible tasks. It's okay to slow down a little and take the time to care for those we easily can give a helping hand - we already have the gift of insight so let's use it for more than large-scale social change.
To Pam, Patricia and Beth - our thoughts and prayers are with you right now in your time of mourning. To Annette - there are better days ahead. To Monica - I haven't talked to you in a while but I'm thinking about you during this big change in your life. To Pat - you're a beautiful person who will find new dreams fulfilled. To Raymon and Ann - we're still praying for full recovery. To Scott - we're hoping you get your house sold and can move on with your life.
These notes of love are the types of messages we should use the press and Internet for, not spreading more details of how desperate, violent people decided to take out their frustrations, no matter how much people seem to be attracted to stories of violence and mayhem and thus willing to support adverts that pay for crime reports.
Yet, freedom requires responsibility, does it not? And if there are fewer and fewer official news outlets in comparison to the average citizen's ability to become an instant journalist, how do we teach responsible news reporting, knowing that completely uncensored news contains sensitive information?
I approach this topic because of the set of copycat murders that have taken and will take place during this lull in economic times, where people with no sense of humour get wound up in their thoughts that their only outlet is a violent ending.
By reporting and dwelling on details of murderers, we give a voice and/or thoughts toward murderous action for those who haven't yet formulated how they can get out of their current miserable conditions.
Now, I can look at this anthropologically-speaking and say that it's just our species weeding out the marginal personalities but even I, with my satirical/sarcastic sense of humour, am not that cold. We're talking about real people here, both those who could have been helped and those they murdered when help was not available.
We are one species. By that, I mean we are all the same, we are seven billion copies of the same person, we are one big family. Therefore, we should not hesitate to get to know one another, talk to our neighbours, break down the invisible social barriers and quit thickening our falsely-protective cocoons.
I don't need a crystal ball to know we're going to see more and more people reach the end of their livelihoods and want to end others as they go out with a big bang. My concern is the intensity of these follow-on copycats. We are social creatures who tend to herd together, even in acts of unspeakable atrocities. Inside that herd are those who are competitive, including how they want to outdo the last great criminal act of the herd members.
In an effort to help others in need, I recently reached out to my neighbours during the crisis of one set of neighbours. If we all did the same, we could reconnect the old-style, smalltown family ties of previous times. In this day and age of electronic social networking, we still need plain ol' hugs and frank in-the-face conversations with one another.
You do not need to kill someone to make your life complete! It's okay to be humble and ask for help. We can move in with one another, if need be.
If nothing else, take a walk. Exercise is one of the best ways to burn off pent-up energy. Do not resort to violence. It's unnecessary.
In the education of our children, a healthy sense of humour should be one of the foundations of life-coping skills we teach. When we're at our wit's end, we can still find a way to smile, which often leads to insights to a new path out of our predicament.
Eight and a half years after 9/11/01 and most Americans have become used to the safe sound of airplanes overhead. Now, what will we say to our friends who get a sudden urge to fly their private planes? What will we say to our friends who complain about their children's uncontrollable behaviour? What will we think of our friends who display violent tendencies or won't talk about blank places in their CVs?
It is well with what you can call my soul. I accept that whatever will happen to me is meant to happen to me because it happened and we can't turn back the clock. However, that doesn't mean I'm willing to accept arbitrary acts of violence against my person that could have been prevented with some simple acts of kindness to strangers by strangers.
During WWII, this country enacted a set of censorship rules. With the Internet's uncensored setup, we have created a wonderful gathering place for people of all sorts of dreams, desires, personalities, quirks, hobbies and backgrounds. How do we make our society less prone to violence, including individual acts of violence or group-centered (gang) violence? Is censorship possible? Is it necessary? How do we reach out to those in need if we shut them out? Why is it always after the fact that hindsight showed us what we should have seen? Where is the social progress that promised us future people with insight to see problem people around us and act on our instincts to pull those problem people aside for counseling or other means of making them less problematic?
I'm concerned we're going to take the direction of creating a stronger police state, devoting more and more of our tax collections to incarceration and clamp down on openness altogether, using censorship for promoting a one-size-fits-all social message. In so doing, we would limit our futures.
I look to you for other solutions to our current crisis of random violence (i.e., domestic terrorism). It's up to you and me to solve this problem. There's no magic bureau or agency or department that has an infinite set of solutions already worked out. We are one people, including those in the private and public sectors. Together, we make this a better world or we fall apart.
We have faced these crises before and survived. In fact, we've thrived since then. But we survived and thrived because we took action, not because we stood by and let apathy rule the day.
I use the freedom of the press to communicate with many of you out there who are working to get our people up and permanently off this planet. The Space Monkeys, we often joke. There are those of you, including the space monkey subset, who communicate for an even greater cause (meaning we all do). We must act with more compassion for those around us who we might normally ignore in our daily rush to accomplish our nearly impossible tasks. It's okay to slow down a little and take the time to care for those we easily can give a helping hand - we already have the gift of insight so let's use it for more than large-scale social change.
To Pam, Patricia and Beth - our thoughts and prayers are with you right now in your time of mourning. To Annette - there are better days ahead. To Monica - I haven't talked to you in a while but I'm thinking about you during this big change in your life. To Pat - you're a beautiful person who will find new dreams fulfilled. To Raymon and Ann - we're still praying for full recovery. To Scott - we're hoping you get your house sold and can move on with your life.
These notes of love are the types of messages we should use the press and Internet for, not spreading more details of how desperate, violent people decided to take out their frustrations, no matter how much people seem to be attracted to stories of violence and mayhem and thus willing to support adverts that pay for crime reports.
A New Pencil, At Last
I dug through some old boxes and found an honest-to-goodness wooden pencil. Now that I've sharpened it, I have new predictions to type about. They don't look much different than the rubbery pencil shavings' visions.
Looks like Tiger Woods will fall back into his repute of ill dens. But no problem, his new prenup allows him to play with his golf clubs away from home.
Hu Jintao will arrange punitive measures against the United States for hosting the Dalai Lama, which will cause Ramen noodles to rise in value and be served only at fine restaurants.
Dick Cheney will deny responsibility for the start of World War III but will take credit for bringing an end to the civil war in the United States.
Somalia will declare itself a nuclear arms pirate nation.
A group of wealthy independent thinkers will launch a satellite that drops an Internet radio station on the Moon, allowing those who want their voices to be heard to have a place free of government regulations to broadcast their messages.
An Indian chef will become a worldwide celebrity after creating a tasty freeze-dried curry dish eaten by his people during their first journey in outer space.
Global average temperatures keep dropping while the Arctic Ocean completely thaws during the Northern Hemisphere summer, perplexing climate change theorists. Water skiing enthusiasts don't care - they open new shops along Russian and Canadian beaches, turning wetsuits into the latest fashion must-haves.
Tiddlywinks replaces men's figure skating in the Winter Olympics.
Nicaragua and Cuba combine their governments, changing their motto to "Cigars: You're Dying To Smoke One."
Mobile phones become throwaway commodities reduced down to the size of pills. People swallow their mobile phones in the morning and have conversations with their friends simply by thinking the phone numbers and then talking to themselves. A famous movie star will attempt suicide by swallowing a whole bottle of mobile phones, causing confusion with the strangers who receive random phone calls while the movie star counts to 100 and is assuming that number will be sufficient for the pills to be effective, then thinking voices in the head are a sign of going to heaven. "Hello. May I help you?" "Where am I?" "I don't know, where are you?" "Is this heaven?" "No, this is the Third Street Bakery." "You mean, they have bakeries in heaven?"
Looks like Tiger Woods will fall back into his repute of ill dens. But no problem, his new prenup allows him to play with his golf clubs away from home.
Hu Jintao will arrange punitive measures against the United States for hosting the Dalai Lama, which will cause Ramen noodles to rise in value and be served only at fine restaurants.
Dick Cheney will deny responsibility for the start of World War III but will take credit for bringing an end to the civil war in the United States.
Somalia will declare itself a nuclear arms pirate nation.
A group of wealthy independent thinkers will launch a satellite that drops an Internet radio station on the Moon, allowing those who want their voices to be heard to have a place free of government regulations to broadcast their messages.
An Indian chef will become a worldwide celebrity after creating a tasty freeze-dried curry dish eaten by his people during their first journey in outer space.
Global average temperatures keep dropping while the Arctic Ocean completely thaws during the Northern Hemisphere summer, perplexing climate change theorists. Water skiing enthusiasts don't care - they open new shops along Russian and Canadian beaches, turning wetsuits into the latest fashion must-haves.
Tiddlywinks replaces men's figure skating in the Winter Olympics.
Nicaragua and Cuba combine their governments, changing their motto to "Cigars: You're Dying To Smoke One."
Mobile phones become throwaway commodities reduced down to the size of pills. People swallow their mobile phones in the morning and have conversations with their friends simply by thinking the phone numbers and then talking to themselves. A famous movie star will attempt suicide by swallowing a whole bottle of mobile phones, causing confusion with the strangers who receive random phone calls while the movie star counts to 100 and is assuming that number will be sufficient for the pills to be effective, then thinking voices in the head are a sign of going to heaven. "Hello. May I help you?" "Where am I?" "I don't know, where are you?" "Is this heaven?" "No, this is the Third Street Bakery." "You mean, they have bakeries in heaven?"
Roger Bolton Is My Hero
While taking a walk under some high-voltage power lines to find the message an associate left me in the arrangement of some discarded construction material, I remembered a former work colleague of mine named Roger Bolton. Roger was a computer software programmer, if my memories of him hold true. He was also a long-distance road bicyclist.
Roger exemplified the persons I admired while growing up - dedicated to physical feats for personal enjoyment.
I saw Roger and his wife a year or so ago after he'd finished the Rocket City Marathon. He was no longer making long-distance bike rides, having switched to long-distance running.
In Roger's biking days, he'd eat five small meals a day, making sure his nutrition intake and processing were running at optimal levels.
Roger is like many friends of mine who've devoted themselves to physical wellbeing, seeing their bodies as engines that run best when well-maintained.
Perhaps we could all learn a lesson from them. I recently pulled a ligament in my knee area because I thought, after years of physical neglect, I could jump on a rowing machine and pretend to row across a large lake. Start with a small pond first, I found out!
Roger exemplified the persons I admired while growing up - dedicated to physical feats for personal enjoyment.
I saw Roger and his wife a year or so ago after he'd finished the Rocket City Marathon. He was no longer making long-distance bike rides, having switched to long-distance running.
In Roger's biking days, he'd eat five small meals a day, making sure his nutrition intake and processing were running at optimal levels.
Roger is like many friends of mine who've devoted themselves to physical wellbeing, seeing their bodies as engines that run best when well-maintained.
Perhaps we could all learn a lesson from them. I recently pulled a ligament in my knee area because I thought, after years of physical neglect, I could jump on a rowing machine and pretend to row across a large lake. Start with a small pond first, I found out!
The Uptight Citizens Brigade
Talking with a friend of mine who believes he is a statistician's magician, I learned about new ways to measure demographic changes. My friend took unemployment data from a select number of countries, computed trends of the types of people getting fired or laid off, compared that to the types of people getting hired, plotted estimates out 1, 2, 5, 10 and 25 years from now and showed me the results.
Wow!
Let me say that again. Wow!
I'm all about comic timing but these charts...wooie! Makes me want to take a walk up Mt. Everest without an iPod and GPS device.
Makes no sense? Exactly. The demographic changes in those charts were a willy-nilly, moxnix, Rauschenberg collage. Age. Weight. Shoe size. Eye colour. Religious preference. Political affiliation. Think of a way to classify yourself or your body parts and you could probably find yourself in the plotted data points and extrapolation lines like a person who believes that biorhythms determine which latte and scone to buy every morning.
Instead of demographic comparisons, I looked at the data points in relation to numbers of persons employed/unemployed and then pulled out some old statistics books that compared political upheavals - revolutions, civilisation collapses, that sort of thing - to the general state of the population in situ and rival populations wanting to take over prime territory/treasures.
Just the sort of thing that all the so-called brain trusts are supposed to be doing, providing expensive consulting services to kings, queens, presidents, and triumvirates.
What did I discover? Well, you historical hysteria buffs already know the answer. Citizen unrest and effective political change are correlated to direct control of military forces and propaganda machines. The actual demographic composition is a neutral effect because propagandists always use opposing demographic differences to sway public opinion - it doesn't matter what the demographics show as long as those who want to cause change can make up some cockamamie story why the differences matter. The greater the stress, duress and [perceived] economic slump, the easier it is to convince one demographic group or set of groups to set up opposing camps and start making each other out to be enemies. Successful propagandists create new, imaginary demographic differences in order to attract the largest number of followers. Obvious to most of you yet you still let yourself be swayed by these simple political tactics.
Which takes me to my next observation. A follower of mine, who wants to gain access to my information channels, asked me what she should do to get "connected." She assumed there was some horrifying, debilitating, demeaning, hazing-type ritual that she had to submit her body to join the "club."
When someone asks you a question like that, do you realize the power you could create, using sadistic methods for controlling others? Or, like me, do you smile and remember the moment you decided you wanted to be part of the "it" crowd that's not part of any "it" crowd because you're really a solo operative in a network of solo operatives? That's your decision to make, of course. I know plenty of solo operatives who pretend to control large organisations which require years of gruesome tasks and assignments before novices can graduate up to apprentice status and then decades later become professionals.
I'm not a sadist. I don't have a control freak mentality. I prefer the loose network of trust that those who work with me have established instantly. You're either in or you're out. You don't have to erase your personality in order to take on a set of bogus beliefs. You can believe whatever you want to believe. If you're a masochist, then we'll help you hook up with sadists, if that's your thing, but it has no bearing on your "membership."
