the sliming

Is it not strange to you how there has been a recent cluster of three riveting global disasters, not including the warring separatists and all that symbolizes and portends, with losses in similar numbers, MH370/Malaysia, stolen Nigerian schoolgirls and the sinking of the South Korean ferry ... the numbers of losses change as some have managed escape and dependent on who is doing the reporting, however, they range in the 200 to 300 figure.
UPDATE: Add the Turkish Miners burned to death underground...which presents to us now as a quartetto of riveting global disasters which very nearly if not exactly, are running along at about one x per week.  Ahem ...Oh and the Nigerian schoolgirls have not been found at this writing.  Why is that?  Its not, please tell me its not, its not that which we already know.  A tiny festering sore ignored because energy is getting expensive just like everything throughout civilization is running out.  Slip Sliding Away.  Change soon come, my Spars.
                                           end of update

I am not going to get into the details, all who are reading here at this moment cannot help but absorb international headlines. The trinity  quartet of three four human crises in a row feels other worldly.  It feels like whatever the truth is concerning the cause of each disaster and the actions that led to them, won't ever be known, but generalized in a manner that makes it easy for western peoples to file under Backward with a sub folder of Corrupt and go on to a new tab.


I would like to note in addition to the publicly available data, the media, perhaps to keep these stories live and continue collecting revenue, seem to over emphasize, actually relish, the local backwards handling of these three disasters within each respective country.

 The Message?

In each case, great dishonor has been done to those who acted as they only knew how to act.  After all, when decent human beings are face to face with certain death, do the rules any longer apply?  Instead they are slammed to the wall.  As if anything less than the highest tech, Snowdenized drone militia could have possibly saved everything that happened from happening at all, as if, for example, Nigeria's shores had not already been helplessly shackled by Black Gold under the land where their people arrived into this very world.  They live differently than we do in every way you can and can not possibly imagine. Each country has its own operational style and culture.  How they accomplish what they must is on a very different timetable than ours, certainly under our extended Present Shock. Where does this come-lately, comic book journalism get the hutzpah to brazenly speculate, insinuating blame and fault, when blame and fault always serves to worsen any crisis?  Subterfuge shortly becomes its own crisis.  That would mean more news. More billboarding.  More pop ups on the highways of our trip.  More of everything that makes us what we are perceived as being. Slick badasses with the word.  And that word is money.  The manual: How to Covertly Create Subservience.


We are to think only WE~tikos, yea!, are the only intelligent life form on the planet.  Why, only Vampires and Cannibals always do everything necessary and also, are always right AND in a timely fashion!  Must we remind them of the Bush Brownie Chertoff debacle of Katrina?  Yes, Mr, Chertoff told the nation he read about it in the Saturday morning paper over coffee while bodies were floating upside down in the streets of New Orleans.  And then there was that early news clip following 911, if I recall correctly, immediately following the goat book reading, Bush was reported to have flown around aimlessly in AF1 eating ice cream before deciding to hang out at (safe, comfortably distracting) Warren's crib. 

The schedule jumps forward

The schedule has moved up because Wetikos are ignoring the signs due to fear of massive and unprecedented potential for loss.  Can you imagine that?  What is happening now was supposed to happen beginning next year according to prophecy, but alas, its too late.  I regret to inform you loss is the name of the game.

I don't have the patience and you don't have the interest to go over everything that has gone down since our happy new year began.  I was aghast to see such clamor over the latest of so many clamored shooting sprees when there is no clamor at all as usual on the ridiculously expensive, legally approved shooting, bombing, burning and assassination sprees of the resource rip with the exception of a small handful of writers much of whose prose I am not exactly in a position to swallow verbatim since generally they don't pass the leaky wikileaks or the nine one one litmus tests.  What it is that we get is never the real thing, but a facsimile of agenda then widely reported in the form of weakened facsimiles of already slippery facsimiles, i.e.; long on speculation and short on fact eventually morphing into whipped cream riches for an already generously enriched security industry.  Shall we talk about the weather instead?  The exceptionally brutal la nina is supposedly responsible?  For crying out loud.  Georgia has always had ice storms.  Georgia has not always had two thousands daily flights cancelled holding up the machinations of the system (spelled lost profits and pronounced as inability to make loan payments as per agreed schedule).  The real weather appears to be walloping the Wallabies today, yes, even as Pakistan is turned to fade, tomorrow, who knows where or what technology enhanced PA systems will bring forth.

