"In his production of Die Entführung, the Catalan stage director Calixto Bieito set the opera in a Berlin brothel, with Selim as pimp and Konstanze one of the prostitutes. Even during the most tender music, copulating couples littered the stage, and every opportunity for violence, with or without a sexual climax, was taken. At one point, a prostitute is gratuitously tortured, and her nipples bloodily and realistically severed before she is killed. The words and the music speak of love and compassion, but their message is drowned out by the scenes of desecration, murder, and narcissistic sex."
Roger Scruton
Beauty and Desecration
It is not something we can reject out of hand, this, "Death of Beauty". The animal is now the primary object. Following the legacy of Freud, our acknowledgment of the infantile subservience, the god that we were allowed to be--and our descent into simply Man. Cast adrift on the sea of alone; the only light left shining that of despair. Myth becomes no more than childish daydreams, religion has been cast into dustbin of history, irrelevant to what we have become; or may become, as we stand on the threshold looking in on what might be the bright harsh truth.
Art becomes the anvil & the hammer upon which we forge ourselves into whatever it is that we might become, at each moment with each Act we portray what we are--now; and at each interval a little bit more of what we could be is revealed.
We want. We need. We desire. Mired in the infantile "I" that must prosper, beauty is nothing more than a whore, a selfish confiscation of a future perfect in which the imaginer is permitted to return the ideal godhood of the womb. Reality is not observed, it is discarded.
III
Slim adolescence that a nymph has stripped,
Peleus on Thetis stares.
Her limbs are delicate as an eyelid,
Love has blinded him with tears;
But Thetis' belly listens.
Down the mountain walls
From where pan's cavern is
Intolerable music falls.
Foul goat-head, brutal arm appear,
Belly, shoulder, bum,
Flash fish-like; nymphs and satyrs
Copulate in the foam.
--yeats
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Mr Goldsmith & Mr Silliman--"The New Sentence"
. . . yet no one means a word of it,
it is always a masque.
dysjunction--
What is being said then, by these quietists, and as has been proposed, these more progressive forms? Is the diversion not in what is being said, but rather in who is saying it? Shall we not say that the "lesson of the poem" is simply a byproduct and not the point at all? The dialectic is the "I" and the "not I". --which might be related to the essential question of freedom vs equality, but let's not bother with that here...
Problems on all fronts--the Quietests, for lack of a better label, assert the primacy of the personal, the authority of experience as filtered by the "me", --I have done this and from this which I have done I construct this.
For the progressives, I am not therefore how do I remove me from that which is constructed. The current answer to that seems to be a more or less random matrix of language, combination & recombinations culled from the collective. (Which one might note is just as illusory as the "I" itself)
If one were so inclined one might chuckle at the impossibility of it all. Let us consider, of what use is a Poetry that strips us of our heroic deeds, be they glorious or mundane--and if it is all a lie (something we have learned to live with over the centuries) what purpose does it serve?
at any rate, we are left with the argument itself, the words being but pastels shading the real debate alive inside the poem.
Is the artificial construct of the I a valid motive for poetry to exist, and without it can we consider it poetry at all?
A vexing problem for (me) muddling about in the shadows of it all, grasping of shards of that which appears to be real but which turns out to be nothing at all, as the vibrations of the strings may be just a will-o-the-wisp so far
which is where we all are.
it is always a masque.
dysjunction--
What is being said then, by these quietists, and as has been proposed, these more progressive forms? Is the diversion not in what is being said, but rather in who is saying it? Shall we not say that the "lesson of the poem" is simply a byproduct and not the point at all? The dialectic is the "I" and the "not I". --which might be related to the essential question of freedom vs equality, but let's not bother with that here...
Problems on all fronts--the Quietests, for lack of a better label, assert the primacy of the personal, the authority of experience as filtered by the "me", --I have done this and from this which I have done I construct this.
For the progressives, I am not therefore how do I remove me from that which is constructed. The current answer to that seems to be a more or less random matrix of language, combination & recombinations culled from the collective. (Which one might note is just as illusory as the "I" itself)
If one were so inclined one might chuckle at the impossibility of it all. Let us consider, of what use is a Poetry that strips us of our heroic deeds, be they glorious or mundane--and if it is all a lie (something we have learned to live with over the centuries) what purpose does it serve?
at any rate, we are left with the argument itself, the words being but pastels shading the real debate alive inside the poem.
Is the artificial construct of the I a valid motive for poetry to exist, and without it can we consider it poetry at all?
A vexing problem for (me) muddling about in the shadows of it all, grasping of shards of that which appears to be real but which turns out to be nothing at all, as the vibrations of the strings may be just a will-o-the-wisp so far
which is where we all are.
Morgana's Mist---
How much of who we are is shaped by the machinations of the Hologram?
Where can we go to find ourselves, the "me" that is not the "not me" fashioned by the influx? How much worse it must be for those who are co-opted to be the organ of the "thing" itself!
No! No! I am me, myself. Perhaps not. The perspective we assume is an illusion; scissors must be kept close at hand to open the packaging. One notes that the me itself is an illusion, a deeper one, perhaps, than the one we buy, and it belongs to an ancillary arm of the illusion. Fey these arguments over opinions, they were given to us in Morgana's mist.
It might be, that rather than, "I think, therefore I am, it might be more realistic to say we think, therefore I am.--
a quote from an article on Sarah Palin:
"It’s about me running the country.
It’s about me running.
It’s about me."
She too, like Michael was our creation. Our aggregate persona descends upon them, those who seep up from the bubbling mass, and the apparatus reflects who and what they are according to our desires. Is it any wonder that they should seek to escape the glare of not me in some exaggerated gesture of defiance? They are no worse than You or I, but they are magnified, analyzed for the benefit of our own me, in a way they justify, reinforce that which we ourselves have taken to create that which is who I am.
The literature is abundant, from Catullus to Li Po to Mauberly to Warhol, and in between and beyond, and so on. It might be said that in the end we can never form a coherent opinion as the information is faulty, based as it is on a motive which can only be guessed at and never truly known.
Aberrations must be expected. Freedom exists only insofar as we are allowed to extract that which we desire from the Machine, one might call it Mother, as we suck from its breast from birth unto death...
as we all know, even as we kick against the pricks.
Where can we go to find ourselves, the "me" that is not the "not me" fashioned by the influx? How much worse it must be for those who are co-opted to be the organ of the "thing" itself!
No! No! I am me, myself. Perhaps not. The perspective we assume is an illusion; scissors must be kept close at hand to open the packaging. One notes that the me itself is an illusion, a deeper one, perhaps, than the one we buy, and it belongs to an ancillary arm of the illusion. Fey these arguments over opinions, they were given to us in Morgana's mist.
It might be, that rather than, "I think, therefore I am, it might be more realistic to say we think, therefore I am.--
a quote from an article on Sarah Palin:
"It’s about me running the country.
It’s about me running.
It’s about me."
She too, like Michael was our creation. Our aggregate persona descends upon them, those who seep up from the bubbling mass, and the apparatus reflects who and what they are according to our desires. Is it any wonder that they should seek to escape the glare of not me in some exaggerated gesture of defiance? They are no worse than You or I, but they are magnified, analyzed for the benefit of our own me, in a way they justify, reinforce that which we ourselves have taken to create that which is who I am.
The literature is abundant, from Catullus to Li Po to Mauberly to Warhol, and in between and beyond, and so on. It might be said that in the end we can never form a coherent opinion as the information is faulty, based as it is on a motive which can only be guessed at and never truly known.
Aberrations must be expected. Freedom exists only insofar as we are allowed to extract that which we desire from the Machine, one might call it Mother, as we suck from its breast from birth unto death...
as we all know, even as we kick against the pricks.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Part 2--of an Open Letter to Karl Rove.
In all truth, Mr. Rove, I do not preach to you. One does not swerve a high priest from his purposes,--rather, one dodges the stones. Which, when one strips away the hypocrisy and fine words is what boys do; tho it may be that you missed out on some of that. The sting of the stones is honest, sir, of that I can attest; but no, I do not preach to you, only those that you deceive. Rest assured, it will not be me that records the history of your time upon the stage.
cursus honorum
Our path of honors diverge, mined mired in dog shit, yours as a lap dog in the seats of power, in neither, I'll warrant at least, was honor very much involved. The temper of the times, perhaps, as there were few that licked that dog's ass in Sodom, as we all lied in the struggle to be free. Fact is, I've met a few good men, but not many, though the definition of good might vary, and it may be that you would include yourself as one of those. If so, I could not agree, not having met you, I have only your actions as a guage. Possibly, should you become apprised of my own actions, you would find them objectionable; I would not fault you for that, as I said our course of honors did not seek the same path. The path of authority did not appeal to me, to you it was all that did. "what matter if a man should gain the whole world...?" Let's just say the price deterred me.
After Caesar, it all fell into some disrepute, an archaic ritual, the game changed to a lavish boot licking, a list of those who must be pleased today--the toady who sweeps about the room bearing good news and gifts, false words upon the health of the king. As to that, you would know far more than I, I have only the histories to guide me. In those it seems the good men most often are dead in short order. They often lie unburied, and rot outside the palace walls. To judge by the pages, one might consider that the conservative ideal, I would not be so hasty, as times change, and more insidious methods are employed.
I might argue, were I so inclined, that the dignatas associated with the path of honors, would depend not so much on the honors themselves but rather on the influence of truth in their acquisition, a point not lost upon Caesar as he hesitated at the Rubicon. In the end, it might be said that he chose himself over the welfare of the state, and the Republic ended. Is it not sad when such men no longer respect the institutions which brought them into such a position in the first place? of what worth is a path of honors in such a case? Empty titles, one might imagine. A humble man, such as myself, might be glad not to have such a treasure to toss away. Not to repeat myself, as Haughty Anthony did--but our paths did diverge.
Caesar was ambitious, so they said, and they were all honorable men.
One comes to the nature of success, in some sense I suppose, that depends on one's own nature, that is to say, are we tied to the trappings of life or to life itself.
We must look through the prism of ourselves, the fiction that is "me"--a fractured entity that peers through the veil at the other actors on the stage--and like Augustus we ask if we have played our part well, and the answer lies in the part we choose to play. We want to know if we had a role in the outcome of the Game, whether someone might remember our name. Time out of mind, most are content to melt back in the river, some want to leave a scar, some let the matter be deferred, and in due course some are more revered than others, having in some way changed the water of the river. Success might be more than what we first surmised when we began our enquiry, in some ways easier than we thought, and in others impossible. We create a ripple; at least the fiction believes he did, and who's to say, perhaps he really was for a time, tipping his hat to the passersby.
Ethical Man
Ah, Mr Rove--I have put you off for several days--perusing your accusations, your depravities, your failure.
What a mess! Talking some shit to make it all shiny? Won't wash, nope--still a mess. I'd apologize; thanks to you, America is tottering on the brink and may fall into the tank with hungry sharks. Seems kinda idiotic to me, seeing you dance from from the desk of one mad dog to another spewing blame on everyone but yourself. Machiavelli would have laughed at you, then cut your throat--Dumb fuck, you can't go half-way to Hell and then turn back again. The Armies of the Night don't sleep, they just keep gnawing away on you.
You call that crap an Idealogy? Just wondering. Stolen elections, blackmail, libel, torture, bribery, coercion, fraud?--and that makes you rich, an American success story? Is it like success when you get up every morning making the rounds of the shit slingers defending yourself till you fall over dead? I reckon that's the price you pay for only going half way, had you finished the trip your enemies would disappear wouldn't they? As it is, you can't even frame them anymore.
I don't suppose there is a right & wrong, all that matters is where you wind up.
I wonder though just where you'll be in the Roll of Great Americans, somewhat down the list of ones who didn't quite measure up I'd surmise, somewhat north of John Wilkes Booth, but a bit south of Boss Tweed.
cursus honorum
Our path of honors diverge, mined mired in dog shit, yours as a lap dog in the seats of power, in neither, I'll warrant at least, was honor very much involved. The temper of the times, perhaps, as there were few that licked that dog's ass in Sodom, as we all lied in the struggle to be free. Fact is, I've met a few good men, but not many, though the definition of good might vary, and it may be that you would include yourself as one of those. If so, I could not agree, not having met you, I have only your actions as a guage. Possibly, should you become apprised of my own actions, you would find them objectionable; I would not fault you for that, as I said our course of honors did not seek the same path. The path of authority did not appeal to me, to you it was all that did. "what matter if a man should gain the whole world...?" Let's just say the price deterred me.
After Caesar, it all fell into some disrepute, an archaic ritual, the game changed to a lavish boot licking, a list of those who must be pleased today--the toady who sweeps about the room bearing good news and gifts, false words upon the health of the king. As to that, you would know far more than I, I have only the histories to guide me. In those it seems the good men most often are dead in short order. They often lie unburied, and rot outside the palace walls. To judge by the pages, one might consider that the conservative ideal, I would not be so hasty, as times change, and more insidious methods are employed.
I might argue, were I so inclined, that the dignatas associated with the path of honors, would depend not so much on the honors themselves but rather on the influence of truth in their acquisition, a point not lost upon Caesar as he hesitated at the Rubicon. In the end, it might be said that he chose himself over the welfare of the state, and the Republic ended. Is it not sad when such men no longer respect the institutions which brought them into such a position in the first place? of what worth is a path of honors in such a case? Empty titles, one might imagine. A humble man, such as myself, might be glad not to have such a treasure to toss away. Not to repeat myself, as Haughty Anthony did--but our paths did diverge.
Caesar was ambitious, so they said, and they were all honorable men.
One comes to the nature of success, in some sense I suppose, that depends on one's own nature, that is to say, are we tied to the trappings of life or to life itself.
We must look through the prism of ourselves, the fiction that is "me"--a fractured entity that peers through the veil at the other actors on the stage--and like Augustus we ask if we have played our part well, and the answer lies in the part we choose to play. We want to know if we had a role in the outcome of the Game, whether someone might remember our name. Time out of mind, most are content to melt back in the river, some want to leave a scar, some let the matter be deferred, and in due course some are more revered than others, having in some way changed the water of the river. Success might be more than what we first surmised when we began our enquiry, in some ways easier than we thought, and in others impossible. We create a ripple; at least the fiction believes he did, and who's to say, perhaps he really was for a time, tipping his hat to the passersby.
Ethical Man
Ah, Mr Rove--I have put you off for several days--perusing your accusations, your depravities, your failure.
What a mess! Talking some shit to make it all shiny? Won't wash, nope--still a mess. I'd apologize; thanks to you, America is tottering on the brink and may fall into the tank with hungry sharks. Seems kinda idiotic to me, seeing you dance from from the desk of one mad dog to another spewing blame on everyone but yourself. Machiavelli would have laughed at you, then cut your throat--Dumb fuck, you can't go half-way to Hell and then turn back again. The Armies of the Night don't sleep, they just keep gnawing away on you.
You call that crap an Idealogy? Just wondering. Stolen elections, blackmail, libel, torture, bribery, coercion, fraud?--and that makes you rich, an American success story? Is it like success when you get up every morning making the rounds of the shit slingers defending yourself till you fall over dead? I reckon that's the price you pay for only going half way, had you finished the trip your enemies would disappear wouldn't they? As it is, you can't even frame them anymore.
I don't suppose there is a right & wrong, all that matters is where you wind up.
I wonder though just where you'll be in the Roll of Great Americans, somewhat down the list of ones who didn't quite measure up I'd surmise, somewhat north of John Wilkes Booth, but a bit south of Boss Tweed.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
First Part Of An Open Letter to Karl Rove:
preface to the Lie itself:
We speak for free markets and free people, the principles, if you will, marked in the watershed year of 1776 by Thomas Jefferson's Declaration of Independence and Adam Smith's "Wealth of Nations." So over the past century and into the next, the Journal stands for free trade and sound money; against confiscatory taxation and the ukases of kings and other collectivists; and for individual autonomy against dictators, bullies and even the tempers of momentary majorities.
Manifesto of Wall Street Journal.