So, to answer the follower's inquiry, I don't want followers. I don't want leaders. I want associates who pass along information at appropriate moments but may have to take a positive or negative stance against one another in public situations. If you want to be in, you're in. That's all there is to it. Wear your same old clothes and keep your same old friends. I don't care. It's information we're after, not ideology.
For years, my associates and I have used a wide variety of communications methods. Messages inserted in mass mailings. Patterns carefully carved in the dust on the side of motor vehicles. A particular set of foundation plantings next to one's house or business (a devil's backbone in Arizona may be the same as a lotus in India or palm tree in Ireland). Teleprompters with incongruous text. The progress of general technology use has added more methods such as popup ads on the Internet, email spam, silly kitten videos and other annoying ways of turning off the public while we invisibly keep in touch with each other. You look at the funk, we look at the noise. You see people trying to rip you off, we see advantages to slip in and pass data back and forth.
So go ahead and get yourself branded or tattooed or dunked in ice water or whatever makes you feel important in other organisations. We don't care. But keep in mind that once you join us, you're always in. There's no getting out. There's no pay, no retirement, no official/unofficial recognition. You're still as incognito or famous as you ever were.
One small detail before I zip up my lip on this subject. We're a bunch of practical jokers who like to pull pranks while we're doing whatever it is we do (you don't get to find out our real motivations until after you join). At the same time, if you join and are found to be intentionally passing false or misleading information for your personal gain or the gain of someone not associated with us... What can I say here that I haven't hinted at in previous blog entries? We're not thugs - you won't find yourself wearing cement shoes at the bottom of the ocean or end up in an "accident." No, we're much more subtle in our methods of keeping each other in line. Hmm...well...let's, you and I, make sure we're always on the up-and-up with one another. Pranksters are punny, when they want to be, and more cruel than I ever thought possible. I'm an easygoing, funny guy who likes sunny days and quiet walks in the woods. Some of us are not. The only thing that matters is what we're working toward.
I've said enough for now. You have to make the decision to join on your own, without anyone to tell it to. Some of you will require training to better understand your body's capabilities but the training has no instruction manual or obvious teacher. You'll learn about all that after you join. It's a weighty decision, not to be taken lightly. Those who thought they could join and quit whenever they wanted have fallen by the wayside. Think about it. Look around you, observing people, places, things and ideas (e.g., is Apolo Anton Ohno wearing a bandana or showing his gang affiliation?). Do you see what you think you see or do you know that your trained perception is the haphazard result of those who have no collective purpose or understanding of how the universe works?
More later. I need to move on to something else. I have a bad habit of running my mouth too much.
Wow!
Let me say that again. Wow!
I'm all about comic timing but these charts...wooie! Makes me want to take a walk up Mt. Everest without an iPod and GPS device.
Makes no sense? Exactly. The demographic changes in those charts were a willy-nilly, moxnix, Rauschenberg collage. Age. Weight. Shoe size. Eye colour. Religious preference. Political affiliation. Think of a way to classify yourself or your body parts and you could probably find yourself in the plotted data points and extrapolation lines like a person who believes that biorhythms determine which latte and scone to buy every morning.
Instead of demographic comparisons, I looked at the data points in relation to numbers of persons employed/unemployed and then pulled out some old statistics books that compared political upheavals - revolutions, civilisation collapses, that sort of thing - to the general state of the population in situ and rival populations wanting to take over prime territory/treasures.
Just the sort of thing that all the so-called brain trusts are supposed to be doing, providing expensive consulting services to kings, queens, presidents, and triumvirates.
What did I discover? Well, you historical hysteria buffs already know the answer. Citizen unrest and effective political change are correlated to direct control of military forces and propaganda machines. The actual demographic composition is a neutral effect because propagandists always use opposing demographic differences to sway public opinion - it doesn't matter what the demographics show as long as those who want to cause change can make up some cockamamie story why the differences matter. The greater the stress, duress and [perceived] economic slump, the easier it is to convince one demographic group or set of groups to set up opposing camps and start making each other out to be enemies. Successful propagandists create new, imaginary demographic differences in order to attract the largest number of followers. Obvious to most of you yet you still let yourself be swayed by these simple political tactics.
Which takes me to my next observation. A follower of mine, who wants to gain access to my information channels, asked me what she should do to get "connected." She assumed there was some horrifying, debilitating, demeaning, hazing-type ritual that she had to submit her body to join the "club."
When someone asks you a question like that, do you realize the power you could create, using sadistic methods for controlling others? Or, like me, do you smile and remember the moment you decided you wanted to be part of the "it" crowd that's not part of any "it" crowd because you're really a solo operative in a network of solo operatives? That's your decision to make, of course. I know plenty of solo operatives who pretend to control large organisations which require years of gruesome tasks and assignments before novices can graduate up to apprentice status and then decades later become professionals.
I'm not a sadist. I don't have a control freak mentality. I prefer the loose network of trust that those who work with me have established instantly. You're either in or you're out. You don't have to erase your personality in order to take on a set of bogus beliefs. You can believe whatever you want to believe. If you're a masochist, then we'll help you hook up with sadists, if that's your thing, but it has no bearing on your "membership."
So, to answer the follower's inquiry, I don't want followers. I don't want leaders. I want associates who pass along information at appropriate moments but may have to take a positive or negative stance against one another in public situations. If you want to be in, you're in. That's all there is to it. Wear your same old clothes and keep your same old friends. I don't care. It's information we're after, not ideology.
For years, my associates and I have used a wide variety of communications methods. Messages inserted in mass mailings. Patterns carefully carved in the dust on the side of motor vehicles. A particular set of foundation plantings next to one's house or business (a devil's backbone in Arizona may be the same as a lotus in India or palm tree in Ireland). Teleprompters with incongruous text. The progress of general technology use has added more methods such as popup ads on the Internet, email spam, silly kitten videos and other annoying ways of turning off the public while we invisibly keep in touch with each other. You look at the funk, we look at the noise. You see people trying to rip you off, we see advantages to slip in and pass data back and forth.
So go ahead and get yourself branded or tattooed or dunked in ice water or whatever makes you feel important in other organisations. We don't care. But keep in mind that once you join us, you're always in. There's no getting out. There's no pay, no retirement, no official/unofficial recognition. You're still as incognito or famous as you ever were.
One small detail before I zip up my lip on this subject. We're a bunch of practical jokers who like to pull pranks while we're doing whatever it is we do (you don't get to find out our real motivations until after you join). At the same time, if you join and are found to be intentionally passing false or misleading information for your personal gain or the gain of someone not associated with us... What can I say here that I haven't hinted at in previous blog entries? We're not thugs - you won't find yourself wearing cement shoes at the bottom of the ocean or end up in an "accident." No, we're much more subtle in our methods of keeping each other in line. Hmm...well...let's, you and I, make sure we're always on the up-and-up with one another. Pranksters are punny, when they want to be, and more cruel than I ever thought possible. I'm an easygoing, funny guy who likes sunny days and quiet walks in the woods. Some of us are not. The only thing that matters is what we're working toward.
I've said enough for now. You have to make the decision to join on your own, without anyone to tell it to. Some of you will require training to better understand your body's capabilities but the training has no instruction manual or obvious teacher. You'll learn about all that after you join. It's a weighty decision, not to be taken lightly. Those who thought they could join and quit whenever they wanted have fallen by the wayside. Think about it. Look around you, observing people, places, things and ideas (e.g., is Apolo Anton Ohno wearing a bandana or showing his gang affiliation?). Do you see what you think you see or do you know that your trained perception is the haphazard result of those who have no collective purpose or understanding of how the universe works?
More later. I need to move on to something else. I have a bad habit of running my mouth too much.
17 February 2010
Piled To The Rafters
More books than I know what to do with. Books given to me from my parents (mainly from my father's youth [special notes about the book or handwriting inside the book is detailed in brackets]), in no particular order:
- Kingdom Songs, The choicest hymns and gospel songs of all the earth, for general use in church services, Sunday schools, and young people's meetings, edited and compiled by I.E. Reynolds and Robert H. Coleman, published by Sunday School Board of the Southern Baptist Convention, Nashville, Tenn., (c) 1921
- The Music Hour, Two-Book Course, Upper Grades, (c) 1934, 1938, by Silver Burdett Company
- The Modern Hymnal, copyright page missing [from Central Baptist Church, Fountain City, TN]
- Bible Picture ABC Book, by Elsie E. Egermeier, (c) 1924, 1939 by Gospel Trumpet Company [To Richard Capps/Hill, "From Mam-maw, Christmas 1942"]
- Billy Graham Campaign Songs, Singing Evangelism, Compiled by Cliff Barrows, (c) 1950 by the Rodeheaver, Hall-Mack Company
- Blaze of Noon, by Ernest K. Gann, (c) 1946 by Henry Holt and Company, Inc.
- On The Bottom, by Commander Edward Ellsberg, (c) 1928, 1929; (c) 1944 by Dodd, Mead & Company [from Springfield Hospital, Springfield, Mass.]
- Victory Through Air Power, by Major Alexander P. De Seversky, (c) 1942 by Simon and Schuster
- Aerial Warfare, The Story of the Aeroplane as a Weapon, by Hal Goodwin, (c) 1943 by The Garden City Publishing Co., Inc.
- Queen of the Flat-Tops, The U.S.S. Lexington and the Coral Sea Battle, by Stanley Johnston, (c) 1942 by E.P. Dutton & Co., Inc. ["The information herein has been inspected by the Office of Censorship, which found no objection."]
- Daniel Boone, Master of the Wilderness, by John Bakeless, (c) 1939, published by William Morrow & Company
- War Planes of all Nations, by William Winter, (c) 1943 [from USS Casa Grande - LSD 13]
- Bob and Alf Taylor, Their Lives and Lectures, The Story of Senator Robert Love Taylor and Governor Alfred Alexander Taylor, by Paul Deresco Augsburg, (c) 1925 by Morristown Book Company, Inc.
- The Philosophy of the Christian Religion, by Andrew Martin Fairburn, M.A., D.D., LL. D, (c) 1902 by The MacMillan Company ["Thelma Eldridge Senior 1934," Carson Newman]
- Masters of English Literature, Volume I, Edited by Paul Spencer Wood, (c) 1947
- English Writers, Revised Edition, (c) 1940 by Tom Peete Cross, Reed Smith, Elmer C. Stauffer, and Elizabeth Collette in the Philippine Islands ["Jean Raulston"]
- Someone Cares, The Collected Poems of Helen Steiner Rice, (c) 1972 by Fleming H. Revell Company ["To Rick with love from Nana, Christmas 1980"]
The Glib Mr. Gibbs
The Book of the Future, the gift that others keep on sharpening for me. I want some happiness, some joy, some sunshine, a warm bed, a good hug or two a day and untamed woods. Instead, what do I get? A box of powdered nongraphite particles, and glued slivers of pencil pieces. Turns out the Book of the Future only tells the future when a specific pencil type is used. No formulated wood byproducts. No pencil "lead" wannabes. So, while I track down authentic fortunetelling writing utensils, I'll tell you what the artificial pencils have said and let you decide what they mean.
First item of interest - the glibness of the White House Press Secretary when he poked fun at a former vice presidential candidate (and likely forerunner for the 2012 U.S. Presidency). According to a timeline described by the Book of the Future, Mr. Gibbs' hand action has ensured that the 2010 midterm elections will bring into U.S. Congressional offices a group of leaders determined to find a way to impeach and oust the current U.S. President based on legal terms inaccurately used in future exercises of executive power. Along that same timeline, many other White House advisors, once described as positive do-gooders associated with the "Chicago Mafia," will turn tail and run when they find out that their business interests back home have been infiltrated by people with real power who are siphoning money to conservative political leaders.
Meantime, Saudi and Chinese bankers will quietly let world leaders know their decisions are no longer their own. Not that that's news but the world leaders will be forced to make public announcements to that effect. The pencil shavings are hard to read at this point but it appears to say a historic announcement will be made by President Sarkozy, who will concede that France has officially become the first of many European nations to convert to the official world religion, Buddislam. As usual, Great Britain will be the lone holdout and will negotiate a treaty that allows the swap of religious asylum seekers across the Channel. The Channel Tunnel will be called the Gate of Heaven, with the Continental people seeing the British Isles as hell and vice versa. Vatican City will completely turn into a tourist attraction, hiring consultants from famous amusement parks to install roller coasters and 3D rides throughout the former Catholic enclave.
Bob Costas will revive the Timex watch brand, using his trademark nervous twitches and fidgeting to show how the watches are self-winding. With the technical fiasco and death at the Vancouver Olympics blamed on NBC's pressure to boost ratings, the network will pass the Olympic broadcasting torch to the new global media conglomerate of Fox, CCTV, and Univision. Future Olympics will be centered on reality TV stars whose popularity will be monitored by a set of producers who decide the outcome of "public" voting polls to determine the Olympic participants. The participants will not only have to demonstrate their athletic skills but also negotiate impossible business deals, perform surrealistic death-defying tricks, have soap-opera style love trysts, prove the existence of legends (Atlantis, Bigfoot, etc.) and speak more than 10 languages fluently while working as undercover specialists for opposite sides of a yet-to-be-revealed international spy network.
Parents who cannot afford private education of their children will be forced to make their children permanent wards of the state, allowing governments to decide how to treat childhood violence as a set of systemic infections, such as funneling violent children into government factories (formerly called prisons), with future genetic testing allowing the corporation-run governments to tell parents that their unborn potentially-violent children will have to be taken away at birth in order to serve the greater good. The Book of the Future does not say whether violent children will be allowed to procreate.