The hibernators inhabiting my region are not hibernating this year.  For whatever else is unnerving, this is yet another sign, one within my view as living, breathing real phenomena of something happening that is definitely not normal.

Actually, its those birds falling out of the sky, (the Red Winged Blackbirds tribaling with their bredren, the Cowbirds, and immigrant Starlings with jeweled Tudor feathers), and the genocided fish stuffing our waterways, strange things that definitely leave pundits rushing for their notes and coming up clown-faced.  We'll be seeing stranger soon enough having entered into this gruesome phase of the revealing.  Can anyone in any location reading here say with absolute certainty the weather we are experiencing is what it is supposed to be based on how its always been since we arrived on the scene?  That it is normal for birds and fish to check out en masse?  That Queensland and Brisbane are on not well on their way to breaking Katrina's record death toll and diaspora?

There are lists around, you've seen them, taking  us through all the horrors from last year into this one.  It  is amazing to me how few mention Haiti, as if everything in Haiti is just lovely.  No cause for concern.  Besides, its all happening faster than anyone could possibly have imagined and the spotlight is on Australia now anyway, Haiti, you'd better be taking care of yourself, not that you haven't already been doing that for a few hundred years.

... It is as if “until it happens to you” that the climatic extremes don’t carry any true weight or meaning. As long as the trucks continue to run and stock the supermarkets and big box store shelves, we simply don’t care how we have treated the planet, or what sort of horrifying inheritance we have given to our children and grandchildren. ...  Admin | Survival Acres

How soon before you are sharing a makeshift pup tent you don't own because you lost everything, looking for the relief workers bearing MREs or standing on the rooftops in gated communities waiting for helicopter rescue?  Any day now my friends, it could be us, it could be anywhere at anytime.  Don't take my word for it, just look outside as the freezing rain turns to hail and still the chemtrails leave ugly ribbons across that clear blue sky quickly turned to thick, darkening snow clouds.  You wonder funny things then, what ifs and so forth.

No sooner did we leave one tragic subject another rises on its heels, keeping us in a constant state of mental occupation, a state of terrorized occupation.  As always, when we are under occupation, a small voice in the back of our minds asks underneath this one and that one, what else is going on?  The thrust to keep us from asking that exact question is on like never before.  We are not to know, under some unnameable threat of some unnameable harm to unknown citizens, some of whom can guess what may be taking place.  It does appear however, at this time in the history of civilization we are revisiting every reason we should never have gone where we find ourselves today.  It is a sad fact of life on Earth that some of us are open minded and some of us are too scared as opposed to being too ignorant, to accept reality on its own terms rather than constantly twisting it into something in which you have a personal investment.  Sure, the ignorant have big numbers, but how ignorant is someone really when no one can miss the events of the present blaring from every bullhorn on every corner of the planet?  You'd have to be all the way out there heavily abusing opiates, fully into your fries and fried pies to remain ignorant for long in the revealing.

Now I am just like you, another watcher, another concerned little person subject to the same incessant diminishment of life's quality.  And surely it makes you feel awful, especially when all people just want to feel safe, free in their homes and communities and at peace with everything and everyone else.  Don't look for corruption to fade away in the snow and ice, they are already showing us exactly how the revealing will be handled.

It won't be handled.  It will be denied to the last man.  Corruption is here to stay for the duration and guide the suffering with excuses and falsehoods.  As the planet becomes a nonstop horror flick, the foreclosures in disguise will continue until there is nothing left anywhere.  The closed mind denies everything until their dying breath.

The closed mind emerged from the womb a sort of shapeless cellulose sponge absorbing the machinations of ego constructs never challenged, educated in complete expectation of being served a birthright of convenience and unoriginal, incomplete thought processes in which use of the physical body supplied was thought an inconvenience.  Picking up the mail last week, I overheard two cellulose adults in line, speaking loudly as if softer speaking would not create the desired impression on their unwilling audience, saying something about as soon as whatever happened she would get a new SUV.  This flew past the ears of twenty five or thirty onlookers in classic frayed farmhand overalls and beaten down workboots which tell you the socks probably do not have any foot covering left.  Onlookers who have already sold their livestock because they cannot afford to feed them any longer.  Onlookers who once ran small shops and businesses who absolutely can no longer afford the fees the state requires from small business and lost the last shreds of revenue to the energy gluttons with card bearers only refueling stations.  The strip malls are empty save the dancing illegal waving his hot pizza sandwich board at the intersection.  The biggest drag in all of this is they will take us down with them - all the way from repairing our own workboots, mending our socks and digging our own graves. 