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB123984928625323721.html
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB123862834153780427.html#mod=rss_Today%27s_Most_Popular
Conservatives saw the savagery of 9/11 in the attacks and prepared for war; liberals saw the savagery of the 9/11 attacks and wanted to prepare indictments and offer therapy and understanding for our attackers."--Karl Rove
One wonders which of those positions is closer to the view held by Jesus? It's rather amazing the ignorance which can be uncovered by a policy of lies, fear & hate. One wants it all to make sense, but the schemes force the data to be manipulated, and the money changers gossip on the temple steps--a tale a congresswoman should read as she frets about the fate of the almighty dollar, and its brief waltz upon the stage.
the larger Ideals are lost on these petty little men, ambition reduced to the angles in the next deal, firewalls, blind alleys, and connections, same as it was in Ur, it may be imagined, as thus the city grew. Upon this cusp, the forces drawing to a point, it is easy enough to deplore their selfish schemes. It could be recalled, should one wish to, Paul, how much of his time was spent in keeping them from falling away, oh, into one idolatry or another--children as we are, despite our pretensions, happy with our toys, our absent pleasures. Pleasantly unaware that bullies do not mature, they simply age. And Paul? the Wisdom he has acquired, he mostly keeps to himself, as like Simon Magus he is bent on acquiring more, though nothing, as we should have learned by now, will buy us one second more. A worrisome bit of news that, all in all. Spun in Gossamer these new little Napoleons, unwrapped;
nothing is to be found at all. Old Will, finding smoke and fading voices in the sound & fury, as he waits through the next commercial with his Ovaltine, product placement doncha know, none of us are immune, nor particularly healthy all in all. The words all run together, the elegies, the prophecies, the wills and the contracts.
The sermons all get a bit stale, at the point where one can stare through them at the lies and the hypocrisy. One notes that charismatic is costume jewelry and blinking lights. Criticism nothing more than a bath in a bloated vocabulary: "Daylight obscured in the fog of our exhalation". The testaments pile up in the sunlit dusty room, arcane, obscure--paranoid, the currents drifting in history ignored in favor of green slimes crawling on the insides of the mind, the rot produced by (insert fav adjective here) society; just another day at the beach, watching each other carefully for signs of imperfection, the undertow of communication in the isolation. Gets to the point that there should have been a spark in all the connections, something in the way the car was parked, or a wrinkle out of place in the rumpled blankets on the bed, nothing shakes loose though, nothing occurs; maybe it was just a failure in the current observation, might be good to turn Hope over and kiss her ass, or wait for a messiah to start another crusade with poppies growing over the killing fields. What then when it stares directly into the eyes? The last wall of illusion crumbling away?
Another bedlam of words, another dusty testament, fraught with error, something to be tidied up, edited and collated, and placed carefully atop the pile, storage for another bit of poison, an act of muttering. Nothing more--even the loud voices are muted in the din; those that sing of greater things beyond the rim shouted down, and beaten with sticks. Something to answer the need, the throb and rhythms of another pestilence, a palanquin from which coins may be thrown into the streets to subdue the ennui, some fair tower from which to mock the dying city, and the fools marching in tidy rows against an onrushing tide of fire, umbrellas folded beneath their arms.
These learned fellows expect recompense, for that which survival demands, failing that they steal...
In the wake of faux tea party, the principles of Mr. Goebbels applied directly to the body politic, the Lie repeated often enough, it becomes increasingly difficult to untangle the truth from the web; and few in the weariness have the energy to try.
Tomorrow it all begins anew. The sturdy peasantry whipped into new frenzies of fear by the oligarchs, the promise of the old republic kindled in their hearts, the myth of "what was" scribed upon the tablets-- the voice of opposition seems plaintive, the whine of a chained dog, that which was the Law in another time, now, a favored toady, lost somewhere in the endless words its teeth pulled. Slowly the lie pulls on the populace, the honey in its tone as sweet as the devil's own words, insidious is transformed into spontaneous, hatred becomes love--the old song sung from the temple steps, the promises dipped in a sweet wine; words woven to suit the moment. The chained dog whimpers, sniffs the stale air; content with despair, the occasional bone tossed from the banquet table.
Come now! Should we not believe these promises? The nightmare from which we have recently emerged prove their worth. Slander, innuendo, torture, the bodies stacked in the city squares, the Lady clothed in oil and tossed into the sewer.
The question hanging in the air: "Are you revenged as yet?"--the years that slip into decades, the blood carried in buckets by the children at the behest of pudgy little men issuing directives to conceal the actual aims of their schemes. The false prophets permit hate, and promise power--they know that Adam is always innocent and full of desire. The prophet that counseled love as a harder road and that the meek shall inherit the world is put on a war horse and sent to slaughter all those who will not obey. "We are a Christian Nation!" they tell you, and the boys come home in caskets swelling the coffers of the rich--in truth they war upon the wretched and the poor, and preach to you the spreading of the truth, when behind the facade there is only the lie.
Time stands still in the new gospel, we do not walk from place to place, we do not climb the hill. It is always yesterday when we were better than we are; new words are uncrated to explain that what happened didn't really; or that the founders meant to say what they didn't really, and upon that we should all agree or be cast into the outer darkness. The minions of the dark lord counsel conciliation, reconstruction, peace, choice, the progress of the soul--nay nay nay they tell you, we must beat our plowshares into swords and wage war against such infidels as though their blood will expiate our sins. Happy we are in the Lord, yet who profits from our faith? Who is it, in fine clothes, who preaches the doctrine of the righteousness of the rich: has it not always been the priests who take the finest cuts of meat from the altar? Has the king not always paid handsomely for their smooth words?
It is not God who is the disease, but his servants, and they twist the words to serve their own pursuits. God becomes their lackey, and they sell him to the king. Uriah is put in the forefront of the battle, David puts on sackcloth and bows, and Bathsheba's son inherits the throne; with God's blessing.
You have only to open the book to look upon the future of their lies:
15 For behold, I will make you small among the nations,
despised among mankind.
16 The horror you inspire has deceived you,
and the pride of your heart,
you who live in the clefts of the rock,
who hold the height of the hill.
Though you make your nest as high as the eagle’s,
I will bring you down from there,
declares the LORD.
Jeremiah 49
****
We speak for free markets and free people, the principles, if you will, marked in the watershed year of 1776 by Thomas Jefferson's Declaration of Independence and Adam Smith's "Wealth of Nations." So over the past century and into the next, the Journal stands for free trade and sound money; against confiscatory taxation and the ukases of kings and other collectivists; and for individual autonomy against dictators, bullies and even the tempers of momentary majorities.
Manifesto of Wall Street Journal.
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB123984928625323721.html
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB123862834153780427.html#mod=rss_Today%27s_Most_Popular
Conservatives saw the savagery of 9/11 in the attacks and prepared for war; liberals saw the savagery of the 9/11 attacks and wanted to prepare indictments and offer therapy and understanding for our attackers."--Karl Rove
One wonders which of those positions is closer to the view held by Jesus? It's rather amazing the ignorance which can be uncovered by a policy of lies, fear & hate. One wants it all to make sense, but the schemes force the data to be manipulated, and the money changers gossip on the temple steps--a tale a congresswoman should read as she frets about the fate of the almighty dollar, and its brief waltz upon the stage.
the larger Ideals are lost on these petty little men, ambition reduced to the angles in the next deal, firewalls, blind alleys, and connections, same as it was in Ur, it may be imagined, as thus the city grew. Upon this cusp, the forces drawing to a point, it is easy enough to deplore their selfish schemes. It could be recalled, should one wish to, Paul, how much of his time was spent in keeping them from falling away, oh, into one idolatry or another--children as we are, despite our pretensions, happy with our toys, our absent pleasures. Pleasantly unaware that bullies do not mature, they simply age. And Paul? the Wisdom he has acquired, he mostly keeps to himself, as like Simon Magus he is bent on acquiring more, though nothing, as we should have learned by now, will buy us one second more. A worrisome bit of news that, all in all. Spun in Gossamer these new little Napoleons, unwrapped;
nothing is to be found at all. Old Will, finding smoke and fading voices in the sound & fury, as he waits through the next commercial with his Ovaltine, product placement doncha know, none of us are immune, nor particularly healthy all in all. The words all run together, the elegies, the prophecies, the wills and the contracts.
The sermons all get a bit stale, at the point where one can stare through them at the lies and the hypocrisy. One notes that charismatic is costume jewelry and blinking lights. Criticism nothing more than a bath in a bloated vocabulary: "Daylight obscured in the fog of our exhalation". The testaments pile up in the sunlit dusty room, arcane, obscure--paranoid, the currents drifting in history ignored in favor of green slimes crawling on the insides of the mind, the rot produced by (insert fav adjective here) society; just another day at the beach, watching each other carefully for signs of imperfection, the undertow of communication in the isolation. Gets to the point that there should have been a spark in all the connections, something in the way the car was parked, or a wrinkle out of place in the rumpled blankets on the bed, nothing shakes loose though, nothing occurs; maybe it was just a failure in the current observation, might be good to turn Hope over and kiss her ass, or wait for a messiah to start another crusade with poppies growing over the killing fields. What then when it stares directly into the eyes? The last wall of illusion crumbling away?
Another bedlam of words, another dusty testament, fraught with error, something to be tidied up, edited and collated, and placed carefully atop the pile, storage for another bit of poison, an act of muttering. Nothing more--even the loud voices are muted in the din; those that sing of greater things beyond the rim shouted down, and beaten with sticks. Something to answer the need, the throb and rhythms of another pestilence, a palanquin from which coins may be thrown into the streets to subdue the ennui, some fair tower from which to mock the dying city, and the fools marching in tidy rows against an onrushing tide of fire, umbrellas folded beneath their arms.
These learned fellows expect recompense, for that which survival demands, failing that they steal...
In the wake of faux tea party, the principles of Mr. Goebbels applied directly to the body politic, the Lie repeated often enough, it becomes increasingly difficult to untangle the truth from the web; and few in the weariness have the energy to try.
Tomorrow it all begins anew. The sturdy peasantry whipped into new frenzies of fear by the oligarchs, the promise of the old republic kindled in their hearts, the myth of "what was" scribed upon the tablets-- the voice of opposition seems plaintive, the whine of a chained dog, that which was the Law in another time, now, a favored toady, lost somewhere in the endless words its teeth pulled. Slowly the lie pulls on the populace, the honey in its tone as sweet as the devil's own words, insidious is transformed into spontaneous, hatred becomes love--the old song sung from the temple steps, the promises dipped in a sweet wine; words woven to suit the moment. The chained dog whimpers, sniffs the stale air; content with despair, the occasional bone tossed from the banquet table.
Come now! Should we not believe these promises? The nightmare from which we have recently emerged prove their worth. Slander, innuendo, torture, the bodies stacked in the city squares, the Lady clothed in oil and tossed into the sewer.
The question hanging in the air: "Are you revenged as yet?"--the years that slip into decades, the blood carried in buckets by the children at the behest of pudgy little men issuing directives to conceal the actual aims of their schemes. The false prophets permit hate, and promise power--they know that Adam is always innocent and full of desire. The prophet that counseled love as a harder road and that the meek shall inherit the world is put on a war horse and sent to slaughter all those who will not obey. "We are a Christian Nation!" they tell you, and the boys come home in caskets swelling the coffers of the rich--in truth they war upon the wretched and the poor, and preach to you the spreading of the truth, when behind the facade there is only the lie.
Time stands still in the new gospel, we do not walk from place to place, we do not climb the hill. It is always yesterday when we were better than we are; new words are uncrated to explain that what happened didn't really; or that the founders meant to say what they didn't really, and upon that we should all agree or be cast into the outer darkness. The minions of the dark lord counsel conciliation, reconstruction, peace, choice, the progress of the soul--nay nay nay they tell you, we must beat our plowshares into swords and wage war against such infidels as though their blood will expiate our sins. Happy we are in the Lord, yet who profits from our faith? Who is it, in fine clothes, who preaches the doctrine of the righteousness of the rich: has it not always been the priests who take the finest cuts of meat from the altar? Has the king not always paid handsomely for their smooth words?
It is not God who is the disease, but his servants, and they twist the words to serve their own pursuits. God becomes their lackey, and they sell him to the king. Uriah is put in the forefront of the battle, David puts on sackcloth and bows, and Bathsheba's son inherits the throne; with God's blessing.
You have only to open the book to look upon the future of their lies:
15 For behold, I will make you small among the nations,
despised among mankind.
16 The horror you inspire has deceived you,
and the pride of your heart,
you who live in the clefts of the rock,
who hold the height of the hill.
Though you make your nest as high as the eagle’s,
I will bring you down from there,
declares the LORD.
Jeremiah 49
****
Friday, March 27, 2009
The Rise of the Corporate State--Freedom Vs Equality
http://www.democracynow.org/2009/3/25/aig_and_the_big_takeover_matt
http://www.truthdig.com/report/item/20090318_perp_walks_instead_of_bonuses/
http://www.truthdig.com/report/item/20090401_no_more_refuge_for_scoundrels/
...and on and on ad nauseum. Unfettered capitalism run amok, as it always will do given human nature. Success defined as material gain, or the number dominated by the self. The argument itself governed by the trivial day to day minutiae of acquisition and control. Petty little men with loud voices screaming that the Republic is out of control when it was always so, and should remain so. On either side of the Sword rests the argument of Freedom vs Equality, both seek the good but are incompatible. How is it then that one side demonizes the other? Forsooth, Freedom is narcissistic, and equality coercive. But then, who looks at the bedrock, the foundation of things?--not so many it seems. A few dusty academics, a radical or two unconcerned with consequences, the always emerging dark side spreading like a shadow.
It should be obvious that neither side can be allowed to triumph, or that either side should be suppressed. No faith can be placed in the rule of men, yet the lessons of history teach us that the rule of law degenerates from the constant pressure of ambition. Each of us a tyrant, from order we seek chaos, and from chaos, order; and from each little corner of the empire dictators arise complete with orders for right behaviors and recipes for success, for us, for you, for me, for today--which passes quickly enough.
The age of the nation-state is on its last legs, technology and circumstance has presented ambition with a larger stage, sovereignty and self determination are no longer viable, more and more it will come to be realized that we are all in this together; that it is us and the world that matters, and not the petty ambitions of local demagogues fraught with narcissistic delusions, despite their area of expertise. Another hundred years or so? Give or take. A global constitution that takes the armies away from the pisspot little despots who are feeding the always miserable mob an endless line of bull, regardless once again of their area of expertise, be it real or perceived. It is all in all, who we allow to lead, and that is often a difficult choice, as we cannot know but only guess.
Is one tyranny worse than another? Shall we ask the dead? Which in due time will be ourselves,--I am this, or I am that, or I am virtuous and you are evil. I have noted, in my passage, that to be human is to fail at being Human, except in times of extreme crisis, odd moments when the underlying cause is love, take that how you will.
We fall away from the pursuit of the good, since all in all, we cannot seem to define it, torn as we are between humanism and religion, the spiritual and the material, the empty and the significant. How are we to choose, burdened as we are with existence? What is existence but choice, left or right/ How vain those choices when we have enough to eat, and how ruthless when we do not?
Foolish foolish men! squabbling like dogs over a pile of bones, when of all the creatures that have walked the Earth we are the first to have the capacity to distribute the bones equitably? What is it that gets in the way of all being fed, and clothed and sheltered? Perhaps in truth we are nearer to those dogs than we are to ourselves. Hard men walk among us killing things to raise themselves in their own regard, and it seems that is something we cannot expunge since they too are part of who we are. In the failure of Will civilizations are strangled in their own filth.
At the end of days--be it spiritual or biological--will we have been parasites or symbiotes, scavengers or caretakers? Is our legacy to be, I or we? Sounds simple enough but given the complexity one is faced with the stark realization that in due course all that we are, good and bad will be lost in a dry wind.
http://www.truthdig.com/report/item/20090318_perp_walks_instead_of_bonuses/
http://www.truthdig.com/report/item/20090401_no_more_refuge_for_scoundrels/
...and on and on ad nauseum. Unfettered capitalism run amok, as it always will do given human nature. Success defined as material gain, or the number dominated by the self. The argument itself governed by the trivial day to day minutiae of acquisition and control. Petty little men with loud voices screaming that the Republic is out of control when it was always so, and should remain so. On either side of the Sword rests the argument of Freedom vs Equality, both seek the good but are incompatible. How is it then that one side demonizes the other? Forsooth, Freedom is narcissistic, and equality coercive. But then, who looks at the bedrock, the foundation of things?--not so many it seems. A few dusty academics, a radical or two unconcerned with consequences, the always emerging dark side spreading like a shadow.
