Anti - one that is opposed to or against; of the same kind, but situated opposite, exerting energy in the opposite direction, counteracting; opposite, reverse, inverse; serving to prevent, cure neutralize or alleviate; combating or defending against; that counteracts, that operates against; rivaling; having the superficial aspect, but not the usual characteristics of; used freely in combination with elements of any origin (multiple sources consolidated)
Copyright – the mark of intellectual property; grants exclusive and legal rights to reproduce, publish, sell or distribute the copyrighted material; restricts or limits the publication, distribution and dissemination of intellectual property; delays or prevents entrance into the public domain; laws that regulate the use of the work of a creator (multiple sources consolidated)
Author’s definition: democratization of information
All original material at psychobabble.ws is anti-copyright. The only thieves are those who claim to possess. The copyright is a sure sign of a thought-thief. To claim a thought as your own discredits the idea. To keep a thought to yourself devalues the idea. So read my mind because the thoughts therein are yours as well. What use is an idea kept as a secret? Secret ideas only serve the interests of selfishness and paranoia. These thoughts came through me, what thoughts come through you? Honor the idea that chooses you as an interpreter. Shout it, sing it, speak it, write it, paint it, sculpt it, play it, love it, give it, release it, share it, create it.
Ps. If by chance you take advantage of the anti-copyright and, indulge me here, reuse any materials from this site online or in print, please include the following credit: "…as offered by www.psychobabble.ws."
Also, continue indulging me (the original subtitle to Psychobabble acknowledged that the author is an ego-maniac, as does this parenthetical thought), please send links and/or publication information to psychobabble.nso@gmail.com.
Obviously, the anti-copyright does not apply to any materials clearly presented as others’ work. It should, but that’s not up to me, obviously.
Some of the material herein may give rise to offense; I can only hope. Please do not turn away lightly (unless, worst case scenario, you’re just bored).
[for a more contextual disclaimer, see also: psychobabble definition; note author’s definition]
This site is a rough and clumsy attempt to post my brain on the World Wide Web. The text-only version only allows you to simply scroll down to proceed in as logical a progression as I could come up with. I encourage you to allow yourself to get lost in the random neural connections (only available in the display site) that more accurately reflect the intertwined associations between the different times, places, experiences, thoughts and dreams that inhabit my little reality.
For those of you seeking order in an otherwise orderless world (or for those of you seeking odors in an otherwise odorless world, as the case may be), I have attempted to categorize the contents of my cyberbrain into the following pigeon holes:
Eye – I – Aye: personal reflections along the way
The Trail of Weirdness: the way
Psychobabble: some bullshit that happens along the way
Now Spread Out: some weirdness that happens along the way
Others: some others encountered along the way
Anarchy: the way it should be
Anticopyright
Disclaimer
An Explanation of Everything
Table of (dis)Contents
Contact
display site
Eye-I-Aye
When I was Born
Myself in the Mirror
I am what I am
Up to me
I'm gonna
Allowance
All directions
Reactionary Vicarious Self-Identification
One year and several lifetimes later...
Utterly Normal
Everywhere I Go
I'm a spoiled rotten brat
Three Dreams
display site
The Trail of Weirdness
On the Trail of Weirdness
Magic
Let Go
Returning to the Trail of Weirdness
Spaghetti Sauce from Scratch
A Little Bit Crazy
Maybe
A Day’s Drive
Lost and Found on the Trail of Weirdness
Bottomless Pit
Love is not the answer
To go home...
Day in Day out
display site
Psychobabble
Open Letter to America
The Mask
American Dream
Don’t Vote!
July Fourth Aftermath
A Perfect World
Listen: open letter to the middle class
A Good Trade
Have a Nice Day
Deconstructing the American Dream and Moving Beyond Political Correctness
The Truth and the Lie
Within this Reality
Sitting on a Cloud
Social Justice
Valentine's Day
Save the World (turned upside down)
Today's Twisted Track
Dear God
Most Folks
display site
Now Spread Out
Experience Yourself
Sunrise Prayer
Prayer Epilogue
Grounded
Imaginary Distinctions
Broken Hearts
Do not be afraid
Something New
Fuck All Y'all - a love poem
Mine is a lot like Mine
display site
Others
A walk in the woods
Buster
Be Gay
On meeting Khalfani X Khaldun
On meeting Iyapo X Adisa
Alberts Hand
Father
The Heaviest Burden
She Named Herself
Remembering Grandma
From Dream to Life
display site
Anarchy
Anarchy is only the best of me
Why is anarchy such a bad word?
Conceiving Anarchy
Government is Normal
Super Rant from Hell
The Opposite of Reality
The poor will always be with us
Remember Justice Crucified
Granting Rights
Essentials
Cultural Confluence
To-do list of a Dictator-for-a-Day
display site
All content, art, photos and design by Jeid Kurn Hasoth.
Share with me your thoughts, your fears, your shuttered dreams and destitute desires...
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Eye - the organ of sight or light sensitivity in vertebrates, usually occurring in pairs; the ability to see; somebody’s attention or gaze; a look, or the facial expression of a person looking; an ability to recognize and appreciate something; a point of view or way of thinking; a dark round patch on a potato tuber, from which a new shoot grows; a hole in the top of a needle for passing a thread through; a loop, usually metal, into which a small hook fits, used as a means of fastening two parts of a garment together; a calm area at the center of a storm; to look at something or somebody inquisitively(multiple sources consolidated)
I - the ninth letter of the alphabet in modern English, and in other languages that use the Roman alphabet; the Roman numeral for 1; a pronoun used by a speaker or writer to refer to himself or herself(multiple sources consolidated)
Aye - used to say yes; a vote in favor of a motion, or somebody who casts a vote in favor; always or forever(multiple sources consolidated)
Author's definition: mi, meyeself and aye - and who knows who else; me, which, as with all y’all, is intimately infinite and magnificently mysterious, especially, as with all y’all to yourselves, to me
Reactionary Vicarious Self Identification
One year and several lifetimes later...
When I was born, as with most middle-class children, I was introduced to a world of stability and security. It wasn’t until nearly 20 years later that I began to suspect that world of stability and security of fraudulence. Again, it wasn’t until my first serious relationship ended, now into my 20s, that I felt the implications of said fraudulence. But get this – it was at that particular moment in time that I first experienced the tickling of freedom.
At first I thought that it was simply because I was “free” to do whatever without answering to anyone but myself (typical man-independence stuff). But, upon further investigation/introspection, I learned that this was not the case at all. I realized that it didn’t matter if it was my wife, my friends before marriage, my siblings or my parents, or my thumb and my mother’s nipples – it was all the same: stability and security through attachment and codependence, routine behavior and routine outcomes, stability through pattern and ritual, security through predictability… The outcome of which being that I had no idea who or what I really was. Of what importance is independence if there is no identity?
|
I realize now. I thought I knew what I was looking for. I was caught by a distraction. I pretended it was what I needed. I hoped it was what I needed. I dreamt it was what I needed. I fantasized it was what I needed. I knew I was searching for something I wanted. I fooled myself. I didn't even know it. I blinded myself from what I truly desired. |
I overlooked it. I missed it. I ran from it. I ignored it. I lied about it. I was scared of it. I stumbled around it. I disrespected it. I denied it. I abused it. I hurt it. I restricted it. I couldn't accept it. I wouldn't let it. I gave up on it. I belittled it. I hid from it. I sheltered it. I starved it. I didn't recognize it. |
It found me. It fell on me. It followed me. It attended me. It taught me. It faced me. It smoothed me. It respected me. It accepted me. It pampered me. It patched me. It flooded me. It welcomed me. It allowed me. It bet on me. It admired me. It searched for me. It comforted me. It fed me. It mirrored me. |
I am what I am. I am a product of, I am a reaction to, I am the image of, I am the double image of, I am in relation to, I am from, I am of my own reality.
I will accept what I am, I will realize and understand what I am, I will strive to accept and realize and understand what I am.
I am the violence of, I am the serenity of, I am the humility of, I am the ignorance of, I am the enlightenment of, I am the answer to my own reality.
I am my own behavior, I am my own actions, I am my own thoughts, I am my own ego, I am my own yearnings, I am my own shortcomings, I am my own downfalls, I am my own reality.
I will accept my own responsibility, I am of the Earth, I will accept responsibility to the Earth. I will not accept any responsibility to my perverter, I will accept all responsibility to my creator.
I will trust my interpretations, I cannot refute the consequences as delved out by the Earth. I will always refute the consequences as delved out by any other.
I will trust my perspective and my ability to choose my own behavior. I will not accept the judgments of any but the Earth upon me. I will strive for self honesty, I will look to the Earth for validity.
I will accept and choose what I do, I will not adhere to the justice of any but the Earth.
I will be what I am, I will not let any but the Earth determine right from wrong, good from bad in relation to what I do and what I am.
Afterthoughts
It seems every time I find myself
believing I understand who I am
something happens to destroy the image.
For my own sake, I have decided
that there is no such thing
as a clear self-identity.
Vagueness and loose connections
provide definitions easily intertwined
with self-serving perceptions.
Nothing can explain who I am
there are only my thoughts and emotions
and reflections in an ever-changing world.
I spend a lot of time in the ocean that rocks back and forth inside my head.
For the most part, I’ve given up on the idea that I can control where the tide takes me.
I try to flow, but in trying I usually end up floundering and lose myself.
Once lost, I begin to struggle, only to sink deeper and farther from myself.
At times like this I become impossible to interpret from the outside because there is no interpretation to be offered from the inside.
What am I feeling? What am I thinking? Where am I? I sincerely don’t know. It is too dark and murky at these depths to see anything, really.
I live inside my head. Everything that happens to me, around me, happens inside my head. Unless I’m floating on the surface, I’m unable to make any sense of it. I don’t even notice most of it.
Some things are bright enough to penetrate the ocean and travel through the darkness even to these depths, showing me which way is up and which way is down.
With that knowledge, I know the rest is up to me.
I’m gonna indulge in meaninglessness. I’m gonna engorge myself on pointlessness. I’m gonna live, breath, eat and drink competition and dominance. I’m gonna play the game that I’ve been avoiding. I’m gonna fulfill my character. I’m gonna do what’s expected of me. I’m gonna go along with it. I’m gonna learn their language. I’m gonna speak their language. I’m gonna stop denying my natural self. I’m gonna be a good american, a perfect yankee. I’m gonna play by their rules. I’m gonna do what’s expected of me. I’m gonna do what I was brought up to do. I’m gonna "shrink into a cryonic stupor and disappear." I’m gonna walk the streets of ghost towns. I’m gonna fit in. I’m gonna relate in relation to what I am. I’m gonna allow for that dictation. I’m gonna get with the program. I’m gonna give in. I’m gonna go quietly and easily. I’m gonna walk the plank. I’m gonna do what’s expected of me. I’m gonna shut up. I’m gonna sidestep when a sidestep is called for. I’m gonna answer the call. I’m gonna convey the image. I’m gonna be the image. I’m gonna go with the flow. I’m gonna do what’s expected of me. I’m gonna give in. I’m gonna go. I’m gonna satisfy my urges. I’m gonna squelch my reservations. I’m gonna accept. I’m gonna chase the cheese. I’m gonna follow the carrot. I’m gonna indulge in meaninglessness.
Maybe now’s not a good time, but I need something to occupy my mind. My head’s like - /|\|/|\ - does that make any sense? So much seems to be happening, and I’m torn between playing a role that doesn’t seem right and not playing a role at all. There’s a certain sense of impending doom that is having a hard time clicking with all of this hope and potential; there’s that proverbial question: why?; there’s the constant struggle to maintain faith that this all does make sense somehow, always forgetting and reminding and remembering that there is something more and forever tormented by not really knowing what it is – sometimes fooling myself into thinking I have a clue, more as a past time than anything else. Some things can be easy to recognize yet damn near impossible to come to terms with. It feels like time is running short; I’m sure there’s always been someone saying that, “Time is running short;” it’s been that way forever and will be forever until we decide it’s been enough. When will it be enough?
Do you ever get the feeling that you’re busting out in all directions at the same time? It can be a rather unnerving sensation. I was just catching my breath from outrunning oblivion and discovering that the moon had stolen my heart while I was distracted by someone who didn’t want it when I found myself searching for a dead body in the woods and dreaming of lost friends who need my help but cannot be located and meanwhile driving, driving, driving, driving, driving… Tripping over thoughts and drowning in emotions. Running around in circles that seldom look familiar but continually repeat themselves – timing off one day and on the next – and every wall must be covered in my butting head’s blood before it will give way to the next. My mind has outrun my heart and time has outrun the both of us leaving me in a space that is actually starting to feel comfortable. Wouldn’t life be boring if we didn’t live it? I’m really not sure what I would do if suddenly things started making sense – that would truly confuse me!
I ran home because I didn’t like what I found on the road, namely myself. I had experienced the isolation that vicarious identification had to offer and the fallacy of independence. At first I thought I was stampeding into self-realization, but, like that rock, thinking and acting like I was flying, I was actually falling back into that storm of distractions, losing myself even deeper in a sea of misleading forms of self expressions and manifestations.
I turned from identifying myself through specific others to identifying myself through general others. No longer was I somebody’s husband, friend, brother or child, but me the activist, the organizer, the anarchist, the radical… When will it be enough to simply be me? When will I know myself without comparing myself to others or without the toe tags I depend upon?
That wall, you know the one, the one you always find yourself running into or at the foot of: it’s you, that’s you, in your own way, you… Separation from objects of reactionary vicarious self-identification feels like separation from self, but it isn’t.
Tripping over conversations,
Scrambling to understand, clumsily,
Perceptual confusion, a proper reflection in hindsight
Flopping across a map,
Scattered, unorganized thoughts,
Roving insanity, a proper reflection in hindsight
Lack of focus, inability to focus,
Indecisive, directionless wandering, or waiting?,
Frustrating and frightening, a proper reflection in hindsight
Uncertain identities, fearful of friends,
Hiding from experiences,
Harrowing human contact, a proper reflection in hindsight
Lack of trust? or instinctive suspicion?,
Clandestine airs or romantic projection?,
Rampant, unchecked paranoia, a proper reflection in hindsight
I must comes to term with the fact that I am utterly normal by so-called normal standards: white, male, heterosexual, middle class, able-bodied, average height, weight and build, one mother and one father who are still married (to each other), college graduate, and so on…
It’s strange, being so utterly normal, that I should also almost always be a complete and total nervous wreck. On the other hand, and probably due to my utter normality, my life has been filled with incredible amounts of luck. Even stranger yet, luck comes most often and most easily when I don’t try at all – a slacker’s kind of luck: sluck, a friend of mine once called it, a friend not quite as normal as me.
Everywhere I go, I see people I know – but they do not remember me.
That one there was in my junior high English class – but he does not remember me.
And over there is my childhood best friend – but he does not remember me.
She is the girl I first fell in love with – be she does not remember me.
And there my grade-school teacher – but she does not remember me.
A college mentor sits across from me on the bus – but she does not remember me.
That guy in the suit used to pick on me as a boy – but he does not remember me.
My grandfather is across the room – but he does not remember me.
A woman at the market who spoke kindly to me once – but she does not remember me.
That guy on the side of the road years ago gave me a ride – but he does not remember me.
A distant relative is waiting in line in front of me – but she does not remember me.
My dad is driving the car in the next lane – but he does not remember me.
The man at the library was the meanest teacher I ever had – but he does not remember me.
A coworker from my first job is the owner of this café – but she does not remember me.
A neighbor when I was eight is at the store with her family – but she does not remember me.
The first girl I kissed is several rows up on this plane – but she does not remember me.
And there, everywhere I go, am I – but he does not remember me.
I often bemoan patriarchy, government, capitalism and the socially unjust status quo, yet here I sit doing absolutely nothing to counteract any of them or any of the above, hierarchically speaking. Worse yet, I’m all too anxious to criticize anyone who is trying to counteract them. One group’s not organized enough, another is too restrictive or rigid, others are at the mercy of their imperialist funders, many of them can’t work together, and some of them don’t even want to. I guess you could say I’m protesting the protesters, or you would if you were me. You might actually say something quite different, such as: I’ve grown complacent in my comfortable status quo existence; I’ve been absorbed into the economic order; I have a vested interest in the ‘system.’ You’d be right: to counteract any of the above at this point amounts to self-destruction. I’ve taken my place as a cog, and cogs don’t counteract anything. Sometimes however, things counteract cogs.
Beginnings and endings
Babies, fire and ashes
Fond farewells and happy hellos
These in-between days
Becoming and unbecoming
At once old and new
Endings and beginnings
Shedding certainty
Gathering possibility
Engaging fears
Accepting ambiguities
Unlearning doubts
Scaredy cats acting natural
Trying not to fake it
Reacclimating anxieties
Letting go
Spreading out
Embracing entropy
Breaking it down again
Living premonitions
Rebuilding a life
Growing a home
Making and remaking friends
Reinventing childhood
“Changing into whatever it is I am changing into”
Relearning the past
Remembering the future
Reexamining labor and love
Dreaming community
Rediscovering families
Redefining revolution
Holding each other
Witnessing life
Burning dreams and starting over
“To see how far I’ve come”
To end at the beginning
To find what I didn’t know was lost
To regain a part of my soul
To build a future within the past
To "know my name as it's called again"
To go home…
To go home…
To go home would be a dream
Trail - to follow a person or animal either by staying close but out of sight or by looking for signs of movement left behind, for example, footprints or scent; to be losing in a race, match, or competition; to be pulled or dragged along, or to pull or drag something along; to hang, grow, or float loosely; to tow something; to make a trackthrough a place; a route through the countryside that links paths and points of interest; a sequence of marks left by somebody or something moving along a surface; a scent or track that is followed in a hunt; a path or track, especially one that has been beaten through a wild area (multiple sources consolidated)
Weirdness - strange or unusual; belonging to or suggesting the supernatural; relating to or influenced by fate (multiple sources consolidated)
Author's definition: the trail of weirdness stretches out from eternal darkness into the blinding light that is invisible and the deafening sound that one strains to hear, moving in no particular direction but always the right one, it is infinite, always, all ways, knowing instinctively, always, all ways, loving unconditionally always, all ways, and with a rage too strong to be controlled when it shouldn't be; what we wake up to everyday, usually without any idea whatsoever
Returning to the Trail of Weirdness
Lost and Found on the Trail of Weirdness
Many distractions are flung about on the reflections, in the reflections, by the reflections. Missing, stolen energy. Loneliness. A city of cities. Isolation, misdirection, wild and restless confusion. Crashing currents, neurons shorting out, fuses blowing. A surge of life, energizing beauty- a moment of clarity. Content tears of happiness flowing in a deceiving river of discontent. Inevitable change, direction shifts. Tears flow carelessly in a seemingly aimless manner against the current discontent, searching for and striving to create their own current content, to own nothing to have everything. Tap into it, plug in, you have found it, it is indeed there and although frighteningly foreign...refreshingly distracting. A gift of energy surprises the needy thieves...