Now you can see why I want a set of real pencils to work with. These future readings from "parts is parts" pencils are like putting too much Bisphenol A (BPA), HGH, and other artificial acronyms into a Toyota automobile designer - we're endangering the future for all of us.
I want a happy future so until I find some pencils that don't smell like they came out of a chemical factory, I'm setting aside the Book of the Future. The future happens without my predictions. In the meantime, I'll look for the signs and other forms of communications you want to leave me that tell how people plan their future moments - I'll report the ones that seem to make the most sense (and to answer one reader's question, no, I don't accept "tips" about Triple Crown horse race winners or which players and referees have been paid to throw a game's outcome; I don't report them, either (not on purpose, that is)).
I tend to report only those future outcomes that point to my getting our species and their representatives off this planet. Other outcomes, like the effect that unlawful tracking of people's cell/mobile phone use will cause, have no meaning to me - they're simply side effects of the widening gap between the digital and the nondigital citizens of our world population. People can choose not to participate in such futures by being digital or nondigital; thus, those futures require individual decisionmaking.
Do you believe in magic? Well, my crystal ball is still working. It tends to report futures that apply to people who believe in miracles, love, religion, luck, fate, etc. Like those who thought that universal health care coverage is a guaranteed right. According to the crystal ball, something wonderful's about to happen in Australia. Kinda fuzzy inside the ball but I'm seeing clear blue water. Not sure what it means but I'm sure we'll find out.
First item of interest - the glibness of the White House Press Secretary when he poked fun at a former vice presidential candidate (and likely forerunner for the 2012 U.S. Presidency). According to a timeline described by the Book of the Future, Mr. Gibbs' hand action has ensured that the 2010 midterm elections will bring into U.S. Congressional offices a group of leaders determined to find a way to impeach and oust the current U.S. President based on legal terms inaccurately used in future exercises of executive power. Along that same timeline, many other White House advisors, once described as positive do-gooders associated with the "Chicago Mafia," will turn tail and run when they find out that their business interests back home have been infiltrated by people with real power who are siphoning money to conservative political leaders.
Meantime, Saudi and Chinese bankers will quietly let world leaders know their decisions are no longer their own. Not that that's news but the world leaders will be forced to make public announcements to that effect. The pencil shavings are hard to read at this point but it appears to say a historic announcement will be made by President Sarkozy, who will concede that France has officially become the first of many European nations to convert to the official world religion, Buddislam. As usual, Great Britain will be the lone holdout and will negotiate a treaty that allows the swap of religious asylum seekers across the Channel. The Channel Tunnel will be called the Gate of Heaven, with the Continental people seeing the British Isles as hell and vice versa. Vatican City will completely turn into a tourist attraction, hiring consultants from famous amusement parks to install roller coasters and 3D rides throughout the former Catholic enclave.
Bob Costas will revive the Timex watch brand, using his trademark nervous twitches and fidgeting to show how the watches are self-winding. With the technical fiasco and death at the Vancouver Olympics blamed on NBC's pressure to boost ratings, the network will pass the Olympic broadcasting torch to the new global media conglomerate of Fox, CCTV, and Univision. Future Olympics will be centered on reality TV stars whose popularity will be monitored by a set of producers who decide the outcome of "public" voting polls to determine the Olympic participants. The participants will not only have to demonstrate their athletic skills but also negotiate impossible business deals, perform surrealistic death-defying tricks, have soap-opera style love trysts, prove the existence of legends (Atlantis, Bigfoot, etc.) and speak more than 10 languages fluently while working as undercover specialists for opposite sides of a yet-to-be-revealed international spy network.
Parents who cannot afford private education of their children will be forced to make their children permanent wards of the state, allowing governments to decide how to treat childhood violence as a set of systemic infections, such as funneling violent children into government factories (formerly called prisons), with future genetic testing allowing the corporation-run governments to tell parents that their unborn potentially-violent children will have to be taken away at birth in order to serve the greater good. The Book of the Future does not say whether violent children will be allowed to procreate.
Now you can see why I want a set of real pencils to work with. These future readings from "parts is parts" pencils are like putting too much Bisphenol A (BPA), HGH, and other artificial acronyms into a Toyota automobile designer - we're endangering the future for all of us.
I want a happy future so until I find some pencils that don't smell like they came out of a chemical factory, I'm setting aside the Book of the Future. The future happens without my predictions. In the meantime, I'll look for the signs and other forms of communications you want to leave me that tell how people plan their future moments - I'll report the ones that seem to make the most sense (and to answer one reader's question, no, I don't accept "tips" about Triple Crown horse race winners or which players and referees have been paid to throw a game's outcome; I don't report them, either (not on purpose, that is)).
I tend to report only those future outcomes that point to my getting our species and their representatives off this planet. Other outcomes, like the effect that unlawful tracking of people's cell/mobile phone use will cause, have no meaning to me - they're simply side effects of the widening gap between the digital and the nondigital citizens of our world population. People can choose not to participate in such futures by being digital or nondigital; thus, those futures require individual decisionmaking.
Do you believe in magic? Well, my crystal ball is still working. It tends to report futures that apply to people who believe in miracles, love, religion, luck, fate, etc. Like those who thought that universal health care coverage is a guaranteed right. According to the crystal ball, something wonderful's about to happen in Australia. Kinda fuzzy inside the ball but I'm seeing clear blue water. Not sure what it means but I'm sure we'll find out.
16 February 2010
Insufferable Bastards: The New Untouchables
In news that would startle even the most hardened Hollywood critics, anonymous authorities have revealed that the assassination in Dubai, contrary to common beliefs, was not carried out by agents of Mossad on behalf of the Israeli government.
No, my sources tell me, we live in a pre-post-post-sarcastic-modern era. With a need to drum up sales for the DVD release of "Inglourious Basterds" and the upcoming cinematic release of a Matt Damon flick, producers of both movies hired professional assassins as a publicity stunt (see Kevin Smith and Michael Moore for similar acts of poor taste). Apparently, the assassins were given a list of possible targets, including some key opponents of Western entertainment imperialism. More news as this story develops!
Speaking of Western ideology, another source tells me that Iranian leaders have been using Hollywood/Bollywood entertainment promoters for years to create, print, publish and distribute idolatry images of the leaders in order for the leaders to avoid the issue of directly disobeying Mohammedan anti-idolatry teaching. In lockstep, the Revolutionary Guards have become their own version of a cross between the irreverent inglorious bastards and the Nazi SS, crossing any and all religious/civil lines in order to meet their dastardly ends. O, Canada, where's Dudley Do-Right when we need him, besides cleaning up the mess behind the U.S. Vice President Joe "I Like the Taste of Shoe Leather" Biden in British Columbia?
I learned the supposed origin of the word "snob": s.nob. - sine nobilitate. According to the folks at Oxford, such etymology ain't right. Even so, there are those who fill the bill no matter how they quack or the colour and size of their plumage.
Speaking of interesting ideas, to show I am willing to give voice to those whose opinions greatly differ from mine, I share with you the title of a book that negates all I've been taught to believe: It's A Young World After All. Given to me my Phyllis and John J. (neighbours and work colleagues of ours - Phyllis a computer programmer and John a physicist, I believe - they moved to Europe many years ago, John working for NATO in Brussels at that time). Many in the Huntsville community, including those with advanced college degrees, hold to the same opinion, taking a literal view of Biblical teaching (including bushes that talk and astrological signs of stars from the East, notwithstanding the secular likeness).
So, if a community like this, with rocket scientists and missile fin designers, contains a mix of liberals, conservatives, Bible believers, atheists, and housing estate developers, all who depend and believe in large part on public funding of space exploration, how do we convince them to convert to a belief in support of private funding of space exploration? Mr. Griffith, you have the floor to answer that question!
Quote for the day (from "Toward a Philosophy of History," by Ortega y Gasset, p. 196):
How do we safely accelerate the private space business, anyhow? I'll take the next rocket to anywhere anytime soon!
No, my sources tell me, we live in a pre-post-post-sarcastic-modern era. With a need to drum up sales for the DVD release of "Inglourious Basterds" and the upcoming cinematic release of a Matt Damon flick, producers of both movies hired professional assassins as a publicity stunt (see Kevin Smith and Michael Moore for similar acts of poor taste). Apparently, the assassins were given a list of possible targets, including some key opponents of Western entertainment imperialism. More news as this story develops!
Speaking of Western ideology, another source tells me that Iranian leaders have been using Hollywood/Bollywood entertainment promoters for years to create, print, publish and distribute idolatry images of the leaders in order for the leaders to avoid the issue of directly disobeying Mohammedan anti-idolatry teaching. In lockstep, the Revolutionary Guards have become their own version of a cross between the irreverent inglorious bastards and the Nazi SS, crossing any and all religious/civil lines in order to meet their dastardly ends. O, Canada, where's Dudley Do-Right when we need him, besides cleaning up the mess behind the U.S. Vice President Joe "I Like the Taste of Shoe Leather" Biden in British Columbia?
I learned the supposed origin of the word "snob": s.nob. - sine nobilitate. According to the folks at Oxford, such etymology ain't right. Even so, there are those who fill the bill no matter how they quack or the colour and size of their plumage.
Speaking of interesting ideas, to show I am willing to give voice to those whose opinions greatly differ from mine, I share with you the title of a book that negates all I've been taught to believe: It's A Young World After All. Given to me my Phyllis and John J. (neighbours and work colleagues of ours - Phyllis a computer programmer and John a physicist, I believe - they moved to Europe many years ago, John working for NATO in Brussels at that time). Many in the Huntsville community, including those with advanced college degrees, hold to the same opinion, taking a literal view of Biblical teaching (including bushes that talk and astrological signs of stars from the East, notwithstanding the secular likeness).
So, if a community like this, with rocket scientists and missile fin designers, contains a mix of liberals, conservatives, Bible believers, atheists, and housing estate developers, all who depend and believe in large part on public funding of space exploration, how do we convince them to convert to a belief in support of private funding of space exploration? Mr. Griffith, you have the floor to answer that question!
Quote for the day (from "Toward a Philosophy of History," by Ortega y Gasset, p. 196):
"Naturalism is, at bottom, intellectualism, i.e., the projection on to the real of the mode of being peculiar to concepts."I have a pile of books to read and yet want to add others to the bottom of the pile for more analysis and comparison of this historic moment to other historic moments to remember in the next one, including books authored by Hegel, Comte, Leibnitz, Fichte, Henri Bergson and the Eleatics (Xenophanes, Parmenides and Zeno) as well as some Chinese, Indian and Middle Eastern authors I've neglected too long (including a rereading of Confucius' words). If the conservative movement is a snowball rolling downhill, I want to be informed of its composition before it inevitably turns into an avalanche so I can determine if we're moving into the Ice Age (meaning I'm about to be crushed by a glacier) or just exactly what's causing my ears to perk up at the edges of private conversations in public about hooded knights meeting in woods once again. The times, they are a'changin' and I want to be packed up and ready to move if the new kind of change ain't what I signed up to be an adult for.
How do we safely accelerate the private space business, anyhow? I'll take the next rocket to anywhere anytime soon!
The Work of Idle Minds
Having friends with contrasting cultural backgrounds leads to humourous conversations. In one conversation, the "warning" that phone calls from strangers seeking your attention are used to run voiceprint analyses and put subliminal messages in your thoughts. In another conversation, the insight that we are a bunch of clueless idiots with no idea what's going on. In a recent conversation, the observation that we're looking at a great set of thunderstorms coming, with lots of lightning and gullywashers this spring, if predictions work out to the meteorologists' favour.
In the current state of our world economy, we have opportunities galore. The diverging audience tastes give anyone with a webcam and a guitar a chance to become an instant star. If you don't want fame and fortune, you can sit quietly and let the noise of billions' voices drown you out.
By now, we agree that we're all here, connected or connected to those who are connected. The next phase of our people's existence has begun. Do you like roller coaster rides? Do you think you can handle your private moments becoming public? Are you ready to conform to the public image of yourself 24-hours-a-day? Do you know, really know and understand, the definition of individuality? Do you finally see there is no you? Just wait and see! In fact, there is no waiting. You can see it now if you take the blinders and the rose-coloured glasses off. But do you want to?
In the current state of our world economy, we have opportunities galore. The diverging audience tastes give anyone with a webcam and a guitar a chance to become an instant star. If you don't want fame and fortune, you can sit quietly and let the noise of billions' voices drown you out.
By now, we agree that we're all here, connected or connected to those who are connected. The next phase of our people's existence has begun. Do you like roller coaster rides? Do you think you can handle your private moments becoming public? Are you ready to conform to the public image of yourself 24-hours-a-day? Do you know, really know and understand, the definition of individuality? Do you finally see there is no you? Just wait and see! In fact, there is no waiting. You can see it now if you take the blinders and the rose-coloured glasses off. But do you want to?
Writing With Icicles
A row of icicles taps out a rhythm on the ground, with bass accompaniment from water dripping a hollow pop sound in the curve at the bottom of a long, straight stretch of gutterpipe.
Pipe. Tripe. Sandpiper. Pied Piper. Pieman. Pied. Pedestrian. Sylva. Puer.
Three-dimensional crossword puzzles. Add a fourth dimension, the words and meanings change with the ticking of a clock.
Pickpocket.
Plain word list, pretending to be sentences and phrases.
These words do not exist.
Words like these exist, do they not?
What? Watt? Whut?