It should be obvious that neither side can be allowed to triumph, or that either side should be suppressed. No faith can be placed in the rule of men, yet the lessons of history teach us that the rule of law degenerates from the constant pressure of ambition. Each of us a tyrant, from order we seek chaos, and from chaos, order; and from each little corner of the empire dictators arise complete with orders for right behaviors and recipes for success, for us, for you, for me, for today--which passes quickly enough.
The age of the nation-state is on its last legs, technology and circumstance has presented ambition with a larger stage, sovereignty and self determination are no longer viable, more and more it will come to be realized that we are all in this together; that it is us and the world that matters, and not the petty ambitions of local demagogues fraught with narcissistic delusions, despite their area of expertise. Another hundred years or so? Give or take. A global constitution that takes the armies away from the pisspot little despots who are feeding the always miserable mob an endless line of bull, regardless once again of their area of expertise, be it real or perceived. It is all in all, who we allow to lead, and that is often a difficult choice, as we cannot know but only guess.
Is one tyranny worse than another? Shall we ask the dead? Which in due time will be ourselves,--I am this, or I am that, or I am virtuous and you are evil. I have noted, in my passage, that to be human is to fail at being Human, except in times of extreme crisis, odd moments when the underlying cause is love, take that how you will.
We fall away from the pursuit of the good, since all in all, we cannot seem to define it, torn as we are between humanism and religion, the spiritual and the material, the empty and the significant. How are we to choose, burdened as we are with existence? What is existence but choice, left or right/ How vain those choices when we have enough to eat, and how ruthless when we do not?
Foolish foolish men! squabbling like dogs over a pile of bones, when of all the creatures that have walked the Earth we are the first to have the capacity to distribute the bones equitably? What is it that gets in the way of all being fed, and clothed and sheltered? Perhaps in truth we are nearer to those dogs than we are to ourselves. Hard men walk among us killing things to raise themselves in their own regard, and it seems that is something we cannot expunge since they too are part of who we are. In the failure of Will civilizations are strangled in their own filth.
At the end of days--be it spiritual or biological--will we have been parasites or symbiotes, scavengers or caretakers? Is our legacy to be, I or we? Sounds simple enough but given the complexity one is faced with the stark realization that in due course all that we are, good and bad will be lost in a dry wind.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
The Philosophical Underpinnings of Conservative Thought
"To understand what is distinctive about today's Republican Party, you first need to know about an obscure and very conservative German political philosopher. His name, however, is not Leo Strauss, who has been widely cited as the intellectual guru of the Bush administration. It belongs, instead, to a lesser known, but in many ways more important, thinker named Carl Schmitt."
Proto-nazi dude. Advocated that the executive should proclaim a permanent state of emergency to rule without restraints---that politics should not be be regarded as dialogue or compromise, but rather as combat in which the opponent is to be destroyed. I have an idea that Karl Rove & John Yoo read him when they were impressionable young boys...
"Liberals think of politics as a means; conservatives as an end. Politics, for liberals, stops at the water's edge; for conservatives, politics never stops. Liberals think of conservatives as potential future allies; conservatives treat liberals as unworthy of recognition. Liberals believe that policies ought to be judged against an independent ideal such as human welfare or the greatest good for the greatest number; conservatives evaluate policies by whether they advance their conservative causes. Liberals instinctively want to dampen passions; conservatives are bent on inflaming them. Liberals think there is a third way between liberalism and conservatism; conservatives believe that anyone who is not a conservative is a liberal. Liberals want to put boundaries on the political by claiming that individuals have certain rights that no government can take away; conservatives argue that in cases of emergency -- conservatives always find cases of emergency -- the reach and capacity of the state cannot be challenged."
http://chronicle.com/cgi2-bin/printable.cgi?article=http://chronicle.com/free/v50/i30/30b01601.htm
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carl_Schmitt
The controversy over the Yoo Memorandums and the Influence of Schmitt---
http://balkin.blogspot.com/2005/11/return-of-carl-schmitt.html
Proto-nazi dude. Advocated that the executive should proclaim a permanent state of emergency to rule without restraints---that politics should not be be regarded as dialogue or compromise, but rather as combat in which the opponent is to be destroyed. I have an idea that Karl Rove & John Yoo read him when they were impressionable young boys...
"Liberals think of politics as a means; conservatives as an end. Politics, for liberals, stops at the water's edge; for conservatives, politics never stops. Liberals think of conservatives as potential future allies; conservatives treat liberals as unworthy of recognition. Liberals believe that policies ought to be judged against an independent ideal such as human welfare or the greatest good for the greatest number; conservatives evaluate policies by whether they advance their conservative causes. Liberals instinctively want to dampen passions; conservatives are bent on inflaming them. Liberals think there is a third way between liberalism and conservatism; conservatives believe that anyone who is not a conservative is a liberal. Liberals want to put boundaries on the political by claiming that individuals have certain rights that no government can take away; conservatives argue that in cases of emergency -- conservatives always find cases of emergency -- the reach and capacity of the state cannot be challenged."
http://chronicle.com/cgi2-bin/printable.cgi?article=http://chronicle.com/free/v50/i30/30b01601.htm
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carl_Schmitt
The controversy over the Yoo Memorandums and the Influence of Schmitt---
http://balkin.blogspot.com/2005/11/return-of-carl-schmitt.html
Friday, March 6, 2009
An open Letter To Glenn Beck
Dear Mr. Beck;
One notes your claim that you are a libertarian--
lib·er·tar·i·an
n.
1. One who advocates maximizing individual rights and minimizing the role of the state.
2. One who believes in free will.
"Hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at your side, kid."
"the belief that human behaviour is an expression of personal choice and is not determined by physical forces, Fate, or God," or Free Will.
Much of what you know is predicated upon that which you think you know, The Greeks defined that as Hubris--which is neither here nor there as you earn a living by preying on fear; another tool in the hands of the demagogues who would strip you of all that which you claim to hold so dear--and when it comes down to it what is that but the size of your bank account--the arbiter of your "safety".
"Tonight, America, here is what you need to know. We have got to make a choice. We are either capitalists or we`re not. We either believe in the free market system or we do not. We can`t play both sides."
::::::
Progressive Democrats instead favored a reserve system owned and operated by the government and out of control of the "money trust", ending Wall Street's control of American currency supply. Conservative Democrats fought for a privately owned, yet decentralized, reserve system, which would still be free of Wall Street's control. The Federal Reserve Act passed Congress in late 1913 on a mostly partisan basis, with most Democrats in support and most Republicans against it.
In 1999, the Financial Services Modernization Act overturned the Glass-Steagall Act of 1933. The Act effectively barred banks, brokerages and insurance companies from entering each others' industries, and separated investment banking and commercial banking. The law was enacted in response to revelations of gross corruption and manipulation of the market by giant banking houses that organized huge corporate mergers for their own profit, leading to the collapse of the stock market in 1929.
The Wall Street Journal celebrated the agreement to end such restrictions with an editorial declaring that the banks had been unfairly scapegoated for the Great Depression. The headline of one Journal article declared, "Finally, 1929 Begins to Fade."
::::
The unleashed and deregulated financial services sector boomed, bringing us the speculative boom that in turn gave us the temporary budget surplus of the late 1990s and the finance-led booms and busts since then. The hedge fund was not invented in the 1990s, but it was under Clinton that they were transformed into their modern form, with the Clinton White House cheerleading that transformation. In 1998, when the hedge fund, Long Term Capital Management, collapsed, leading to federal intervention, the president established the Working Group on Financial Markets. In February 2000, it concluded that hedge funds needed no regulation.
The General Welfare Clause
"Revolution of 1937."
Hughes prevailed on Roberts to desert the Conservative camp, swing over with him and join the three liberals in declaring the social security cases [Steward Machine Co. v. Davis (301 us 548, May 24, 1937)] Constitutional.[4] [P.56] This Roberts did, and by so doing, took the wind from the sails of the President's court packing plan. It went back to committee and died. one Administration official called the court's action, "the switch in time that saved nine."
This decision said in effect, Congress would no longer be held to enumerated powers but instead could tax and spend for anything; so long as it was for "general welfare."
But the words "General Welfare" in the introduction to the enumerated powers of Article I Section 8 were never intended to be an object for extension of the power to tax and spend; and up until the cases noted above, no court ever so averred.[Appx. 1]
The supreme court surrendered to the new deal on the most fundamental of constitutional issues. "it is scarcely conceivable that Chief Justice Hughes and Justice Roberts... were unaware of the political implications of their move. the President had lost a battle but won a war. In a remarkable series of decisions . ..the Court executed the most abrupt change of face in its entire history..."-
:::::::::::
...as tho the nation exists only in the moment of your latest adolescent eruption, that free market you prattle on about--is and always has been, manipulated to suit the needs of the few, not the many. Caesar, Crassus & Pompey--whose petty pauper are you--? Sweet swindles, as they divide the world; as if this nation you whine about actually exists--other than as a faction in the global chaos, and you a sop to the Mob milling about in the forum, Caesar's tame tribune spilling earnest lies.
Oh, how fierce your indignation, at these petty politicians with painted faces, puffing up the Senate steps, papers tucked under their arms, stuffed with peacock wings, and fine wine chilled in the Apennines, bought and paid for, their votes nothing more than an abject acquiesce to the highest bidder in the triumvirate.
Fool, to think your useless prattle matters to the rabid Mob that cares for little more than the next circus or the next sensation in the scheme of things.--
Heinlein:
For when the plebs discover that they can vote themselves bread and circuses without limit and that the productive members of the body politic cannot stop them, they will do so, until the state bleeds to death, or in its weakened condition the state succumbs to an invader--the barbarians enter Rome."
(To Sail Beyond the Sunset, 227)
The ebb and flow transcends the antiquated nation state; Caesar conquers Gaul to add to his coffers;--some years later Charles is crowned in Rome; just before Hamlet the Armada runs aground; new monsters roll across the Ardennes redefining the extent of the civilization, and today sit perched on desolate hilltops surveying a bleak landscape, the Last redoubt against the Beast; and you prattle on about "earmarks" which your master decides should be your latest diatribe to put coins in his basket.
BRUTUS
Be patient till the last.
Romans, countrymen, and lovers! hear me for my
cause, and be silent, that you may hear: believe me
for mine honour, and have respect to mine honour, that
you may believe: censure me in your wisdom, and
awake your senses, that you may the better judge.
If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of
Caesar's, to him I say, that Brutus' love to Caesar
was no less than his. If then that friend demand
why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer:
--Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved
Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were living and
die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live
all free men? As Caesar loved me, I weep for him;
as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was
valiant, I honour him: but, as he was ambitious, I
slew him.
ANTONY
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you Caesar was ambitious:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it.
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest--
For Brutus is an honourable man;
So are they all, all honourable men--
Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me:
But Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?
When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept:
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
:::::::::::::
What then, my friend? Honor or Ambition? How long will it be before the fables are allowed to die? What will you choose as your newest alcohol? How will you know the difference, in the prison of your delusions? Will you champion Sparta, or sleep with oligarchs in Athens? In the end it will not matter much, your lips pressed against the ass of your latest suitor; nor will you, as he strokes your hair, spinning the web of your newest despair; some new whimperings to delight the drunken mob.
Even so, such pretentious preaching will only serve the mob so long, its addled attention soon drawn off to some new atrocity, your mendacity nothing more than the graffiti scrawled upon the wall--the temple was profaned when Gilgamesh was just a boy, or when Achilles sulked in his tent as Agamemnon fondled Briseis as her father moaned to absent gods. Take your meager knowledge to the market to impress young girls--they are always wide eyed at the sight of Heroes, even when they do not know what they are:
from The Sixth Elegy
The hero is strangely close to those who died young. Lasting
doesn’t contain him. Being is his ascent: he moves on,
time and again, to enter the changed constellation
his risk entails. Few could find him there. But
Destiny, that darkly hides us, suddenly inspired,
sings him into the tempest of his onrushing world.
I hear no one like him. All at once I am pierced
by his darkened sound carried on streaming air.
Rilke
One notes your claim that you are a libertarian--
lib·er·tar·i·an
n.
1. One who advocates maximizing individual rights and minimizing the role of the state.
2. One who believes in free will.
"Hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at your side, kid."
"the belief that human behaviour is an expression of personal choice and is not determined by physical forces, Fate, or God," or Free Will.
Much of what you know is predicated upon that which you think you know, The Greeks defined that as Hubris--which is neither here nor there as you earn a living by preying on fear; another tool in the hands of the demagogues who would strip you of all that which you claim to hold so dear--and when it comes down to it what is that but the size of your bank account--the arbiter of your "safety".
"Tonight, America, here is what you need to know. We have got to make a choice. We are either capitalists or we`re not. We either believe in the free market system or we do not. We can`t play both sides."
::::::
Progressive Democrats instead favored a reserve system owned and operated by the government and out of control of the "money trust", ending Wall Street's control of American currency supply. Conservative Democrats fought for a privately owned, yet decentralized, reserve system, which would still be free of Wall Street's control. The Federal Reserve Act passed Congress in late 1913 on a mostly partisan basis, with most Democrats in support and most Republicans against it.
In 1999, the Financial Services Modernization Act overturned the Glass-Steagall Act of 1933. The Act effectively barred banks, brokerages and insurance companies from entering each others' industries, and separated investment banking and commercial banking. The law was enacted in response to revelations of gross corruption and manipulation of the market by giant banking houses that organized huge corporate mergers for their own profit, leading to the collapse of the stock market in 1929.
The Wall Street Journal celebrated the agreement to end such restrictions with an editorial declaring that the banks had been unfairly scapegoated for the Great Depression. The headline of one Journal article declared, "Finally, 1929 Begins to Fade."
::::
The unleashed and deregulated financial services sector boomed, bringing us the speculative boom that in turn gave us the temporary budget surplus of the late 1990s and the finance-led booms and busts since then. The hedge fund was not invented in the 1990s, but it was under Clinton that they were transformed into their modern form, with the Clinton White House cheerleading that transformation. In 1998, when the hedge fund, Long Term Capital Management, collapsed, leading to federal intervention, the president established the Working Group on Financial Markets. In February 2000, it concluded that hedge funds needed no regulation.
The General Welfare Clause
"Revolution of 1937."
Hughes prevailed on Roberts to desert the Conservative camp, swing over with him and join the three liberals in declaring the social security cases [Steward Machine Co. v. Davis (301 us 548, May 24, 1937)] Constitutional.[4] [P.56] This Roberts did, and by so doing, took the wind from the sails of the President's court packing plan. It went back to committee and died. one Administration official called the court's action, "the switch in time that saved nine."
This decision said in effect, Congress would no longer be held to enumerated powers but instead could tax and spend for anything; so long as it was for "general welfare."
But the words "General Welfare" in the introduction to the enumerated powers of Article I Section 8 were never intended to be an object for extension of the power to tax and spend; and up until the cases noted above, no court ever so averred.[Appx. 1]
The supreme court surrendered to the new deal on the most fundamental of constitutional issues. "it is scarcely conceivable that Chief Justice Hughes and Justice Roberts... were unaware of the political implications of their move. the President had lost a battle but won a war. In a remarkable series of decisions . ..the Court executed the most abrupt change of face in its entire history..."-
:::::::::::
...as tho the nation exists only in the moment of your latest adolescent eruption, that free market you prattle on about--is and always has been, manipulated to suit the needs of the few, not the many. Caesar, Crassus & Pompey--whose petty pauper are you--? Sweet swindles, as they divide the world; as if this nation you whine about actually exists--other than as a faction in the global chaos, and you a sop to the Mob milling about in the forum, Caesar's tame tribune spilling earnest lies.