The magic doesn’t come and go, only our perception, timing and being.
The magic is everywhere, don’t you see it? Don’t you see?
The magic is not in everything, is not a part of everything, but rather it is everything.
There is not a single occurrence, not a single object, not a single thought, not a single action, not a single word nor song that is not composed of magic.
This manmade world can be deceiving, complicating what would be simple to understand otherwise, but it's all there, it's all magic, albeit manipulated and understated, but magic nonetheless.
Drama does not change the intensity, only the perception.
Memory does not change the realization, only the timing.
And nothing changes the being but you.
The fears and doubts are your own self occupied creations.
Magic is in your nature, if only you should choose…
Facing the future, a staring contest. Who will look away first? It won’t be the future. Keep up with it or face the langoliers. Because they really are coming, devouring those who are stuck dwelling on the dual between the here/now and the there/then. It’s a fine line between releasing one’s self from the confines of the past and letting one’s self go free into the future. We are all here/now, but facing which direction? This indulgence with comfort, this obsession with security is a very stationary activity. Is this comfort? Is this secure? Or is that a bit of a restless feeling you’ve got? There’s the saying, if you truly love something let it go… Why don’t we let ourselves go and see if we come back.
...turn around and there it is, right behind you waiting, teasing you and laughing at the look of surprise on your face, a little nudge here, a poke there, jumping out from behind corners seldom seen in advance, and whispering ever-so softly, boo!, a sound that burns the ears, that wonderful burning that spreads to the heart and squeezes so that all the love oozes out and runs all over, knowing that once released it will almost inevitably swell right back up even larger, even stronger than before and lie in wait once again in some not-so-dark crook or cranny, but conveniently placed just out of sight, never to be seen actually but only heard when things slow down enough, when all is clear, even if only for a moment, some predestined and entirely unpredictable moment, and someone will come along and something will release it from inside of you and you'll feel yourself whispering ever so softly, boo!, and you'll laugh at the look of surprise on their face.
Spaghetti sauce from scratch, too good for dessert. I couldn’t do it because it involved speaking, and I was about to cry. Good medicine for the situation. A rather quick elevation beginning with the physical – homeless mothers and politics – thoughts and beliefs followed by emotions, philosophy and spirituality. Capitalism, anarchism, God, Earth, spirit, energy, bad, good, unnatural, natural, father, mother, brother, sister – all in the same room at the same time getting to know each other.
A little bit crazy, a little insane
I just don’t know what to make of my brain
A little bit cuckoo, a little bit nuts
Think I’d do better to follow my guts
Hush hush baby, now don’t you cry
No one really gives a fuck, so tell me why should I?
Things speed up and things slow down
Things grab your head and rub it in the ground
Sometimes you’re smart, sometimes you’re dumb
Sometimes the only answer is to just get numb
Running is a game that cannot last forever
Sooner or later it'll stop, no matter the endeavor
When life presents itself as obvious
More than likely, it’s just oblivious
Another distraction that could be a lie
Just what the fuck is it that’s making me cry?
A little bit crazy, a little insane
I just don’t know what to make of my brain
A little bit cuckoo, a little bit nuts
Think I’d do better to go with my guts
Hush hush baby, now don’t you cry
No one really gives a fuck, so tell me why should I?
I may have missed my turn and gone too far
Got distracted by that falling star
One final flash of burning light
To signal the end of another life
I don’t think I want to know what’s going on
The novelty of misery can only last so long
Just as life must give way to death
So too is death a part of every breath
I fear some demons will be with me until I die
Or maybe they’re saints, reminding me to cry
It may be returning again after so long. Who can say really what we will make of it. Maybe we’ve clouded our own vision for the ecstasy of clearing it. Maybe we’ve created our own prison for the ecstasy of release.
When prisoners of thoughts begin to think, when prisoners of words begin to speak, when prisoners of songs begin to sing, when prisoners of habit begin to be, well, “happiness is just a chant away.”
It will take an army of lovers commanded by their consciences and armed with creativity to clear a path to our future.
When prisoners of destruction begin to create, when prisoners of death begin to live, when prisoners of nightmares begin to dream, when prisoners of decay begin to grow, well, “happiness is just a chant away.”
It will take all of us thinking our own thoughts, speaking our own words, singing our own songs, being our own beings, creating our own creations, living our own lives, dreaming our own dreams, growing our own futures to clear a path to our own release into that world of worlds where people care about each other and are nice to one another.
160 east, 89 to 191
Completely overcast. No sunrise. Lazy, gradual replacement of black with gray. Sleepy. Desert. Long, dark horizon. Muted reds and browns alongside and breaking the sky, and faded greens and yellows cuddling throughout. Subtle. Blurred. Waiting. Slumber. |
191 north, 160 to 163
Deeper. Darkening skies. Darkening land. Darkening foliage. From muted colors back to grays. Enormous black bowls of clouds hovering low and, slowly, closer, spreading. Spilling streaming haziness in the distance. Full, heavy, yearning. Hanging against the silhouetted land forms, eerily dry. |
191 south, 163 to 160
Release. Pouring forth. Giving in. Splitting open. Letting go. Dissolution and sun. Water cleansing. Color explosion and distinction. Waking up late and vigorous. Brilliant red land against black and white clouds against blue and sky. Land bustling with dozens of distinctly mingling greens and yellows. Alive. Clean. |
160 west, 191 to 89
Clouds. Wispy, wavy, transparent; pillowed, fluffy, rolling; dark, low, menacing; solid, long, sweeping; full, high, moving; spiked, black, reaching; all present in contrasting layers and regions and breaking with streaming sun and blue sky throughout. More release, more waking of colors, vivid, running, gathering, rising, falling, cleansing, crashing, becoming…, and slowly, slowly. Again fading and drifting. Melding. Disappearing. Hiding. Sleeping. Darkness. Slow. Easy. Rest. |
Time and space make no difference when you are to receive a calling. Thousands of miles can pass in moments and moments can last for eternity. Follow you heart, I've been known to say, especially when it seems so illogical as to be the one thing not meant to be. Doubts will occur, no doubt they will, but fade as coincidences pass and come to be. Realizations come along untraceable paths because they are not meant to be traced, but rather followed, fulfilled, elaborated, and suddenly there it is, the why and reason. Always surfacing, arising from moments of confusion at the most unexpected time. Always culminating, clarified and put into focus in a predetermined, unforeseen space. Miles of moments and moments for miles, and suddenly a question has been answered, direction is more focused, goals crystallized, and purpose is understood that much more clearly. Lost and found on the trail of weirdness.
They said it was bottomless,
that to find its end was impossible.
I took it for granted that
what they said was true.
I took it for granted until I met you.
“Nothing’s impossible,” is what you always said,
“Never say can’t,” and, “You don’t have to bleed red.”
You proved these through your actions,
and made all your dreams come true.
So I got my stuff together and
decided to prove them wrong.
I stood at the edge of that hole
and thought about yesterday, tomorrow and now.
I closed my eyes and saw your face,
and then suddenly my own was in its place.
I didn’t know what it meant; I thought it was good.
So with that feeling of satisfaction, I lifted one foot.
I slowly extended it out over the impossible.
I went to stamp it out, show them I could do it,
and began my dissent.
I did it! I did it! Nothing’s impossible! Never say can’t!
But now I’m gone; I looked back at my own body
and realized it was dead, and all around it
the color of red.
Love is most certainly not the answer.
It is merely one small part.
Anger also is part of the answer.
And empathy and compassion.
Listening, thinking, searching and speaking.
Love is of course quite necessary.
Along with turmoil and confusion.
Embarrassment is inevitable.
As is righteousness and foolishness.
Waiting, watching, anticipating and acting.
Love is there to be sure.
But no answer can be that simple.
There will be fear and despair.
And joy, hope and passion.
Being, opening, dreaming and dancing.
Love should definitely not be forgotten.
Even during humiliation and violation.
Especially not in struggle and justice.
But least of all in violence and victory.
Winning, losing, crying and celebrating.
Love is in the answer.
As is rage and desperation.
Loneliness and isolation, no less.
Yet, communion too and relief.
Talking, giving, laughing and loving.
To go home...
To go home...
To go home would be a dream...
Hollywood only makes six movies
Over and over and over again
And the radio plays the same damn music
At the same damn time every day every day
And the news cycle recycles itself
Day in Day out Day in Day out Day in Day out
The magazines just replace their covers
Weekly, monthly, or quarterly
And the talking heads are still talking heads
Talking, talking, talking, talking, talking, talking, talking
Rights are won and they’re taken away
Yesterday’s fads will again have their day
But Hollywood only makes six movies
Over and over and over again
And the radio plays the same damn music
At the same damn time every day every day
And the news cycle recycles itself
Day in Day out Day in Day out Day in Day out
I can hardly keep track of myself
Day in Day out Day in Day out Day in Day out
Everything changes but it all looks the same
Day in Day out Day in Day out Day in Day out
I can hardly remember my name
Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday Monday
Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday Monday Tuesday
Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday Monday Tuesday Wednesday
ad nauseam…
Hollywood only makes six movies
Over and over and over again
And the radio plays the same damn music
At the same damn time every day every day
And the news cycle recycles itself
Day in Day out Day in Day out Day in Day out
Wars begin but they don’t always end
Years, decades, centuries, millennia
Propaganda’s legacy plays itself out
Generation after generation after generation
The faces change but the suits look the same
The political spectrum narrows each day
But Hollywood only makes six movies
Over and over and over again
And the radio plays the same damn music
At the same damn time every day every day
And the news cycle recycles itself
Day in Day out Day in Day out Day in Day out
I can hardly keep track of myself
Day in Day out Day in Day out Day in Day out
Everything changes but it all looks the same
Day in Day out Day in Day out Day in Day out
I can hardly remember my name
Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday Monday
Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday Monday Tuesday
Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday Monday Tuesday Wednesday
ad nauseam…
Hollywood only makes six movies
Over and over and over again
And the radio plays the same damn music
At the same damn time every day every day
And the news cycle recycles itself
Day in Day out Day in Day out Day in Day out
TV characters are created in bulk
Season by season by season by season
Speeches are written with all the same words
Dailies, weeklies and in betweens
The state adjusts but it will never change
Life as happenstance is easily arranged
The end has been near since time began
The end has been near since time began
The end has been near since time began
ad nauseam…
But Hollywood only makes six movies
Over and over and over again
And the radio plays the same damn music
At the same damn time every day every day
And the news cycle recycles itself
Day in Day out Day in Day out Day in Day out
I can hardly keep track of myself
Day in Day out Day in Day out Day in Day out
Everything changes but it all looks the same
Day in Day out Day in Day out Day in Day out
I can hardly remember my name
Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday Monday
Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday Monday Tuesday
Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday Monday Tuesday Wednesday
ad nauseam…
Psychobabble - a form of prose using jargon, buzzwords and highly esoteric language to give an impression of plausibility through mystification, misdirection, and obfuscation; term used to denote the misdiagnosis and misclassification of natural variation in human psychology as psychopathological, or mentally disordered (multiple sources consolidated)
Author’s definition: pretty (or not so pretty, as the case may be) words that add up to nothing; I don’t really know what I’m talking about, but I have a lot to say about it
Listen: open letter to the middle class
Deconstructing the American Dream and Moving Beyond Political Correctness
Save the World (turned upside down)
July 4, 1995
Dear America,Stop everything! Just stop it! Please, take a moment to look around, to consider and remember, just whose life are you living?
Everything’s wrong, everything’s wrong, nothing is turning out the way we expected, the way we planned, the way we wanted and prayed for all this time.
Please tell me, maybe I am wrong, but where is there peace? Where is there safety and security, comfort? Where is the humanity, the dignity, the respect, the sincerity? Where is the human spirit, the community, the unity?
I’m tired of listening to the lies, I’m fed up with the deception. I don’t want to be here anymore, but there’s nowhere else to go. Is this what the dream was meant to be? Or is it just what we got stuck with?
America, I’m sorry, but it’s time you should know. You’re dead, face down, belly up or whatever. This is it – this is all we have to offer. Are you happy? Do we even know what happiness is? Are we sure it’s not just the prozac, or the t.v., or the radiation, or the shopping malls? How many jobs are you working now? Just who is it that is benefitting from all of our hard work?
America, we are the lost ones, wandering in oblivion, blind without memory. Sometime I wish I could be America, so trusting, so believing, but I just can’t buy it anymore. I can’t believe in you, America.
Soon we too will be consumed by the nightmare that has already engulfed the majority of the world’s population and which emanates directly from our own dreamscape. Soon we too will experience hunger, cold and poverty. Soon we too will know despair and hopelessness. Maybe at that time, we will finally find it within ourselves to accord others the amount of respect and dignity deserved and realize that we do indeed have something to learn from the dispossessed and disenfranchised of this nation and others. Only with this realization will the nightmares end and can we begin living once again, not as in a dream, which is all we know, but this time for real. Can you even imagine it?
Of course, we don’t really have to wait that long…
Masculinity’s killing me
Not just me, but the collective we
Chasing power, ignoring responsibility
Living in dreamscapes, shirking reality
In all the movies I watched with my friends
The killing and capturing never ends
The heroes triumph with their guns and knives
And then go home to beat their wives
Gotta hold my own without any help
Never appear small, weak or frail
To do so is to lose all standing
In others’ eyes as seen through mine
Masculinity’s killing me
Not just me, but the collective we
Chasing power, ignoring responsibility
Living in dreamscapes, shirking reality
Make others feel stupid at every turn
There is nothing that I should have to learn
Just stepping on others to get ahead
If I’m not proving, might as well be dead
It’s all about the pecking order
Who gets to cross whose border
Although I almost always feel safe
Most guys easily put me in my place
Masculinity’s killing me
Not just me, but the collective we
Chasing power, ignoring responsibility
Living in dreamscapes, shirking reality
If I can’t be the last one on top
Then I don’t deserve to play at all
If I can’t be the very best
I guess I’m just one of the rest
From loins to guns bigger is better
From lies to profits better is bigger
There’s no end to the shenanigans
“The one who dies with the most toys wins”
Masculinity’s killing me
Not just me, but the collective we
Chasing power, ignoring responsibility
Living in dreamscapes, shirking reality
A concoction of artificial ingredients
When dissected it makes absolutely no sense
Dies, preservatives, stuff made just to be sold
Conveniently available in a (limited) variety of molds
Pursuing images and false identity
Power, control and self-righteous destiny
Toying with upward mobility
Taking my just place in society
Masculinity’s killing me
Not just me, but the collective we
Chasing power, ignoring responsibility
Living in dreamscapes, shirking reality
Self-made men in money and build
There’s no limit to the power they yield
If I can find favor or emulate
There might be a place for me in their state
Control over others is my god-given right
If not through coercion, then through simple might
Throughout the world, there are customs and rules
To hide the fact that I’m out of control
Masculinity’s killing me
Not just me, but the collective we
Chasing power, ignoring responsibility
Living in dreamscapes, shirking reality
War is raged across the earth and sea
In schoolrooms, boardrooms, bedrooms, t.v.
All of it upheld by man-made laws
Religion and science provide just cause
A constant fluctuation between saviordom and impotence
Lashing out in confused and violent fits
All the while maintaining the social order
Designed to accommodate this bi-polar disorder
Masculinity’s killing me
Not just me, but the collective we
Chasing power, ignoring responsibility
Living in dreamscapes, shirking reality
Detachment from others is the social norm
Independence is an imperative storm
Lost in an emotionless realm
The price for my place at the helm
For 10,000 years I’ve ruled the world
Never acknowledging there was something before
Now lost and alone, surrounded by others
I’ve come to realize, I miss our fore-mothers
Masculinity’s killing me
Not just me, but the collective we
Chasing power, ignoring responsibility
Living in dreamscapes, shirking reality
Weary and worn from endless competition
By whose orders, this confusing mission
To always be right, even when I’m wrong
To never remove the mask I’ve donned
Wracked with unspoken fears
Trying desperately not to hear
The sadness and pain pent up for years
And terrified to release the tears
Masculinity’s killing me
Not just me, but the collective we
By letting go, we can find real power
In patriarchy’s final hour
1995
Today the headlines say, “American Dream is Crock of Shit.”
The story begins, “the only streets here that are paved with gold are also armed with well-armed policemen [not to forget the policewomen] who refuse to answer any questions and will only say, ‘move on, keep moving,’ and, if your brown-skinned, ‘papers please.’”
USA Today reports on the “American Royalty” at the State dinner for world-renowned tyrant Jiang Zemin and includes on the list of “royalty” almost a dozen corporate CEOs eager to make business deals with the fascists. The same corporations who, with the help of the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund, have been waging World War III for at least the past three decades in so-called third world nations.
Meanwhile there is token mention made of the democratic protests along the dictator’s red, white and blue trail of carpet against China’s poor human rights record, while at this very moment the USA is conducting forced relocations of indigenous peoples, continues to build prisons while our incarceration rate already exceeds that of any other nation, and which hold dozens if not hundreds of world recognized but locally ignored political prisoners.