Vocabularies are not sounds. Pronunciations, enunciating, denouncing, convincing, elucidating. Enlightened by now?
Hyderabad. Hyperactive. Turkish turkey bathes in babes' babushkas.
Palm readers read faces first, first impressions last and jewelry value first and foremost.
We rarely pay attention to the value of our pockets. We miss ourselves in the mirrors of other people's eyes.
Scrolling text, scrolling text, scrolling text, scrolling text. Why?
Do our eyes scan the text of a book or does the book's page move under our eyes?
Walk on by.
Time to stop reading and listening to the voices on this continent. My image in a dusty, tarnished mirror not delightful.
When was the last time I sat down and read some of Sequoya's writing in his language? When did I listen to an Aboriginal on the island of Australia and gain the same wisdom as smelling the air and listening to the voices in the wind?
The echoes of our people bouncing off tree bark. Our movements thumping through the tympanic soil.
I, who does not exist, am alone without a self. Loneliness is but an unframed work of art.
The slaughter of my people belongs to all of us. We have ourselves to credit and to blame. We drown in the blood of our blunders.
A new birth. A rising sun. The day uncharted and unrecorded. Icicles getting shorter as the music plays on. Dum-diddydeedum. Dum-dum. Deedeedeedeedeedee.
A feral cat sleeps under the breakfast bay, feeding on the nuggets and morsels we toss outside, supplemented with mice, squirrels and perhaps a chipmunk. Drinking heated water poured into a bowl twice a day. Winter winds and flakes of snow telling the cat it's not time to go, this cave an easy life compared to the wild world of real life away from people's imaginary cocooned protectorates.
When the barbarians storm the gates, where will you be? Inside? Outside? Nowhere? Did you leave the back door unlocked so they'd enter without a fuss? Some barbarous troops are hard to see. Ever watched smallpox destroy an army? Ever seen ice take down a plane?
I like the way snow homogenizes the differences in a landscape. A momentary vision of one world, one people, that disappears when things heat up. Life in a snow globe, calm and peaceful looking, able to be shaken with the touch of one finger or held with one hand, the miniature landscape unchanged.
To be. Is. Was. Were. The icicle symphony on ice.
Pipe. Tripe. Sandpiper. Pied Piper. Pieman. Pied. Pedestrian. Sylva. Puer.
Three-dimensional crossword puzzles. Add a fourth dimension, the words and meanings change with the ticking of a clock.
Pickpocket.
Plain word list, pretending to be sentences and phrases.
These words do not exist.
Words like these exist, do they not?
What? Watt? Whut?
Vocabularies are not sounds. Pronunciations, enunciating, denouncing, convincing, elucidating. Enlightened by now?
Hyderabad. Hyperactive. Turkish turkey bathes in babes' babushkas.
Palm readers read faces first, first impressions last and jewelry value first and foremost.
We rarely pay attention to the value of our pockets. We miss ourselves in the mirrors of other people's eyes.
Scrolling text, scrolling text, scrolling text, scrolling text. Why?
Do our eyes scan the text of a book or does the book's page move under our eyes?
Walk on by.
Time to stop reading and listening to the voices on this continent. My image in a dusty, tarnished mirror not delightful.
When was the last time I sat down and read some of Sequoya's writing in his language? When did I listen to an Aboriginal on the island of Australia and gain the same wisdom as smelling the air and listening to the voices in the wind?
The echoes of our people bouncing off tree bark. Our movements thumping through the tympanic soil.
I, who does not exist, am alone without a self. Loneliness is but an unframed work of art.
The slaughter of my people belongs to all of us. We have ourselves to credit and to blame. We drown in the blood of our blunders.
A new birth. A rising sun. The day uncharted and unrecorded. Icicles getting shorter as the music plays on. Dum-diddydeedum. Dum-dum. Deedeedeedeedeedee.
A feral cat sleeps under the breakfast bay, feeding on the nuggets and morsels we toss outside, supplemented with mice, squirrels and perhaps a chipmunk. Drinking heated water poured into a bowl twice a day. Winter winds and flakes of snow telling the cat it's not time to go, this cave an easy life compared to the wild world of real life away from people's imaginary cocooned protectorates.
When the barbarians storm the gates, where will you be? Inside? Outside? Nowhere? Did you leave the back door unlocked so they'd enter without a fuss? Some barbarous troops are hard to see. Ever watched smallpox destroy an army? Ever seen ice take down a plane?
I like the way snow homogenizes the differences in a landscape. A momentary vision of one world, one people, that disappears when things heat up. Life in a snow globe, calm and peaceful looking, able to be shaken with the touch of one finger or held with one hand, the miniature landscape unchanged.
To be. Is. Was. Were. The icicle symphony on ice.
15 February 2010
Breaking News!
In a surprise maneuver, the secret coalition of the UN-1 (United Nations Minus China) made a unanimous decision. But the solidarity was only part of the surprise. More importantly, all nations of Earth (minus China) decided to devalue their currencies to zero, making the Chinese renminbi yuan currency too expensive to deal with anymore and therefore declared null and void. Following the example set after Kuwait was freed from Iraq, all debts, public and private, have been cleared.
Politicians, pundits and news analysts not let in on hints about the meeting nor informed of the existence of UN-1 have been shouting over each other to be heard, making accusations about the New World Order Conspiracy and other noise no one's paying attention to since most media broadcast companies have temporarily suspended operations due to lack of funding.
The world populace, if one can make such a broad sweep across diverse cultures, is stunned. With no money to spend and no debts to repay, people don't know what to do. Those who've used barter all their lives are continuing their normal business practices. The street value of lemons, limes and other fruit have skyrocketed. Gold standard hawks are said to be circling overhead.
In other news, Harvard has announced a temporary suspension of all PhD programs and put all faculty and staff on administrative leave while Interpol investigates the backgrounds of anyone associated with Harvard. Interpol has stated that all Ivy League schools are subject to search and seizure without notice or just cause. Security firms associated with employee background checks have been shut down worldwide. The World Court of Justice has opened up a forum seeking input on whether juvenile records should or should not be deleted after a juvenile delinquent with a criminal record has reached the age of 18 - in the meantime, the court has encouraged all "accidental" deaths to be re-investigated, with an extra emphasis on arrests AND convictions in ALL cases.
In sartorial news, the sales of Doc Martens boots and heavy brass finger rings have increased dramatically. Tattoo parlors are seeing a brisk increase in the number and size of body art, with many tattoo artists accepting food, weapons and other survival gear in trade.
Meanwhile, the World League of Justice is trying to create a new identity for itself. Superheroes used to protect people from crimes related to commerce - handbag theft, bank vault breakins, etc. - but now that commerce no longer exists in the old way, the superheroes have lost their lustre and superheroism. The new heroes are those who've formed street markets, trade unions and other means of simplifying the barter system. With no credit cards or money to steal, thieves, thugs and mafioso bosses are moving to more lucrative means to make a living such as hijacking caravans of oranges and watermelons in order to force a huge swing in fruit value on the open barter exchange.
This is your roving reporter bringing you the latest and greatest news too unreal to be true and too untrue to be real! Until next time...
Politicians, pundits and news analysts not let in on hints about the meeting nor informed of the existence of UN-1 have been shouting over each other to be heard, making accusations about the New World Order Conspiracy and other noise no one's paying attention to since most media broadcast companies have temporarily suspended operations due to lack of funding.
The world populace, if one can make such a broad sweep across diverse cultures, is stunned. With no money to spend and no debts to repay, people don't know what to do. Those who've used barter all their lives are continuing their normal business practices. The street value of lemons, limes and other fruit have skyrocketed. Gold standard hawks are said to be circling overhead.
In other news, Harvard has announced a temporary suspension of all PhD programs and put all faculty and staff on administrative leave while Interpol investigates the backgrounds of anyone associated with Harvard. Interpol has stated that all Ivy League schools are subject to search and seizure without notice or just cause. Security firms associated with employee background checks have been shut down worldwide. The World Court of Justice has opened up a forum seeking input on whether juvenile records should or should not be deleted after a juvenile delinquent with a criminal record has reached the age of 18 - in the meantime, the court has encouraged all "accidental" deaths to be re-investigated, with an extra emphasis on arrests AND convictions in ALL cases.
In sartorial news, the sales of Doc Martens boots and heavy brass finger rings have increased dramatically. Tattoo parlors are seeing a brisk increase in the number and size of body art, with many tattoo artists accepting food, weapons and other survival gear in trade.
Meanwhile, the World League of Justice is trying to create a new identity for itself. Superheroes used to protect people from crimes related to commerce - handbag theft, bank vault breakins, etc. - but now that commerce no longer exists in the old way, the superheroes have lost their lustre and superheroism. The new heroes are those who've formed street markets, trade unions and other means of simplifying the barter system. With no credit cards or money to steal, thieves, thugs and mafioso bosses are moving to more lucrative means to make a living such as hijacking caravans of oranges and watermelons in order to force a huge swing in fruit value on the open barter exchange.
This is your roving reporter bringing you the latest and greatest news too unreal to be true and too untrue to be real! Until next time...
A Previous Moment (for my Scouting friends)
While sorting through a stack of old documents on a cold, snowy day, I found the following:
FALL COURT OF HONOR
TROOP 58
October 14, 1974
7:00 P.M.
Invocation
Flag Ceremony......Scouts
Welcome......Mr. Allison
Candle Lighting Ceremony......Scouts
Second Class Awards......Mr. Hill
First Class Awards......Mr. Feagins
Merit Badges......Mr. Evans and Mr. Ford
Star Scout......Mr. Archer
Life Scout......Mr. Hubbard
Troop and Patrol Leaders Recognition......Mr. Chandler
Eagle Palm......Mr. Allison
Benediction
TROOP 58
Scoutmasters: Mr. Evans, Mr. Feagins, Mr. Ford, Mr. Hill, Mr. Chandler
Jr. Assistant Scoutmaster: Curtis Sumptur
Troop Officers:
* Senior Patrol Leader - Brent White
* Assistant Sr. Ptl. Ldr. - Bobby Stark
* Scribe - Mike Evans
* Quartermaster - David Butcher
* Chaplain - Danny Allison
* Librarian - Randy Roberts
PATROLS
Bigfoot
PL Barry White
S Roger Carver
Q Randy Payne
Todd Potter
Greg Snodgrass
Sam Buckles
Buffalo
PL Greg Chandler
APL Phil Edmisten
S David Negrotto
Q Grant Gilbert
Scott Ford
Craig Cleek
Eagle
PL Russell Evans
APL Dennis Russell
S Mike McGinty
Q Rick Hill
Jon Hormack
Robert Smith
Dan Allison
Rat
PL Arnie Lowry
APL Bobby Free
S Greg Alexander
Q Robbie Wagner
Dereck Culbertson
Jim Thweatt
Jackie Camper
AWARDS
2nd Class
Jeff Blair
Phil Edmisten
Randy Payne
Barry White
1st Class
Greg Chandler
Russell Evans
Rick Hill
David Negrotto
Jim Thweatt
Star
Russell Evans
Life
Danny Allison
Randy Roberts
Brent White
Silver Eagle Palm
Sammy Buckles
MERIT BADGES
Jeff Blair
Rifle and Shotgun
Swimming
Bookbinding
Scott Ford
Home Repairs
Music
David Butcher
Fish & Wildlife Mgt.
Nature
Forestry
Leathercraft
Mammals
Camping
Russell Evans
Nature
Cooking
Citizenship in Community
Pioneering
Randy Payne
Mammals
Truck Transportation
Bobby Stark
Mammals
Cooking
Nature
Motorboating
Reading
Insect Life
Greg Snodgrass
Bookbinding
David Negrotto
Swimming
First Aid
Arnie Lowry
Mammals
Rowing
Motorboating
Cooking
Swimming
James [Jim] Thweatt
Rifle & Shotgun
Swimming
Environmental Science
Motorboating
Small boat sailing
Greg Chandler
First Aid
Citizenship in Community
Music
Sammy Buckles
Bookbinding
Phil Edmisten
First Aid
Bookbinding
Music
Craig Cleek
Bookbinding
Curtis Sumpter
Fishing
Grant Gilbert
Music
Randy Roberts
Motorboating
Communication
Safety
Architecture
Bookbinding
Brent White
Lifesaving
Leatherwork
Hiking
Skiing
Basketry
Canoeing
Mammals
Mile Swim
Danny Allison
Athletics
Citizenship in Nation
Automotive Safety
Reading
Scholarship
Rick Hill
Rowing
Basketry
Citizenship in Community
Pets
Pioneering
Music
Bookbinding
Scout Lifeguard
Robbie Wagner
Bookbinding
Todd Potter
First Aid
FALL COURT OF HONOR
TROOP 58
October 14, 1974
7:00 P.M.