Oh, how fierce your indignation, at these petty politicians with painted faces, puffing up the Senate steps, papers tucked under their arms, stuffed with peacock wings, and fine wine chilled in the Apennines, bought and paid for, their votes nothing more than an abject acquiesce to the highest bidder in the triumvirate.
Fool, to think your useless prattle matters to the rabid Mob that cares for little more than the next circus or the next sensation in the scheme of things.--
Heinlein:
For when the plebs discover that they can vote themselves bread and circuses without limit and that the productive members of the body politic cannot stop them, they will do so, until the state bleeds to death, or in its weakened condition the state succumbs to an invader--the barbarians enter Rome."
(To Sail Beyond the Sunset, 227)
The ebb and flow transcends the antiquated nation state; Caesar conquers Gaul to add to his coffers;--some years later Charles is crowned in Rome; just before Hamlet the Armada runs aground; new monsters roll across the Ardennes redefining the extent of the civilization, and today sit perched on desolate hilltops surveying a bleak landscape, the Last redoubt against the Beast; and you prattle on about "earmarks" which your master decides should be your latest diatribe to put coins in his basket.
BRUTUS
Be patient till the last.
Romans, countrymen, and lovers! hear me for my
cause, and be silent, that you may hear: believe me
for mine honour, and have respect to mine honour, that
you may believe: censure me in your wisdom, and
awake your senses, that you may the better judge.
If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of
Caesar's, to him I say, that Brutus' love to Caesar
was no less than his. If then that friend demand
why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer:
--Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved
Rome more. Had you rather Caesar were living and
die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live
all free men? As Caesar loved me, I weep for him;
as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was
valiant, I honour him: but, as he was ambitious, I
slew him.
ANTONY
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you Caesar was ambitious:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it.
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest--
For Brutus is an honourable man;
So are they all, all honourable men--
Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me:
But Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?
When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept:
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
:::::::::::::
What then, my friend? Honor or Ambition? How long will it be before the fables are allowed to die? What will you choose as your newest alcohol? How will you know the difference, in the prison of your delusions? Will you champion Sparta, or sleep with oligarchs in Athens? In the end it will not matter much, your lips pressed against the ass of your latest suitor; nor will you, as he strokes your hair, spinning the web of your newest despair; some new whimperings to delight the drunken mob.
Even so, such pretentious preaching will only serve the mob so long, its addled attention soon drawn off to some new atrocity, your mendacity nothing more than the graffiti scrawled upon the wall--the temple was profaned when Gilgamesh was just a boy, or when Achilles sulked in his tent as Agamemnon fondled Briseis as her father moaned to absent gods. Take your meager knowledge to the market to impress young girls--they are always wide eyed at the sight of Heroes, even when they do not know what they are:
from The Sixth Elegy
The hero is strangely close to those who died young. Lasting
doesn’t contain him. Being is his ascent: he moves on,
time and again, to enter the changed constellation
his risk entails. Few could find him there. But
Destiny, that darkly hides us, suddenly inspired,
sings him into the tempest of his onrushing world.
I hear no one like him. All at once I am pierced
by his darkened sound carried on streaming air.
Rilke
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Rove has studied his Orwell and understands that "who controls the past, controls the future."
That's why we saw Rove lambasting Obama's budget deficit, conveniently skipping over the nearly $1.6 trillion added to the deficit by the administration he helped guide. Not one word about the role the massive tax cuts for the rich he championed played in creating the current economic crisis. Not a peep about the deregulation of Wall Street he held so dear.
Indeed, he tried to lay the Bush administration's fiscal legacy at the feet of "two wars, 9/11, and a recession handed to us by the previous administration."
CRAMER: Welcome to the U.S.S.A. In the worst bear market since the Great Depression, we have a president and a Bolshevik -- Democratic Congress that seems oblivious to the rampant wealth destruction that's being caused by their agenda. Or maybe they know and they don't care. Either way, it's important that you Obama-proof your portfolio, or at least make it Obama-resistant, because we know he has both the power and the will to crush entire sectors. Everything from health care to oil and gas to the defense contractors. As if dealing with this garden-variety depression wasn't enough, now you need to protect your money from the expropriator-in-chief.
Limbaugh:
We [conservatives] love and revere our founding documents, the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence. We believe that the preamble to the Constitution contains an inarguable truth that we are all endowed by our creator with certain inalienable rights, among them life, Liberty, Freedom. And the pursuit of happiness. Those of you watching at home may wonder why this is being applauded. We conservatives think all three are under assault.
:::::::::::
These Yahoos, and their masters, will indeed do everything within their power to insure that progressive programs fail. The downward spiral will not affect those with the wherewithal to withstand it, the inconvenience, the strong survive, despite their lip service to creationism--their only allegiance is to god, and he is green and looks a lot like George Washington, at least till he tanks and they are forced to convert to a more stable commodity. When we come out the other side, they will be covered in shit, but firmly in control, and all they need to do is sit on their hands as the largesse is thrown at them.
Capitalists are amoral they have no idealogy, other than that which they can buy, or sell. It could be said that most Americans are capitalists, large or small--the almighty buck has been in charge for a long time.
:::::
:::"Republic: Form of government in which a state is ruled by representatives elected by its populace. The term was originally applied to a form of government in which the leader is periodically appointed under a constitution; it was contrasted with governments in which leadership is hereditary. A republic may also be distinguished from direct democracy, though modern representative democracies are by and large republics."
:::"Democracy: democracy [Gr.,=rule of the people], term originating in ancient Greece to designate a government where the people share in directing the activities of the state, as distinct from governments controlled by a single class, select group, or autocrat. The definition of democracy has been expanded, however, to describe a philosophy that insists on the right and the capacity of a people, acting either directly or through representatives, to control their institutions for their own purposes. Such a philosophy places a high value on the equality of individuals and would free people as far as possible from restraints not self-imposed. It insists that necessary restraints be imposed only by the consent of the majority and that they conform to the principle of equality.":::
:::::
Therein lies the basic division between the Democratic & Republican parties. The former tends to the egalitarian & the latter towards the creation of a ruling class.
One may immediately see that the system in the United States tends to give the Republican viewpoint an advantage in that the structure set up by the Constitution favors a representative government; which over time has fostered a ruling elite regardless of party affiliation.
A second division lies in the approach to the redistribution of wealth. Broadly, the republicans favor the wealth remaining in the hands of the few, postulating that they can be trusted to redistribute it for the benefit of all, while the democrats favor the idea that the government should be trusted to redistribute it equitably. Both viewpoints seem inevitably flawed--and indeed the major dilemma of government in the US is just what to do with the money, a wheelbarrow full for this, a truckload for that; or the reverse should you belong to the opposition.
At the present time--we are on course for a civil war & a great depression combined over this very issue, the republican partnership with the corporation or the democratic distrust of the corporation. One leads to a fascist symbiosis, the other to a socialist state. For the most part, America waffles between the two, unable to choose--Teddy Roosevelt went after the big trusts in the early part of the last century, and Franklin instituted the "New Deal"--it should be noted that Teddy got tossed out of the Republican party, and that Franklin changed the role of US government irrevocably--as the republicans are only now beginning to realize.
What the Founders understood was that no-one is to be trusted, not individuals, not companies, not religious institutions, and not the arms of the government they themselves were setting up, and they therefore set everyone against everyone in a perpetual free-for-all that would continue as long as the Constitution itself was the final determining factor, and because of the faction inherent in the system the constitution would endure because no-one could afford to set it aside.
At least not yet--as the this last most recent attack upon it has shown.
That's why we saw Rove lambasting Obama's budget deficit, conveniently skipping over the nearly $1.6 trillion added to the deficit by the administration he helped guide. Not one word about the role the massive tax cuts for the rich he championed played in creating the current economic crisis. Not a peep about the deregulation of Wall Street he held so dear.
Indeed, he tried to lay the Bush administration's fiscal legacy at the feet of "two wars, 9/11, and a recession handed to us by the previous administration."
CRAMER: Welcome to the U.S.S.A. In the worst bear market since the Great Depression, we have a president and a Bolshevik -- Democratic Congress that seems oblivious to the rampant wealth destruction that's being caused by their agenda. Or maybe they know and they don't care. Either way, it's important that you Obama-proof your portfolio, or at least make it Obama-resistant, because we know he has both the power and the will to crush entire sectors. Everything from health care to oil and gas to the defense contractors. As if dealing with this garden-variety depression wasn't enough, now you need to protect your money from the expropriator-in-chief.
Limbaugh:
We [conservatives] love and revere our founding documents, the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence. We believe that the preamble to the Constitution contains an inarguable truth that we are all endowed by our creator with certain inalienable rights, among them life, Liberty, Freedom. And the pursuit of happiness. Those of you watching at home may wonder why this is being applauded. We conservatives think all three are under assault.
:::::::::::
These Yahoos, and their masters, will indeed do everything within their power to insure that progressive programs fail. The downward spiral will not affect those with the wherewithal to withstand it, the inconvenience, the strong survive, despite their lip service to creationism--their only allegiance is to god, and he is green and looks a lot like George Washington, at least till he tanks and they are forced to convert to a more stable commodity. When we come out the other side, they will be covered in shit, but firmly in control, and all they need to do is sit on their hands as the largesse is thrown at them.
Capitalists are amoral they have no idealogy, other than that which they can buy, or sell. It could be said that most Americans are capitalists, large or small--the almighty buck has been in charge for a long time.
:::::
:::"Republic: Form of government in which a state is ruled by representatives elected by its populace. The term was originally applied to a form of government in which the leader is periodically appointed under a constitution; it was contrasted with governments in which leadership is hereditary. A republic may also be distinguished from direct democracy, though modern representative democracies are by and large republics."
:::"Democracy: democracy [Gr.,=rule of the people], term originating in ancient Greece to designate a government where the people share in directing the activities of the state, as distinct from governments controlled by a single class, select group, or autocrat. The definition of democracy has been expanded, however, to describe a philosophy that insists on the right and the capacity of a people, acting either directly or through representatives, to control their institutions for their own purposes. Such a philosophy places a high value on the equality of individuals and would free people as far as possible from restraints not self-imposed. It insists that necessary restraints be imposed only by the consent of the majority and that they conform to the principle of equality.":::
:::::
Therein lies the basic division between the Democratic & Republican parties. The former tends to the egalitarian & the latter towards the creation of a ruling class.
One may immediately see that the system in the United States tends to give the Republican viewpoint an advantage in that the structure set up by the Constitution favors a representative government; which over time has fostered a ruling elite regardless of party affiliation.
A second division lies in the approach to the redistribution of wealth. Broadly, the republicans favor the wealth remaining in the hands of the few, postulating that they can be trusted to redistribute it for the benefit of all, while the democrats favor the idea that the government should be trusted to redistribute it equitably. Both viewpoints seem inevitably flawed--and indeed the major dilemma of government in the US is just what to do with the money, a wheelbarrow full for this, a truckload for that; or the reverse should you belong to the opposition.
At the present time--we are on course for a civil war & a great depression combined over this very issue, the republican partnership with the corporation or the democratic distrust of the corporation. One leads to a fascist symbiosis, the other to a socialist state. For the most part, America waffles between the two, unable to choose--Teddy Roosevelt went after the big trusts in the early part of the last century, and Franklin instituted the "New Deal"--it should be noted that Teddy got tossed out of the Republican party, and that Franklin changed the role of US government irrevocably--as the republicans are only now beginning to realize.
What the Founders understood was that no-one is to be trusted, not individuals, not companies, not religious institutions, and not the arms of the government they themselves were setting up, and they therefore set everyone against everyone in a perpetual free-for-all that would continue as long as the Constitution itself was the final determining factor, and because of the faction inherent in the system the constitution would endure because no-one could afford to set it aside.
At least not yet--as the this last most recent attack upon it has shown.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Cartoon Figures---
"What Orwell feared were those who would ban books. What Huxley feared was that there would be no reason to ban a book, for there would be no one who wanted to read one. Orwell feared those who would deprive us of information. Huxley feared those who would give us so much that we would be reduced to passivity and egoism. Orwell feared that the truth would be concealed from us. Huxley feared the truth would be drowned in a sea of irrelevance. Orwell feared we would become a captive culture. Huxley feared we would become a trivial culture, preoccupied with some equivalent of the feelies, the orgy porgy, and the centrifugal bumblepuppy. As Huxley remarked in Brave New World Revisited, the civil libertarians and rationalists who are ever on the alert to oppose tyranny "failed to take into account man's almost infinite appetite for distractions." In 1984, Orwell added, people are controlled by inflicting pain. In Brave New World, they are controlled by inflicting pleasure. In short, Orwell feared that what we fear will ruin us. Huxley feared that what we desire will ruin us."
--Neil Postman;"Amusing Ourselves to Death;"1985.
::::
We have a national spotlight, rather more like a searchlight really, it is constantly on swinging to and fro, examining, scrutinizing--a long litany of ills can be attributed to it, from 'Triumph of the Will' to the latest "Joe the plumber". It would seem that even with the best of intentions, the reduction of three dimensions to two creates a separate reality that necessarily subtracts from an essential humanity.
Broadly, the problem is not the not realbut rather the idea of an almost real; that is the spill over, the inability to distinguish between realities, that of fact, and that of illusion.
It would be necessary for this discussion to note that we are not dealing here with literature or cinema, which though pertinent to the argument in the larger sense, do not deal with the flow of information necessary to decisions which should be based on accuracy. What we receive is filtered, shaded, even suppressed, and of course manipulated to fit the needs of the searchlight which feeds on conflict. We are served personality, which is more easily digested than numbers, and drama, which is more entertaining than the gritty theory which the numbers are fed into--
Capital must create more capital; inevitably, it seems to flow inward, becoming ever more concentrated, thus the outlets for the control of information must also constrict to perpetuate and protect the system. It might be noted, that the only industry that seems immune to the boom and bust inherent in the capitalist model is the entertainment business, it has no top end, no saturation point, money can be continually pumped into it with relative security as regards the possibility of loss. It is not surprising then that actual News is on the decline; it has become irrelevant, devoid of the necessary angst, unprofitable. Unless packaged adroitly, it is a distraction from the real purpose, the manufacture of profitable personality which a potential viewer will "invest" time in.
Thus, what is said is subordinate to who says it. Who trusts the sayer, and who does not becomes that sayers demographic--the larger the demographic the more valuable the sayer: regardless of the veracity of what is said.
A person who wishes to know, rather than just be fed, must stumble through the forest blindly, hoping to fall into something of value. Opinions from one side of the aisle or the other have little validity as they reflect only the interest of the corporate entity promoting them. It is not easy to escape from Motive, be it monetary or more nakedly in the Will to Power.
The power to know is dangerous; and an actual ability to know anything in the morass of misinformation is nearly impossible; and will in the course of time become even more so, the casualty is history which can no distinguish what actually happened, from what was said to have happened.
--Neil Postman;"Amusing Ourselves to Death;"1985.
::::
We have a national spotlight, rather more like a searchlight really, it is constantly on swinging to and fro, examining, scrutinizing--a long litany of ills can be attributed to it, from 'Triumph of the Will' to the latest "Joe the plumber". It would seem that even with the best of intentions, the reduction of three dimensions to two creates a separate reality that necessarily subtracts from an essential humanity.
Broadly, the problem is not the not realbut rather the idea of an almost real; that is the spill over, the inability to distinguish between realities, that of fact, and that of illusion.
It would be necessary for this discussion to note that we are not dealing here with literature or cinema, which though pertinent to the argument in the larger sense, do not deal with the flow of information necessary to decisions which should be based on accuracy. What we receive is filtered, shaded, even suppressed, and of course manipulated to fit the needs of the searchlight which feeds on conflict. We are served personality, which is more easily digested than numbers, and drama, which is more entertaining than the gritty theory which the numbers are fed into--
Capital must create more capital; inevitably, it seems to flow inward, becoming ever more concentrated, thus the outlets for the control of information must also constrict to perpetuate and protect the system. It might be noted, that the only industry that seems immune to the boom and bust inherent in the capitalist model is the entertainment business, it has no top end, no saturation point, money can be continually pumped into it with relative security as regards the possibility of loss. It is not surprising then that actual News is on the decline; it has become irrelevant, devoid of the necessary angst, unprofitable. Unless packaged adroitly, it is a distraction from the real purpose, the manufacture of profitable personality which a potential viewer will "invest" time in.