And on NPR they casually inform us that Mr. President Clinton today is meeting “ to rub shoulders” with those folks kind enough to have given him $50,000 or more on the campaign trail, dismissing any mention of the steadily increasing numbers of homeless and hungry in this country and around the world.
The American Dream has been bought and sold while we were watching t.v. The t.v.s, newspapers and radios know it, and sometimes they forget to hide it very well. But it still goes unnoticed. Perhaps there is a reality show in the making here…
1. It only encourages the bastards.
2. It’s like rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic.
3. Voting is meaningless when those who are voted for are not directly accountable to those who vote.
4. Your vote is an implicit endorsement of the system as a whole.
5. No matter who you vote for, the government always wins.
6. If god had meant for us to vote, she would have given us candidates.
7. If you must, vote for yourself.
July 4, 2008
Driving through town this afternoon, I was witness to the July 4th aftermath of confetti, streamers, candy wrappers and miscellaneous patriotic celebration paraphernalia, not to mention a few old political campaign signs from the city election two months ago thrown in for good measure – all strewn about like so much trash left as a trail to follow the path of this morning’s war-time independence day parade.
Tonight, the celebration will continue with a shameless glorification of warfare through the beautiful and public display of the original explosives, without which life just would not be the same today. The blasts will be heard for miles around, and the wildlife will respond more appropriately than the celebrators by running in fright from the scene of the battle. If a fire catches, will they call them WMDs?
Surely, much later tonight, crews will be dispatched to collect all evidence, to sweep the streets clean, to stash away all the explosive devices and to squelch any fires that may have resulted, and, tomorrow, life and war will resume as before the celebration began.
Another night out on the streets
Just like something to eat
If you got it, I’ll take a drink
Keep the cold off so I can sleep
So it’s not a perfect world
I don’t want a perfect world
I just want a place I can call home
I could have a bed tonight and a warm meal
If I go to their church and pray as I kneel
They’re harvesting souls with hunger as bait
Find joy in heaven they say, for now just wait
Even then it’s a race to the goods
Not enough food and not enough beds
Standing in lines just to get what’s left over
From good folks with homes who’ve just cleaned their cupboards
Another night out on the streets
Just like something to eat
If you got it, I’ll take a drink
Keep the cold off so I can sleep
So it’s not a perfect world
I don’t want a perfect world
I just want a place I can call home
Only in the news as a social nuisance
Never as part of a system that makes no sense
Otherwise invisible to all but the police
Always running me from place to place
Most are ill at ease at the mere sight of me
Because no one really wants to see
The farce and the flipside of their privilege
The cost and frailty of their American dream
Another night out on the streets
Just like something to eat
If you got it, I’ll take a drink
Keep the cold off so I can sleep
So it’s not a perfect world
I don’t want a perfect world
I just want a place I can call home
They’ll work me here, they’ll work me there
If I can get there with no car or bus fare
Keeping it short-term lessens the pay
And the parasite temps keep half the take
Jobs are doled out by the lowest bidder
Instead of trying to make life better
Bits of work are for us to fight for
Pitting the poor against the poor
Another night out on the streets
Just like something to eat
If you got it, I’ll take a drink
Keep the cold off so I can sleep
So it’s not a perfect world
I don’t want a perfect world
I just want a place I can call home
Still had a job when my kids were born
On the up and up we got our own home
For a few good years we were all happy
When they took my job, they took my family
The money would never last long enough
Never time to just enjoy our life
So that’s what we mostly fought about
This cruel system broke our hearts
Another night out on the streets
Just like something to eat
If you got it, I’ll take a drink
Keep the cold off so I can sleep
So it’s not a perfect world
I don’t want a perfect world
I just want a place I can call home
My kids don’t know me, likely for the best
Welfare’s better without me in the mix
No money for a meal, yet alone child support
At least they’ll get those checks, for a few months more
Got no say in politics or the economy
That’s for lawyers, bankers and their cronies
Yet for all I do, they got a law
For all their crimes, I’m just a pawn
Another night out on the streets
Just like something to eat
If you got it, I’ll take a drink
Keep the cold off so I can sleep
So it’s not a perfect world
I don’t want a perfect world
I just want a place I can call home
For all my work I got nothing to show
Half a handful of coins and a bundle of photos
The memories of my life are mine alone
My small victories will never be known
By day I’m a beggar, a vagrant, a bum
At night I still dream of better days to come
It’s not just your pocket I'd infringe
Can you spare some social change?
Another night out on the streets
Just like something to eat
If you got it, I’ll take a drink
Keep the cold off so I can sleep
So it’s not a perfect world
I don’t want a perfect world
I just want a place I can call home
Open letter to the middle class
And the war goes on. And we continue to play our part, that of the oppressor. Oppressing without intention, dominating without realization, continuing without vision.
So, we say we’re not racist, we’re not sexist, we’re not homophobic, we say we care about the environment and we believe in peace and love (some of us, anyway, perhaps this is a letter for liberals).
Well, our actions say we are hypocrites. We are liars and thieves, murderers, rapists and hate mongers.
To all those who say we have no voice:
Our voice roars across the land, plummets into the waters, shouts into the skies, with a tongue of death and devastation. Our voice is the loudest of all, and we don’t even hear it. Our voice is heard on every continent and in every ocean. It screams out in the language of the oppressor. It has no message except, “submit!” Our voice is heard by all, one way or another. It is heard in third world coffee plantations. It is heard in the fields of migrant workers. It is heard in the sweatshops, in the ghettos, in the factories, on the assembly lines, in prisons everywhere, in the dying forests, in the poisoned rivers, in the stained skies, in the desecrated mountains and canyons, in the shanty towns, in the sex clubs, in the dark alleys and in the light ones too. It is heard on reservations and villages. It is heard as the troops march forward. It is heard as another mother’s daughter dies of gunshot and another son dies of diarrhea and another father dies for speaking and another mother dies from exhaustion, from being ignored and from not being allowed to live in the first place.
Our voice is not the only voice, not even the only one that is heard around the globe. There is another much more humble and quiet voice. It whispers a message of its own, “respect and dignity.” It speaks with a mortal conviction to love and freedom. To hear it over our own incessant screaming requires more attention for us than most others.
To hear a tree’s leaves reaching for the sun over the chainsaw’s ripping.
To hear the stars singing over the smokestacks billowing.
To hear the wolf’s pads running over the helicopter’s blades chopping.
To hear the cries for help over the bombs exploding.
To hear the heartbeats of a million dying children over the good business news of the day.
To hear the parents’ tears over the metal doors latching shut.
To hear the forest’s roots being torn from the ground over the bulldozers’ crushing treads.
To hear the ancients’ wisdom over the leaders’ ploys.
To hear the bear’s last breath over the shotgun’s blast.
To hear the seeds bursting open beneath the concrete.
To hear the truth between the li(n)es.
To hear truth’s humble sincerity over lie’s false pride.
To hear children’s loneliness over the cartoons’ and games’ bright colors and quick actions.
To hear the people’s dreams over civilization’s nightmares.
To hear the planet suffering over the money press stamping.
To hear the sheep’s baying over the leader’s beckonings.
To hear self control over instant gratification.
To hear the silent request for respect over unchecked, masculine aggression.
To hear our own accountability over friendly fascism’s consumptive luxuries.
To hear subversion over status quo.
To hear genocide’s utter devastation over political rhetoric.
To hear your own soul over the constant presence of the television.
“Our voice has found other ears, different from ours, and who do not try to make words go away or adulterate them. We have found ears that listen to us and make our words their own. This is the surprise for everyone, including us.” Subcomandante Marcos, Zapatista Army for National Liberation
We’ll take your land.
We’ll take your water.
We’ll take your gold.
We’ll take your oil.
We’ll take your coal.
We’ll take your air.
We’ll take your names.
We’ll take your religion.
We’ll take your culture.
We’ll take your children.
We’ll take your women.
We’ll take your men.
We’ll take your language.
We’ll take your pride.
We’ll take your dignity.
We’ll take your ideas.
We’ll take your secrets.
We’ll take your lives.
We’ll take your medicine.
We’ll take your communities.
We’ll take your unity.
We’ll take your magic.
We’ll take your arts.
We’ll take your meaning.
We’ll take your families.
We’ll take your food.
We’ll take your animals.
We’ll take your vision.
We’ll take your hearing.
We’ll take your feelings.
We’ll take your love.
We’ll take it all,
and give you the dust.
We’ll give you our shame.
We’ll give you our guilt.
We’ll give you our pain.
We’ll give you our garbage.
We’ll give you our poisons.
We’ll give you our diseases.
We’ll give you our disgrace.
We’ll give you our hunger.
We’ll give you our humiliation.
We’ll give you our drought.
We’ll give you our hopelessness.
We’ll give you our despair.
A good trade, eh? Let’s drink on it. We’ll buy the whiskey.
Have a nice day…
– dead animals spread on your face.
Have a nice day…
– ozone depleter holding your hair in place.
Have a nice day…
– exploiting the human resource for your fashion needs.
Have a nice day…
– torturing animals so you can smell nice.
Have a nice day…
– poisoning the air we breathe out of convenience.
Have a nice day…
– depleting ocean life to hide the stains in your tub.
Have a nice day…
– destroying communities to make a buck.
Have a nice day…
– hot blood, sweat and tears with your breakfast.
Have a nice day…
– tie your own noose every day.
Have a nice day…
– stay tuned to your tv.
Have a nice day…
– vote for the next puppet.
Have a nice day…
– toxic waste to clean your house.
Have a nice day…
– sign the dotted line.
Have a nice day…
– fight someone to prove you’re right.
Have a nice day…
– lock up some more children to prove they're wrong.
Have a nice day…
– desertify the planet for your burgers.
Have a nice day…
– hormone, pesticide, herbicide laden sandwich.
Have a nice day…
– killing rivers to keep everything white.
Have a nice day…
– radioactive cow’s milk with your cookies.
Have a nice day…
– another day of institutionalized suicide.
Have a nice day…
– paying for the continued colonization and subjugation of our otherworld neighbors.
Have a nice day…
– Hate! Hate! Hate!
Have a nice day…
– with a gun pointed at your head.
Have a nice day…
– your own finger on the trigger.
Have a nice day…
– more laws, more cops, more guns, more jails.
Have a nice day…
– screaming lights, glaring noises telling you to buy something, anything, now.
Have a nice day…
– cyanide pools in the desert for your gold rings.
Have a nice day…
– compete, progress, infest.
Have a nice day…
– ignore, deplore, destroy.
Have a nice day…
– isolation, resignation, massive depression.
Have a nice day…
– search, wander, lost, lost, lost.
The following consists of selected journal entries from a women’s studies/psychology class, Psychology of Diversity, as appeared in Student Solidarity, a journal of university student writings exploring social justice issues through coursework assignments.
Week One: Pull Yourself Up By The Bootstraps
During the first week of class, the concept of "pulling yourself up by the bootstraps" was brought into class discussion referring to people who do not lead privileged lives. Presumably they are to pull themselves up into the privileged classes, and if they haven't been able to, it is only because they are lazy. It is assumed that everyone wants to rise in the hierarchies of privilege, hence the automatic labeling of anyone who hasn't risen as lazy -they just aren't working hard enough.
This concept always reminds me of my father who was actually able to pull himself up by the bootstraps. He was the second child in an relatively poor family of seven children [I don't believe they ever went without, but were not afforded many privileges either]. By the age of 18, my father had started his own landscaping business which he called "[his name] & Sons." He told his clients that he was the "Sons" so that they wouldn't distrust his abilities because of his young age.
He stuck with this business until he had enough money to buy real-estate and become a landlord. Still working hard, he built his apartments from the ground up. I myself can testify to his years of literally back-breaking labor and mind-bending frustrations that it took to pull himself up by the bootstraps over the course of my 28 years of being his son. Today he lives quite comfortably enjoying the fruits of his labors.
Despite this glaring example in my own life of the reality of pulling one's self up by the bootstraps, I remain convinced that the additional reality of finite resources makes it entirely impossible for everyone to do this – there simply isn't enough money for everyone to be millionaires; there simply isn't enough room in the economy for everyone to become successful entrepreneurs; there simply aren't enough natural resources for everyone to have luxurious homes and multiple automobiles.
Nevertheless, many remain convinced, because of personal experiences like that of my father, that anyone can achieve what he has. However, if everyone were to do this, they would most likely move out of their apartments into luxurious homes of their own leaving landlords to face the precariousness of their own successes as well as the possibility of losing their boots altogether. In other words, the success of the few is a cause of, and dependent on, the hierarchy itself.
"What do you do when you're told, 'Pull yourself up by your bootstraps?' Build collective struggle for democracy, liberty, and justice." Zapatista Army for National Liberation
Week Two: Define Intelligence
The reading this week, Understanding Culture’s Influence on Behavior (Brislin 70-III), dealt partly with the difficulties of defining terms like intelligence across cultures. In class we attempted to come up with a definition for intelligence that would hold for everyone, and, indeed, we came across some of the difficulties mentioned in the reading. The two most troubling that I noticed were 1) that inevitably any definition of intelligence requires further definitions for terms within the first definition such as survive, thrive, and success, and 2) that each of these definitions will undoubtedly change from culture to culture, thus making it incredibly hard, if not impossible, to administer something like a reliable IQ test across many different cultures, yet alone within one.
My conclusion after pondering this problem is that intelligence itself is a social construct not only relative to each culture, but relative to each and every situation within each culture. By attempting to apply standardized tests and measurements to such a vague notion, we literally create hierarchies of intelligence where none existed before, at least not institutionalized. If, for example, we were to dispense with the entire idea of some universal type of intelligence and instead look for every individual's natural talent and inclination and somehow assist in her or his development, it is possible that we might create some respect and dignity where none existed before.
Perhaps we may value the people who collect our garbage, for instance, instead of assuming they only do it because they are not smart enough for a more dignified job. It is, after all, a job that someone has to do – but it shouldn't be a label for prejudice – as is street cleaning, janitorial work, house cleaning, and child rearing. Each of these professions require very different, not less, forms of intelligence.
Week Four: White Identity
In class this week, one of the topics in the reading and discussion was the notion of white-identity. The reading, "An update of Helms' White and people of color racial identity models" (Helms), presented a process of achieving racial-identity which seemed to be saying that as white people explore this issue, they will hopefully move toward an attitude of acceptance of both themselves as white and others as non-white. The discussion was mostly a matter of listening to three panel members talk about the progression described in the reading. The main ideas of their comments seemed to be centered around three processes: 1) discovering their own white privilege, 2) finding support groups to help process what that privilege means, and 3) coming to terms with that privilege and using it to help alleviate racism in themselves and in society.
As I read through the handout on racial-identity, I could distinctly recall being in each of the phases described, even though I still consider myself to be a racist. (As a product of a society built on a foundation of racism, sexism, classism, etc, I am convinced that I will spend the rest of my life finding evidence of these biases within myself.) Then I noticed the fine print on the bottom of the handout which acknowledged that this process is prone to some repetition; the process is never complete. Just as cultural etiquette must be a life-long pursuit, so will my white-identity.
There was a time when I gave being white no second thought. Later, as I began to learn more about race-relations in historical and contemporary USA, I became somewhat ashamed of being white. I actually once dropped out of school because I felt an academic degree would only add to my unfair privileges. Later still, as I began to meet many different people from many different cultures and races, I realized that good people come in all colors and creeds, including white. Therefore, I could still be a good person despite my whiteness.
I was incredibly fortunate to have the support group that I did at this time. Virtually all of my friends were activists for a variety of issues, and they frequently discussed issues such as racism, sexism , classism, etc. My family as well proved willing to discuss these issues.
Today, my white-identity revolves primarily around the notion of responsibility. I do not necessarily refer to being responsible for the actions of my, or my race's, actions, but rather responsibility to do what I can to deal with the present situation. This responsibility has to do with more than race as I am also male, heterosexual, middle-class, and so on. In other words, I am responsible for how I use my privileges. Along with my acceptance of this responsibility, I have also grown somewhat accustomed to making mistakes, blunders and goofs, to getting myself into uncomfortable situations, to admitting I am wrong, and to accepting my own hypocrisies -and, when I'm lucky, to learning from it all.
Week 5: Institutionalized Racism
During class this week we watched one of those quasi-exposé reports on racism in the USA, and, surprise, surprise, racism proved to be ever-present as the equally educated and aged white and black men went from one business to another experiencing different treatment which seemed to be based solely on the color of their skin. Dateline's approach to investigating racism was typical of the media: rather than expose institutionalized racism, they focused their attention on socio-cultural racism. The distinction is an important one if the goal is to somehow help alleviate racism.
In my opinion, the reason racism is alive and well in this country has more to do with government and economic policies along with media portrayal of race than with socially or culturally held beliefs and attitudes. The way I see things, big business and government have worked hand in hand to secure racism and racist practices within this country in order to minimize the threat of a black uprising -a threat which has been as ever-present as racism in this society since before the slaves were "freed."
Racism is a fundamental component of the foundation of this country; this is most evident in our historical and contemporary relationship with Blacks and African Americans. In the beginning of US history, Blacks were treated as objects and animals to be owned, bought, and sold. Immediately following the abolition of slavery, a series of laws were passed targeting anticipated Black behavior as criminal and the US prison industry began to really kick off. This relationship between Blacks and the US criminal justice system continued to develop somewhat slowly until it was positively cemented by the FBI in the 1950s and 60s under the federal program called Cointelpro (Counter Intelligence Program), whereby Blacks were specifically targeted for severe government repression. Along the way, businesses and banks formed alliances in order to relegate Blacks to poverty stricken lives contained for the most part in housing projects and ghettos. This has been done with no interference from the government who was busy building a new version of poor housing: namely prisons and jails.
A little known fact about slavery is that it was not actually abolished, but relegated to persons having been duly convicted of a crime, and today's prisons are quickly becoming the slave plantations of the 21st century. Just within the past 10 years, the US prison industry has not only been growing by leaps and bounds, but it has been building a relationship with private industries offering a quickly expanding, powerless and very cheap labor force. Why, even the infamous chain-gangs are attempting to make a comeback. And if that's not scary enough, many of these prisons are now being built, owned and run by nongovernmental companies which are actually on the stock market.