Invocation
Flag Ceremony......Scouts
Welcome......Mr. Allison
Candle Lighting Ceremony......Scouts
Second Class Awards......Mr. Hill
First Class Awards......Mr. Feagins
Merit Badges......Mr. Evans and Mr. Ford
Star Scout......Mr. Archer
Life Scout......Mr. Hubbard
Troop and Patrol Leaders Recognition......Mr. Chandler
Eagle Palm......Mr. Allison
Benediction
TROOP 58
Scoutmasters: Mr. Evans, Mr. Feagins, Mr. Ford, Mr. Hill, Mr. Chandler
Jr. Assistant Scoutmaster: Curtis Sumptur
Troop Officers:
* Senior Patrol Leader - Brent White
* Assistant Sr. Ptl. Ldr. - Bobby Stark
* Scribe - Mike Evans
* Quartermaster - David Butcher
* Chaplain - Danny Allison
* Librarian - Randy Roberts
PATROLS
Bigfoot
PL Barry White
S Roger Carver
Q Randy Payne
Todd Potter
Greg Snodgrass
Sam Buckles
Buffalo
PL Greg Chandler
APL Phil Edmisten
S David Negrotto
Q Grant Gilbert
Scott Ford
Craig Cleek
Eagle
PL Russell Evans
APL Dennis Russell
S Mike McGinty
Q Rick Hill
Jon Hormack
Robert Smith
Dan Allison
Rat
PL Arnie Lowry
APL Bobby Free
S Greg Alexander
Q Robbie Wagner
Dereck Culbertson
Jim Thweatt
Jackie Camper
AWARDS
2nd Class
Jeff Blair
Phil Edmisten
Randy Payne
Barry White
1st Class
Greg Chandler
Russell Evans
Rick Hill
David Negrotto
Jim Thweatt
Star
Russell Evans
Life
Danny Allison
Randy Roberts
Brent White
Silver Eagle Palm
Sammy Buckles
MERIT BADGES
Jeff Blair
Rifle and Shotgun
Swimming
Bookbinding
Scott Ford
Home Repairs
Music
David Butcher
Fish & Wildlife Mgt.
Nature
Forestry
Leathercraft
Mammals
Camping
Russell Evans
Nature
Cooking
Citizenship in Community
Pioneering
Randy Payne
Mammals
Truck Transportation
Bobby Stark
Mammals
Cooking
Nature
Motorboating
Reading
Insect Life
Greg Snodgrass
Bookbinding
David Negrotto
Swimming
First Aid
Arnie Lowry
Mammals
Rowing
Motorboating
Cooking
Swimming
James [Jim] Thweatt
Rifle & Shotgun
Swimming
Environmental Science
Motorboating
Small boat sailing
Greg Chandler
First Aid
Citizenship in Community
Music
Sammy Buckles
Bookbinding
Phil Edmisten
First Aid
Bookbinding
Music
Craig Cleek
Bookbinding
Curtis Sumpter
Fishing
Grant Gilbert
Music
Randy Roberts
Motorboating
Communication
Safety
Architecture
Bookbinding
Brent White
Lifesaving
Leatherwork
Hiking
Skiing
Basketry
Canoeing
Mammals
Mile Swim
Danny Allison
Athletics
Citizenship in Nation
Automotive Safety
Reading
Scholarship
Rick Hill
Rowing
Basketry
Citizenship in Community
Pets
Pioneering
Music
Bookbinding
Scout Lifeguard
Robbie Wagner
Bookbinding
Todd Potter
First Aid
Set Theory: Theories Set Boundaries: Theory Set
What is life? A magazine? That costs how much? Seems expensive but you're already stuck with the subscription? That's life, right? No, maybe not:
A New Theory of Life As A Set
A New Theory of Life As A Set
Engineering Welfare State
While one nation wants to declare that its scientists, engineers and technicians have perfected the process of nuclear power control, other nations make sure that tax revenue from the citizenry pays for education, training and employment of their best, brightest and/or most dedicated thinkers and doers.
These are the ways of our people. These political entities of ours are for us, by us, with us, against us, of our own inventions.
A nation does not exist by itself any more than a corporation can. We are ourselves. We choose to support, live for, die for, and protest against ourselves instead of what we've led ourselves to call "nations," "countries," "republics," or other nonexistent bodies.
As people, we have no special powers. We have skills. We have talents. We have some differences that we gladly reward in our barter exchange. I happily call one of the people my mother, one of the people my father, one of the people my sister and some of the people my nieces and nephews. I celebrate when some of the people choose up sides, form teams and play in sports gatherings against one another, no matter what they call sport or who they call their people. We are one species, after all, and I insist on having every single one of you on this planet with me.
A reader asked me if it's okay to belong to a gang. The reader wasn't sure if I support gang activity or if, as a person who thinks we should all live together, peace is my goal and that seems to contradict gang involvement.
Good question. The word "gang" does connote much, doesn't it? Some equate gangs with aggressive, violent acts. By extension, some equate aggressive, violent acts with certain countries, do they not? Thus, gangs and countries (both merely words or symbols) are synonymous.
As a species, we have decided that all people must belong to a political entity (i.e., country). You cannot be born without a country attached to the words (name, birthday, gender, parents) attached to your identity. We say we are not just the bodies we are. We were born into the society of the times and whatever society says in general, it says about us as we take our first official breath of air (assuming, at this time, that a person is an entity that extracts oxygen from the atmosphere and processes it through the body, along with water and nutrients, to be the near-equivalent of an ambulatory, bipedal primate; of course, exceptions to this generalisation occur, but I digress).
Therefore, all of us belong to gangs of one form or another because our societies and cultures define opposing societies and cultures as aggressive and violent.
But I remind you I do not condone aggressiveness and violence for the sake of aggressiveness and violence. Just because you can push around someone smaller/weaker than you does not mean you should. Just because you can't can-can doesn't mean you should can the can-do, can-can act, either.
Because we're all gang members, what do we say to one another when we meet up? After all, if your colours clash with my colours, does that mean you're a threat or does it mean you're a rival clothes designer?
I know all sorts of gangs in my neighbourhood. Some wear colours that are easy to distinguish. Some use head nods, handshakes, signs and symbols that are not obvious to the casual observer. Gangs are not all drug dealers, pimps and thugs. I see gangs whose sole purposes are to analyse popular novels, bake meals for the homebound and watch sports on TV. Inside these gangs are the usual rivalries, jockeying for position of power and backstabbing that goes on in all gangs, literally and figuratively. The give-and-take of social creatures.
You do what you've got to do to get by, don't you? You may work 20-hour days because you're a type-A personality or you're the sole breadwinner for a family of 10. You may play racquetball at 5 in the morning after getting up at 3:30 for a one-and-a-half hour workout, then read the news analysis at 6 while working through a backlog of emails, tweets and other work-related information. You may sleep until noon, check the mailbox, take a walk to the local coffee house for a couple of hours of catching up with your friends, go home, and then party the rest of the day until the wee hours of the next morning. You may work four different jobs just to pay for half of your lifestyle, depending on less-reliable others to cover the other half.
Gangs are not all bad.
I was a Boy Scout for many years, helping those in need while learning skills to live and play in the outdoors that taught me discipline, respect and obedience to others inside the "gang" of the Boy Scout world. I became an Eagle Scout because I learned to live by the guidelines the adult and youth leaders provided me, despite my thought processes that didn't always jive with what they were saying. Through Boy Scouts, I made some great friends who stayed in Boy Scouts with me through our Eagle Scout years and some beyond, into Explorer Scouts (only a few went on to become adult leaders in Scouting). I saw some friends of mine fail to grasp the full meaning of Boy Scouts, dropping out because hiking and camping were too hard on their psyches, learning through other less physical methods the determination it takes to dream big and achieve great goals.
How you treat your gang members says a lot about how you'll treat others outside your gang. As an adult, I see children who'll make poor, untrustworthy gang members. They have no focus. They go along with whatever someone tells them they're supposed to do or be, instead of getting to know themselves - their thoughts and the rest of their bodies' capabilities - because they have no self-respect.
This blog is all about you. It is only about you. You and no one else can build respect for yourself which leads to respect for others who are all part of this species we call us.
If you choose to belong to an aggressive, violent gang that only wants to intimidate others, then I am not for you. You are still part of my people, our species, but until you figure that out I will work with hidden channels and obscure gangs to turn your aggressiveness and violence toward activities that respect you/me both as a person and as part of our species.
My goal is to get us off this planet, using methods that require all of us to work together to preserve our world heritage. I will not be able to save all of you from yourselves - your life is your own, after all - but I will keep that thought with me as I make progress in moving us toward a future you can barely understand right now.
Do not get fooled by those who want your attention solely to make them rich and powerful, including those in the news media, politics, religion, business or other gangs. Respect yourself. Respect for self leads to unselfish attitudes that open up opportunities for positive growth in all gangs, including your local social circles, your state/country and your species.
When you redefine a word like "gang" and see it in a new light, you understand why we give too much emphasis to labels and symbols, instead of seeing life as it plainly is. For instance, some say they're technology workers employed by or for their government. Some make the same statement, claiming they're part of the engineering welfare state.
Look around you now and see that we're all gang members. Watch for the simple signs we use to acknowledge our gang membership. Look a little closer and notice something else about our species that will open your eyes to why we should soon stop using labels like species to separate us from our environment. But's that a line of thought for a future blog entry about us, isn't it? Time for me to focus on the moment, free of symbols and memes. See you in another moment.
These are the ways of our people. These political entities of ours are for us, by us, with us, against us, of our own inventions.
A nation does not exist by itself any more than a corporation can. We are ourselves. We choose to support, live for, die for, and protest against ourselves instead of what we've led ourselves to call "nations," "countries," "republics," or other nonexistent bodies.
As people, we have no special powers. We have skills. We have talents. We have some differences that we gladly reward in our barter exchange. I happily call one of the people my mother, one of the people my father, one of the people my sister and some of the people my nieces and nephews. I celebrate when some of the people choose up sides, form teams and play in sports gatherings against one another, no matter what they call sport or who they call their people. We are one species, after all, and I insist on having every single one of you on this planet with me.
A reader asked me if it's okay to belong to a gang. The reader wasn't sure if I support gang activity or if, as a person who thinks we should all live together, peace is my goal and that seems to contradict gang involvement.
Good question. The word "gang" does connote much, doesn't it? Some equate gangs with aggressive, violent acts. By extension, some equate aggressive, violent acts with certain countries, do they not? Thus, gangs and countries (both merely words or symbols) are synonymous.
As a species, we have decided that all people must belong to a political entity (i.e., country). You cannot be born without a country attached to the words (name, birthday, gender, parents) attached to your identity. We say we are not just the bodies we are. We were born into the society of the times and whatever society says in general, it says about us as we take our first official breath of air (assuming, at this time, that a person is an entity that extracts oxygen from the atmosphere and processes it through the body, along with water and nutrients, to be the near-equivalent of an ambulatory, bipedal primate; of course, exceptions to this generalisation occur, but I digress).
Therefore, all of us belong to gangs of one form or another because our societies and cultures define opposing societies and cultures as aggressive and violent.
But I remind you I do not condone aggressiveness and violence for the sake of aggressiveness and violence. Just because you can push around someone smaller/weaker than you does not mean you should. Just because you can't can-can doesn't mean you should can the can-do, can-can act, either.
Because we're all gang members, what do we say to one another when we meet up? After all, if your colours clash with my colours, does that mean you're a threat or does it mean you're a rival clothes designer?
I know all sorts of gangs in my neighbourhood. Some wear colours that are easy to distinguish. Some use head nods, handshakes, signs and symbols that are not obvious to the casual observer. Gangs are not all drug dealers, pimps and thugs. I see gangs whose sole purposes are to analyse popular novels, bake meals for the homebound and watch sports on TV. Inside these gangs are the usual rivalries, jockeying for position of power and backstabbing that goes on in all gangs, literally and figuratively. The give-and-take of social creatures.
You do what you've got to do to get by, don't you? You may work 20-hour days because you're a type-A personality or you're the sole breadwinner for a family of 10. You may play racquetball at 5 in the morning after getting up at 3:30 for a one-and-a-half hour workout, then read the news analysis at 6 while working through a backlog of emails, tweets and other work-related information. You may sleep until noon, check the mailbox, take a walk to the local coffee house for a couple of hours of catching up with your friends, go home, and then party the rest of the day until the wee hours of the next morning. You may work four different jobs just to pay for half of your lifestyle, depending on less-reliable others to cover the other half.
Gangs are not all bad.
I was a Boy Scout for many years, helping those in need while learning skills to live and play in the outdoors that taught me discipline, respect and obedience to others inside the "gang" of the Boy Scout world. I became an Eagle Scout because I learned to live by the guidelines the adult and youth leaders provided me, despite my thought processes that didn't always jive with what they were saying. Through Boy Scouts, I made some great friends who stayed in Boy Scouts with me through our Eagle Scout years and some beyond, into Explorer Scouts (only a few went on to become adult leaders in Scouting). I saw some friends of mine fail to grasp the full meaning of Boy Scouts, dropping out because hiking and camping were too hard on their psyches, learning through other less physical methods the determination it takes to dream big and achieve great goals.
How you treat your gang members says a lot about how you'll treat others outside your gang. As an adult, I see children who'll make poor, untrustworthy gang members. They have no focus. They go along with whatever someone tells them they're supposed to do or be, instead of getting to know themselves - their thoughts and the rest of their bodies' capabilities - because they have no self-respect.
This blog is all about you. It is only about you. You and no one else can build respect for yourself which leads to respect for others who are all part of this species we call us.
If you choose to belong to an aggressive, violent gang that only wants to intimidate others, then I am not for you. You are still part of my people, our species, but until you figure that out I will work with hidden channels and obscure gangs to turn your aggressiveness and violence toward activities that respect you/me both as a person and as part of our species.
My goal is to get us off this planet, using methods that require all of us to work together to preserve our world heritage. I will not be able to save all of you from yourselves - your life is your own, after all - but I will keep that thought with me as I make progress in moving us toward a future you can barely understand right now.
Do not get fooled by those who want your attention solely to make them rich and powerful, including those in the news media, politics, religion, business or other gangs. Respect yourself. Respect for self leads to unselfish attitudes that open up opportunities for positive growth in all gangs, including your local social circles, your state/country and your species.