Thus, what is said is subordinate to who says it. Who trusts the sayer, and who does not becomes that sayers demographic--the larger the demographic the more valuable the sayer: regardless of the veracity of what is said.
A person who wishes to know, rather than just be fed, must stumble through the forest blindly, hoping to fall into something of value. Opinions from one side of the aisle or the other have little validity as they reflect only the interest of the corporate entity promoting them. It is not easy to escape from Motive, be it monetary or more nakedly in the Will to Power.
The power to know is dangerous; and an actual ability to know anything in the morass of misinformation is nearly impossible; and will in the course of time become even more so, the casualty is history which can no distinguish what actually happened, from what was said to have happened.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Further adventures in Quantum Poetics.
it was unsaid, walking into the cave
pale, skinny chest puffed out, regulated.
not here not here in the rat's lair the sound
of dripping water upon ear, Antigone's
dried bones rattling in the dark. A quorum,
sharp teeth sunk in wet loins while the shadows\
look on, an aperitif of flesh, lustrous
in gloom. Those skulls were heroes once, maidens
with soft breasts, old men with bent canes, crones. Chill
between slick thighs will be licked off, back pressed
against wall knees high, rain is only a note
in the song; brittle limbs broken in time
the incessant drip the sun that neither
rises nor falls in eyes that are not here.
pale, skinny chest puffed out, regulated.
not here not here in the rat's lair the sound
of dripping water upon ear, Antigone's
dried bones rattling in the dark. A quorum,
sharp teeth sunk in wet loins while the shadows\
look on, an aperitif of flesh, lustrous
in gloom. Those skulls were heroes once, maidens
with soft breasts, old men with bent canes, crones. Chill
between slick thighs will be licked off, back pressed
against wall knees high, rain is only a note
in the song; brittle limbs broken in time
the incessant drip the sun that neither
rises nor falls in eyes that are not here.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
On the Nature Of Certainty
In this very uncertain world, there are an awful of people who are certain of things. This is that, or that is this, or this is diametrically opposed to that. Despite all we know, we really know very little. How to put our pants on maybe. Friend of mine once related a tale to me: seems he was an artillery man in Nam, and he was sleeping one night when his base came under attack--he allowed that he was fully dressed and on his way to his post ten seconds after the first shell hit, never asked him if he tied his boots, passed on now, shoddy work of the VA carried him away--yeh, but in times of stress I guess we know how to put on our pants.
We are entering a brave new world; how may we certain that this theory is any better than the one it debunks? How long will it be before the parameters change; the stars shift?
No, it doesn't matter what theory, we have theories for everything--the computers leave us with a range of probabilities and we just rearrange the facts to fit the current condition, or at least as many of the facts as we can fit into an incomplete and fragmentary picture.--watching the detectives, they often say, "it's all we got to go on--sanitized for public viewing they never smoke anymore--another subtle hint for acceptable behavior, another subject--
One recalls reading the Foundation trilogy--Hari Selden's invention of Psychohistory, and the second Foundation's refinement of the data over a millennium--the project's purpose, of course, was to predict the the future history of the Galactic Empire through the movement of a vast number of people. Even so, the data was incomplete, errors could occur...
Our confrontation today, well, at least mine--is with Economics, Politics & Art, specifically poetry; and I for one, know so little about them that it would be best if I just crawled back in the cave and pulled the bearskin over my head. I should note here, that it would have been my step-dad that killed that bear, if I were confronted by such a fearsome beast, I fear the outcome would be somewhat different.
Through the good graces of our various magic boxes we are indeed bombarded each day with certainties,--yet those same certainties have led us to the brink of Armageddon rather than the steps to the gates of Eden. Something has gone awry. It would seem the experts know more than they are telling us, or they know very little at all.
"No, that's not what I meant at all, I was not sure of things, and really, it just seemed to be that be that way, at the time."
When I was a boy, over in Dogtown, I'd go up to old Earl's and listen to the old men sitting around the Burnside, spitting, telling lies and cussing the politicians. They'd all been union men, democrats and John L. Lewis was a god--one of Grandpa's favorite stories was the time he'd met John L. up in Brownton when the union was first getting going, "shook his hand," he'd always say. They was certain of God, though they weren't very good Christians, certain of the union, punching the chicken on the ballot, and damned certain every politician that had ever been born was going to pick your pocket. Back then, having only one tv channel, and having Uncle Pete as both news anchor and kiddie show host wasn't quite enough to affect the way you behaved; so I hung out with them old guys and probably learned a lot of things I shouldn't have. I suppose, through everything because of that, I have a few certainties of my own deep down inside, one's you might say as I keep for my own.
"There's nothing better that 250 mics of good acid to kick start the cosmic coonhunt for Enlightenment. It takes juice. After all sonny boy, you don't knock down stars with a bee bee gun."
-- Mad Dog Howard, Hippie Doper/Philosopher
http://www.joebageant.com/joe/
Yeh, all that was later on, something about it--where you came to a rockhard place that you knew you were going to and the Great Game was laid bare. Kinda pointless here, to try and illuminate the motel rooms, the neon, the flimsy walls and the animals--but it was what it was at the time: The whole damn world as a charnel house; everything bleeding & breeding and dying--ancient visions now, and prophesies that saw way down deep at the seams of things. I looked at the Nature of things and who we are, and was amazed at the veneer which we use to cover it up. That is another certainty which came along; I suppose if I could translate it, it might be helpful, but I reckon that particular certainty can't be taught or bought or stole.
It was round about that time, I decided I was going to be a poet--Dave's fault really, he wrote about the wheel of life in a little poem, and I was astounded, got lost in a fever from which I have never escaped, and have been lost in the uncertainty of certainty ever since. Damndest thing about it is, you have to learn all this stuff, (damn near everything) just so you can write about that which you cannot know; and that's the easy part. Damn silly thing to want to be in the first place--quite vogue these days; the net is crawling with "poets". There are some commitments you can't escape, yet all the wanting in the world won't make you what you want to be; that may or may not come along after you are gone, and by then I don't suppose it will matter much, now will it. Turns out, I was never much good at making a living anyways so it was just as well I wrote things down. Point is--I was certain that is what I wanted to be, since nothing else made any sense; everything I learned from that point on had no practical purpose, it was simply grist for the mill, stuff to be sifted through for the next poem.
Whatever other certainties I acquired, I applied to that. Studied philosophy from Thales to Sartre, dumped most because the next one proved the last one wrong, History from the Nile Valley to the second world war, literature from Homer to Ginsburg. Came away from that with a few things--Birth death rebirth, the absurd, and the dialectic--which seemed reasonable to me. I rejected the formal, preferring instead to see in each finished poem a form. To me the formal structures lacked weight, they determined, not allowed. (many consider a mastery of the forms as liberating, but that is not my view.)At any rate, I determined that I would find my own way through the maze; and that is not so easy as it sounds; everything you read sends you to the next one you will read and certainty about anything retreats ever further away.--Nowadays, and I suppose it was always true, though I cannot be certain of this--most folks will have you do something in one particular fashion; because it is their way, and therefore it is the correct way. Put the square a sixteenth of an inch longer than it should be, and maybe it will come out right, whatever it is, it's a feel for the the thing that matters and that's something you can't be certain of no matter how sure you are that you got it right.
We are entering a brave new world; how may we certain that this theory is any better than the one it debunks? How long will it be before the parameters change; the stars shift?
No, it doesn't matter what theory, we have theories for everything--the computers leave us with a range of probabilities and we just rearrange the facts to fit the current condition, or at least as many of the facts as we can fit into an incomplete and fragmentary picture.--watching the detectives, they often say, "it's all we got to go on--sanitized for public viewing they never smoke anymore--another subtle hint for acceptable behavior, another subject--
One recalls reading the Foundation trilogy--Hari Selden's invention of Psychohistory, and the second Foundation's refinement of the data over a millennium--the project's purpose, of course, was to predict the the future history of the Galactic Empire through the movement of a vast number of people. Even so, the data was incomplete, errors could occur...
Our confrontation today, well, at least mine--is with Economics, Politics & Art, specifically poetry; and I for one, know so little about them that it would be best if I just crawled back in the cave and pulled the bearskin over my head. I should note here, that it would have been my step-dad that killed that bear, if I were confronted by such a fearsome beast, I fear the outcome would be somewhat different.
Through the good graces of our various magic boxes we are indeed bombarded each day with certainties,--yet those same certainties have led us to the brink of Armageddon rather than the steps to the gates of Eden. Something has gone awry. It would seem the experts know more than they are telling us, or they know very little at all.
"No, that's not what I meant at all, I was not sure of things, and really, it just seemed to be that be that way, at the time."
When I was a boy, over in Dogtown, I'd go up to old Earl's and listen to the old men sitting around the Burnside, spitting, telling lies and cussing the politicians. They'd all been union men, democrats and John L. Lewis was a god--one of Grandpa's favorite stories was the time he'd met John L. up in Brownton when the union was first getting going, "shook his hand," he'd always say. They was certain of God, though they weren't very good Christians, certain of the union, punching the chicken on the ballot, and damned certain every politician that had ever been born was going to pick your pocket. Back then, having only one tv channel, and having Uncle Pete as both news anchor and kiddie show host wasn't quite enough to affect the way you behaved; so I hung out with them old guys and probably learned a lot of things I shouldn't have. I suppose, through everything because of that, I have a few certainties of my own deep down inside, one's you might say as I keep for my own.
"There's nothing better that 250 mics of good acid to kick start the cosmic coonhunt for Enlightenment. It takes juice. After all sonny boy, you don't knock down stars with a bee bee gun."
-- Mad Dog Howard, Hippie Doper/Philosopher
http://www.joebageant.com/joe/
Yeh, all that was later on, something about it--where you came to a rockhard place that you knew you were going to and the Great Game was laid bare. Kinda pointless here, to try and illuminate the motel rooms, the neon, the flimsy walls and the animals--but it was what it was at the time: The whole damn world as a charnel house; everything bleeding & breeding and dying--ancient visions now, and prophesies that saw way down deep at the seams of things. I looked at the Nature of things and who we are, and was amazed at the veneer which we use to cover it up. That is another certainty which came along; I suppose if I could translate it, it might be helpful, but I reckon that particular certainty can't be taught or bought or stole.
It was round about that time, I decided I was going to be a poet--Dave's fault really, he wrote about the wheel of life in a little poem, and I was astounded, got lost in a fever from which I have never escaped, and have been lost in the uncertainty of certainty ever since. Damndest thing about it is, you have to learn all this stuff, (damn near everything) just so you can write about that which you cannot know; and that's the easy part. Damn silly thing to want to be in the first place--quite vogue these days; the net is crawling with "poets". There are some commitments you can't escape, yet all the wanting in the world won't make you what you want to be; that may or may not come along after you are gone, and by then I don't suppose it will matter much, now will it. Turns out, I was never much good at making a living anyways so it was just as well I wrote things down. Point is--I was certain that is what I wanted to be, since nothing else made any sense; everything I learned from that point on had no practical purpose, it was simply grist for the mill, stuff to be sifted through for the next poem.
Whatever other certainties I acquired, I applied to that. Studied philosophy from Thales to Sartre, dumped most because the next one proved the last one wrong, History from the Nile Valley to the second world war, literature from Homer to Ginsburg. Came away from that with a few things--Birth death rebirth, the absurd, and the dialectic--which seemed reasonable to me. I rejected the formal, preferring instead to see in each finished poem a form. To me the formal structures lacked weight, they determined, not allowed. (many consider a mastery of the forms as liberating, but that is not my view.)At any rate, I determined that I would find my own way through the maze; and that is not so easy as it sounds; everything you read sends you to the next one you will read and certainty about anything retreats ever further away.--Nowadays, and I suppose it was always true, though I cannot be certain of this--most folks will have you do something in one particular fashion; because it is their way, and therefore it is the correct way. Put the square a sixteenth of an inch longer than it should be, and maybe it will come out right, whatever it is, it's a feel for the the thing that matters and that's something you can't be certain of no matter how sure you are that you got it right.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
The Case for a Fascist society
It seems to me a natural outgrowth of declining Imperium. A loss of control sociologically combined with the most powerful armed force ever known on the planet, and an economy on the verge of complete collapse--makes for a compelling scenario...
We note some differences in the modern Fascism of the Repukes and Neo-Cons--
The first is the largely Jewish makeup of the shadow leadership of the movement: although I am perplexed over whether that has any material relationship to the actual events which seem to be transpiring. Guess that will have to be left to the more paranoid of the conspiracy theorists; they could just as well be Baptists, Presbyterians--more about preserving an aggressive foothold in the Middle East than any thing else, I suppose.
The second is "the use of "champions of law, order, Christian morality, and the sanctity of private property" as ploys rather than principles--as a means to power, propaganda to advance the merger of economics & politics.
the third and most important point where they diverge is in the emergence of "The Leader" principle, until that transpires, that is, until they find a Charismatic leader they cannot move forward. Everything in the Fascist State must revolve around a leader, Fascism cannot function by committee.
________________________________________________________________________________
"Forerunners of fascism, such as Georges Boulanger in France and Adolf Stöker and Karl Lueger in Germany and Austria, in their efforts to gain political power played on people's fears of revolution with its subsequent chaos, anarchy, and general insecurity. They appealed to nationalist sentiments and prejudices, exploited anti-Semitism, and portrayed themselves as champions of law, order, Christian morality, and the sanctity of private property."
"The greatest principle of all is that nobody, whether male or female, should be without a leader. Nor should the mind of anybody be habituated to letting him do anything at all of his own initiative; neither out of zeal, nor even playfully. But in war and in the midst of peace - to his leader he shall direct his eye and follow him faithfully. And even in the smallest matter he should stand under leadership. For example, he should get up, or move, or wash, or take his meals . . only if he has been told to do so, by long habit, never to dream of acting independently, and to become utterly incapable of it."
-Karl R. Popper, The Open Society and Its Enemies, Vol I The Spell of Plato, London, Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1969, p. 7
* "The Cult of Tradition", combining cultural syncretism with a rejection of modernism (often disguised as a rejection of capitalism).
* "The Cult of Action for Action's Sake", which dictates that action is of value in itself, and should be taken without intellectual reflection. This, says Eco, is connected with anti-intellectualism and irrationalism, and often manifests in attacks on modern culture and science.
* "Disagreement is Treason" - fascism devalues intellectual discourse and critical reasoning as barriers to action.
* "Fear of Difference", which fascism seeks to exploit and exacerbate, often in the form of racism or an appeal against foreigners and immigrants.
* "Appeal to a Frustrated Middle Class", fearing economic pressure from the demands and aspirations of lower social groups.
* "Obsession With a plot" and the hyping-up of an enemy threat. This often involves an appeal to xenophobia or the identification of an internal security threat. He cites Pat Robertson's book The New World Order as a prominent example of a plot obsession.
* "Pacifism is Trafficking With the Enemy" because "Life is Permanent Warfare" - there must always be an enemy to fight.
* "Contempt for the Weak" - although a fascist society is elitist, everybody in the society is educated to become a hero.
* "Selective Populism" - the People have a common will, which is not delegated but interpreted by a leader. This may involve doubt being cast upon a democratic institution, because "it no longer represents the Voice of the People".
* "Newspeak" - fascism employs and promotes an impoverished vocabulary in order to limit critical reasoning.
Umberto Eco; Essay, "Eternal fascism;" 1995
Thus, the Communist Third International published the following definition:
“ Fascism in power is the open, terroristic dictatorship of the most reactionary, the most chauvinistic, the most imperialistic elements of finance capitalism.