This is just one example of how racism has been institutionalized in this country, and it is my opinion that as long as racism continues to be a fundamental aspect of political, judicial and economic decisions, socio-cultural racism will undoubtedly thrive. Dateline's investigation into this issue was weak at best, and at worst actually helped to hide this darker side of racism by drawing attention away from it. As I said earlier, I find this to be a typical media approach to controversial issues: pick at the problem a little bit from a distance without getting their hands dirty and without upsetting any of the powers that be.
Week Eight: Testing for IQ.
This week we read articles and discussed the idea of testing for intelligence. We read about research comparing IQs of girls and boys, "Sex Differences in Intellectual Functioning" (Maccoby), and of Blacks raised either by Whites or Blacks, "Family Socialization and the IQ test performance of traditionally and transracially adopted Black Children" (Moore). Various causes of the differences were discussed including gender and culture. A cultural IQ test was given to the class and the idea of whether or not it truly tested cultural IQ was discussed by the class. My general understanding of the week's discussions and readings is that IQ cannot be tested, and when IQ is tested, one test will never be capable of accurately revealing any true relationships of intelligence between different people. The more different the people are that take the test, the less accurate the test will be.
I told my ten-year-old step-daughter about the use of IQ tests on immigrants who usually did not speak the language of the tests. Without thinking it over for more than 3 or 4 seconds, she said, "It sounds like the people giving the tests were the stupid ones!" I must admit, she is an incredibly bright child, and she would probably resent my next statement because of its unspoken stereotype that intelligence or understanding comes with age. However, even a ten year old can see the flaw in the reasoning that English IQ tests can measure intelligence in people who do not speak English. I do not think it is much of a stretch to consider that culture is a type of language unto itself. Really, how hard is it to come up with the idea that each culture should design tests of their own?
Even so, I still do not think a test can accurately measure intelligence in anyone. As I tell my girls over and over, "People aren’t dumb, it's just a matter of what one has been exposed to and how they have interpreted it." Add to that the fact that everyone has different interests and abilities which will help determine what can be intentionally learned. I can't help but wonder what the justification is for administering IQ tests in the first place. With the immigrants, why was it necessary to determine their intelligence? For what aim was this information used? And today in schools, why must we rank the children on IQ? Even if IQ tests were somehow proven to be accurate, I still worry about the effect it must have on a child's motivation to learn that they are "stupid." What do we have to gain by ranking ourselves on IQ and on so many other scales? Doesn't this just perpetuate the competitive air of our society?
At a recent parent-teacher conference, my kindergartner's teacher showed us a list of the students ranked for how far along they are in the reading series. Listed one above the other, the names seemed to be begging for comparison to each other, and it reminded me of so many competitive aspects of our society. Doesn't it matter that all children will learn differently simply because they are different? This seems to give the impression that slow learners are somehow not as smart as quick learners, when the fact is they may just be different learners. Children respond differently to many learning and teaching styles. Perhaps if public schools were to receive just a smidgen of the (competitive) defense budget, we could employ enough teachers using a greater variety of teaching styles and make the entire school atmosphere a little more equal for the different learning styles. But first, I think we should chuck the IQ tests out.
Week Eleven: U.S. English, Perpetuating the Myth of the Melting Pot
This week we read an article entitled, "English Only or English Plus?" (Crawford), which discussed the movement to make English the official language of the United States. The article looked at the history of this movement and briefly examined one alternative, that of English Plus, which encourages mastery of the English language plus other languages as well. This week we also heard from Councilman Jessi Garcia who illustrated some of the effects of the English Only ideas as they have been implemented here in Utah and in other states. Briefly stated, not only has this new law made it very difficult, and more expensive, to offer basic government services in languages other than English, it has also had an effect in non-governmental institutions that are apparently incorporating English only ideas into their workplaces even though this is not what the law prescribes.
The U.S. English movement seems to me to be the epitome of assimilationist mythology in this country. With an anti-immigrant and eugenicist background, it is very hard for me to take seriously the claims that U.S. English has anything but exclusionary goals. Just as nearly every extreme right-wing movement in this country has been forced to do in recent years, U.S. English is merely a public relations campaign of disinformation and lies covering up their true objectives.
U.S. English pretends to be concerned with losing the English language when the mass proliferation of capitalism around the world ensures English's future even as it ensures riches for the capitalists. As the language of business, English is in no danger whatsoever. Again, as the language of business, English only laws can only serve to keep others out of that business.
U.S. English pretends that bi-lingualism is divisive, that knowing how to communicate in more than one language somehow keeps us apart, ignoring the fact that divisiveness has been a tactic of retaining power and avoiding revolution used by nearly every government in existence. Divisiveness is not what the powers-that-be are concerned with; unity is what really scares them.
U.S. English continues the assimilationist agenda holding the melting pot over the flames. Assimilation continues to be touted as an American ideal even while the history of assimilation has been one of coercion, co-optation, and subjugation through kidnappings, rapes, and murders. In this light, U.S. English is simply pushing the national agenda which has never seen fit to recognize that only the indigenous of North America are non-immigrants.
If there is to be an official language of Utah, the only appropriate choice in my opinion would be Ute. However, perhaps we could take a lesson from the few remaining traditionalists of those First Nations who have somehow managed to escape assimilation and learn to respect each other's dignity in honest and open forums rather than manipulate divisions whose only purpose is to further the agenda of those who worship money.
A final note on the question of immigration today: Over and over I've heard the sentiment, "Why should it be our [the U.S.'] responsibility to provide documents and translators in foreign languages?," and to me the answer is simple: when the primary causes of immigration are escape from economic and political turmoil, turmoil caused by and large directly and indirectly by U.S. businesses, banks, and arms dealers, then yes, we do have a responsibility to do what we can for these refugees of the IMF and WTO sponsored neoliberalistic WW III.
Week Fifteen: Beyond Political Correctness
In class this week, we were given an exercise called "Questions For Beyond Political Correctness." The questions presented situations such as a daughter looking for a roommate or new neighbors moving in next door and asked us to rank who we would most prefer to fill those positions with choices such as "Caucasian female, Physically challenged female with paraplegia, Asian female, or Homosexual female," or "Hispanic couple, Homosexual couple, Caucasian couple, or African American couple."
The purpose of this exercise was beyond my understanding. I read through it once and found myself offended by the instructions. I read through it again and found myself offended by the questions. Finally, after my third time reading through it, I was offended by the title of the exercise. And still, the purpose of the exercise was beyond my understanding. Instead of answering the questions, to which I am morally opposed, I would like to react to the exercise and to the idea of "beyond political correctness." After each list of choices, an additional question was asked, each beginning with, "How might your response(s) change if…," for the most part offering an alternative scenario in which the reader is distanced a little more from the situation. For example, instead of your daughter's roommate, what if it were a coworker's daughter?
In my mind's eye I can see glimpses of an ideal society, a society which is truly just and fair, a society in which everyone is truly equal and happy. In this society there are no power hierarchies of any kind. Cooperation is "learned" in the same way that we now "learn" competition. Compassion is "learned" in the same way that we now "learn" selfish greed. Community is "learned" in the same way that we now "learn" individualism and one-up-manship. The people in this society unquestioningly accept each other as having value to the community without necessarily understanding or knowing that value. The people of this society measure success by happiness and contentedness of the entire community. The people of this society consider the fulfillment of each community members' needs and dreams the primary reason for existence. Understanding that no one person can do everything alone, the people of this society consider it a privilege to be able to help one another and to learn from one another.
The idea of promoting political correctness to these people would be as absurd as the idea of promoting food to stay alive. These people are beyond political correctness. They have no need for special interest groups. They have no use for protective legislation. They have no desire to organize awareness campaigns around the plight of the disadvantaged because there are no disadvantaged. They have no reason to watch their language in referring to each other because they have not learned to ridicule and berate each other. They would undoubtedly be far more confused than I as to the purpose of this exercise.
Doesn't forcing someone to rank people based on race, sexuality, able-bodyism, etc, on some level actually reinforce or even introduce the concept of ranking people based on their race, sexuality, able-bodyism, etc. .. ? Suppose I take this exercise to my utopia and ask the people there to fill it out, assuming of course that I can adequately explain the idea of ranking based on anything. I wonder what type of effect it might have on them. I'd expect to find answers something like this, "How might your responses change if the categories were left blank?", "How might your questions change if the categories were left blank?", "How might this scenario change if the categories were left blank?", or "How might you change if the categories were left blank?"
Of course, this utopia has not taught people to base their values on such superficial characteristics, unlike our society which seems to intentionally encourage such divisions. I fear that many people in our society would have little trouble ranking the answers from most acceptable to least acceptable. But what I fear more is that many people may simply be substituting political correctness for honesty.
There is a type of beat to life, a certain rhythm, albeit in constant fluctuation, a peculiar balance of distractions and dreams, truths and lies, voices and silences, faces and mirrors.
There is a nation, a great and powerful nation, a gloriously rich and proud nation, whose boundaries seem to be without limits, whose influence is as swift as the wind, whose strength is as fierce as a rabid dog, whose voice echoes around the globe until all have known its will and command.
There is an industry, a conceited and deceitful industry, a rich and powerful industry, an industry that sells and even offers freely ideals and images, happiness and freedom. This very crafty and meddlesome industry is taking the great and powerful nation into a new era, the dawn of a new millennium, the age of information.
Whose information? This industry works primarily for other industries. This industry is responsible for the fact that very few people at [this] University are aware that traditional Diné (Navajo) are still resisting forced relocation, that women are still victims of innumerable acts of violence, that an Indigenous uprising in our neighbor country of Mexico is openly challenging United States imperialism, or that our government has been waging an active war against revolutionary organizations within our country for more than thirty years and has imprisoned hundreds of political dissidents. Why are these situations not considered "newsworthy"?
There is a memory, a long and detailed memory that knows the names of all those who have died to make this nation: the indigenous who were killed and displaced, the women who were confined in homes, the Africans who became slaves, the immigrants who were chained to their bosses, the workers who industrialized the nation, the workers who clothed the nation, the workers who fought the bosses, and the workers killed by them, every soldier from every war, every mother, every father, every plant and animal that has disappeared, and every word of resistance.
The memory of our nation has been erased and replaced with visions of ethnocentricity, consumerism, image and status. When a story is told with certain facts omitted, certain facts that give the meaning of the story a radically different message, is this lying? Is it lying, for example, when children are told that Columbus "discovered" "America" and brought "God" and "Christianity" and told nothing of the gallows or the slave ships or the bloody hunt for gold? Is it lying when news consumers are told about a Navajo-Hopi land conflict and told nothing of Peabody Coal’s interests or of the Bureau of Indian Affairs' complicity with Peabody's interests? Is it lying when television viewers are told about a "guerilla" uprising in Mexico and told nothing about the violent, repressive actions of the Mexican government or of the relationship of the North American Free Trade Agreement to the Zapatista Movement? How can it be anything else, this elusive combination of truths, half truths, lies and omissions?
There is an entire world out there that we are connected to, that we have influence on and which influences us. There is always more to every story, there is always another perspective, a lost memory. The same memory loss that has occurred in our history continues to occur. Women are still more or less invisible. Those rotting away in prison are still invisible. The indigenous resisting encroachments are still invisible. Those homeless who will die from exposure this winter are still invisible. The poor are still invisible. We must remind ourselves of our own memories. In search of that lost rhythm, we must ask the question: what is the difference between the truth and the lie?
The world is changing. We have learned much and we are still learning. We have many questions and we will ask them. We have some answers and we will offer them. We have learned that you too have many questions and some answers. We have learned you and I, us and them, have differences and we understand that this benefits us. We have learned that the differences between us have been used by espousers of lies to convince us that these differences divide us, that these differences cannot be reconciled, that these differences make us different. We have learned of a thing called meaning, stolen from us by espousers of lies. We have learned of things like speaking and listening, deliberation and consultation, communication and community. We have learned to find strength and answers in our differences. We have learned that we do indeed have something to gain from working together, from exchanging our truths and ideas, from cooperating. We have learned of the need for all voices, for all realities, for all worlds. We have learned that we -you and I, us and them- function as a broken network that needs to be mended, rebuilt. We have learned that we -you and I, us and them- share more similarities than we do differences.
Within this reality,
don’t think too much about the whole picture, the whole
reality, the amalgamation of each compartmentalized
reality. It may lead to panic and all cave in on itself.
Within this reality,
meaninglessness disguised as purpose, progress,
mobility, advancement, the rat maze, the carrot on
thestick: the endless pursuit of the eternally
elusive end ideal.
Within this reality,
limited scope, blinders, always something better leads to
constant insecurity, excessive competition cancels out
the possibility of constructive criticism.
I’m sitting on a cloud
of flatulence and exhaust fumes;
I’m certain that you are
contributing to my little cloud.
If you ride a bus or drive a car,
ride a train or take a plane;
if you get from where you were to where you are
by anything that’s been named.
I’m sitting on a cloud
of flatulence and exhaust fumes;
I’m certain that you are
contributing to my little cloud.
If you eat what you cannot pronounce,
what’s been through hells of our denials,
what’s suffered and manipulated for amounts,
in dollars but not children’s smiles.
I’m sitting on a cloud
of flatulence and exhaust fumes;
I’m certain that you are
contributing to my little cloud.
If you voted in the last election
or ignored it altogether
out of convenience and option,
not disenfranchised despair.
I’m sitting on a cloud
of flatulence and exhaust fumes;
I’m certain that you are
contributing to my little cloud.
If you’re reading this,
or if you wrote it;
if you find this ridiculous,
or you if you dig this shit.
I’m sitting on a cloud
of flatulence and exhaust fumes;
I’m certain that you are
being smothered by my little cloud.
If you live in a third world country,
or if your sex is other than male;
you might be in my country
in a town darker than pale.
I’m sitting on a cloud
of flatulence and exhaust fumes;
I’m certain that you are
being smothered by my little cloud.
If you’re homeless, hungry,
abused or ignored;
if you’re compromising
for survival, not just more.
I’m sitting on a cloud
of flatulence and exhaust fumes;
I’m certain that you are
being smothered by my little cloud.
If you find it hard to breathe
or buy your water in a bottle;
if you live close to the sea,
or nearby yet to be nautical.
I’m sitting on a cloud
of flatulence and exhaust fumes;
I’m certain that you are
being smothered by my little cloud.
If you resist the degradation
of the dominant paradigm,
its paralysis and seduction
and its control of time.
The following appeared as an introduction to Student Solidarity, a journal of university student writings exploring social justice issues through coursework assignments.
In the first issue, I suggested that the idea of social justice could be very abstract. This abstractedness has only become more apparent as the journal has progressed. One of the first tasks taken on by the Student Solidarity editorial board was to come up with a working definition of social justice as it relates to the goals of the journal. This proved to be a daunting task. We talked about narrow and broad definitions and the benefits and drawbacks of each: narrow definitions keep our goal focused but may exclude some submissions; broad definitions open up the possibility for debate, but may water down the meaning of social justice.
I find it very interesting that a group of seven highly educated university faculty members, each one specializing in different areas that routinely deal with social justice issues, was unable to reach a clear consensus on the definition of social justice. But, after much thought and consideration, I do not find it surprising.
First, let's deal with the word "social." This is not the hard part to understand; it simply means in or of society.
Each of us is a member of society, most of us many different, often overlapping societies. Now, within these societies we must try to define "justice.” Part of the difficulty in defining this term is the dual nature of language within the arena of politics, or as Noam Chomsky says, under the heading, "War is Peace. Freedom is Slavery. Ignorance is Strength.” in his book, What Uncle Sam Really Wants, "The terms of political discourse typically have two meanings. One is the dictionary meaning, and the other is a meaning that is useful for serving power – the doctrinal meaning.” This is clarified a little, concerning the term "justice,” in the following excerpt from a Chumbawamba/DIY song called "Justice/Injustice,”
Some would say that justice stings without regard to right or wrong. Some like the Guilford four and the Birmingham six spent years locked up discovering a justice which was racist, blind, and unable to admit its mistakes. Some, like thousands of homeless people begging outside Britains train stations and sleeping rough on the street find their justice in a society which criminalizes its poor. Some, like Joy Gardner, died from justice administered by cops, trying to deport her using the force of law and the force of violence. Some, who grow up loving people of their own sex, find that what they thought was natural is punishable in the courts. A bigoted, conservative, hateful justice. Some, like the police, servants of the bullies and cowards who pay their salaries, find that justice never falls on the shoulders of those wearing the uniform.
Had the word "justice" been included in Chomsky's passage previously referred to, it would have read, justice is injustice. The gulf between these two diametrically opposed meanings is filled with what Subcomandante Marcos, of the Zapatista Army for National Liberation, calls, in his essay "Chiapas: The Southeast in Two Winds: A Storm and a Prophesy,” the wind from below and the wind from above.
The wind from above speaks in proclamations and legislations from corporate towers and government powers. Its relentless aim is to subjugate, dominate and obliterate hope and dignity. The wind from below speaks in whis¬pers and slight breezes from the ghettos, prisons, factories, reservations, shelters, streets and gutters. Its determined aim is to communicate, cooperate and reinvent hope and dignity.
The wind from below is forgotten and neglected, but nevertheless very much present. It speaks of despair, but not only despair. It speaks of love and companionship found in unsuspected places; it speaks of dignity and hope in the face of despair; it speaks of dissent and rebellion in the face of oppression. The wind from below comes from the marginalized, demoralized, victimized, dispossessed, disadvantaged, demonized downtrodden masses. The wind from below pleas for help even as it declares its own humanity, or as Subcomandante Marcos says,
Not everyone hears the voices of hopelessness and conformity. Not everyone is carried away by hopelessness. There are millions of people who continue on without hearing the voices of the powerful and the indifferent. They can't hear; they are deafened by the crying and blood that death and poverty are shouting in their ears. But, when there is a moment of rest, they hear another voice. They don't hear the voice that comes from above, they hear the voice that is carried to them by the wind from below, a voice that is born in the Indigenous heart of the mountains. This voice speaks to them about justice and freedom, it speaks to them about hope… the only hope that exists in the world.