When you redefine a word like "gang" and see it in a new light, you understand why we give too much emphasis to labels and symbols, instead of seeing life as it plainly is. For instance, some say they're technology workers employed by or for their government. Some make the same statement, claiming they're part of the engineering welfare state.
Look around you now and see that we're all gang members. Watch for the simple signs we use to acknowledge our gang membership. Look a little closer and notice something else about our species that will open your eyes to why we should soon stop using labels like species to separate us from our environment. But's that a line of thought for a future blog entry about us, isn't it? Time for me to focus on the moment, free of symbols and memes. See you in another moment.
14 February 2010
Pasty White Ennui
Brown rice and tofu versus Alberta wheat and hot chocolate. You make the call:
http://www.slate.com/id/2244503/pagenum/all/
Some news items are worth greater consideration:
http://www.mumbaimirror.com/article/2/2010021520100215031320455d737f39b/Pune-bakery-Blast-claimed-the-lives-of-a-brilliant-student-his-sister-fianc%C3%A9e-.html
http://www.slate.com/id/2244503/pagenum/all/
Some news items are worth greater consideration:
http://www.mumbaimirror.com/article/2/2010021520100215031320455d737f39b/Pune-bakery-Blast-claimed-the-lives-of-a-brilliant-student-his-sister-fianc%C3%A9e-.html
Nature Abhors The Sound of a Broken Vacuum Cleaner
Camaraderie. Sounds like a French salon made of Chevrolet sports car parts to me.
Outside, winter in all the ways I want to enjoy cold weather... the white stuff falling out of the sky...red cardinal streaks chirping their way to the backyard feeders... thinking about the frozen words of Carl Sandburg... wondering where our favorite tailor, Karl Smith, former Alabama A&M professor and tailor to the stars (Little Richard, Martha Reeves of Martha Reeves and the Vandellas, to name a few) keeps his old Alfa Romeo motor vehicles... do Stan, Jerry, Kevin and the other Alfa Romeo gearheads still gather once a month at Ed's?
Beside me, a cloth portfolio designed to fit into the glove compartment of an Alfa Romeo sedan/saloon. Inside the portfolio, a tire inflation gauge and pockets for automobile instruction manuals. Above me, a metal sign for the Chrysler Corporation Mopar Parts Division. Overhead, small scale models of a Triumph TR3 (A or B? I can't tell from here), 1962 Dodge Lancer, 1976 Street Custom Chevy Nova, 1995 Ford Ranger XLT, Chevron Cars "Riley the Roadster," Ferrari Dealership, ZIL-115 (limousine that Gorbachev used), Ferrari Testarossa convertible, 2008 Tesla Roadster, 1963 Alfa Romeo TZ1, 1990s-era Alfa Romeo Spider and Plymouth Prowler.
On this continent, the spread of 系列 (keiretsu) and other forms of business practice like 改善 (kaizen). I mentioned that my father gave me an autographed photo of Dr. Juran, didn't I? Ideas bounce around like rubber balls on the epoxied surface of this planet. Business process improvement. Climate change trends. Automotive design.
You can find who you want to be through many daily rituals, if you want. Step out of your cultural comfort zone. Observe the many ways of love and family. Here's a tribute to one side of my family - an article from the 27th May 1886 edition of the Maryville Times:
Not too many months ago, in 2009, we buried my uncle at Peck's. The family home's still there across the street from Peck's and next to the cemetery. In the graveyard, stones list names, birthdays and death dates but say little about the lives of the people and their changing community.
To my deceased uncle and my living relatives in the Teffeteller family, I say, "Hurrah!" Our family gatherings may be few and far between since the family matriarch and patriarch passed away decades ago, but we still share a heritage worth remembering and celebrating, with cousins who have lived and continue to travel across the globe. Our ancestors traveled rough roads of many continents and carved a place into the environment they called their own as one generation after another moved west. Now, with the rest of the world population, we share one planet, families and heritage important but not tied to one spot. We have joined with our brothers and sisters of many heritages. May others learn to follow our positive examples and put aside negative stereotypes. We know the planet belongs to everyone now. Let's keep teaching and enlightening the rest of the world to see our vision for a better tomorrow. Together, we will make our dreams a reality, treating all heritages equally, leaving no one behind and not putting anyone ahead of another.
Outside, winter in all the ways I want to enjoy cold weather... the white stuff falling out of the sky...red cardinal streaks chirping their way to the backyard feeders... thinking about the frozen words of Carl Sandburg... wondering where our favorite tailor, Karl Smith, former Alabama A&M professor and tailor to the stars (Little Richard, Martha Reeves of Martha Reeves and the Vandellas, to name a few) keeps his old Alfa Romeo motor vehicles... do Stan, Jerry, Kevin and the other Alfa Romeo gearheads still gather once a month at Ed's?
Beside me, a cloth portfolio designed to fit into the glove compartment of an Alfa Romeo sedan/saloon. Inside the portfolio, a tire inflation gauge and pockets for automobile instruction manuals. Above me, a metal sign for the Chrysler Corporation Mopar Parts Division. Overhead, small scale models of a Triumph TR3 (A or B? I can't tell from here), 1962 Dodge Lancer, 1976 Street Custom Chevy Nova, 1995 Ford Ranger XLT, Chevron Cars "Riley the Roadster," Ferrari Dealership, ZIL-115 (limousine that Gorbachev used), Ferrari Testarossa convertible, 2008 Tesla Roadster, 1963 Alfa Romeo TZ1, 1990s-era Alfa Romeo Spider and Plymouth Prowler.
On this continent, the spread of 系列 (keiretsu) and other forms of business practice like 改善 (kaizen). I mentioned that my father gave me an autographed photo of Dr. Juran, didn't I? Ideas bounce around like rubber balls on the epoxied surface of this planet. Business process improvement. Climate change trends. Automotive design.
You can find who you want to be through many daily rituals, if you want. Step out of your cultural comfort zone. Observe the many ways of love and family. Here's a tribute to one side of my family - an article from the 27th May 1886 edition of the Maryville Times:
Death of Mrs. Teeferteller[NOTE (per Peck's Memorial United Methodist Church Heritage Highlights): When Peck's was started as a Sunday School class about 1820, the Teffetellers (modern-day spelling) had been in Blount County for seven years. The parents and three sons came from Lincoln County, North Carolina, in 1813. One of the sons, Joseph, and his wife, Elizabeth, settled in the community and were the parents of nine children. It is from this couple that most of the Teffetellers at Peck's Chapel are descended. In the 1830 census, the family lived in the third house from the widow, Margaret Wilkinson, and the church. In 1845, that great Irish preacher, George Eakin (Ekin?), lists Peck's Chapel as one of his appointments (Peck's would have been a Methodist Episcopal Church, South, at that point).]
Died, May 23rd, 1886, at her home near Maryville, Mrs. Elizabeth Teeferteller, wife of Joseph Teeferteller. We attended her funeral yesterday at Peck's Chapel, and notwithstanding the rain quite a large congregation of sorrowing friends were present.
Mr. and Mrs. Teeferteller were the oldest couple in the county. He was a soldier in the war of 1812, and was married soon after. He claims to be 96 and his wife 92, and they were possibly over that. For about 70 years they have walked hand in hand along the lane of life.
She died saying she was going to heaven, and exhorting children and friends to meet her there.
J.W. Carner
Maryville, Tenn.
May 25th, 1886
Not too many months ago, in 2009, we buried my uncle at Peck's. The family home's still there across the street from Peck's and next to the cemetery. In the graveyard, stones list names, birthdays and death dates but say little about the lives of the people and their changing community.
To my deceased uncle and my living relatives in the Teffeteller family, I say, "Hurrah!" Our family gatherings may be few and far between since the family matriarch and patriarch passed away decades ago, but we still share a heritage worth remembering and celebrating, with cousins who have lived and continue to travel across the globe. Our ancestors traveled rough roads of many continents and carved a place into the environment they called their own as one generation after another moved west. Now, with the rest of the world population, we share one planet, families and heritage important but not tied to one spot. We have joined with our brothers and sisters of many heritages. May others learn to follow our positive examples and put aside negative stereotypes. We know the planet belongs to everyone now. Let's keep teaching and enlightening the rest of the world to see our vision for a better tomorrow. Together, we will make our dreams a reality, treating all heritages equally, leaving no one behind and not putting anyone ahead of another.
13 February 2010
Relish Treasure Finder
I consider myself one of you. Fortunate to have friends all over the world - friends I found engaged in work situations, sitting in classrooms, focused on retail shopping, walking down the street or cheering in the stadium. I've worked with and for people of many social, cultural, and family backgrounds, with gender preference never an issue that was or became an issue. We were and still are who we are. We need be no more or less than us.
Thus, it pains me when I see trends emerge that contradict what I believe friendship to be - a sample of the cosmos of cosmic relationships. Especially when I can do little to stop the trends that appear to be our society out of control. Even more so when I see that it is selfish people or groups who are working others into a frenzy unnecessarily so.
You are my brothers and sisters. Like siblings with distinctly different personalities, I will disagree with you when I feel you're taking a wrong turn in life. You may not listen to me or know I'm talking to you but I'll hold my ground and maintain my train of thought until you catch on to what I'm saying.
In my walk through life today, driving through north Alabama with my wife, seeing all the small stores and cafes that have folded during this economic downturn, including one of our favorites, the Blue Willow, I have met new friends and talked with you on short but intimate terms. We learn what we can in those quiet moments of one-to-one eye contact. The deep browns, the light greens, the sparkling blues.
I love you all. You know that and hopefully you see my loving smile when we look at each other. I am happy to meet you even if just for a quick glance across the clothes racks at Unclaimed Baggage Center or the tables at Thai Garden or when my wife and I bought Girl Scout cookies from a mother and her cheerful daughters at Star Market.
I will not accept defeat. I will not let the world of disagreement drag me into a fight that is not mine. Look at ourselves. We're the only ones on this planet together. Your ancestors aren't brandishing weapons. Your unborn descendants aren't making the rules. It's you and me. That's it. So get over the ancestor worship. Quit quoting ancient texts and claim you can do nothing but repeat yourselves because some dead people said that's what you have to do to live or die. I don't care about your dead family. I have dead family, too, you know. I have ancestors-turned-to-dust who would expect me to participate in genocide without blinking an eye. In fact, they'd expect me to trade an eye for an eye, literally and metaphorically speaking. I disregard their deadly decision-making. I'm smarter than them and so are you.
Forget who you think you are. You are not you. I am not me. We are one and the same. I've said it over and over, repeating those who know what I'm talking about. Let's use our common sense here, not our short-sightedness.
I picked up some books at Unclaimed Baggage today, books that I wanted to enrich my understanding of us and what makes us think we have to take wrong turns in life. If you're a biker, a truck driver, a forklift operator, a dressmaker, a teacher, a banker, a farmhand, a religious leader, or a student, you learn something new every day. You see new adverts. You pick up a new trick in the trade. You adapt to changing weather patterns. You adjust your buying habits to your increasing or decreasing income. You can learn, too, by reading and studying books outside your limited understanding of your subculture and see just how rich and powerful a mix of subcultures really is (because, no matter what you think you believe, your subculture is not the only one thinking it's the only one that knows and stays on the true path to wealth both here in this life and beyond). Here are some books that I would not normally read but have chosen to read because I believe every one of you has something important to teach me. I hope you can find similar books, or websites or people to teach you that we all contribute to our people's good health and happiness.
History is full of one subculture meeting another, with violent clashes where one group kills people in the other group, along with their knowledge that would have helped the next civilisation grow and thrive, forcing everyone to start over.
In a recent movie, a cinema character called another one a con artist for turning people's flats and houses into ideal selling points because furniture and home accessories were moved in temporarily to make the place a home. We all fall victim to con artists of this sort. We create self-promotional marketing campaigns and turn ourselves into walking adverts that simplify who we are and what we represent. Don't be fooled by your own confidence trick. Just like aboriginal people of the Pacific Northwest who put up totem poles to indicate their wealth and status, we are not the carvings we create. We are not the magic tricks we play on stage. Don't be a victim of your own imagination.
Most good sports coaches will tell you to get out of your head and get into your body. Your thoughts do not score goals. Your thoughts do not win games. Your bodies make the moves that help you achieve your victories.
I am talking to you, to us, as bodies here. We can win together when we get the images out of our heads that falsely indicate we are part of some subgroup that's better than others. The fact is that our success and failure depend on people all over this planet who use their bodies to complete tasks we could not achieve with ease.
You can keep fighting each other, if you want. I will not stop you. But I will work to ensure those who want to turn each other into mortal enemies will be sequestered and put into a hole where neither one of you will escape alive unless you decide that you have better things to do, like working with the rest of us to share our subcultures and learn from one another. Again, we don't have to like each other or agree but we can give each other room to enjoy our subcultures how we choose as long as it doesn't include killing those in other subcultures.
I'll give you some more time to think about this. Then, at some point in the future, you will have to make a decision. Respect one another and all of our rights to celebrate our subcultures, or don't. If you choose the latter, then you'll deal not with me (I'm an easygoing guy) but with those who have been trained to take care of intolerance. It's not a threat or a promise. It's just the way we are, you and me.
Meantime, I've got to get back to the world of those who do want to work well with others. I don't have time for those who want to drag others down with them. See you on the bright side. With a smile. And a hearty laugh.
Thus, it pains me when I see trends emerge that contradict what I believe friendship to be - a sample of the cosmos of cosmic relationships. Especially when I can do little to stop the trends that appear to be our society out of control. Even more so when I see that it is selfish people or groups who are working others into a frenzy unnecessarily so.