The historic function of fascism is to smash the working class, destroy its organizations, and stifle political liberties when the capitalists find themselves unable to govern and dominate with the help of democratic machinery. ”
— Leon Trotsky, Fascism: What it is and how to fight it
1. Right Wing: Fascists are fervently against: Marxism, Socialism, Anarchism, Communism, Environmentalism; etc – in essence, they are against the progressive left in total, including moderate lefts (social democrats, etc). Fascism is an extreme right wing ideology, though it can be opportunistic.
2. Nationalism: Fascism places a very strong emphasis on patriotism and nationalism. Criticism of the nation's main ideals, especially war, is lambasted as unpatriotic at best, and treason at worst. State propaganda consistently broadcasts threats of attack, while justifying pre-emptive war. Fascism invariably seeks to instill in its people the warrior mentality: to always be vigilant, wary of strangers and suspicious of foreigners.
3. Hierarchy: Fascist society is ruled by a righteous leader, who is supported by an elite secret vanguard of capitalists. Hierarchy is prevalent throughout all aspects of society – every street, every workplace, every school, will have its local Hitler, part police-informer, part bureaucrat – and society is prepared for war at all times. The absolute power of the social hierarchy prevails over everything, and thus a totalitarian society is formed. Representative government is acceptable only if it can be controlled and regulated, direct democracy (e.g. Communism) is the greatest of all crimes. Any who oppose the social hierarchy of fascism will be imprisoned or executed.
4. Anti-equality: Fascism loathes the principles of economic equality and disdains equality between immigrant and citizen. Some forms of fascism extend the fight against equality into other areas: gender, sexual, minority or religious rights, for example.
5. Religious: Fascism contains a strong amount of reactionary religious beliefs, harking back to times when religion was strict, potent, and pure. Nearly all Fascist societies are Christian, and are supported by Catholic and Protestant churches.
6. Capitalist: Fascism does not require revolution to exist in capitalist society: fascists can be elected into office (though their disdain for elections usually means manipulation of the electoral system). They view parliamentary and congressional systems of government to be inefficient and weak, and will do their best to minimize its power over their policy agenda. Fascism exhibits the worst kind of capitalism where corporate power is absolute, and all vestiges of workers' rights are destroyed.
7. War: Fascism is capitalism at the stage of impotent imperialism. War can create markets that would not otherwise exist by wreaking massive devastation on a society, which then requires reconstruction! Fascism can thus "liberate" the survivors, provide huge loans to that society so fascist corporations can begin the process of rebuilding.
8. Voluntarist Ideology: Fascism adopts a certain kind of “voluntarism;” they believe that an act of will, if sufficiently powerful, can make something true. Thus all sorts of ideas about racial inferiority, historical destiny, even physical science, are supported by means of violence, in the belief that they can be made true. It is this sense that Fascism is subjectivist.
9. Anti-Modern: Fascism loathes all kinds of modernism, especially creativity in the arts, whether acting as a mirror for life (where it does not conform to the Fascist ideal), or expressing deviant or innovative points of view. Fascism invariably burns books and victimizes artists, and artists which do not promote the fascists ideals are seen as “decadent.” Fascism is hostile to broad learning and interest in other cultures, since such pursuits threaten the dominance of fascist myths. The peddling of conspiracy theories is usually substituted for the objective study of history.[24]
---Fascism entry in the Encyclopedia of Marxism
We note some differences in the modern Fascism of the Repukes and Neo-Cons--
The first is the largely Jewish makeup of the shadow leadership of the movement: although I am perplexed over whether that has any material relationship to the actual events which seem to be transpiring. Guess that will have to be left to the more paranoid of the conspiracy theorists; they could just as well be Baptists, Presbyterians--more about preserving an aggressive foothold in the Middle East than any thing else, I suppose.
The second is "the use of "champions of law, order, Christian morality, and the sanctity of private property" as ploys rather than principles--as a means to power, propaganda to advance the merger of economics & politics.
the third and most important point where they diverge is in the emergence of "The Leader" principle, until that transpires, that is, until they find a Charismatic leader they cannot move forward. Everything in the Fascist State must revolve around a leader, Fascism cannot function by committee.
________________________________________________________________________________
"Forerunners of fascism, such as Georges Boulanger in France and Adolf Stöker and Karl Lueger in Germany and Austria, in their efforts to gain political power played on people's fears of revolution with its subsequent chaos, anarchy, and general insecurity. They appealed to nationalist sentiments and prejudices, exploited anti-Semitism, and portrayed themselves as champions of law, order, Christian morality, and the sanctity of private property."
"The greatest principle of all is that nobody, whether male or female, should be without a leader. Nor should the mind of anybody be habituated to letting him do anything at all of his own initiative; neither out of zeal, nor even playfully. But in war and in the midst of peace - to his leader he shall direct his eye and follow him faithfully. And even in the smallest matter he should stand under leadership. For example, he should get up, or move, or wash, or take his meals . . only if he has been told to do so, by long habit, never to dream of acting independently, and to become utterly incapable of it."
-Karl R. Popper, The Open Society and Its Enemies, Vol I The Spell of Plato, London, Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1969, p. 7
* "The Cult of Tradition", combining cultural syncretism with a rejection of modernism (often disguised as a rejection of capitalism).
* "The Cult of Action for Action's Sake", which dictates that action is of value in itself, and should be taken without intellectual reflection. This, says Eco, is connected with anti-intellectualism and irrationalism, and often manifests in attacks on modern culture and science.
* "Disagreement is Treason" - fascism devalues intellectual discourse and critical reasoning as barriers to action.
* "Fear of Difference", which fascism seeks to exploit and exacerbate, often in the form of racism or an appeal against foreigners and immigrants.
* "Appeal to a Frustrated Middle Class", fearing economic pressure from the demands and aspirations of lower social groups.
* "Obsession With a plot" and the hyping-up of an enemy threat. This often involves an appeal to xenophobia or the identification of an internal security threat. He cites Pat Robertson's book The New World Order as a prominent example of a plot obsession.
* "Pacifism is Trafficking With the Enemy" because "Life is Permanent Warfare" - there must always be an enemy to fight.
* "Contempt for the Weak" - although a fascist society is elitist, everybody in the society is educated to become a hero.
* "Selective Populism" - the People have a common will, which is not delegated but interpreted by a leader. This may involve doubt being cast upon a democratic institution, because "it no longer represents the Voice of the People".
* "Newspeak" - fascism employs and promotes an impoverished vocabulary in order to limit critical reasoning.
Umberto Eco; Essay, "Eternal fascism;" 1995
Thus, the Communist Third International published the following definition:
“ Fascism in power is the open, terroristic dictatorship of the most reactionary, the most chauvinistic, the most imperialistic elements of finance capitalism.
The historic function of fascism is to smash the working class, destroy its organizations, and stifle political liberties when the capitalists find themselves unable to govern and dominate with the help of democratic machinery. ”
— Leon Trotsky, Fascism: What it is and how to fight it
1. Right Wing: Fascists are fervently against: Marxism, Socialism, Anarchism, Communism, Environmentalism; etc – in essence, they are against the progressive left in total, including moderate lefts (social democrats, etc). Fascism is an extreme right wing ideology, though it can be opportunistic.
2. Nationalism: Fascism places a very strong emphasis on patriotism and nationalism. Criticism of the nation's main ideals, especially war, is lambasted as unpatriotic at best, and treason at worst. State propaganda consistently broadcasts threats of attack, while justifying pre-emptive war. Fascism invariably seeks to instill in its people the warrior mentality: to always be vigilant, wary of strangers and suspicious of foreigners.
3. Hierarchy: Fascist society is ruled by a righteous leader, who is supported by an elite secret vanguard of capitalists. Hierarchy is prevalent throughout all aspects of society – every street, every workplace, every school, will have its local Hitler, part police-informer, part bureaucrat – and society is prepared for war at all times. The absolute power of the social hierarchy prevails over everything, and thus a totalitarian society is formed. Representative government is acceptable only if it can be controlled and regulated, direct democracy (e.g. Communism) is the greatest of all crimes. Any who oppose the social hierarchy of fascism will be imprisoned or executed.
4. Anti-equality: Fascism loathes the principles of economic equality and disdains equality between immigrant and citizen. Some forms of fascism extend the fight against equality into other areas: gender, sexual, minority or religious rights, for example.
5. Religious: Fascism contains a strong amount of reactionary religious beliefs, harking back to times when religion was strict, potent, and pure. Nearly all Fascist societies are Christian, and are supported by Catholic and Protestant churches.
6. Capitalist: Fascism does not require revolution to exist in capitalist society: fascists can be elected into office (though their disdain for elections usually means manipulation of the electoral system). They view parliamentary and congressional systems of government to be inefficient and weak, and will do their best to minimize its power over their policy agenda. Fascism exhibits the worst kind of capitalism where corporate power is absolute, and all vestiges of workers' rights are destroyed.
7. War: Fascism is capitalism at the stage of impotent imperialism. War can create markets that would not otherwise exist by wreaking massive devastation on a society, which then requires reconstruction! Fascism can thus "liberate" the survivors, provide huge loans to that society so fascist corporations can begin the process of rebuilding.
8. Voluntarist Ideology: Fascism adopts a certain kind of “voluntarism;” they believe that an act of will, if sufficiently powerful, can make something true. Thus all sorts of ideas about racial inferiority, historical destiny, even physical science, are supported by means of violence, in the belief that they can be made true. It is this sense that Fascism is subjectivist.
9. Anti-Modern: Fascism loathes all kinds of modernism, especially creativity in the arts, whether acting as a mirror for life (where it does not conform to the Fascist ideal), or expressing deviant or innovative points of view. Fascism invariably burns books and victimizes artists, and artists which do not promote the fascists ideals are seen as “decadent.” Fascism is hostile to broad learning and interest in other cultures, since such pursuits threaten the dominance of fascist myths. The peddling of conspiracy theories is usually substituted for the objective study of history.[24]
---Fascism entry in the Encyclopedia of Marxism
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
1984
One looks at our modern world askance--
We can no longer look ahead with any confidence; the forces of freedom and equality have both failed primarily it would seem because of the economic strain which permeates both of them. Alas, Man must have commerce--he must work. At this point in time the world becomes a factory, nothing more than a repository of raw material that sustains our activity. Whatever else may be said of it, this world is finite: much of what sustains us has already been ripped from her bowels. Progress is still viable, but the idea of growth is a noose around our necks.
Fostered by the economic elitist who finds significance only in acquisition this pernicious doctrine of growth has led us to a cul-de-sac from which our whole civilization must be rethought. Profit can no longer be the primary motive; the illusion of "ownership" must be set aside. It must be recognized that greed wherever opportunity exists is the primary motivation in the way our society is structured today.
We are caught between the individual and collectivism, and on both ends of the spectrum the dialectic seems to be the rise of the corporate state; that is, the economic and political spheres are combined into one entity. What sort of tyranny we may expect from this development remains to be seen, though the oppression of the many by the few is a likely outgrowth, given our history.--As an aside, one might note that oppression need not be belligerent, a seemingly benign one works just as well and is even more insidious, leading as it does to a content populace which resists change, until the dominant minority oversteps its bounds, and even then years of inertia hampers any sort of rapid response--
What rises in reaction to the emergence of The Corporate State, which given our History must arise? The union is outlawed, at best under constant attack, and discredited; its members portrayed as reactionary--disloyal to the good of the company; religion is displaced as the dispenser of the Good, all sustenance resides in the generosity of the company, good behavior i.e. obedience, is rewarded by the company, and bad behavior casts one into the darkness of unperson--
What then arises to oppose this conglomerate incipient world state?
It may take various ideological stances depending upon its local necessities, indeed it may not have any clear cut ideology, it exists to oppose--the local papers define it as "terrorism"--tho its practitioners may view themselves differently, ranging from revolutionary to holy warrior to freedom fighter. Depends upon your point of view I suppose; or who signs your paycheck if at this point in time that can be distinguished. Either way, as Orwell pointed out, the State must have an enemy to distract internal dissent.
As I began so I must conclude, askance--
For the "Terrorist" to be effective he must be armed, to be armed he must wield the fruits of the corporate state, that is to say he must be supplied by his enemy. Victory is not the goal, conflict is. Only through conflict can the dialectic be held in stasis, the ideological underpinnings of the corporate state will not stand scrutiny since that basis is only the perpetuation of a dominant minority which has endured since the dawn of the neolithic age.
How do we define madness, and who is it exactly who is mad?
We can no longer look ahead with any confidence; the forces of freedom and equality have both failed primarily it would seem because of the economic strain which permeates both of them. Alas, Man must have commerce--he must work. At this point in time the world becomes a factory, nothing more than a repository of raw material that sustains our activity. Whatever else may be said of it, this world is finite: much of what sustains us has already been ripped from her bowels. Progress is still viable, but the idea of growth is a noose around our necks.
Fostered by the economic elitist who finds significance only in acquisition this pernicious doctrine of growth has led us to a cul-de-sac from which our whole civilization must be rethought. Profit can no longer be the primary motive; the illusion of "ownership" must be set aside. It must be recognized that greed wherever opportunity exists is the primary motivation in the way our society is structured today.
We are caught between the individual and collectivism, and on both ends of the spectrum the dialectic seems to be the rise of the corporate state; that is, the economic and political spheres are combined into one entity. What sort of tyranny we may expect from this development remains to be seen, though the oppression of the many by the few is a likely outgrowth, given our history.--As an aside, one might note that oppression need not be belligerent, a seemingly benign one works just as well and is even more insidious, leading as it does to a content populace which resists change, until the dominant minority oversteps its bounds, and even then years of inertia hampers any sort of rapid response--
What rises in reaction to the emergence of The Corporate State, which given our History must arise? The union is outlawed, at best under constant attack, and discredited; its members portrayed as reactionary--disloyal to the good of the company; religion is displaced as the dispenser of the Good, all sustenance resides in the generosity of the company, good behavior i.e. obedience, is rewarded by the company, and bad behavior casts one into the darkness of unperson--
What then arises to oppose this conglomerate incipient world state?
It may take various ideological stances depending upon its local necessities, indeed it may not have any clear cut ideology, it exists to oppose--the local papers define it as "terrorism"--tho its practitioners may view themselves differently, ranging from revolutionary to holy warrior to freedom fighter. Depends upon your point of view I suppose; or who signs your paycheck if at this point in time that can be distinguished. Either way, as Orwell pointed out, the State must have an enemy to distract internal dissent.
As I began so I must conclude, askance--
For the "Terrorist" to be effective he must be armed, to be armed he must wield the fruits of the corporate state, that is to say he must be supplied by his enemy. Victory is not the goal, conflict is. Only through conflict can the dialectic be held in stasis, the ideological underpinnings of the corporate state will not stand scrutiny since that basis is only the perpetuation of a dominant minority which has endured since the dawn of the neolithic age.
How do we define madness, and who is it exactly who is mad?
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Birth, Death and Rebirth
Still, no matter what Obama does, even in making the finest of choices, somebody’s ox is going to be gored. Especially in a country whose economy and sense of identity is driven by a ridiculous infantile and pointless lifestyle of gadgets,20fads and flatulence. In other words, somebody is not going to get their goddamned pony for Christmas and be pissed as hell. Which makes them prime fodder for demagogues and profiteering corporate sharks.---Joe Baigent
"Goethe(who, With Nietzsche, was Spenglers leading inspiration, as he was also Thomas Mann's) in a brief study called "Epochs of the Spirit" had outlined, already at the opening of the nineteenth century (1817), a sequence of four stages normal to all culture cycles, whether of mankind in general, a civilization, or a nation, which he then summarized in the following diagram:
Beginnings
I Poetry folk Belief Hearty Imagination
II Theology Idealizing Holy Reason
Exaltation
III Philosophy Clarifying Wise Understanding
Devaluation
IV Prose Dissolution Vulgar Sensuality
in Banality
On the 4th Epoch--
This epoch cannot last long. Human need, aggravated by the course of history, leaps backward over intelligent leadership, confuses priestly, folk, and primitive beliefs, grabs now here, now there, at traditions, submerges itself in mysteries, sets fairy tales in the place of poetry, and elevates these to articles of belief. Instead of intelligently instructing and quietly influencing, people now strew seeds and weeds together indiscriminately on all sides; no central point is offered anymore on which to concentrate, but every odd individual steps forward as leader and teacher, and gives forth his perfect folly as a perfected whole.