I might have come up with a definition for social justice that is not long-winded or loaded with confusing academic words. Social justice is the absence of oppression. Oppression, like the wind from above, is a part of our daily lives, whether as witnesses to it, perpetrators of it, or those who directly experience it, yet it is still not surprising that social justice is so difficult to define, for it is too rare that any of us actually witness social justice, like the wind from below.
Of course, when these generalizations are broken down to the individual level, there are still many conflicting definitions of social justice. Marcos' wind from below, while very real, is still difficult to understand. There cer¬tainly are those people in the world who believe the deaths and destruction of September 11, 2001, were acts of social justice. And there are definitely those people in the world who believe that bombing a third world country into the fifth or sixth world is an act of social justice. In the end, I fear social justice will remain a vague concept, without any concrete examples of it to point to, until it becomes a part of our regular discourse. For now, the definition is up for grabs, will it be dictated by the wind from above, or offered by the wind from below?
Somewhere within the storm of the two winds, there is a place for Student Solidarity and the students and faculty of this university. Keep an ear out for the wind from below, and, when you hear it, share with the rest of us what it is telling you.
On February 14, celebrate Pick Yer Nose Day. Every time you see a couple being lovey or romantic, shove a finger up your nose in front of them. This is not to offend or disrespect, but to remind them that love is a gross and messy business. Love has nothing to do with that bizarre phenomenon known as “falling in love.” Lasting love (forget romance – nothing but lies packaged and sold by patriarchy; real love transcends lovers, couples, partners, duos and especially marriage; real love is communal, societal, public) requires that you be willing to get your hands dirty, to go places emotionally and psychologically that you may have never been or have resisted in the past, to expose all of your messiness and grossness and witness all the messiness and grossness others have to offer without judgment, to delve into all of that messiness and grossness to help each other sort out all the shit, and to accept that it will never all be completely sorted out and that some shit will be stuck to each of us forever. One last thing: those of you who decide to celebrate Pick Yer Nose Day, please don’t forget to wash your hands. Really, that’s just gross.
Technology will save the world from technology.
Violence will save the world from violence.
Aggression will save the world from aggression.
Inequality will save the world from inequality.
Hate will save the world from hate.
Dominance will save the world from dominance.
Toxins will save the world from toxins.
Weapons will save the world from weapons.
Starvation will save the world from starvation.
Crime will save the world from crime.
Devastation will save the world from devastation.
Despair will save the world from despair.
Poverty will save the world from poverty.
Hunger will save the world from hunger.
Homelessness will save the world from homelessness.
Disease will save the world from disease.
Lies will save the world from lies.
Hopelessness will save the world from hopelessness.
Distractions will save the world from distractions.
Imperialism will save the world from imperialism.
Murder will save the world from murder.
Rape will save the world from rape.
Division will save the world form division.
Politicians will save the world from politicians.
Bankers will save the world from bankers.
Bureaucrats will save the world from bureaucrats.
Doctors will save the world from doctors.
Scientists will save the world from scientists.
Silence will save the world from silence.
Deceit will save the world from deceit.
Information will save the world from information.
Abuse will save the world from abuse.
Leaders will save the world from leaders.
Thieves will save the world from thieves.
Paranoia will save the world from paranoia.
War will save the world from war.
“Our Lords and Knights, and Gentry too, doe mean old fashions to forgoe:
They set a porter at the gate, that none must enter in thereat.
They count it a sin, when poor people come in.
Hospitality it selfe is drown'd.
Yet let's be content, and the times lament, you see the world turn'd upside down."
-1643 English ballad, “The World Turned Upside Down”
“Not everyone hears the voices of hopelessness and conformity. Not everyone is carried away by hopelessness. There are millions of people who continue on without hearing the voices of the powerful and the indifferent. They can't hear; they are deafened by the crying and blood that death and poverty are shouting in their ears. But, when there is a moment of rest, they hear another voice. They don't hear the voice that comes from above, they hear the voice that is carried to them by the wind from below, a voice that is born in the Indigenous heart of the mountains. This voice speaks to them about justice and freedom, it speaks to them about hope… the only hope that exists in the world.”
-Subcomandante Marcos, Zapatista Army for National Liberation, “Chiapas: The Southeast in Two Winds: A Storm and a Prophesy”
“I dreamt all men were equal and there were no starving poor
And nations never did quarrel, nor never went to war
I thought all men were angels and women ne'er wore a frown
Old maids they had large families as the world turned upside down”
-1870s English ballad, “The World Turned Upside Down”
"War is Peace. Freedom is Slavery. Ignorance is Strength. The terms of political discourse typically have two meanings. One is the dictionary meaning, and the other is a meaning that is useful for serving power – the doctrinal meaning.”
-Noam Chomsky, What Uncle Sam Really Wants
“Obedience to the law is freedom.”
-A sign above the entrance to a US army base in 1960s Germany
“Down is up. Black is white.”
-The Dane, Miller’s Crossing, Joel and Ethan Coen
Millions of memories
Wiped from the slate
An immense holocaust
Of disease and hate
Centuries of resistance
To encroachment and plunder
For which their descendants
Have but little to show for
Oh how I wish
I could take it all back
Or at least get us off
Of today’s twisted track
Even more millions
Enslaved and martyred
Whose wealth today
Has been all but squandered
Struggling for the dream
Amidst the grieving wails
Whose descendants now languish
In prisons and jails
Oh how I wish
I could take it all back
Or at least get us off
Of today’s twisted track
Millions upon millions
Have been denied credence
For the crime of gender
Through millennia of perseverance
Whose descendants continue
To be raped and confined
Second class citizens
Amongst people of all kinds
Oh how I wish
I could take it all back
Or at least get us off
Of today’s twisted track
Unknown millions
Hid themselves away
From family and friends
Carefully working for the day
When being themselves
Would not inspire hate
But for whose descendants
Only closets remain safe
Oh how I wish
I could take it all back
Or at least get us off
Of today’s twisted track
Millions have come
From around the globe
To better their lives
By building our own
Taken advantage of
Scapegoated, abhorred
Along with their descendants
Whose blood still pours
Oh how I wish
I could take it all back
Or at least get us off
Of today’s twisted track
Millions who are different
Forsaken by machinations
Of institutionalized normalcy
And special expectations
Diagnosed and prescribed with
Debilitating ineptitudes
Whose descendants must adapt
To systems of rigid values
Oh how I wish
I could take it all back
Or at least get us off
Of today’s twisted track
Millions of distorted mirrors
Reflecting images of depression
Elusive manufactured ideals
Replacing self-worth with obsession
Forever the wrong size
Wrong shape wrong everything
Whose descendants can only measure
Substandard eternity
Oh how I wish
I could take it all back
Or at least get us off
Of today’s twisted track
Millions of rough hands
Toiled day and night
In factories and assembly lines
And winning our rights
Paid for with lives
And by getting sacked
Whose descendants must still
Organize against rollbacks
Oh how I wish
I could take it all back
Or at least get us off
Of today’s twisted track
Millions of wasted minds
Both early and late in life
Out of sight and ignored
Generations of isolated strife
For their fettered involvement
Offered condescending words
Whose abused descendants remain
Unfavorably seen and rarely heard
Oh how I wish
I could take it all back
Or at least get us off
Of today’s twisted track
Untold millions
Mass slaughtered and sold
For profit and industry
Lies packaged and told
Disguised as sustenance
In plain site on the table
Murdered and poisoned
Their descendants unlabeled
Oh how I wish
I could take it all back
Or at least get us off
Of today’s twisted track
Millions of untamed lives
Erased from existence
Both ambulatory and rooted
To serve dollars and cents
Victims of our own demise
Never presented a choice
In the last surviving wilderness
Their descendants still without voice
Oh how I wish
I could take it all back
Or at least get us off
Of today’s twisted track
Millions of humble prayers
Sung out in all tongues
Answered with bombed churches
Temples and synagogues
A culture of persecution
Despite myths of our beginnings
Haunts their descendants
Denying them their wings
Oh how I wish
I could take it all back
Or at least get us off
Of today’s twisted track
Millions of wretched masses
Yearning for a meal
Left hungry and homeless
By the system’s cogged wheels
Teeming with desperation
Steadfastly struggling toward the shore
Whose descendants have been tossed
Into darkness outside the golden door
Oh how I wish
I could take it all back
Or at least get us off
Of today’s twisted track
Millions of dissidents
Who witnessed all of the above
Executed and disappeared
Despite the people’s love
For actively defending life
And promoting all wars’ end
Their descendants find inspiration
From their never giving in
Oh how I wish
I could take it all back
Or at least get us off
Of today’s twisted track
When all of the millions
Find their common ground
See themselves in each other
The same oppression all around
When differences cease to divide
And solidarity becomes our pact
All of life's descendants
Will escape this twisted track
Dear God, you know I got it hard.
Can’t give my kids the things they need.
Been denied ten jobs just this week.
I know you don’t want hungry children.
So I’ll take this loaded gun,
kiss goodnight my son,
and go get some food for my family.
And I know that you will understand.
Dear God, you know I got it hard.
That old man won’t let me be.
Each night he takes myself from me.
I know you don’t want abused children.
So I’ll take this brick from the wall,
and tomorrow after his third drunken fall
I’ll bash his brains into the floor.
And I know that you will understand.
Dear God, you know I got it hard.
I get picked on and pissed on every other day
while the administrators look the other way.
I know you don’t want degraded children.
So I’ll go see the guy who sells respect,
and the next time I see that wild pack
I’ll raze them down with my Uzi.
And I know that you will understand.
Dear God, you know I got it hard.
This land here is all my family’s got,
but the state’s auctioning it at the block.
I know you don’t want homeless children.
So I’ll take these matches and gasoline,
and, after all the paperwork’s complete,
their building will burn down.
And I know that you will understand.
Most folks who got nothing
Look at those who have something
With jealousy and disdain
Instead of hearing their own names
In between the refrains
Most folks who got something
Look at those who have nothing
With judgment and disdain
Instead of seeing their own names
Written up there on the wall
Now – the present time, at this moment; without further delay, at once, immediately; in the immediate past, very recently; at this point in the series of events, at the time referred to; then, next; at times, sometimes; at a time very close to the present, very recently, not long ago; very soon; given the situation, with things as they are, under the circumstances, as things stand; in the present times, nowadays; used to introduce a statement or question; used to strengthen a command (multiple sources consolidated)
Spread – to draw out so as to display more fully, open or stretch out so as to cover more space, unfold or unfurl; to exhibit or display the full extent of, to make a wide or extensive arrangement of; to move apart; to distribute, scatter, or disperse over a surface, area or time; to distribute among a group; to distribute in a thin layer; to cover with a layer; to extend or prolong in time; to cause to be widely or more widely known, felt, existent or seen, to distribute widely, disseminate, propagate, diffuse, scatter, send out; to cover, overlay; to become separated, to push apart or farther apart, to make wider the gap between; to record in full, enter; to flatten out; to prepare, to arrange; to be extended or enlarged; the act of spreading; an open area of land, an expanse, a ranch, a farm or an estate; the extent or limit to which something is or can be spread, range; a difference (multiple sources consolidated)
Out – in a direction away from the inside, away from the center or middle; away from a usual place, out of normal position; from inside a building or shelter into the open air, beyond or outside of; from within a container or source; from among others; to exhaustion or depletion; into extinction or imperceptibility; to a finish or a conclusion; to the fullest extent or degree; in or into competition or directed effort; in or into a state of unconsciousness; into being or evident existence; into public circulation; into view, sight or notice, to become known; without inhibition, boldly; into possession of another or others; into disuse or an unfashionable status; into a state of deprivation or loss; in the time following, afterward; exterior, external; directed away from a place or center, outgoing; traveling or landing out-of-bounds; not to be considered or permitted; away from, forth from, through; within the area of; a means of escape; removed from a place, position, or situation; away from home; on strike; to a conclusion or result; in full bloom, or in leaf; from existence, operation or activity; forcefully, aloud; beyond a regular or normal surface, condition or position; from one state or agreement into another; from a number, group or stock; beyond regular limits; outlying, remote; away from work, school, etc; bared because of torn clothing, etc; deviating from what is accurate or right; not in effective use or operation, turned off, extinguished, not operating or operational; not to be considered, not possible; in disagreement, at variance; one that is out, one that is not successful or in power; deliberating in order to reach a verdict; the omission of a word or words; the word or words omitted (multiple sources consolidated)
Author’s definition: the opposite of sinking or disappearing into one’s self; to let one’s self be known; to make connections with others; to be part of something larger than one’s self
Drawing back, close in upon yourself.
Discover yourself, learn and love yourself, calm yourself, collect yourself, reserve yourself, find yourself.
Find a secret space, hide there and wait for yourself there, let yourself find you in that special place.
Tune into yourself, isolate yourself, cut yourself off, deal with yourself as yourself, talk to yourself, build yourself, sing to yourself, dance with yourself, make love to yourself, fight with yourself, scream at yourself, kill yourself.
Are you calm, collected, reserved, found, drawn in, loved, built, experienced, tuned in?
Now spread out.
This prayer from the East
Yearns for your release
With each new day’s start
It calls to your heart
A message of life
Amidst the strife
A brilliant ball of fire
That calls to your desire
Presenting everything anew
As a gift to you
Its own grand reaction
To your unique imagination
Bringing with it the healing
That will lead you to feeling
Carrying wisdom and learning
And insight like burning
A profession of love
Raining down from above
Illuminating your fears
And washing them with tears
In a simple way reflective
It grants you new perspective
Showing you the light
And comforting the backbite
Demonstrating in pure essence
The importance of your presence
It glows with your potential
A reminder that you are special
Offering all that you need
That you should be freed
Emanating pure being
Providing you with meaning
Showering you with day
And beckons that you may
If only you should choose
To follow in its shoes
Wanting only to give you a kiss
An honor none shall miss
And just one earnest plea
Remember me
Never stop dreaming. Never stop dreaming.
Never stop dreaming. Never stop dreaming.
Always hope. Always hope.
Always hope. Always hope.
Believe. Believe. Believe. Believe.
Believe. Believe. Believe. Believe.
Never give up. Never give up.
Never give up. Never give up.
Now spread out. Now spread out.
Now spread out. Now spread out.
Open. Open. Open. Open. Open.
Open. Open. Open. Open. Open.
Never forget. Never forget. Never forget.
Never forget. Never forget. Never forget.
Remember this? Remember this?
Remember this? Remember this?
Feel. Feel. Feel. Feel. Feel. Feel.
Feel. Feel. Feel. Feel. Feel. Feel.
Never turn away. Never turn away.
Never turn away. Never turn away.
Burn like insight. Burn like insight.
Burn like insight. Burn like insight.
Realize. Realize. Realize. Realize.
Realize. Realize. Realize. Realize.
grounded here/now – task at hand
grounded here/now – task at hand
breath – spirit – focus – remain – calm
breath – spirit – focus – remain – calm
need to know – need to know
need to know – need to know
listen to the breeze – talk to the trees
listen to the breeze – talk to the trees
attentive – aware – up – down – all round
attentive – aware – up – down – all around
adapt – relax – prepare – check facts
adapt – relax – prepare – check facts
respect – reflect – suspect – detect
respect – reflect – suspect – detect
Patterns, habits, methods, mannerisms, forms, scripts, styles, levels, formats, routines.
Communications, relations, actions, reactions, exchanges, manifestations.
Clear definitions, set boundaries, stable grounds, smooth edges, outlined backdrops, static parameters.
Easy crossings, smooth transitions, gentle passings, soft landings, simple reflections.
Doubts, fears,
desires, joys,
yearnings, needs,
strengths, weaknesses.
Propensities, tendencies, inclinations, spontaneities, freefalls, long shots.
Intercommunications, interrelations, interactions, interreactions, interexchanges, intermanifestations.
Vague outlines, fluid frontiers, illusory borders, fluctuating limits, shifting ranges.
Unsteady motions, painful accommodations, nervous charges, unwelcome realizations, self manifestations, double images.
When you don’t try hard enough and fail, or give up and fail, it breaks my heart.
When you get hurt, or hurt others, it breaks my heart.
When you don’t say what you want to, or when I don’t, it breaks my heart.
When you sell yourself short, or aim too low, it breaks my heart.
When you can’t admit that you are wrong, or create your own despair, it breaks my heart.
When you refuse to be happy, or cling to your problems, it breaks my heart.
When we don’t change and just let it happen again and again, it breaks my heart.
Our hearts have been broken again and again; but we heal, and we keep moving forward – or we don’t, and that breaks my heart.
Every experience, every person you meet, is a manifestation, an image, a reflection of yourself. You see what you want to see in the mirrors. Use them to find faults, and the word is full of faults. Use them to find beauty, and the world is full of beauty. Do not be afraid of the mask in the mirror. Remove your mask and smile, and it will reciprocate.
The best times are not spent alone, nor in isolation, but in relation – not validation, but knowing – earnest communication with and without words. It’s what I fear most until it happens.
Who’s to say cheap is cheap and what’s becoming or telling. We don’t even know what freedom looks like, or is it feels, like?
By the time I learned to talk, I had forgotten what is important.
I know I’ll continue to fuck it all up – it’s the only thing I’ve ever been consistent at. And I know my conclusions have been perverted to hide the truth from myself. These half-witted attempts to learn from it all may or may not pan out, but, for the record, I am in love with all of you.
I only want you to be happy, however selfish, for that is what makes me happy. I don’t like knowing the truth, not because it makes me uncomfortable, but because it breaks my heart.
I never thought I’d be the guy at the wedding with the woman I want to resist to love.
I never thought falling love would be such a disaster.
I never thought this course of events would lead me to my brother, again.
The magic is simply love, and you never have to wait for it to take the first step, nor should you.
Wanting the best, or simple happiness, for loved ones from all directions.
Why can’t you, won’t you, be loved? All that is necessary is to realize.