You are my brothers and sisters. Like siblings with distinctly different personalities, I will disagree with you when I feel you're taking a wrong turn in life. You may not listen to me or know I'm talking to you but I'll hold my ground and maintain my train of thought until you catch on to what I'm saying.
In my walk through life today, driving through north Alabama with my wife, seeing all the small stores and cafes that have folded during this economic downturn, including one of our favorites, the Blue Willow, I have met new friends and talked with you on short but intimate terms. We learn what we can in those quiet moments of one-to-one eye contact. The deep browns, the light greens, the sparkling blues.
I love you all. You know that and hopefully you see my loving smile when we look at each other. I am happy to meet you even if just for a quick glance across the clothes racks at Unclaimed Baggage Center or the tables at Thai Garden or when my wife and I bought Girl Scout cookies from a mother and her cheerful daughters at Star Market.
I will not accept defeat. I will not let the world of disagreement drag me into a fight that is not mine. Look at ourselves. We're the only ones on this planet together. Your ancestors aren't brandishing weapons. Your unborn descendants aren't making the rules. It's you and me. That's it. So get over the ancestor worship. Quit quoting ancient texts and claim you can do nothing but repeat yourselves because some dead people said that's what you have to do to live or die. I don't care about your dead family. I have dead family, too, you know. I have ancestors-turned-to-dust who would expect me to participate in genocide without blinking an eye. In fact, they'd expect me to trade an eye for an eye, literally and metaphorically speaking. I disregard their deadly decision-making. I'm smarter than them and so are you.
Forget who you think you are. You are not you. I am not me. We are one and the same. I've said it over and over, repeating those who know what I'm talking about. Let's use our common sense here, not our short-sightedness.
I picked up some books at Unclaimed Baggage today, books that I wanted to enrich my understanding of us and what makes us think we have to take wrong turns in life. If you're a biker, a truck driver, a forklift operator, a dressmaker, a teacher, a banker, a farmhand, a religious leader, or a student, you learn something new every day. You see new adverts. You pick up a new trick in the trade. You adapt to changing weather patterns. You adjust your buying habits to your increasing or decreasing income. You can learn, too, by reading and studying books outside your limited understanding of your subculture and see just how rich and powerful a mix of subcultures really is (because, no matter what you think you believe, your subculture is not the only one thinking it's the only one that knows and stays on the true path to wealth both here in this life and beyond). Here are some books that I would not normally read but have chosen to read because I believe every one of you has something important to teach me. I hope you can find similar books, or websites or people to teach you that we all contribute to our people's good health and happiness.
- Home Life in Colonial Days, by Alice Morse Earle
- The Post-American World, by Fareed Zakaria
- A Maggot, by John Fowles
- The Mad Ones, by Tom Folsom
- The Face Behind The Veil, by Donna Gehrke-White
- Sinn Féin: A Hundred Turbulent Years, by Brian Feeney
History is full of one subculture meeting another, with violent clashes where one group kills people in the other group, along with their knowledge that would have helped the next civilisation grow and thrive, forcing everyone to start over.
In a recent movie, a cinema character called another one a con artist for turning people's flats and houses into ideal selling points because furniture and home accessories were moved in temporarily to make the place a home. We all fall victim to con artists of this sort. We create self-promotional marketing campaigns and turn ourselves into walking adverts that simplify who we are and what we represent. Don't be fooled by your own confidence trick. Just like aboriginal people of the Pacific Northwest who put up totem poles to indicate their wealth and status, we are not the carvings we create. We are not the magic tricks we play on stage. Don't be a victim of your own imagination.
Most good sports coaches will tell you to get out of your head and get into your body. Your thoughts do not score goals. Your thoughts do not win games. Your bodies make the moves that help you achieve your victories.
I am talking to you, to us, as bodies here. We can win together when we get the images out of our heads that falsely indicate we are part of some subgroup that's better than others. The fact is that our success and failure depend on people all over this planet who use their bodies to complete tasks we could not achieve with ease.
You can keep fighting each other, if you want. I will not stop you. But I will work to ensure those who want to turn each other into mortal enemies will be sequestered and put into a hole where neither one of you will escape alive unless you decide that you have better things to do, like working with the rest of us to share our subcultures and learn from one another. Again, we don't have to like each other or agree but we can give each other room to enjoy our subcultures how we choose as long as it doesn't include killing those in other subcultures.
I'll give you some more time to think about this. Then, at some point in the future, you will have to make a decision. Respect one another and all of our rights to celebrate our subcultures, or don't. If you choose the latter, then you'll deal not with me (I'm an easygoing guy) but with those who have been trained to take care of intolerance. It's not a threat or a promise. It's just the way we are, you and me.
Meantime, I've got to get back to the world of those who do want to work well with others. I don't have time for those who want to drag others down with them. See you on the bright side. With a smile. And a hearty laugh.
Delivers The Same High-Fidelity, Wide Frequency Response You'd Expect!
Ever hear you gotta spend some time in the public eye? You know, you've seen the movies. You've read the books. You figure out from what that message said that what it meant that it didn't mean to imply. That!
Yep, and that's why I inferred. I was referred. Refrained. Reframed. Refreshed. Freshly squeezed.
In the zone, out of the way, feeling my way, did it my way, hit the highway, kicked the can, passed the timecard, punched in, scrunched down, wore the same ol' down coat, coated the frames with UV ray beam reflectors, refracted, retracted, protracted, professional tractor-trailer driver on a lorry route, roots or routed, flouted, flaunted, jumped into flute player's part like a router, Marconi, Cisco, Linksys, Huawei, whatever it wanted to break apart the hero, Superframe, into headers and footers and meaty middles.
Words.
But we're getting beyond them now, aren't we? Now, we skip the mesmerizing lotus flower eaters in Percy's path, shop at the British Table, eat cupcakes at Gigi's, swallow whole a whole plate of Southern spaghetti at the Villa, go bowling at Station No. 2, and check the toilet hand dryers for the next set of messages to be broadcast on national television.
Past tense. Passive voice. Know exactly what they mean in their textual contesting context. Interpret commas, present and absent. Talk to the people. Feel the tension in the air, hide among the WASPs and whatnot, understanding those who are dispossessed and those who are possessed. A male raised in a dominating male world doesn't work well with female supervisors. A person of one descent who's scolded and demoted by one of another descent lets out a scent of saltpeter, perhaps. These are the expectations you unfortunately expected. But wait, there's more!
Why do we react instead of keeping irresponsible news companies from flaming and heating up embers of old sores felt from unsettled old scores? Where are the proactive social scorekeepers? What are we doing other than passively reporting what's going to happen next? Why all this fear of reprimand? Were we beaten down that much by the anti-patriot Patriot Act? What's the point of homeland security if there's little it really secures other than an increase in next year's budget proposals? We know there's no justice in the justice department. We question the intelligence in intelligence agencies.
I am tired today. Tired of euphemisms. Tired of holding up my hands in disbelief. The independent voice is no longer dependently independent and part of the times. Conservatism is about to roll up the boardwalk at dusk, shut off the city lights and require every one of us to plug into our home entertainment systems to conserve energy while getting our daily dose of of the conservative voice.
The Bobs and the Baracks of the world are temporary distractions. They'll define a small part of our world at play for a while (300 million influencing a few billion). Another two- to three-fifths have something else to say and to them I turn my ear. The landless want their piece of the dirt pie. Stir up the pot of the passionate potcheen-flavoured populace and smell the aroma. Tart, isn't it? Toxic or caustic? Depends on you. Do you have the antacid tablets I gave you? If so, drop them in the cauldron or else the concoction will keep boiling down to a substance none of us wants to see pour into the streets. Unless it's too late and you've been mesmerized by the passive voice!
Yep, and that's why I inferred. I was referred. Refrained. Reframed. Refreshed. Freshly squeezed.
In the zone, out of the way, feeling my way, did it my way, hit the highway, kicked the can, passed the timecard, punched in, scrunched down, wore the same ol' down coat, coated the frames with UV ray beam reflectors, refracted, retracted, protracted, professional tractor-trailer driver on a lorry route, roots or routed, flouted, flaunted, jumped into flute player's part like a router, Marconi, Cisco, Linksys, Huawei, whatever it wanted to break apart the hero, Superframe, into headers and footers and meaty middles.
Words.
But we're getting beyond them now, aren't we? Now, we skip the mesmerizing lotus flower eaters in Percy's path, shop at the British Table, eat cupcakes at Gigi's, swallow whole a whole plate of Southern spaghetti at the Villa, go bowling at Station No. 2, and check the toilet hand dryers for the next set of messages to be broadcast on national television.
Past tense. Passive voice. Know exactly what they mean in their textual contesting context. Interpret commas, present and absent. Talk to the people. Feel the tension in the air, hide among the WASPs and whatnot, understanding those who are dispossessed and those who are possessed. A male raised in a dominating male world doesn't work well with female supervisors. A person of one descent who's scolded and demoted by one of another descent lets out a scent of saltpeter, perhaps. These are the expectations you unfortunately expected. But wait, there's more!
Why do we react instead of keeping irresponsible news companies from flaming and heating up embers of old sores felt from unsettled old scores? Where are the proactive social scorekeepers? What are we doing other than passively reporting what's going to happen next? Why all this fear of reprimand? Were we beaten down that much by the anti-patriot Patriot Act? What's the point of homeland security if there's little it really secures other than an increase in next year's budget proposals? We know there's no justice in the justice department. We question the intelligence in intelligence agencies.
I am tired today. Tired of euphemisms. Tired of holding up my hands in disbelief. The independent voice is no longer dependently independent and part of the times. Conservatism is about to roll up the boardwalk at dusk, shut off the city lights and require every one of us to plug into our home entertainment systems to conserve energy while getting our daily dose of of the conservative voice.
The Bobs and the Baracks of the world are temporary distractions. They'll define a small part of our world at play for a while (300 million influencing a few billion). Another two- to three-fifths have something else to say and to them I turn my ear. The landless want their piece of the dirt pie. Stir up the pot of the passionate potcheen-flavoured populace and smell the aroma. Tart, isn't it? Toxic or caustic? Depends on you. Do you have the antacid tablets I gave you? If so, drop them in the cauldron or else the concoction will keep boiling down to a substance none of us wants to see pour into the streets. Unless it's too late and you've been mesmerized by the passive voice!
12 February 2010
Cedars Falling On Snow
So, here I am again. And wow, if you only knew where I'd been in the last 12 hours!
Like I say, I don't know much. I make up the difference between knowledge and intuition by staying in touch with you.
But who are you?
Are you the little elderly lady at the end of the street who has seen less than me but knows more?
Are you the E3, "yes sir," Army soldier just starting your career in the military?
Are you the surgeon who's winding up a career serving on hospital boards throughout the world?
In this case, you're the group of scientists who have figured out how to transfer a person's "personality" from one body to another. You might call it the ultimate mind trip.
How they do those things they do. What if your name was Khan? What if your name was Chow? What if your name was Linda? And then what if you had all those names in a span of a few hours?
I'm a writer, right? Isn't that what I think I am? Or Who I Was Supposed To Be?
Could I have ever believed my dreams of that childhood story about Merlin transforming Arthur into various animal bodies would come true in the form of changing from one person's body to another?
Honestly, no. Always hopefully, yes.
And now I understand why some engineers and scientists, friends of mine, have been telling me not to get excited about sending people into space exploration. Why? Because we're justthisclose to transferring people's personalities into machines that can safely travel through solar wind and cosmic radiation.
The past few hours were amazing. <== such a bland sentence, I know, but let me enjoy the memories for a while before I describe them.
It started with a series of brain scans. Then it led to understanding how to read individual sets of synapses. From that, experiments were successfully completed in showing one animal's memory set - its personality, if you will - could be "programmed" into the brain/body of a cloned version. From cloned bodies to twins and then from twins to different species and finally to person-to-person.
To have yourself and that of another person in your thoughts at the same time! Absolutely incredible! To carry your thoughts, and those of others with you into another body. Why, we're justthismuchcloser to having one social body, aren't we? Get everyone used to the Internet and then BAM! move on to "mind melds," to borrow from science fiction.
You need not be assimilated. It's already done, some say. Well, they're right and they're wrong. Social integration is NOTHING like thought integration. To have Steve Martin and Lily Tomlin playing referee in your thoughts while your synaptic simulations of Yao Ming and Shaq play ping-pong against Peyton Manning and Margaret Thatcher. Now that's entertainment!
I never knew that bodies felt skin itches in different ways. Curious...
Like I say, I don't know much. I make up the difference between knowledge and intuition by staying in touch with you.
But who are you?
Are you the little elderly lady at the end of the street who has seen less than me but knows more?
Are you the E3, "yes sir," Army soldier just starting your career in the military?
Are you the surgeon who's winding up a career serving on hospital boards throughout the world?
In this case, you're the group of scientists who have figured out how to transfer a person's "personality" from one body to another. You might call it the ultimate mind trip.
How they do those things they do. What if your name was Khan? What if your name was Chow? What if your name was Linda? And then what if you had all those names in a span of a few hours?
I'm a writer, right? Isn't that what I think I am? Or Who I Was Supposed To Be?
Could I have ever believed my dreams of that childhood story about Merlin transforming Arthur into various animal bodies would come true in the form of changing from one person's body to another?
Honestly, no. Always hopefully, yes.
And now I understand why some engineers and scientists, friends of mine, have been telling me not to get excited about sending people into space exploration. Why? Because we're justthisclose to transferring people's personalities into machines that can safely travel through solar wind and cosmic radiation.
The past few hours were amazing. <== such a bland sentence, I know, but let me enjoy the memories for a while before I describe them.