And so, the force of every mystery is undone, the peoples religion itself is profaned; distinctions that formerly grew from each other in natural development now work against each other as contradictory elements, and thus we have the Tohu-wa-Bohu chaos again: but not the first, gravid, fruitful one, rather, a dying one running to decay, from which not even the spirit of God could create for itself a worthy world.
--Campbell, Creative Mythology, pp. 378-379
See:
Goethe, in "Geistes-Epochen," Sammatliche Werke (1853), Vol 3, pp.327-330
Thomas Mann, Der Zauberberg, (Berlin: S. Fischer Verlag, (1924), pp. 526-528, abridged, English transl. by H.T. Lowe-Porter, The Magic Mountain (New York, Knopf, (1927), pp. 510-511
Yes, of course, imaginative chicanery dug up from the ignorant and innocent past; then again one hopes that you are not missing the latest episode of Desperate Hosewives, or the oracle wherein the ultimate fighter is crowned again this week.--
Be content. Be happy. Despite the isolation, the loneliness and alienation which permeates everything that is touched. Be obedient to your switches and knobs, fill out your registration forms and keep a copy for yourself in the unlikely event that a record will be lost. Be diligent, work hard, pay no attention to the man behind the curtain creating the great Oz, for he is you, whitewashing the old fence over and over again. Swathed in illusion from the cradle to the grave, safe and saved by one creed or another until nothing can be discerned in the yellow fog descending.
Slowly it permeates the whole. The realization that this life you've lived is not your own, bits of it sold, some given away, some stolen, who knows? You want it back but its gone. --one narcotic or another is provided depending on the severity of the malaise, physicians clothed in gold guide you through white halls to the proper treatment areas, should your status merit such consideration, otherwise you are herded with the rest of the mob into long lines to receive injections that will render you harmless until your next premium is due.
At this point, each essential truth is examined and denied. Truth itself is pointed out as a caricature, "life is a joke, and the joke is on you;" sums up "Being and Nothingness," and the world grinds on, host to a motley crew. We founder aimlessly, pinballs bouncing between lights, moths drawn to one flame or another, leaves caught in an uncertain wind. Each succeeding anchor made of sand melts away.
Helplessly we grovel in the entrails of the machine; our hope being that the Collective Will will overcome inertia and erupt erecting barricades and smashing the shop windows once and for all dumping the manikins into the streets so that they can be burned and we can bask in the heat.--Yet the seed says, "Let me me be safe, until I am gone," then the revolution can burn the house to the ground, and the anger gnaws like the fox in a trap who leaves his paw behind to rid himself of the constriction.
Take heed of the Parthenon on the Acropolis, The Colosseum in the heart of Rome--
those who wander in our ruins will find that Myth & poetry in our accomplishments just as well, that Atlantis which rose and fell when the world was cool and abundant; that learned time when men sat about the colonnades in the evening shade and debated Birth, Death, and Rebirth but did not hear the voice inside.
"Goethe(who, With Nietzsche, was Spenglers leading inspiration, as he was also Thomas Mann's) in a brief study called "Epochs of the Spirit" had outlined, already at the opening of the nineteenth century (1817), a sequence of four stages normal to all culture cycles, whether of mankind in general, a civilization, or a nation, which he then summarized in the following diagram:
Beginnings
I Poetry folk Belief Hearty Imagination
II Theology Idealizing Holy Reason
Exaltation
III Philosophy Clarifying Wise Understanding
Devaluation
IV Prose Dissolution Vulgar Sensuality
in Banality
On the 4th Epoch--
This epoch cannot last long. Human need, aggravated by the course of history, leaps backward over intelligent leadership, confuses priestly, folk, and primitive beliefs, grabs now here, now there, at traditions, submerges itself in mysteries, sets fairy tales in the place of poetry, and elevates these to articles of belief. Instead of intelligently instructing and quietly influencing, people now strew seeds and weeds together indiscriminately on all sides; no central point is offered anymore on which to concentrate, but every odd individual steps forward as leader and teacher, and gives forth his perfect folly as a perfected whole.
And so, the force of every mystery is undone, the peoples religion itself is profaned; distinctions that formerly grew from each other in natural development now work against each other as contradictory elements, and thus we have the Tohu-wa-Bohu chaos again: but not the first, gravid, fruitful one, rather, a dying one running to decay, from which not even the spirit of God could create for itself a worthy world.
--Campbell, Creative Mythology, pp. 378-379
See:
Goethe, in "Geistes-Epochen," Sammatliche Werke (1853), Vol 3, pp.327-330
Thomas Mann, Der Zauberberg, (Berlin: S. Fischer Verlag, (1924), pp. 526-528, abridged, English transl. by H.T. Lowe-Porter, The Magic Mountain (New York, Knopf, (1927), pp. 510-511
Yes, of course, imaginative chicanery dug up from the ignorant and innocent past; then again one hopes that you are not missing the latest episode of Desperate Hosewives, or the oracle wherein the ultimate fighter is crowned again this week.--
Be content. Be happy. Despite the isolation, the loneliness and alienation which permeates everything that is touched. Be obedient to your switches and knobs, fill out your registration forms and keep a copy for yourself in the unlikely event that a record will be lost. Be diligent, work hard, pay no attention to the man behind the curtain creating the great Oz, for he is you, whitewashing the old fence over and over again. Swathed in illusion from the cradle to the grave, safe and saved by one creed or another until nothing can be discerned in the yellow fog descending.
Slowly it permeates the whole. The realization that this life you've lived is not your own, bits of it sold, some given away, some stolen, who knows? You want it back but its gone. --one narcotic or another is provided depending on the severity of the malaise, physicians clothed in gold guide you through white halls to the proper treatment areas, should your status merit such consideration, otherwise you are herded with the rest of the mob into long lines to receive injections that will render you harmless until your next premium is due.
At this point, each essential truth is examined and denied. Truth itself is pointed out as a caricature, "life is a joke, and the joke is on you;" sums up "Being and Nothingness," and the world grinds on, host to a motley crew. We founder aimlessly, pinballs bouncing between lights, moths drawn to one flame or another, leaves caught in an uncertain wind. Each succeeding anchor made of sand melts away.
Helplessly we grovel in the entrails of the machine; our hope being that the Collective Will will overcome inertia and erupt erecting barricades and smashing the shop windows once and for all dumping the manikins into the streets so that they can be burned and we can bask in the heat.--Yet the seed says, "Let me me be safe, until I am gone," then the revolution can burn the house to the ground, and the anger gnaws like the fox in a trap who leaves his paw behind to rid himself of the constriction.
Take heed of the Parthenon on the Acropolis, The Colosseum in the heart of Rome--
those who wander in our ruins will find that Myth & poetry in our accomplishments just as well, that Atlantis which rose and fell when the world was cool and abundant; that learned time when men sat about the colonnades in the evening shade and debated Birth, Death, and Rebirth but did not hear the voice inside.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Sorrowful Beings----Discussions
Neon people remove bindings
resemble shadows
bent in angles. They ask,
is gray black?
The dog brings tidings;
the vulture is left with the leavings
Babel is choked with rising smoke
a ritual of angels
music to collide between rests;
geared time fades on the parchment:
morning midday and evening,
night. Gold silver gray and black
tinted by the angel’s roving finger
Mygod is left inside insidious.
hammer falling on iron
the sculptures are deaf
prophets no longer breathe
what spins spins ever faster-
Old Scratch dazed in the field fire
gargoyle in Neon, the poet’s pen-
next or next in ash wood mixed with oil
imprint on shadows
absent of color
flowing.
The first discussion--Portraits.
What if they killed everyone
rather
than just the ones
they told you
came to steal the children
in the night,
and then he said,
each thief must earn his place at the table.
He said it twice
so it must have been important,
...even more of the drab meater
between worlds
as he was held
by another illicit lover
or how faces coalesce
when under siege;
he knew they had some left
she just hadn’t told him
how much.
The city kept exploding like a flashbulb.
First Discussion--Angels
It was not to hurt too much
to set such gravity aside,
days that pass sweetly
the old man climbing the stone step-
as yet they must be so-
the keys used for the old door
clanking
on his hips
like coins too heavy to bear.
Vespers
the bells are muffled by distance;
in the parchments are words
shuffled they may become
legions, an essence of nether worlds,--
in the rafters the pigeons stare uncertainly
certain of the bond
that the old man scratches at,
the keys tossed on the old table
on which the parchments lie.
1st Discussion-Demons
It’s true,
that even in Winter, she would,
walk down the path to the garden
seeking blooms
her hands often trailing in the frost,
bits of the morning lost
I suppose,
bruised at the touch of petals.
who would fear
death by water
in this day & age
when the barks creak together
so harmoniously,
comfortably
between Autumn & Spring
when fire cracks in the evening?
The spider’s web
is long abandoned
a tiny twig spins
in a cold wind.
2nd Discussion--Earth
Why does she wait?
For what?--
In Odessa by the sea
the tenements stink of urine,
The churn of the water
kisses the rock strewn shore with spray.
Churn. Why does she wait?
In Odessa by the sea
Apollo tunes his lyre,
heartbeats;
rain & occasional sunlight,
lovers settle in the wasteland
fingers wet
with singing flesh,
the grotto moans with their weight,
from both worlds free,
enslaved to love;
Stephen says,
“this supreme quality is felt
by the artist when the esthetic quality
is first conceived in his imagination;”
picking his teeth with a wounded match
still, she will wait
bent under went sky
bruised by callous light
churned lovers
displayed
chopped off
white disarrayed
spent
august between infinities--
too much to bear,
they say being god by turns
in Odessa as the sea churns
one less wave subtracted.
2nd Discussion--tat tvam asi
“Life, like a dome of many colored glass
stains the white radiance of Eternity”
---Shelly
Small twigs
like fearsome beasts
peek above the water rocking--
Beyond, the fog is a white wall,
hiding the island of Avalon,
the mountain where Dioce nestles
the long valley of Byzantium,
and more besides,
I bathe in cold water
listening for the rustle of your silks,
your hot breath
the coracle rides on gentle waves,
my pole is a twisted vine
the white wall
towers into the sky;
we may follow the shore,
knowing that it lies,
or pierce the wall
and leave such concerns behind--
all that was
fading in the wake.
2nd discussion--Theory
Herein lies the fact:
within the mime
beneath the rumble of his mind
Chaos tends her garden
just as she always has;
each bean divides half way to the end of time.
“Oh, Mother please just let me be
dangling at the end with a rope
my throat sore
the juncture of my motive
worn & cold
the wind of all this noise
passed within my years,”
“skip this blue for rose”
she says fading
sowing the beans
on the stage
where the mind finds himself
abruptly,
coughing.
Discussion three--Texture
The matrix sags where I stand
over time I shall become lighter
sleep with Faust on the cathedral steps,
carry Isolt's veil,
climb upon the angel’s lap
steal feathers from his wings
and read him childrens tales;
Delayed us all,
this wicked gravity hung about the hall
with gaunt men watching the smoke fall;
I lean crossways writing obituaries
with a pen
my clothes are loose
like a shroud
my hands are long and pale,
the air is stale and hangs about too long,
the devils in my dreams carry nets
and scream,
I deem myself too heavy
turn sideways and slip through the cracks.
In the dust
there are papers scattered about
husks of dry thought
mutters or whispers
you decide which.
Discussion 3--Laughter.
bedlam, white foot
in yellow sandal, the sea
tangled in nets, snow
in deep valleys waits for spring.
trapped in corners
in the angles as words explode,
implode those eyes, corrode
the walls of sanctum
given over to the holy war
“I is I, mastuh” divine,
somewhere along the way
someone surely--
the crash of metal chairs
sliding across the parquet floor
an echo of loud smiles;
The Centurion wipes his grizzled beard
of stale wine in the sea of murderous glances,
“how brave this sanity” says the decorator
changing drapes yet again, glowing in starlight
as algae shrinks
on the bottom of the window sill;
what matter the shape of the mirror, Horatio,
if Alice were blind-
each copy bled to a startling paleness
blurred edges in those same angles.
Still it pushed its way through,
groveling
pitiful in its plea.
Discussion 3--Dog
In the dark, Finn
fiddles with his hard-on,
depicting shadows on membrane;
expanding
he counts cunt hairs
in preparation for eternity.
here he is sleeping, here he is,
beside me she says,
next to fresh meat and clear water,
thus that piercing cruelty
will taste sweet when he wakes
when he wakes with a dry tongue
and a bright sword
reflecting the dog star
and the emptiness between.
here is my daughter says the star
wide awake beneath the night sky
wide she is against the earth
and Finn sleeps on
his ardor creased on the edge of the sword--
The splash was ever more bold
than a nick from a boar--
the hound in the distance on a false trail
while Finn dreams the world.
resemble shadows
bent in angles. They ask,
is gray black?
The dog brings tidings;
the vulture is left with the leavings
Babel is choked with rising smoke
a ritual of angels
music to collide between rests;
geared time fades on the parchment:
morning midday and evening,
night. Gold silver gray and black
tinted by the angel’s roving finger
Mygod is left inside insidious.
hammer falling on iron
the sculptures are deaf
prophets no longer breathe
what spins spins ever faster-
Old Scratch dazed in the field fire
gargoyle in Neon, the poet’s pen-
next or next in ash wood mixed with oil
imprint on shadows
absent of color
flowing.
The first discussion--Portraits.
What if they killed everyone
rather
than just the ones
they told you
came to steal the children
in the night,
and then he said,
each thief must earn his place at the table.
He said it twice
so it must have been important,
...even more of the drab meater
between worlds
as he was held
by another illicit lover
or how faces coalesce
when under siege;
he knew they had some left
she just hadn’t told him
how much.
The city kept exploding like a flashbulb.
First Discussion--Angels
It was not to hurt too much
to set such gravity aside,
days that pass sweetly
the old man climbing the stone step-
as yet they must be so-
the keys used for the old door
clanking
on his hips
like coins too heavy to bear.
Vespers
the bells are muffled by distance;
in the parchments are words
shuffled they may become
legions, an essence of nether worlds,--
in the rafters the pigeons stare uncertainly
certain of the bond
that the old man scratches at,
the keys tossed on the old table
on which the parchments lie.
1st Discussion-Demons
It’s true,
that even in Winter, she would,
walk down the path to the garden
seeking blooms
her hands often trailing in the frost,
bits of the morning lost
I suppose,
bruised at the touch of petals.
who would fear
death by water
in this day & age
when the barks creak together
so harmoniously,
comfortably
between Autumn & Spring
when fire cracks in the evening?
The spider’s web
is long abandoned
a tiny twig spins
in a cold wind.
2nd Discussion--Earth
Why does she wait?
For what?--
In Odessa by the sea
the tenements stink of urine,
The churn of the water
kisses the rock strewn shore with spray.
Churn. Why does she wait?
In Odessa by the sea
Apollo tunes his lyre,
heartbeats;
rain & occasional sunlight,
lovers settle in the wasteland
fingers wet
with singing flesh,
the grotto moans with their weight,
from both worlds free,
enslaved to love;
Stephen says,
“this supreme quality is felt
by the artist when the esthetic quality
is first conceived in his imagination;”
picking his teeth with a wounded match
still, she will wait
bent under went sky
bruised by callous light
churned lovers
displayed
chopped off
white disarrayed
spent
august between infinities--
too much to bear,
they say being god by turns
in Odessa as the sea churns
one less wave subtracted.
2nd Discussion--tat tvam asi
“Life, like a dome of many colored glass
stains the white radiance of Eternity”
---Shelly
Small twigs
like fearsome beasts
peek above the water rocking--
Beyond, the fog is a white wall,
hiding the island of Avalon,
the mountain where Dioce nestles
the long valley of Byzantium,
and more besides,
I bathe in cold water
listening for the rustle of your silks,
your hot breath
the coracle rides on gentle waves,
my pole is a twisted vine
the white wall
towers into the sky;
we may follow the shore,
knowing that it lies,
or pierce the wall
and leave such concerns behind--
all that was
fading in the wake.