The magic could be in the sun, but more likely in the sons and the daughters, the daughters and nieces and sisters and all my mothers. I just want their pain to go away – nothing more.
This is a new love and the oldest. I want to think this is something other than love, more than love, something new.
Lenny Bruce made a lot of sense
When he asked what is meant
By fuck all y’all
Fuck all y’all, fuck all y’all
Exactly what is meant by fuck all y’all?
When death we glorify
As we curse the beauty of life
Just what can be meant by fuck all y’all?
When sex is wielded as a weapon
As to countless wars we’re beckoned
What else could be meant by fuck all y’all?
But Mary Daly got it right
When patriarchy she described
As akin to necrophilia
Fuck all y’all, fuck all y’all
Exactly what is meant by fuck all y’all?
When life we celebrate
And our bodies cease to hate
What more could be meant by fuck all y’all?
When war becomes the curse
And with love we fill our purse
Then what would be meant by fuck all y’all?
From this death loving paradigm
Were we to free our hearts and minds
And reconceive the world as biophilia…
Fuck all y’all, fuck all y’all
Exactly what is meant by fuck all y’all?
Mine is a lot like mine
Yours is a lot like yours
Ours is a lot like ours, as it should be
‘cause mine is a lot like mine
How was it I first learned?
Chances and scrapes and burns
Similarities outweigh the other things
But it’s nice to have my own mind
Mine is a lot like mine
Yours is a lot like yours
Ours is a lot like ours, as it should be
‘cause mine is a lot like mine
Where was it I first learned?
Place is elementally firm
But equally soft, who knows what it will be
The only constant is entropy
When was it I first learned?
Time is of principal concern
The past is as elastic as that which is to be
And we still have a lot to learn
Mine is a lot like mine
Yours is a lot like yours
Ours is a lot like ours, as it should be
‘cause mine is a lot like mine
What was it I first learned?
Memories too can burn
Facts can serve interests even when they are true
My knowledge suits me and what is mine
Who was I when I first learned?
Who will you be on your next turn?
As one we’re still many, but many can be none
Who will we be when the time comes?
Mine is a lot like mine
Yours is a lot like yours
Ours is a lot like ours, as it should be
‘cause mine is a lot like mine
Why was it I first learned?
That took a lot of nerve
I can’t really know anything, one or me
But I’ll keep trying for the sake of being
Mine is a lot like mine
Yours is a lot like yours
When they converge – how, where, who, what and why
Things get better when we come together; life is richer when we learn from each other; we become others even as stars fill the sky…
And I wonder why it doesn’t happen more. Sometimes mine can be a bit too much like mine.
Others - Other: one that is psychologically differentiated from the self; one considered by members of a dominant group as alien, exotic, threatening or inferior; attempts to refer to that which is 'other' than the concept being considered; different or distinct from the one mentioned or implied, not the same; different in nature or kind; the remaining one of two or more, alternative, additional, further; former, earlier; a person's definition of the 'Other' may be part of what defines or even constitutes the self (multiple sources consolidated)
Author’s definition: everyone (and everything) but me; sometimes me too
They appeared together, but they disappeared taking turns. He was first; got taken for a walk in the woods and never came back. We searched, but no body – nobody had seen him. She didn’t know what to do. She fretted, she cried, she sipped her whiskey, she showed the gas station attendants his picture, she worried; she had nothing to go on. He could’ve left her, but after nine years and without saying anything? He could’ve been scared off, but not that easily. Maybe he went to Tennessee or Alabama, for a walk in the woods, or a hang in a tree, or a lie in a ditch. He never came back. He became disappeared, as did she the next day: nowhere to be found, just disappeared. Did they both go to Tennessee? Did she even find her dog? She’s got my bag; I hope it’s enough to keep her warm.
It was so good to see him. Three years ago I shot him in the head. I should’ve done it sooner. He suffered greatly; as did I, but not like that. He came to see me the other night; in fact I think I know where to find him. The whole house was death then, and that was where I lived. I spent that month with death, in fact was death. I killed him; I killed the spiders; I killed the flies; I killed plenty, and I made it my home. Well, he came to me the other night, and I scratched his head good. I think it’s alright now. It was good to see him, and I think it was good to see me.
Be gay, he says, be gay, because he gets along with so many people. That’s his name you see, Begay. It’s a wonder how he does it, it’s a miracle that he smiles, and it’s so beautiful. Introduced himself as a Navajo and said something about giving credit to the Whites and their technology, especially welding, he said. Told me his girlfriend can be real mean and points to the scratches on his face to verify. She broke up with him two weeks ago.
For a cigarette and a pocketful of change he told me some of his stories. His brothers: the one went to war in Vietnam, spent five years in a POW camp and didn’t know his family anymore when he came home – shot himself in the head in Albuquerque, New Mexico; the other also enlisted, but it was alcohol that killed him, though not before he’d told him not to enlist. He enlisted; ROTC threw him out for smoking a joint. You ass! You whore! You fucker, I’ll kick your ass! Left! Right! Left! Right! The whole unit was Navajo, but he got along with Hopi, Zuni, Hualapai, Supai, everyone – Whites too. When they threw him out, they broke his saber in half. On graduation day they broke his saber in half.
That night, he and his superior got drunk together; later he kicked his ass. He kicked his brother’s ass too; his brother taught him some judo and he used it to kick his ass. Made sure to mention the code talkers of World War II and gave them their due credit. Code talkers and then the spirit walkers, who he says don’t like crystals. Prayed to mother earth, life and father sky on the side of the street in Diné, and made sure to hand me the tobacco in a circle. He thanked me and walked down the street. Be gay, he laughed and smiled, it’s because he gets along with everyone.
5/12/98
Here is a man, a 29-year old black man who has spent the last 11 years in prison, the last two in a control unit and the two before that in isolation. In the last year, his mother and two of his brothers have died. Legally, he should have been released by now. The reason he has been isolated for the past four years and the reason he was not allowed to grieve with his family is that he is being framed by the Department of Corrections because of his political beliefs and for his actions inside the prison system.
When he first saw me, when I first saw him, his smile was one of love and sincerity, and it was beautiful and big. His eyes shone with clarity. He shook my hand and within seconds was praising me for coming to see him and for caring – not thanking me, praising me. I’m a white boy from the suburbs of northern Utah.
Then he talked, and I listened. His speech flowed freely and smoothly, and he spoke of many things. He talked about his past and now, the prison. He talked about his love, his fiancé and his concern for her. He motioned toward some guards and identified them as the search team. Motioned toward other prisoners and told me something about a few of them. No matter what he was talking about, it was clear to me that this man was a revolutionary because he cares. The life that emanated from this man while he spoke, the constant gleam in his eye and that beautiful smile are things I rarely witness outside of prison.
He spoke excitedly about his recent change of status from no-contact visits to contact-visits (Indeed, he hadn’t realized the change had taken place until we were seated in a contact-visit scenario.) and the recent successes of the committed work by him and other prisoners of forcing the Department of Corrections to comply with their own DOC regulations.
This man amazed and inspired me, but the real surprise came when he told me that he considered himself privileged because of what he has. He spoke of the necessity of helping others, which is basically the cause of his harassment. But he still is doing what he can to help others.
In a just society, a man like Khalfani X Khaldun would be held up as an example of someone overcoming a criminal past and mentality to become a loving contributor to society. In our society, he is imprisoned and maliciously devalidated. What kind of a system allows this? For a just society, we must all learn to care for and help others no matter the consequences.
5/15/98
This morning as I waited in line with the other visitors, I noticed a sign/disclaimer on the front of the counter informing me that should any injury to my body or belongings occur while in the visiting area, the Department of Corrections administration will not be responsible.
I had met Iyapo once before but only briefly enough to exchange a greeting with a handshake. His initial greeting was warm and, it seemed, slightly cautious. His eyes smiled, but his mouth just hinted at a smile. Throughout the course of the conversation, however, we opened up enough with each other to openly share them.
We talked a lot, it seems, in the little time we spent together. He talked about his family and his plans for when he is released fairly soon. He talked about prison and his becoming politically conscious. We talked about the books we’d been reading, the need for historical perspective and the difficulties of breaking through the mainstream culture to educate unknowing victims and pawns.
We talked about the dangers of ageism, sexism and racism in revolutionary settings and particularly the dangers of denying their existence in all of us. It all comes down to interpersonal communication, he says. We talked about the importance of keeping each other in check with constructive, compassionate criticism and of remaining open to receiving it ourselves.
He talked about his constant struggle to reach and to educate those around him not by attempting to impose his reality, but rather by pointing out the system’s influences in their realities. He talked about the prison system as a system within a larger prison system that we refer to as our democratic, capitalist society. He doesn’t expect to be truly free when he is released, but to continue to struggle for the good of us all for a true freedom at all levels from global to the self.
He talked about prison society, prison racism, prison labor, prison education, prison ageism, prison solidarity, prison living conditions, prison guards, prison courts, countless prisons within prisons and each of us in our own way responsible for it all and, as a result, responsible for doing something about it. It works both ways, he says.
My thoughts turned back to the no-responsibility sign in the front entrance. Here is a man who believes profoundly in responsibility and is caged by a system that will not be held responsible. This man is not a criminal, although he’d probably be the first to admit he once adhered to a criminal mentality. He has been rehabilitated, but only through his own strength and perseverance, and of course some help from his friends, despite all attempts to the contrary by the very system charged with rehabilitating him. Here is a man they utterly failed to rehabilitate, and he is punished for showing them up by doing a better job of it himself.
Albert was his name, this time. He preached up a storm too! This is his hand, as he explains it. White is the dominant, the middle finger, the largest, and, after Black (ring finger), Brown (pointer finger) and Yellow (pinky finger), Red is the smallest, the most oppressed. But red, the thumb, is the hardest to live without.
Christianity, he says, that’s bullshit! Whose father would kill his children? Send them to hell? We’re living in hell now, he says, but it’s a hell we have sent ourselves to. Drugs, disease, war and god knows what, this is hell, now, here.
The revolution will come from the Red Tribe, he says, and I believe him. Albert was a three-time state wrestling champ and came in sixth, I think he said, in the 1998 Olympics. He joined the armed forces as well. He’s just 20 now. He had a girlfriend in Salt Lake City who was 50 years old and used to hide him in the bedroom when the missionaries came over – that’s bullshit too, he says.
He busted out his eagle feathers – the U.S. constitution and the eagle as the national bird came from the influence of the Iroquois Confederation, he says. Ol’ George Washington, he says, asked the Indians how to run a free state, and their ideas were incorporated into our laws. He explained everything to those missionaries, but they left him and his girlfriend, and his girlfriend was shunned by the church for having a live-in boyfriend – bullshit, he says. But hard drugs ruined all that eventually. A typical addicts’ story, he says – lost everything.
The Native American way, he says, is to respect everything because everything comes from Mother Earth. Before, when he was proud and hanging with his White friends, they passed his alcoholic bum of a brother on the street, and he denied him his brotherhood. The guilt got to him though, and later he went back, told his White friends to fuck off, bought his brother some wine and took him out to eat.
What’s Columbus Day?, he asked. What was Columbo? A Spaniard? An Italian? It was the English, he says, that conquered his people, the English and Christianity. Oh yeah, by the way, Albert is Navajo, not a Mexican, even though he looks it, he says. We’re all human beings, he says, all our own tribe. The Indians, he says, are a humble people who accept their circumstances of being a conquered people.
But Albert, in his own way, having travelled all around the country doing Pow Wows, considers himself as an individual to have conquered all the United States with his dancing. Even after all the destruction and decimation, he says, his people are still here, they still have their language, they still have their culture. They are a conquered people, he says, but individually they are still human beings. He doesn’t believe in evolution, that’s the White man’s belief. We all come from Mother Earth, we’re all equal – everything that comes from Mother Earth.
The word itself is a symbol, indescribable strength, manifestation of will.
But this one in particular is so much more.
I’ve seen and felt the love. I’ve witnessed the transformations, the seemingly impossible dichotomies.
The man that knows no life other than providing for his family, he who wants so much to see his children happy, with definition and perception from his own time, fits and struggles to understand these new ones, with their own ideas so different from his own, even contradictory, even antagonistic, and yet he tries with all his might, until his face is red and the veins are about to burst.
And still the thing he wants the most is to see his children happy and to understand these… strangers?
I’ve seen and felt the love. I’ve witnessed the transformations, the seemingly impossible dichotomies, the unconditional acceptance, indeed full support – the new ones and their ideas, miles and miles apart – and I’ve seen the pain and the hurt, and I knew he was crying inside.
What happened? Where did the change occur? How do children become adults? And why?
I’m afraid he might be thinking, “Who are these… strangers?”
I’m still the little boy dad, and I want to hold your hand. You can tickle me if you want, you can make me pee my pants, and we can race each other in the backyard, and we can listen to music in the dark, and we can go on a picnic in the park, even when mom says we should be at church, and you can keep me up for hours talking about your plans and filling me with wisdom that I might understand.
Love is in the effort, and the effort has been grand.
a mother’s day poem
The heaviest burden, an obligation, a responsibility, expectations where should have been acceptance, creative opportunity, choices and freedom. Exemplifying today’s repressive tendencies where should have been respect and dignity. The object of history’s oppression where should have been glory and reverence. Stained red what should have been painted. Marked by an illness that should have been known as life. But in a world based on death, life becomes a dangerous enemy and the misinformation flows through the generations, and with each lie the heaviest burden becomes heavier.
Life’s poised prodigies turning on each other. The inherent risks, and yet always the strength to continue the charade, which is only a charade when more credence is given to the lies and disinformation.
Life is not for death. Children are not raised to staff armies and death factories Women do not give birth to help carry out genocide. The future is not born to be destroyed, is not cared for to turn on itself, but to live and be happy.
I cannot bear children. I don’t have the guts. But you, your strength is an inspiration and should be regarded as an omen that all is not lost, hope remains and through you flows love, life, truth and our future where the heaviest burden transcends all expectations and perceptual limitations and lifts itself off of your backs and gently lights upon us all a world where motherhood is not shamed by giving it one day a year for reflection.
Thank you. My wish for you is never another Mother’s Day, but a life of respect and dignity, a future that is worth raising and a place for you forever reserved in our memories.
She named herself, of many to their dismay
Willfully shed her assigned past display
Embraced her new, tossed old away
And happily and free went about her day
As alluded to above, some were taken aback
Hell from below had knocked them off track
Quickly fell they to confused, defensive tack
As if naming oneself was affront or attack
Names are frozen, static and fatally final
Labels, assumptions, toe tags and taps spinal
Anchors and expectations weighting eternal
All becomes nothing, vice versa, in self-baptismal
Naming is the power on which rests every crown
It is the namers’ divisions in which we all drown
The named and the blamed, all stuck in the brown
With one simple act, she turns all upside down
Renaming renews all prospects of change
From which defensively namers would us estrange
No longer could named the namers derange
Were we a tradition of self-naming to arrange
The offended, with time, make their transitions
From their confusion springs strange interactions
Leading them to newer and deeper relations
Of the act of self-naming, the organic reactions
Her act and the fact that with me she would share
Inspired, awed, proud and happily too I did fare
For nowhere is one more empowered and aware
Now here she herself gives her own name to wear
Grandma – my memories of you are clouded. More clearly than my time with you, I remember the feeling of being loved by you. I could disappear in your hugs. Random thoughts do still bring me comfort.
Sleepovers with cousins in your basement.
The smell of fresh biscuits or chocolate chip cookies.
Thanksgiving day house bursting at the seams with your loving children and grandchildren.
Playing Rummikub and cards with you and Gunnar – Moyaifodent?
I was fascinated with your lazy eye as a child. I thought you could see right through me.
EVERY time I saw you in my adult years, you told me how handsome I was and how much you loved my facial hair. I felt a little bad about being clean-shaven for your funeral.
Your hugs were heavenly and always looked forward to on my return trips to Ogden.
I wrote a book once, and, in my desire to share myself, gave you a copy. I think it terrified you to see so much of me laid out bare and raw. You seemed very concerned and asked me to “come back to us.” Grandma, I never left. I may have ventured away from the path you would have chosen for me, but I never left. That path has always been, and will always be, connected to you and our family.
Despite it all, she never treated me any differently – there was always ample love. I have never sprung to tears as quickly, instantly and fully as when I received news of Grandma’s fall. At the time, I might have guessed I was incapable of producing tears. All of the regrets are for naught; Grandma loves me no matter what. Grandmothers are the cornerstone of civilization. Through their uncompromising love and unconditional acceptance we learn how to care for our own loved ones. Caring is the foundation of civilization. Grandmothers are the Master gardeners of love.And even so, I must say some of my favorite memories of Grandma came after she moved in with my parents and I became witness to another, less loving side of her. Her disdain for the cats and dogs was entirely unsuspected. Her sharp words for them shocked me at first. She even got short with some of her family, which I would not have thought possible. With a short step backward, I think I began to see more clearly however. I was simply seeing the side of her I had avoided or was protected from, as she did with me and my profanity-laden book. There are few things in this world more justified than ornery old women.
Grandma, I love every part of you. The part that always loved me no matter what, as well as the part that seemed to hate my dog.
An artist’s great masterpiece, monument to family
Safe haven and hospice, a refuge for comfort and growth
A place of stability, transformation and magic
Where generations of memories and love fill the air
A man built a house with his with his own two hands.
A foundation of dreams and believing it stands.
Born of blazing flames in his heart and soul,
an excited fire raging out of control.
He believed, he wept. A part of him died,
with each time that the real and unreal would collide.
The hard work of magic will take its toll.
He’ll never forget his dream-come-true served its role.
From dream to life and back again, and back again, and back again.
From dream to life and back again, and back again, and back again.
Dream big, never stop dreaming, anything is possible
Four generations of family, love, shouts and laughter
Ever-growing halls, nooks and crannies, self-renewing rooms
The dream never stopped growing, nor the family loving
As any dream-come-true has to begin:
vision and passion like a germ growing within.
It had to take substance, had to be done.
With a bag full of sugar the job was begun.
He didn’t know then that it would take years,
that he’d love it and hate it and face all his fears.