It started with a series of brain scans. Then it led to understanding how to read individual sets of synapses. From that, experiments were successfully completed in showing one animal's memory set - its personality, if you will - could be "programmed" into the brain/body of a cloned version. From cloned bodies to twins and then from twins to different species and finally to person-to-person.
To have yourself and that of another person in your thoughts at the same time! Absolutely incredible! To carry your thoughts, and those of others with you into another body. Why, we're justthismuchcloser to having one social body, aren't we? Get everyone used to the Internet and then BAM! move on to "mind melds," to borrow from science fiction.
You need not be assimilated. It's already done, some say. Well, they're right and they're wrong. Social integration is NOTHING like thought integration. To have Steve Martin and Lily Tomlin playing referee in your thoughts while your synaptic simulations of Yao Ming and Shaq play ping-pong against Peyton Manning and Margaret Thatcher. Now that's entertainment!
I never knew that bodies felt skin itches in different ways. Curious...
11 February 2010
Drone Wars
I promised myself that this new blog would be all about you and it is. Only thing, I have to share information with you about me in order for you to know more about you so here goes.
Do you have children? Do you know everything your children are doing all the time? Seriously? You really think so?
See, I know better. Let's take a walk in my shoes for a few minutes so you can learn all about what your children are doing. During this lesson I want you to think about your neighbours and your friends but most especially I want you to think about what you think you know about yourself when you look at yourself in the mirror or spend time reading a blog like this.
One day, when I was young and ignorant, I thought that the world was awful. My first girlfriend had died, my second girlfriend moved away and my third girlfriend broke up with me. I was just about ready to call it quits in the department of romantic relationships.
Then, I was introduced to the way the world really works. And I was told I could not reveal what I knew about the world until I had fulfilled some obligations that came with being introduced to the...well...sorry, you can't see me laughing but I'm remembering all the hilarious names people have given to what I'm about to tell you about. "Shadow government." "The Way." "The Star Chamber." "Gaia." You've heard them, too, I'm sure and probably most of you believe in one form or another of something that lines up with one of those phrases. And you'd be wrong. The world doesn't work the way you think, not even the way I still want to think the world works.
I'm losing my place in the story. Let me get back on track.
There I was, having a wonderful time at my invitations-only, one-person Pity Party. I thought about joining a monastery or building a cabin in the woods and getting away from it all.
Then, a young woman approached me. I hadn't seen her in school before. She wasn't in any of my classes but she seemed to know all about me and what I was doing in school. She also knew about my recent breakup.
Over the next couple of weeks, she and I met in parts of the community where we were least likely to be seen by others. State parks. Abandoned housing estates. Shutdown factories. Any place where this new friend of mine could explain to me the workings of the world.
I remember those days because of the intensity of the experiences we shared. From what she showed me, many of you out there have had the same experiences, some with training and some spontaneously. Some of you know what the experiences mean and some of you write off the experiences as related to your particular subculture.
For those of you who, through intense study and understanding, were given assignments to complete or general obligations to meet, you know what we've been through.
This young woman showed me my future, every last detail of it. By seeing my future, I saw your future, too. In our future, I was not to excel academically, keeping my study skills just below the radar of government and business interests. Instead, I was going to slide in and out of various job roles, gathering information, cataloging, documenting, assessing, analysing, and reporting my findings to others. I was asked to intentionally flunk many college courses along the way but pass enough of them to demonstrate I was planning to complete a college degree to those who showed any interest in what I was doing. I would communicate with some of you who were just like me but didn't know your personalities had been programmed to follow the same path unconsciously.
This woman asked me to read certain books (James Michener's "The Source," for instance) and learn certain archaic languages in addition to modern languages like French, Spanish, German, Farsi and Mandarin.
As time passed by in this life of mine in our global society, I have met people who were also given the task to communicate using multidimensional symbolism that changes from one encounter to the next, each set of symbols representing themselves but also pointing to how the next set of symbols will be "written," based on our copies of the multithreaded Books of the Future every one of us has in a different form, mine, as I've told you, coming from pencil shavings.
Keep in mind I am a storyteller. My task on this world is to create wild, outrageous, mildly innovative tales that contain both the truth and fabrications. Also keep in mind that there is no such thing as the truth because change happens. The only truth, if you want to think of it as such, is adaptation.
To quote Jack Nicholson's cinema character, "You can't handle the truth." Most of you can't, that is. So you follow or create a set of common tales.
As a storyteller with access to all sorts of interesting information, I get stuff that's hard to believe, even for me. These detailed brain scans from Bob Woodward and Dick Cheney, for instance, including copies of all their so-called secret files. Political mumbo-jumbo, mainly. I know some of you think it's all intriguing, the spy-vs.-spy stuff that Ian Fleming and Tom Clancy built their reputations upon, but let me tell you that most of Bob's and Dick's days are filled with boring meetings and long, drawnout discussions full of unnecessary compromises in order for them to meet their given objectives. You'll find, should you have access to all the world's thoughts, we are exactly the same. We use our bodies for essentially the same thing everyday. Eat, sleep, talk, think, act. Edith Head the Dress Doctor and Laura Chinchilla the Costa Rican president used/use their brains the same amount, albeit for different purposes.
One day, we'll watch movies of drone wars just like we watched movies about Richtofen and Brown and Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader. We'll keep making war and keeping making movies about war, all while those who want to spread peace, love and harmony will fight their own wars and claim their own victories.
But that's not why I'm here. I'm here to show you what our world is really all about, why some of us were given specific assignments that rarely make any sense.
Our future. Yes, we only live in the moment. Yes, we only imagine what the past was and the future will be. But it's our imaginations that I'm here to talk to you about.
We fully live in our imaginations. Every one of us. There is nothing else we do. Unless...
You can get out of your imaginary life if you're willing to give up life as you imagine it. You can keep your imaginary thoughts, if you want, but few are able to keep both their imaginary thoughts and something that has no thoughts, no life, no imagination at the same time. Believe me, I know. Without intensive training and some seriously messed-up setbacks, I wouldn't be here as I am. There are a few, a very few, who can do it all, switching in and out of everything all at once. But I'm not one of those.
Like I said, I'm just a good ol' boy with a little bit of knowledge and a lot of [blessed] ignorance. I'm part of the set of superset of systems that make up whatever you want to think you think you call the universe. I'm also not part of any of that. Neither are you.
I'm not trained to tap you on the shoulder and pull you out of the crowd to show you why you're not really who you think you. I'm only trained to write about those who do and those who have been tapped, like me.
Some days I feel like I'm writing the role of a really bad part in an awful movie. Some days I know I am. Some days I see why I am. Some days I just close my eyes and let my fingers fly across the keyboard or play tunes in my head that I'm still trying to figure out how to get down on paper or played on the Yamaha keyboard.
We see ourselves, generally, as one species. I see no reason to make you see otherwise. But you can. You may want to or you may not want to, but you can. Some of you are programmed to see nothing but that. Some of you are programmed to see anything but that.
Remember, this is just a blog entry. It's a story. It's not real. I do not support any theories of yours that you think describes the world around you but I'm willing to write about it if it makes a good story. That's all I do. What you choose to believe is up to you. I am not me. You are not me. Neither one of us is Barbara Taylor Bradford or Dabir A'zam Hosna, or at least there's a very small chance one of us is.
Be wise. See life outside your sphere of influence. You are not alone. The rest is in your imagination.
Do you have children? Do you know everything your children are doing all the time? Seriously? You really think so?
See, I know better. Let's take a walk in my shoes for a few minutes so you can learn all about what your children are doing. During this lesson I want you to think about your neighbours and your friends but most especially I want you to think about what you think you know about yourself when you look at yourself in the mirror or spend time reading a blog like this.
One day, when I was young and ignorant, I thought that the world was awful. My first girlfriend had died, my second girlfriend moved away and my third girlfriend broke up with me. I was just about ready to call it quits in the department of romantic relationships.
Then, I was introduced to the way the world really works. And I was told I could not reveal what I knew about the world until I had fulfilled some obligations that came with being introduced to the...well...sorry, you can't see me laughing but I'm remembering all the hilarious names people have given to what I'm about to tell you about. "Shadow government." "The Way." "The Star Chamber." "Gaia." You've heard them, too, I'm sure and probably most of you believe in one form or another of something that lines up with one of those phrases. And you'd be wrong. The world doesn't work the way you think, not even the way I still want to think the world works.
I'm losing my place in the story. Let me get back on track.
There I was, having a wonderful time at my invitations-only, one-person Pity Party. I thought about joining a monastery or building a cabin in the woods and getting away from it all.
Then, a young woman approached me. I hadn't seen her in school before. She wasn't in any of my classes but she seemed to know all about me and what I was doing in school. She also knew about my recent breakup.
Over the next couple of weeks, she and I met in parts of the community where we were least likely to be seen by others. State parks. Abandoned housing estates. Shutdown factories. Any place where this new friend of mine could explain to me the workings of the world.
I remember those days because of the intensity of the experiences we shared. From what she showed me, many of you out there have had the same experiences, some with training and some spontaneously. Some of you know what the experiences mean and some of you write off the experiences as related to your particular subculture.
For those of you who, through intense study and understanding, were given assignments to complete or general obligations to meet, you know what we've been through.
This young woman showed me my future, every last detail of it. By seeing my future, I saw your future, too. In our future, I was not to excel academically, keeping my study skills just below the radar of government and business interests. Instead, I was going to slide in and out of various job roles, gathering information, cataloging, documenting, assessing, analysing, and reporting my findings to others. I was asked to intentionally flunk many college courses along the way but pass enough of them to demonstrate I was planning to complete a college degree to those who showed any interest in what I was doing. I would communicate with some of you who were just like me but didn't know your personalities had been programmed to follow the same path unconsciously.
This woman asked me to read certain books (James Michener's "The Source," for instance) and learn certain archaic languages in addition to modern languages like French, Spanish, German, Farsi and Mandarin.
As time passed by in this life of mine in our global society, I have met people who were also given the task to communicate using multidimensional symbolism that changes from one encounter to the next, each set of symbols representing themselves but also pointing to how the next set of symbols will be "written," based on our copies of the multithreaded Books of the Future every one of us has in a different form, mine, as I've told you, coming from pencil shavings.
Keep in mind I am a storyteller. My task on this world is to create wild, outrageous, mildly innovative tales that contain both the truth and fabrications. Also keep in mind that there is no such thing as the truth because change happens. The only truth, if you want to think of it as such, is adaptation.
To quote Jack Nicholson's cinema character, "You can't handle the truth." Most of you can't, that is. So you follow or create a set of common tales.
As a storyteller with access to all sorts of interesting information, I get stuff that's hard to believe, even for me. These detailed brain scans from Bob Woodward and Dick Cheney, for instance, including copies of all their so-called secret files. Political mumbo-jumbo, mainly. I know some of you think it's all intriguing, the spy-vs.-spy stuff that Ian Fleming and Tom Clancy built their reputations upon, but let me tell you that most of Bob's and Dick's days are filled with boring meetings and long, drawnout discussions full of unnecessary compromises in order for them to meet their given objectives. You'll find, should you have access to all the world's thoughts, we are exactly the same. We use our bodies for essentially the same thing everyday. Eat, sleep, talk, think, act. Edith Head the Dress Doctor and Laura Chinchilla the Costa Rican president used/use their brains the same amount, albeit for different purposes.
One day, we'll watch movies of drone wars just like we watched movies about Richtofen and Brown and Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader. We'll keep making war and keeping making movies about war, all while those who want to spread peace, love and harmony will fight their own wars and claim their own victories.
But that's not why I'm here. I'm here to show you what our world is really all about, why some of us were given specific assignments that rarely make any sense.
Our future. Yes, we only live in the moment. Yes, we only imagine what the past was and the future will be. But it's our imaginations that I'm here to talk to you about.
We fully live in our imaginations. Every one of us. There is nothing else we do. Unless...
You can get out of your imaginary life if you're willing to give up life as you imagine it. You can keep your imaginary thoughts, if you want, but few are able to keep both their imaginary thoughts and something that has no thoughts, no life, no imagination at the same time. Believe me, I know. Without intensive training and some seriously messed-up setbacks, I wouldn't be here as I am. There are a few, a very few, who can do it all, switching in and out of everything all at once. But I'm not one of those.
Like I said, I'm just a good ol' boy with a little bit of knowledge and a lot of [blessed] ignorance. I'm part of the set of superset of systems that make up whatever you want to think you think you call the universe. I'm also not part of any of that. Neither are you.
I'm not trained to tap you on the shoulder and pull you out of the crowd to show you why you're not really who you think you. I'm only trained to write about those who do and those who have been tapped, like me.
Some days I feel like I'm writing the role of a really bad part in an awful movie. Some days I know I am. Some days I see why I am. Some days I just close my eyes and let my fingers fly across the keyboard or play tunes in my head that I'm still trying to figure out how to get down on paper or played on the Yamaha keyboard.
We see ourselves, generally, as one species. I see no reason to make you see otherwise. But you can. You may want to or you may not want to, but you can. Some of you are programmed to see nothing but that. Some of you are programmed to see anything but that.
Remember, this is just a blog entry. It's a story. It's not real. I do not support any theories of yours that you think describes the world around you but I'm willing to write about it if it makes a good story. That's all I do. What you choose to believe is up to you. I am not me. You are not me. Neither one of us is Barbara Taylor Bradford or Dabir A'zam Hosna, or at least there's a very small chance one of us is.
Be wise. See life outside your sphere of influence. You are not alone. The rest is in your imagination.
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