2nd discussion--Theory
Herein lies the fact:
within the mime
beneath the rumble of his mind
Chaos tends her garden
just as she always has;
each bean divides half way to the end of time.
“Oh, Mother please just let me be
dangling at the end with a rope
my throat sore
the juncture of my motive
worn & cold
the wind of all this noise
passed within my years,”
“skip this blue for rose”
she says fading
sowing the beans
on the stage
where the mind finds himself
abruptly,
coughing.
Discussion three--Texture
The matrix sags where I stand
over time I shall become lighter
sleep with Faust on the cathedral steps,
carry Isolt's veil,
climb upon the angel’s lap
steal feathers from his wings
and read him childrens tales;
Delayed us all,
this wicked gravity hung about the hall
with gaunt men watching the smoke fall;
I lean crossways writing obituaries
with a pen
my clothes are loose
like a shroud
my hands are long and pale,
the air is stale and hangs about too long,
the devils in my dreams carry nets
and scream,
I deem myself too heavy
turn sideways and slip through the cracks.
In the dust
there are papers scattered about
husks of dry thought
mutters or whispers
you decide which.
Discussion 3--Laughter.
bedlam, white foot
in yellow sandal, the sea
tangled in nets, snow
in deep valleys waits for spring.
trapped in corners
in the angles as words explode,
implode those eyes, corrode
the walls of sanctum
given over to the holy war
“I is I, mastuh” divine,
somewhere along the way
someone surely--
the crash of metal chairs
sliding across the parquet floor
an echo of loud smiles;
The Centurion wipes his grizzled beard
of stale wine in the sea of murderous glances,
“how brave this sanity” says the decorator
changing drapes yet again, glowing in starlight
as algae shrinks
on the bottom of the window sill;
what matter the shape of the mirror, Horatio,
if Alice were blind-
each copy bled to a startling paleness
blurred edges in those same angles.
Still it pushed its way through,
groveling
pitiful in its plea.
Discussion 3--Dog
In the dark, Finn
fiddles with his hard-on,
depicting shadows on membrane;
expanding
he counts cunt hairs
in preparation for eternity.
here he is sleeping, here he is,
beside me she says,
next to fresh meat and clear water,
thus that piercing cruelty
will taste sweet when he wakes
when he wakes with a dry tongue
and a bright sword
reflecting the dog star
and the emptiness between.
here is my daughter says the star
wide awake beneath the night sky
wide she is against the earth
and Finn sleeps on
his ardor creased on the edge of the sword--
The splash was ever more bold
than a nick from a boar--
the hound in the distance on a false trail
while Finn dreams the world.
The Gloved Hand---
The only card we had was our humanity. Our dedication to the rule of law, and the rights of Man.
We tossed it back into the deck, and descended to the level of our adversary. It is a War of Ideas, not casualties, not attacks and counter attacks--we were wrong from the outset, and we are still wrong today. Every action we have taken has only reinforced the position of Al Qaida in the Muslim world, unprovoked invasion, rendition, torture, the denial of basic human rights. Put yourself in the shoes of a young Muslim throwing rocks at tanks in Gaza, or Beirut, Kabul, or Bagdad--madness, an idiotic useless madness. One that will not depart soon--
Cheney:
The choice, he alleged, reflects a naive mindset among the new team in Washington: “The United States needs to be not so much loved as it needs to be respected. Sometimes, that requires us to take actions that generate controversy. I’m not at all sure that that’s what the Obama administration believes.”
No, we need not be loved, but respect is not gained by fear, or by ignoring our own principles. If, indeed, we have any anymore, other than our own fear, and our greed.
I would submit that our world stands upon a precipice, environmentally, economically, and sociologically. None of which will be solved by tanks, missiles, or boots on the ground. I rather doubt the leadership of Al Qaida even undertook any serious plans to attack the United States since the events of 9/11, that action itself unleashed the exact response they were looking for--the naked fist of the beast smashing everything in its path.
Like I said, we tossed the only card we had, and it read compassion.
We tossed it back into the deck, and descended to the level of our adversary. It is a War of Ideas, not casualties, not attacks and counter attacks--we were wrong from the outset, and we are still wrong today. Every action we have taken has only reinforced the position of Al Qaida in the Muslim world, unprovoked invasion, rendition, torture, the denial of basic human rights. Put yourself in the shoes of a young Muslim throwing rocks at tanks in Gaza, or Beirut, Kabul, or Bagdad--madness, an idiotic useless madness. One that will not depart soon--
Cheney:
The choice, he alleged, reflects a naive mindset among the new team in Washington: “The United States needs to be not so much loved as it needs to be respected. Sometimes, that requires us to take actions that generate controversy. I’m not at all sure that that’s what the Obama administration believes.”
No, we need not be loved, but respect is not gained by fear, or by ignoring our own principles. If, indeed, we have any anymore, other than our own fear, and our greed.
I would submit that our world stands upon a precipice, environmentally, economically, and sociologically. None of which will be solved by tanks, missiles, or boots on the ground. I rather doubt the leadership of Al Qaida even undertook any serious plans to attack the United States since the events of 9/11, that action itself unleashed the exact response they were looking for--the naked fist of the beast smashing everything in its path.
Like I said, we tossed the only card we had, and it read compassion.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Harlequin
What becomes of the prey,
silk in the seams of the harlequin's gown,
as though the angel might be induced to smile
they become scarce
emeralds into broaches
the accompaniment of bird
song,
the clown tumbling in a mauve landscape.
II.
Likkered up he ain’t no poem,
is: the hawk distended fells
the sparrow in open air
ordination in the village
with high song
continues
fraught with the Widow’s final rites
some years hence;
the boy’s gray hair sparse and disheveled
in the wind-
the low orbit of the hawk
will carry him screaming over the earth.
III.
Set against the wall of the angel
it must void itself,
mark the trail of the sparrow flailing
leave its worth in unsaying
particular or worse
in the shoals where the rocks are sharp
and blood is dispersed.
had the angel spoken
leisure would be at hand-
the sparrow safe upon the widow’s shoulder
a word
to shatter ill-kept stars
shuddering to an end
a calliope no longer shouldering the wind;
the owned word listless with praise
broken
sun raised
a blood salt
ungiven to pain
the harlequin tumbles in plain sight
soundless
in the eye of the hawk.
IV.
Set against silence
the eye world does not blink
turbulence shears the blood
the pink foam laughing
seeds the sea,
The leaf falls
lovers seat themselves in coves
the beaten flesh endures
coveting words,
the widow’s web
a bridge to soar upon
while the hawk weaves
between the threads
his wings outspread.
silk in the seams of the harlequin's gown,
as though the angel might be induced to smile
they become scarce
emeralds into broaches
the accompaniment of bird
song,
the clown tumbling in a mauve landscape.
II.
Likkered up he ain’t no poem,
is: the hawk distended fells
the sparrow in open air
ordination in the village
with high song
continues
fraught with the Widow’s final rites
some years hence;
the boy’s gray hair sparse and disheveled
in the wind-
the low orbit of the hawk
will carry him screaming over the earth.
III.
Set against the wall of the angel
it must void itself,
mark the trail of the sparrow flailing
leave its worth in unsaying
particular or worse
in the shoals where the rocks are sharp
and blood is dispersed.
had the angel spoken
leisure would be at hand-
the sparrow safe upon the widow’s shoulder
a word
to shatter ill-kept stars
shuddering to an end
a calliope no longer shouldering the wind;
the owned word listless with praise
broken
sun raised
a blood salt
ungiven to pain
the harlequin tumbles in plain sight
soundless
in the eye of the hawk.
IV.
Set against silence
the eye world does not blink
turbulence shears the blood
the pink foam laughing
seeds the sea,
The leaf falls
lovers seat themselves in coves
the beaten flesh endures
coveting words,
the widow’s web
a bridge to soar upon
while the hawk weaves
between the threads
his wings outspread.
A Modest Analysis:
"In a system...where the entire continuity of the...process rests upon credit, a crisis must obviously occur -- a tremendous rush for means of payment -- when credit suddenly ceases and only cash payments have validity. At first glance, therefore, the whole crisis seems to be merely a credit and money crisis. And in fact it is only a question of the convertibility of bills of exchange into money. But the
majority of these bills represent actual sales and purchases, whose extension far beyond the needs of society is, after all, the basis of the whole crisis. At the same time, an enormous quantity of these bills of exchange represents plain swindle, which now reaches the light of day and collapses; furthermore, unsuccessful speculation with the capital of other people; finally, commodity-capital which has depreciated or is completely unsaleable, or returns that can never more be realized again. The entire artificial system of forced expansion of the economy cannot, of course, be remedied by having some bank, like the Bank of England, give to all the swindlers the deficient capital by means of its paper and having it buy up all the depreciated commodities at their old nominal values. Incidentally, everything here appears distorted, since in this paper world, the real price and its real basis appear nowhere, but only bullion, metal coin, notes, bills
of exchange, securities. Particularly in centers where the entire money business of the country is concentrated, like London ...the entire process becomes incomprehensible."
-- Karl Marx's Capital, Volume 3, Chapter 30, "Money-Capital and Real Capital", 1867.
majority of these bills represent actual sales and purchases, whose extension far beyond the needs of society is, after all, the basis of the whole crisis. At the same time, an enormous quantity of these bills of exchange represents plain swindle, which now reaches the light of day and collapses; furthermore, unsuccessful speculation with the capital of other people; finally, commodity-capital which has depreciated or is completely unsaleable, or returns that can never more be realized again. The entire artificial system of forced expansion of the economy cannot, of course, be remedied by having some bank, like the Bank of England, give to all the swindlers the deficient capital by means of its paper and having it buy up all the depreciated commodities at their old nominal values. Incidentally, everything here appears distorted, since in this paper world, the real price and its real basis appear nowhere, but only bullion, metal coin, notes, bills
of exchange, securities. Particularly in centers where the entire money business of the country is concentrated, like London ...the entire process becomes incomprehensible."
-- Karl Marx's Capital, Volume 3, Chapter 30, "Money-Capital and Real Capital", 1867.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
The Bankers
"The Gramm-Leach-Bliley Act, also known as the Gramm-Leach-Bliley Financial Services Modernization Act, Pub.L. 106-102, 113 Stat. 1338, enacted 1999-11-12, is an Act of the United States Congress which repealed part of the Glass-Steagall Act, opening up competition among banks, securities companies and insurance companies."
old Uncle Ezra says--
"I have of course never said that cash is constant
(Douglas) and in fact the population (Britain 1914)
was left with 800 millions of "deposits"
after all the cash had been drawn, and
these deposits were satisfied by the
printing of treasury notes."
...he goes on, that was some years ago in a canto. Mad as a hatter, so they say, Uncle Ez, going on and on about the bankers, and Greed. 'Course everyone knows Bankers are not greedy, that's why they're bankers, and not lawyers running for office.
Everybody knows how to fix this thing. --Some say it has already been fixed by the Bankers and the lawyers who have gotten into Office.--Others say they have gone about it the wrong way; others that it ought to stay broke cause there ain't no fixin it anyways.
Didya ever shake up a soda and take the cap off?
Be a shame to lose all this ease and convenience, phoning in your prescription on your Medicare card; watching old movies on tv when you are half asleep, or reading the bad news on your computer screen and weeping.
"Trust no-one, little marmoset." That's what Herod told Claudius upon his ascension to the Imperium, well according to Mr. Graves. Seems like someone forgot that in the maze of contracts, the blind alleys and paper shuffling. Another thing about it is the infantile mandate, "I want", but that sandbox is already full of discarded toys, lumps of coal pretending to be diamonds, garages full of Things that haven't been seen for years.
So we'll have a yard sale they say! Biggest in years--
"I have lost the cutting but apparently
such things do still happen, he
suicided outside her door while
the family was preparing her body for burial
and she knew this was the case."
...Uncle Ez a few lines earlier. Ain't it amazing how the tone can change?
Let's just look at all this: first they pass that above law so the bankers can get into real estate from front to back--then they sell a lot of it so the price goes up on their papers, then the deal goes south and the paper they got is worthless so they sell it to the government and now they are going to buy it back with the government money and then resell it as the price begins to climb? (This is called a Crisis, since if they don't get their way they sell stock in a frenzy, and withold their cash from the market). Don't matter to the little guy he's burnt from asshole to elbow anyways, cause he thought he was getting over in the first place.
Yeppie doodles. Uncle Ez says somewhere that the first thing people should learn is Economics. Some folks think they do.--Seems to me the first law you gotta learn, is where to hide the money. Poor folk don't get much practice at that, the money being mostly gone by the time they get it. It doesn't really matter how much they give you in Mr. Marx's labor pool, they find a way to get it back from you before you even know you had it. That's probably the second law they teach in Economic school. The third is to say even less than a politician is apt to which isn't a lot so just write out the check.
I know some places back in the hills where money has always been in short supply. The good times was back in the day when you could get government checks for babies, and the only thing wrong with the Cadillac on blocks in the backyard was a busted waterpump. Things change; though I don't suppose babies are in short supply, you can't even find the waterpump on a Caddy anymore, not that it matters to the Bankers, or the lawyers who got into office they'll just buy a new one with their government check.
old Uncle Ezra says--
"I have of course never said that cash is constant
(Douglas) and in fact the population (Britain 1914)
was left with 800 millions of "deposits"
after all the cash had been drawn, and
these deposits were satisfied by the
printing of treasury notes."
...he goes on, that was some years ago in a canto. Mad as a hatter, so they say, Uncle Ez, going on and on about the bankers, and Greed. 'Course everyone knows Bankers are not greedy, that's why they're bankers, and not lawyers running for office.
Everybody knows how to fix this thing. --Some say it has already been fixed by the Bankers and the lawyers who have gotten into Office.--Others say they have gone about it the wrong way; others that it ought to stay broke cause there ain't no fixin it anyways.
Didya ever shake up a soda and take the cap off?
Be a shame to lose all this ease and convenience, phoning in your prescription on your Medicare card; watching old movies on tv when you are half asleep, or reading the bad news on your computer screen and weeping.
"Trust no-one, little marmoset." That's what Herod told Claudius upon his ascension to the Imperium, well according to Mr. Graves. Seems like someone forgot that in the maze of contracts, the blind alleys and paper shuffling. Another thing about it is the infantile mandate, "I want", but that sandbox is already full of discarded toys, lumps of coal pretending to be diamonds, garages full of Things that haven't been seen for years.
So we'll have a yard sale they say! Biggest in years--
"I have lost the cutting but apparently
such things do still happen, he
suicided outside her door while
the family was preparing her body for burial
and she knew this was the case."
...Uncle Ez a few lines earlier. Ain't it amazing how the tone can change?
Let's just look at all this: first they pass that above law so the bankers can get into real estate from front to back--then they sell a lot of it so the price goes up on their papers, then the deal goes south and the paper they got is worthless so they sell it to the government and now they are going to buy it back with the government money and then resell it as the price begins to climb? (This is called a Crisis, since if they don't get their way they sell stock in a frenzy, and withold their cash from the market). Don't matter to the little guy he's burnt from asshole to elbow anyways, cause he thought he was getting over in the first place.
Yeppie doodles. Uncle Ez says somewhere that the first thing people should learn is Economics. Some folks think they do.--Seems to me the first law you gotta learn, is where to hide the money. Poor folk don't get much practice at that, the money being mostly gone by the time they get it. It doesn't really matter how much they give you in Mr. Marx's labor pool, they find a way to get it back from you before you even know you had it. That's probably the second law they teach in Economic school. The third is to say even less than a politician is apt to which isn't a lot so just write out the check.
I know some places back in the hills where money has always been in short supply. The good times was back in the day when you could get government checks for babies, and the only thing wrong with the Cadillac on blocks in the backyard was a busted waterpump. Things change; though I don't suppose babies are in short supply, you can't even find the waterpump on a Caddy anymore, not that it matters to the Bankers, or the lawyers who got into office they'll just buy a new one with their government check.
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