Knots grew inside him till he couldn’t sleep;
At night he’d hold his strong hands to his face and weep.
From dream to life and back again, and back again, and back again.
From dream to life and back again, and back again, and back again.
Where children’s children were raised, sisters-aunts, daughters-nieces
Brothers-uncles, mom dad-Grammy Poppy, where all came home
And filled the house, artist, each other and the dream with love
Magical interplay saturated with memories
An artist’s imagination and gift,
with sweat and blood required from dream to life uplift.
Fiery love got him through feeling alone,
and the strength in the walls is the strength of his soul.
A man and woman grew a family.
The house became a home and place of gathering,
shared with relatives, friends, neighbors and more.
Their love filled the halls and greeted all at the door.
From dream to life and back again, and back again, and back again.
From dream to life and back again, and back again, and back again.
Come together to be with each other and be silly
Celebrate, dance, sing, hug and kiss; fight, make up, and party
Climb my roof, ride my laundry chute, build forts and make movies
Not a moment was wasted, the house was played with by all
Time after time his dream-come-true came true:
the man, artist, spouse, dad, uncle and Poppy too,
who dreamt for joy, smiles and all to have fun,
reaped many times the harvests from his seeds of love.
A moment of chance: how could he have known.
His vision realized and his family grown;
his dream’s purpose and end finally found.
That moment of chance: he burned his dream to the ground.
From dream to life and back again, and back again, and back again.
From dream to life and back again, and back again, and back again.
A man built a house with his with his own two hands.
A foundation of dreams and believing it stands.
Born of blazing flames in his heart and soul,
an excited fire raging out of control.
He believed, he wept. A part of him died,
with each time that the real and unreal would collide.
The hard work of magic will take its toll.
He’ll never forget his dream-come-true served its role.
From dream to life and back again, and back again, and back again.
From dream to life and back again, and back again, and back again.
From dream to life and back again, and back again, and back again.
From dream to life and back again, and back again, and back again.
*Adapted in part from “A Man, A House, a Dream,” by my mother
Anarchy - from Greek, anarkhia "lack of a leader," noun of state from anarkhos "rulerless," from an- "without" + arkhos "leader" (www.etymonline.com)
Note the etymological definition’s complete lack of any reference to violence, disorder or chaos.
Author’s definition: the only realistic prospect humans have to learn how to be truly free
Anarchy is only the best of me
Why is anarchy such a bad word?
The poor will always be with us
To-do list of a Dictator-for-a-Day
What you are about to read is simply one person’s perspective: one man; one white man; one middle class white man; one heterosexual middle class white man; one able-bodied, average sized, bachelor degreed American, heterosexual middle class white man’s perspective on the world as I know it – as if we need yet another abasbdahmcwm’s perspective on anything else at this point – but hey, at least I’m not a abasddahmcwm. One thing that might differentiate me from most other abasbdahmcwms is that I fancy myself an anarchist; I suppose you might call me a abasbdahmcwma. Still, there are others like me out there I suspect, but when you add my Mormon background and current principled atheism (ma-abasbdahmcwma), my activist background and current disillusionment with the potential of activism (maad-abasbdahmcwma), my volunteer background and current publicly supported employment (maadvp-abasbdahmcwma), and my connected background and current virtual withdrawal from the world (maadvpcw-abasbdahmcwma), all within my nearly 20-year relationship with anarchism, including having helped raise two anarchist daughters (potentially the most important thing I will ever do), then you can begin to see why I might think that I have some perspective otherwise unique to offer, or for which the apparent self-obsession at least helps to explain why I am wasting precious resources (not to mention letters) to write this drivel. By the way, did I mention my parents are still married, to each other? (maadvpcwmp-abasbdahmcwma) And on and on – the point of what comes next is primarily concerned with the last a: anarchist; what came before was little more than a disclaimer.
Liars and thieves and cold-blooded murderers, arsonists and pillagers and rapists, chaos and mass confusion, rampant and unchecked criminals, no laws, no rules, no inherent rights, no respect for nothing.
Are these the fearful thoughts evoked by the word anarchy?
Because if so, I must question your perception of the present-day situation.
Discussing anarchy in words almost defeats the purpose. However, words are a dominant form of communication, almost a necessary evil. Many terms involved in anarchist discussions are actually quite vague, which is at once both an advantage and a disadvantage. Vagueness benefits by allowing the person on the receiving end of an idea more freedom in the conceptual process, which can lead to a more personal understanding, or possibly internalization, of the idea. Vagueness can also prevent the idea’s transmission as it was intended by the sender, but even that is not always a bad thing. (The difference between good and bad, or whether there even is a difference, is another discussion.)
Anarchy, as is everything, is relative to its perception, which is bound to be at least slightly different in each and every person who is trying to understand it (or without trying, as the case may be). For me, the beauty of anarchy is that it allows for, or opens up space for, all the different perspectives; indeed its very existence depends on this allowance.
One very basic idea within anarchy is the absence of government and all hierarchies. One reason for this is that there is considerably less room for everyone’s perspectives within any given power structure, leading to all sorts of negative impacts on those whose perspectives are ignored. Even most people who believe humans cannot function without government will presumably agree that the government could do things a little better or more efficiently and for everyone’s benefit. Anarchy suggest that we the people can do anything the government does – and better!
Imagine that all things exist within a kaleidoscope: every situation, every object, every person, every idea. As with a kaleidoscope, a different image or perspective is seen from every angle. These angles can be for us many different things: geographical location, political persuasion, religious beliefs, mental and emotional states of being, just to name a few. But every perception is completely valid even if it is different from the others – indeed, that’s the point. Typically, we perceive what is relative to us first of all: our experiences, our memories, our thoughts, our interactions with other people, etc. So, when it comes to the transmission of new ideas (or old ones, as the case as may be), the way people perceive, anarchy for example, it is not only inevitable that they will have their own personal perception, but is beneficial as well.
Anarchy is based on the idea that everyone can control their own destiny in their own way with their own ideas. This is only possible if everyone has a clear understanding of how anarchist ideas and ideals can benefit their personal lives and the conditions of their immediate reality. Later, hopefully, people also will understand that anarchy is about caring for each other too.
I don’t think there is some kind of subtle, secret, covert brainwashing scheme going on, but I do think there is a blatant, in-your-face, inescapably overt brainwashing scheme going on in nearly every aspect of our personal and public lives. We’ve been brainwashed into agreeing not on the details, but on the broad strokes that make up our current paradigm. We’ve been brainwashed into thinking that patriarchy, with all the violence and bloodthirsty quench for control and domination that comes with it, and its most enigmatic modern day manifestation, the corporate-government alliance known as capitalism, are natural and have always been so. Regardless of the current manifestation or fad, ‘government is normal’ is the most important message the paradigmatic powers have a collective invested interest in spreading and maintaining.
We’ve been brainwashed into thinking that the state is the only viable alternative for organizing ourselves as human beings. The state, whether it be a town, city, county, province, territory, state, nation or alliance of any thereof, government in general, despite any and all efforts to the contrary by good-hearted people lost in the meaninglessness of its bureaucracies, has only ever served the interest of the propertied elite. That is its very function and the reason for which patriarchy invented the entire notion of political control through the state with all of its auxiliary functions. In a political atmosphere as suffocated as ours is in the United States of America, to suggest something like a viable third party is more often than not ludicrous, yet alone the possibility that our entire system of representation is fundamentally flawed due to its own inherent self-interest: no matter what ills it includes, no matter how skewed the benefits are, no matter how many die or are forgotten, no matter any circumstances whatsoever, we will not explore different possibilities for organizing ourselves. We just continue voting and being disappointed and voting and being disappointed, because it is normal.
We’ve been brainwashed into thinking that the ills that come with government are natural, part of the negotiation. We’ve been brainwashed into thinking that a perfect world is not possible, that this is the best we can do. A perfect world may be unlikely, but we can do so much better that it might as well be called perfect from our perspective. We sell ourselves short when we allow ourselves to be convinced that as humans we are not capable of deciding for ourselves how to live with each other and how to take care of each other, that as humans only certain members of the species are capable of making those big decisions about things like housing, food production and distribution, public services and all those other complicated issues (which are actually done or carried out by us, it’s worth pointing out, not by the propertied elite) that have a direct impact on the quality of our lives – and the profits of others – that as humans our natural state of affairs is to be governed by the smartest amongst us and to let them make those decisions, that as humans our natural state of affairs is to accept what the governors hand down (albeit with frequent whining), to make do with what there is, often resulting in fighting amongst ourselves for, essentially, the table scraps. We’ve been brainwashed into thinking that someone must always be in control, in power, and that others must always be under their control and power. The amount of citizen participation differs from system of government to system of government, but none allows so much participation as to actually question the system itself or the general arrangement of governed and governors. Ultimately, every system of power is inherently interested only in its own continued survival and domination. Taking care of subjects, from the dawn of government to today, has only ever been a public relations scheme to help secure the argument for government’s existence.
Life is like the West World movie. Walking around and constantly second-guessing everyone I see, "Is that one real?" I'm running my finger along the handrail in Flag where Route 66 goes under the tracks. It’s raining out, or snowing lightly, and the handrail is moistened and flat; my finger is leaving a straight line all along it and I'm thinking to myself, "there's as much point to this as there is to anything else in my life ... " I came up with a true-to-my-heart philosophy (finally).
Every once in a while you get a breath of fresh air so clean it actually gets you high, and every so often you feel something so right and beautiful that all you can really do is cry; the rest is weirdness and bullshit.
I’ve been wanting to spill out my shpill on that most dirty word that's been skated around now for far too long, even as I've noticed amongst those who may possibly adhere to it or some semblance of it and especially amongst those who have absolutely no clue as to what it is but seem to have developed some kind of very real and intense aversion to its presence in any way even if only by a simple symbol, black and white... To start off with, there are no two explanations the same - and that is precisely what it’s all about. To push any sort of belief structure upon anyone else in any way even remotely by force is the only sin, whether by flat out lies or sneaky manipulation, threats or coercion, broken promises or lost commitments, assumptions or expectations or a loaded gun to the head.
Community is an island in the setting sun. Competition, status, image and bullshit are the bottom lines for everyone. The only reason for anything is meaning. Life sucks. I don't just say that as a passing comment on reality. I mean it whole-heartedly and sincerely and genuinely- three absences that I believe all of us feel to a certain extent and secretly yearn to fulfill. Well, that's how I fulfill them. I believe whole-heartedly and sincerely and genuinely that life sucks. Well, not life so to speak, but what most of us now consider to be life - the real world as they say - this reality that includes a million versions of sick and disgusting, many disguised as things to be desired, necessities or unavoidables - but all just sick and disgusting. I hate every bit of it, through and through, to the core. This reality is rank! That's to say it has been rotting for some time now. I'm pretty sure that there's not one of us that has a clue as to what life should really be like. I move we scrap it all right away without giving it a second thought, before any logic kicks in, no matter what it takes. There is no point anymore. Everything in this reality contributes to misery and suffering. I welcome the expected disasters of [insert the next impending doomsday]. But be careful with those readily available expectations. They can go either way. You can bring something into creation from nothing with an expectation or you can smother it to death.
I saw your missing pet poster and just had to call you. I didn't find your dog, but I think I just might have something even better to offer. Imagine if you could feel like that all the time, or maybe not all the time necessarily, but at least most of the time - or for God's sake l'd settle for half of the time- but without the dependence on that furry little animal or your wife or your boyfriend or your favorite drug or the rosy red lipstick or the brand new car or the note from your lover or the approval of your parents or the sermon in your church or the promotion at work or the grade in your class, or the sweet tasting candy - but just offered freely by life. Imagine being satisfied ... whoa ... that may be too much just yet. Better put it on the back burner for a while. Best watch that it not burn. Sorry your dog's gone, that's a real bummer. Buck up though, it's all good.
So back to the discussion of that anomaly of a four letter word that I almost don't dare to write for fear of the possibility that (if your still with me this far) you'll drop this and allow some programmed reaction to dictate and censor what is accepted as a possible, even remotely possible, viable alternative, but oh well here goes everything, ANARCHY. It's nothing but a word, don't get so upset… a simple written and spoken symbol of an idea that has absolutely nothing to do with the way it sounds when you speak it or the way it looks when you write it. It's meaningless really. And if you think it’s something that's been told you by another then scrap it. For me the premise is that each and every one of us, and that's not intended to be a human-centered notion of the word 'us' or even limited to a popularly accepted belief of what 'life' is, but everything more accurately perhaps, has its own completely unquestionable one hundred percent valid version of the truth and all that that entails. I don't think that anarchy is a philosophy that can be described as a philosophy. I think anarchy is a philosophy which claims that there is no philosophy that could ever be applied in the sense that one applies something to another because that would require compliance and that is definitely not what it is about. I think anarchy defies all else and leaves your slate empty to start again, void of the preconditioned reactions to all the brainwashing stimuli that encompass most of our attention and thus our waking and non-waking realities. For me, anarchy is the idea that says there is no idea but whatever you come up with on your own that is really going to carry any meaning capable of fulfilling or satisfying your needs. Anarchy is the belief that it’s never too late to start over again.
And for community? Well, community is the space that allows for release, that allows for validation, that allows for all that I've described as anarchy. And that which makes this seemingly impossible and easily written off as some unattainable "utopia" for lack of creativity and self-worth and self-love ... that which makes this possible is solidarity. Solidarity is basically a reciprocal version of anarchy- the mirror image of anarchy, the reflection of anarchy ... it reflects anarchy and is OK with that. You see, it’s different and it’s OK. It accepts, supports, validates and welcomes even as it may nullify or bring about some painful accommodation or rearrangement of a base so solidly founded that all there is left to do is blow it out all together and make room for another form or version so foreign as to instinctively inspire fright or reservations but only of that fucking image in the mirror that really has no problem with being a reflection, an exact opposite, reversal, turn around look behind you and don't be surprised if everything has changed and don't ever be so foolish as to tell yourself that everything or anything has not changed in the time it took you to turn around and see that it had. Education is the easy one, any realization, inspiration, insight, change for good or bad, action or action of inaction, but anything whereby accommodation or rearrangement is freely allowed or self-forced or slid into without noticing but always will manifest as some sort of change from whatever it was before. Empowerment is ultimately, as is education, something experienced inside privately and thus hard to convey. Empowerment is the belief, complete with faith and all, that one is capable of implementing some sort of change, no matter how large or small, upon the outer world that encompasses our individual lives and has more effect on us than we can conceive of. Empowerment is the realization that that all encompassing version of reality that we all want to change so badly really doesn't exist and any effect that we may claim it has had on us is actually a cop-out, an excuse for behavior we're not willing to claim as our own. Empowerment comes through education, any realization, inspiration, change for good or bad, action or action of inaction, accommodation for new ideas or rearrangement of preconceived ones.
Peace is what results when all of these ideas and yours too are allowed to be put into practice or at least tried out freely and fully, and ecology is the environment in which it happens which includes not just other things but the relationship between all of those things, the gives and takes, offerings and acceptings, backs and forths, the conveyance of the images that are forever being shot out at each other and to all ends of the universe with every thought and action in all modes physical, mental, emotional and spiritual. (If you are not satisfied in any way with any of these definitions in part or in whole then let your opinion be known. Otherwise, your opinion will never really matter.)
ORGANIZE It’s as simple as Nike would have you believe. Just do it! If it is you that sees it needs to be done then you are probably the best one for the job. Just do it! (If you see that it needs to be done and it doesn't get done then it’s you that didn't do it.) Just do it! No one else sees it the way you do and no one else can do it like you. Just do it! Don't wait for the asking, don't cut yourself short waiting for the invite. Just do it! Don't do it for anyone else and don't just do it for yourself, don't do it for the reaction and don't do it for the reward. Just do it! Listen to your heart if you are confused, maybe you need some relief to be able to hear but just do it! Go out and do it! No one else is going to do it for you. ORGANIZE! Just do it!
Just wandering around looking for signs of life. When you do what's expected of you, you’re selling yourself short in some way or another. But you gotta compromise some of the time right? Isn't life just a series of compromises when you really get down to it? Well if you’re satisfied with that then let me be the first to sign your yearbook. Have a nice life.
What would cause an entire race of beings to voluntarily take part, indeed to work diligently and earnestly towards the aim of bringing about its own destruction? We've been coerced into willfully participating in our own multi-faceted collective suicide. Every level of our existence is filled with ritualistic patterned behavior that has at its core only one perceivable objective: to destroy everything that is beautiful, to relinquish life, to smother creativity, to ignore the truth that is felt at least once by everything I believe; felt maybe just once in a lifetime and forever held, grasped, desperately clung to as some distant memory acceptably classified as forever out of reach with some bullshit justification or another, and you know somewhere deep down inside there wherever you've hidden all the meaning that it’s a lie and all you’re really waiting for is release. Now is a good time for widespread rebellion.
Anything and everything real is at risk of being eaten by the system and regurgitated as pop crap. Eaten as if by a thousand types of cancer that silently invade and occupy various facets of our lives, our cultures and are well-beings. Today, it has taken over nearly every minutia of our existence and still continues to capture nearly every spontaneous outburst and transform it into something for the powers-that-be to profit and benefit from. Through hundreds, indeed thousands, of years, it has carefully guided each and every one of us today toward meeting its own objectives. It has offered us a thousand ways to be special and unique (most of which, incidentally, add up to nearly the same thing) to provide a manufactured sense of meaning and carefully controlled moments of joy.
Part of this long and slow (albeit steadily through the centuries, yet exponentially increasing in modern times) process has involved centralizing control of the economy, which is essentially the distribution of wealth. In modern times, everything is mass produced purportedly to increase efficiency and thereby provide a less expensive product. Take clothing for example, early textile mills consolidated an industry that had previously been much more distributed throughout communities. So in creating a product that was less expensive through the assembly-line model, textile mill owners not only created a competitive edge, but also reduced the amount of money in the community thereby limiting its own customer base. (Ultimately, the system makes up for this simply by making sure enough people have enough money to spend in order to meet its needs, regardless of how many people that entails and how many are left out of the process altogether.) At the same time as the mills reduced the amount of money seamstresses were making, they also just plain put a lot of people out of work. More precisely, and more importantly, they removed a huge industry from the democratic control of everyday working people and placed it into the hands of a few wealthy white men.
This does more than create poverty, this drastic of an impact on the economy changes the very culture of a people, not only the way they live or are forced to live, but they ways in which they experience and interpret the world. Within just a generation or two, the industrial revolution in its entirety (of which the advent of the mass production of textiles was a part, and but one example, of consolidating industries and control over entire economies) transformed our perception of reality and in so doing gained a certain amount of control over that perception (as per above, a level of control that has increased exponentially in modern times). I’m not a political scientist, but I describe the above process as fascism. It’s obviously not the same type of fascism that Adolf Hitler made famous, but it is a process of centralizing control over not only the material wealth or limits of freedom, but also over our thoughts, dreams and emotions – the surprisingly limited opportunities afforded by this manufactured culture of extravagance.
For those who are part of the privileged groups who have enough money to spend to keep the system happy, it is a type of friendly fascism. For most people, of whom admittedly I am not a part, it may not seem quite so friendly. However, the prospect of one day becoming one of the privileged (the artificially constructed notion that anyone can pull themselves up by the boot straps) is generally enough to keep the non-privileged from making too much of a stink about getting the raw end of the deal. All of them, the privileged and non-privileged alike, have fewer prospects than many of us would like to admit.
The real challenge that each of us faces is finding a way to fit into the system. For the privileged, like me, this is primarily to avoid becoming one of the non-privileged and to help our children avoid the same. However, this fear is masked in the effort to fit in with other privileged people. To fit in, I simply need to figure out what I need to buy and how to get the money to buy it with, preferably in a legal fashion. For the non-privileged, the challenge is primarily to pay for rent, utilities and food – for survival in other words – and, if there’s enough blood, sweat and tears left over, to do whatever they can to improve their lives or at least the lives of their children. To survive, they simply need to find the cheapest housing, buy the cheapest food and then make sure they have enough money to pay for it all, preferably in a legal fashion. There are not enough ways or resources for all of us, privileged or non-privileged alike, to be successful in meeting our respective challenges, hence, as one example anyway, the preferably-in-a-legal-fashion disclaimer.
Anarchy to me would be the above turned upside down, at first anyway, and eventually more like the above inverted, where not just the wealth but participation in the economy would be distributed equally. I’m certain that people, most people anyway, would find such direct control in their economy and, more importantly, direct control of their wealth, survival and possibilities more meaningful and empowering than the opportunities offered by the powers-that-be today. Besides, the vast wealth of today’s powers-that-be was created by everyday working people who far too often find themselves struggling to make ends meet, privileged and non-privileged alike, constantly struggling to make it to the next pay day, ever vigilant for opportunities of upward mobility, and all of us seeking meaning in the material requirements placed upon us by the system, whether to remain privileged, to become privileged or just to survive.
As soon as we believe that the poor will always be with us, we have given up on humanity. There is no reason to believe that the poor will always be with us, unless we have given up on humanity. The “system,” or perhaps “capitalism,” its current manifestation, indeed guarantees that the poor will always be with us. Capitalism ensures that there will never be enough for everyone even as it ensures that only a small handful of people will have almost everything – one guarantee depends on the other. In a purely anarchist world, there would be no reason to be poor. In a purely anarchist world there would be neither private property nor its horrendous counterpart, money. The only reason for money or any kind of currency is to create privilege – those who have it and those who don’t. In a purely anarchist world the things we require would be created (manufactured, grown, etc) based on need – what and how much is needed – in order that everyone receives what they need. In a purely anarchist world everyone would receive what they need based on their existence alone rather than any measurement of their contribution to society. In a purely anarchist world, if you exist then you have a right to what you need: housing, food, education, health care, etc.
If we believe that the poor will always be with us because some people are just plain lazy and will refuse to contribute anything in an anarchist world where everything they need is available simply because they exist, then consider the following: 1) the amount of people who are as lazy as this fear assumes are miniscule; the poor want and are willing to work for better lives, but there isn’t enough for everyone no matter how hard some people work, 2) those few who have almost everything now don’t have to log in 8-10 hours or more every day – what’s the difference?, 3) in a purely anarchist world none of us would have to work as much as we do now even if lots of people didn’t do anything at all, and 4) if contributions to society must be measured, the measurements must look at contributions in many different ways and recognize that not everyone needs to produce tangible goods or provide physical labor to be considered a “productive member of society.”
How many times must time must Jesus be crucified before his words of peace and love are truly heard? How many martyrs does freedom require? These are the questions that came to mind when I learned of the Sacco and Vanzetti affair.
Niccola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti were Italian anarchists living Boston, Massachusetts in the early 1900s. They lived their lives fighting for justice, liberty, equality and freedom. For this they were murdered by the ruling class of Massachusetts, which had no interest in providing those concessions.
Having read up on the details of their case and their trial, I commented to a friend, “you could take any Mumia Abu Jamal or Leonard Peltier pamphlet, change the names to Sacco and Vanzetti and have an accurate idea of what happened.” Sacco and Vanzetti, like Leonard and Mumia, were targeted for their political beliefs and actions, framed for a crime they did not commit, subjected to a trial ridden with lies and misinformation, coerced witnesses, fabricated evidence, falsified court records, an openly biased judge, nationalistic patriotism and manufactured paranoia for the jurors, and a very intricate system I call pass the judicial buck, which enables every individual involved to escape blame and responsibility.
Few people in Sacco and Vanzetti’s Boston understood this frame-up for what it was, just as few people understand the plight of contemporary political prisoners. None understood the situation better than Sacco and Vanzetti themselves. They were conscious of the fact that their frame-up had little to do with them in particular, but rather understood it as a battle in a continuing class war that this country has been engaged in since its inception. The Sacco and Vanzetti affair was no more an affair than the Vietnam War was a mere action. It was a battle between the upper class and the lower class, between the workers and the beneficiaries of the workers’ toil. Not only did they understand their persecution as such, they also understood their position in the class war as defined by their persecution. They were being made into martyrs by their executioners, and they realized, even as the state failed to realize, that with every martyr the movement grows stronger. “Now we are not a failure. This is our career and our triumph.” – Vanzetti upon being sentenced to death.
Anarchism assumes, above all else, that no one has the right to tell you what to do, and vice versa. We are each empowered to enter into our own agreements and arrangements with others as long as we recognize the fundamental right to not have our rights taken away. In order to protect this fundamental right to not have our rights taken away, we must first acknowledge that only we can grant our own rights. In order to grant our own rights, we must not take away anyone else’s rights or allow anyone’s rights to be taken away. To witness one’s rights violated is to have one’s rights violated. Rights that can be taken from someone else can be taken from you. There is a famous poem by Pastor Martin Niemöller about this concept:
THEY CAME FIRST for the Communists,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Communist.
THEN THEY CAME for the Jews,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew.
THEN THEY CAME for the trade unionists,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a trade unionist.
THEN THEY CAME for the Catholics,
and I didn’t speak up because I was a Protestant.
THEN THEY CAME for me
and by that time no one was left to speak up.
However, the poem’s Nazi context implies that it is our responsibility to stand up against leaders and governments only when they take away the rights of and persecute certain populations. Indeed, the poem is often recited to compare the extremes of oppressive governments with that of the Nazis. This interpretation of the poem (which seems to be accurate in simply determining the intent of the author) overlooks the broader context of the ever-present possibility of any government becoming extreme in this sense.
The Nazi Holocaust was not a product of fascism or Hitler’s brand of national socialism, it was not a product of social Darwinism or social hierarchy, it was not a product of a lust for power or a savior complex, it was not a product of propaganda or lies, it was not a product of military conquest or the justification of violence, it was not a product of ignorance or apathy or any other cause that researchers, historians and philosophers might assign. Or, to be more accurate, it was a product of all those things combined in one entity that modern society is reluctant to recognize as such. The Nazi Holocaust was a product of government, and every government on Earth is capable of doing the same (indeed, many have tried both before and after WWII).
Government is the sole entity publically endowed with the socially, culturally and legally acknowledged power to grant rights, and with the power to grant rights also comes the power to take them away. The abolition of government seeks not to win back the rights of the people, but to cease their infringement. Acknowledging the authority of government to grant rights or even to protect them is an invitation to have one’s rights taken away. Therefore, (and ironically by popularly misled definitions of anarchism) the aim of anarchism is to protect our rights by eliminating government, all political, economic and social hierarchies, and any system of power that is dictated from above.
Ultimately, anarchism assumes that our rights are fundamental, that the power to grant rights does not exist unless we grant that right to government, and that granting that right to government in effect grants government the right to take our rights away thereby taking away our own rights. Although government now has the power to grant and take away rights, it is we in fact who have taken away our own rights by allowing government that power.
Essentially, the housing crisis and recession have amounted to a bunch of rich people becoming richer and a whole bunch of poor people becoming much poorer. Overall, it was a successful bipartisan effort. While Republicans are more than happy to keep kicking while people are down, Democrats like to appear that they’re trying to soften the blows. The bottom line for both parties: capitalism is sacred. Oh, and democracy. And a proven strategy throughout the ages has been to link that sacredness with God.
Despite all the attempts to win the hearts and minds of peace-loving Muslims, there have been quite obvious religious overtones throughout the post-911 era wars. Essentially, the Iraq and Afghanistan wars have amounted to a bunch of rich people becoming richer, a whole bunch of poor people becoming much poorer, and a whole bunch of poor people killing each other. Overall, this too has been a successful bipartisan effort, with Republicans and Democrats playing their same respective roles in mutual service to the bottom line. Sure, there are many variables and details to get wrapped up in, enough at least to keep people’s attention away from the essentials, but the bottom line always remains the same.
Back in the good ole days before democracy, the rich could pretty much openly steal everything from the poor, but there was still a need to periodically wage wars to steal from other people, rich and poor alike, while a bunch of poor people killed other poor people, usually in the name of any given side’s deity, respectively. Since then, we’ve learned to govern ourselves with democracy, and we’ve organized ourselves economically with capitalism. Back then, being rich and, more importantly, powerful was the bottom line; today we call the same thing capitalism, essentially the right of anyone to be filthy rich while masses of poor people go without basic needs.
Back then most wealth produced by poor people was taken by rich people by law and custom, backed by force; today most wealth produced by poor people is taken by rich people by law and custom, backed up by force. Essentially, the real difference between back then and now is the variables and details have increased and expanded in countless ways, and it takes a lot of variables and details to keep people’s attention away from the essentials, which was much less necessary before the invention of the middle-class buffer zone between the rich and poor.
Back then different royal houses and affluent property owners squabbled over the variables without any regard for poor people; today Republicans and Democrats quibble over the details with only token regard for poor people. Back then wars were openly promoted in the name of God, but getting rich by conquering an enemy, including looting by soldiers, was commonly understood to be the principal payout from waging war; today wars are promoted in the name of democracy, along with many prayers to God, but getting rich, including looting by multinational corporations, is commonly understood to be the principal payout from waging war.
We need a cultural movement, a movement that actively invites involvement from all cultural groups, and asks only that everyone agree to make an attempt to get to know and work with others they may not completely agree with in order to promote values they do agree with. In addition to bringing groups of people together, an almost more important goal should be to bring individuals together. Venues should be created for not only group interaction, but personal interaction. The more people who see each other as different are able to get to know each other, the more they will see each other as similar. Taking advantage of every cultural tool available, this movement will actively engage in creating a new paradigm, a new and better way of living with each other and caring about one another.
The foundation of this cultural movement must be the same values as the goals for the future. If the movement wants a peaceful future, the movement must be peaceful; if the movement wants respect for all people, the movement must respect all people; if the movement wants a world that embraces and values diversity, the movement must embrace and value diversity; and so forth.
To clarify, the goal is not to create a mass organization with a set of bylaws and standard operating procedures and all that, but a cultural movement without any written rules as to how its “members” must operate. If people without a strong history of cooperation can come together and agree to do anything, then we have made the world a little better. If they have gotten to know each other better in the process, then we have the made the world a little more understanding. If they have learned that they are more similar than previously thought, then we have brought the world closer together and decreased at least some of the potential for future conflict in general. The extreme flexibility required for this process to freely play itself out will only be restricted and undermined by the establishment of any rules for this movement.
Initial efforts should focus exclusively on bringing people together. A handful of individuals could kick start this process, but the real potential, genius and creativity of the movement will not begin to emerge until a critical mass of diversity is reached. The general idea is to create opportunities to get to know each other and continue doing so for as long as it takes for areas of consensus to begin surfacing. These opportunities can and should range from highly structured and focused collaborative workshops to relaxed and informal friendly get-togethers. These opportunities should eventually exist at the local, regional, national and inter-national levels. This protracted effort to bring people together should never be considered a strategy to an end; it is essentially the end itself and therefore the most logical place to begin, and as such should continue long into whatever new world it helps to create.
In most cases it will likely make more sense to start at the friendly, relaxed stage. Get people together for lunches, picnics, pot lucks, and organize activities designed to get people talking about themselves. Not about their jobs, their politics or their designs on life, but about our families, our upbringings, our lives, our selves. As has been done for centuries (often times for the worse), the first thing an outsider must do when approaching another group is to establish contact with an insider. However dry and impersonal that sounds, the invitation should clearly reflect the agenda-less nature of the effort and emphasize that we just want to get to know each other better. If anything more can and does come of it, so much for the better. These may be contacts that already exist, or new invitations may be in order. If relationships already exist, then start with those and continue reaching out to include more people. As difficult as it may sometimes seem, invitations between groups that may be in some kind of conflict might be appropriate as well.
Eventually, if and when areas of consensus are identified, discussed and ironed out, people should begin taking concerted action. What these actions will look like is impossible to imagine in detail at this point, but they will incorporate the ideas and concerns of everyone involved. They will benefit from the imaginations and capabilities of everyone involved. They will embody the values that have been agreed to by diverse people, but their numerous strategies and nuances will be tailored to reach out to, involve, benefit and/or inspire any number of diverse groups. At this point, the fact that people have come together will be our strongest card to play. The key is to show that people who might otherwise disagree are working together and accomplishing things. It won’t do to just have the groups already working together or whose alliances are more obvious and whose causes are more isolatable. We must demonstrate our diversity in all actions. Our unlikely alliances are part of the message: we don’t have to agree on everything, another way is possible, and we are doing our best to make it happen now.
7 a.m., arrive at work
1. Establish the inherent right of all people, by virtue of their existence, to the following:
• Respect, dignity and self-expression
• Yummy and nutritious food
• Safe and comfortable housing
• Violent free communities
• Comprehensive and readily accessible birth-to-death healthcare with no restrictions
• Free and valuable education, pre-k through Ph.D.
• Efficient and extensive free public transit
• Meaningful jobs with just compensation
• A clean and healthy environment
• Equal, fair and vast opportunities to grow personally and participate in community
• Self empowerment and unconditional love
• Enjoyment of life and all manner of “beautiful radiant things”
8 a.m., coffee break
2. Cancel all war plans, close all military bases and send all service members home.
a. Divert all war spending to domestic needs; provide adequate job training and health care to returning service members.
3. Forgive foreign debts and relinquish all control of foreign economies.
a. Make reparations where necessary and offer “no strings attached” assistance as requested and able.
4. Recognize complete and total sovereignty of all first nations.
a. Cooperate directly with tribes in all decisions that may affect them.
5. Free all political prisoners, “drug war” captives and non-violent offenders.
a. Implement genuine personal and social rehabilitation programs for remaining convicts.
6. Seize all empty houses, apartments and other housing units and immediately turn over to anyone who needs a home.
a. Thereupon ownership of all occupancies will be conferred upon their occupants.
7. Expropriate food and essential living items from distributors and retailers and provide to anyone in need.
a. It will not be called charity; call it justice.
12 p.m., lunch break
8. Abolish money.
9. Abolish borders.
10. Abolish mirrors.
11. Abolish t.v.
12. Abolish the Gregorian calendar.
13. Abolish mechanized time.
14. Abolish IQ tests.
15. Abolish the drug war.
16. Abolish prisons and jails.
17. Abolish laws.
4 p.m., cocktail break
18. Institute comprehensive non-violence training at all levels of public education, from students to administrators; offer for free to parents and community members. Institute reforms throughout education system to empower all users with equal decision-making influence.
19. Institute equal and fair wealth redistribution program, with particular attention given to unreimbursed historical material and labor contributions/thefts made by/against all manner of “ragged trousered philanthropists,” despite the absence or evident degree of complicity, past or current.
20. Institute micro-levels of community representation and empower local decisions to overrule regional representatives within given locale. Allow local control of any necessary borders to enable the most appropriate size, placement, etc of the micro-communities; as any splinter groups occur, they are to be immediately recognized as independent bodies. Place control of all basic-need delivery systems with the most local level of representation as possible, considering the separate dynamics of physical delivery systems and human delivery systems, and based on sound scientific analysis of local and regional production and needs. Note: extensive cooperation amongst various entities is deemed to be highly advantageous and is strongly encouraged.
21. Institute work place organizational structures that offer equal decision-making influence to all workforce members; eliminate unnecessary and meaningless jobs, including most if not all administrative positions, and redistribute the work load amongst all available workers by reducing work hours but not compensation.
22. Institute mandatory disarmament across the board; all guns and weapons are to be destroyed in a safe manner and recycled into something necessary.
23. Institute one and only law: no one is allowed to tell anyone else what to do, neither by coercion, manipulation, threat nor violence; individual autonomy supersedes any and all other decision-making bodies; unless otherwise agreed to, individuals are only bound to each other in maintaining watch over this one law, and coming to each others’ aid should anyone attempt to control another, either by coercion, manipulation, threat or violence, in violation of this one law.
24. Renounce position as dictator and appeal to the people that they never recognize another.
7 p.m., call it a day
Add to the list: _____________________
Psychobabble will summarily censor any entries deemed to be silly or ridiculous.