We are in the thick of it now.  Its all unfolding as we grip our chairs, belted in for the long run, a few thousand years of peak die off to come before one beautiful day it will be different, cleaned up by the Forces where all killing products were lost to resource theft and disease vanished because the official sample keepers lost their vials of stored plagues when the earthquake hit, when the bars to the cells crashed down and Guantanamo simply slid over the mid-Atlantic states into Canada before sinking into a rusticle-covered grave somewhere near the Titanic's crypt.


Last week I wrote  everyday we play musical chairs, let me change that to musical deck chairs because the shoreline is receding making way for the tsunami as we speak.

Even if you did everything right, it was impossible really to back off completely from use of some material, likely a plastic water container or a commercial soap boxed in cardboard and shrinkwrapped, or from the idea we might offend others with our natural scent and sprayed our underarms with an aerosol deodorant.  Even during the flu last December, Dublin Mick and I, thousands of miles away from each other, both took our doctor's orders seriously and ingested pharmaceuticals. Even the lonely woodsman far from advertising's grip makes a trip to Wal*Mart for airtight containers every now and then, I know, I've seen it.  But that's not happening anymore, we ditched our involvements and got right with the Earth, yet sometimes we slip, its designed to be unavoidable.  The trick might be to stop blaming ourselves, but to get on with our survival skills, perhaps write them down, be sure to show them to the children, someone has to carry this knowledge into the future if mankind has a future, something we will never know unless we are reincarnated into whatever species comes about as a result of ... the revealing.


The coming months are almost guaranteed to be a downplay of the present, even they know its over the top already, but if you ask you will find you are in the company of Wetikos who refuse to lose.  So don't waste your energy, instead get that Tao in hand and make peace with the present while you can.


rusticles photo: c. google images

God is calling ...

It is interesting that out of all the sad and miserable global stories we take in every day, scaled from big to small, the one that sent me on the thought trip into what life must have been and will be soon enough, and how the events in a world such as ours, in these times, culminated for one Shaquan Duley.

Shaquan: where are the childfathers? Look at Shaquan now. Look. You see the face of generational child abuse maturing, unimpeded anywhere along the time line from 1604, likely earlier, likely as early as the upending of an ancient culture - as in genocide, civil wars, religious and social upheaval and its partner, lifelong oppression and the ever unfolding results of ethnic prejudice. You see an abusive grandmother, her abused daughter, two abused toddlers [murder being the ultimate abuse], a granddaughter [unprotected as of this writing] and the ugly thread of domestic violence weaving throughout their lives with nonstop crises.

But wait, there's more: the violence perpetrated on a people, the stolen potential, the disappeared opportunities, the dearth of literacy and intellect, the mindfulness to handouts and scraps of cooperation, the assuaging fictions, eventually the complete belief in your own inability to function at all, but you do, weakly, just enough to get through the day.

What kind of food did Shaquan like? What food did she prepare for her children? How did Shaquan come to possess a vehicle she could dump into the river? Now, Shaquan will go off to the big house where it is destined she will continue as tragically as she has begun, a blip on the radar, another statistic filling the cesspools of the deviant mind.

What is it that makes one child oblivious to abuse and another cower and fall ill at the moment its shadow appears over the horizon? What is it that allows one person to be unfeeling towards someones suffering but another experience compassion? Anyway, such stories of humans-gone-bad have gaping holes and appear to come from some dirty script hiding in someones metal drawer for when the need arises as it does now, in a national dialogue on race, an outdated term btw, the Anthropological update is Phenotypes. You get the idea that Shaquan's region of the US is a suburb of the southern outclasses and to be avoided at all cost. I don't know, but I'm in no hurry to explore the relic hotbeds of Plantation lifestyles or its current metamorphosis, its still all about cheap labor.

It is only too recently there were no Civil Rights for African Americans. Even though things were written and sealed, life is lived in communities which have attitudes of some sort or another. The more you read, thus educating yourself, travel and communicate with friendlies, the more you can understand some of what happened to make this world what it is. Obviously, Shaquan had no inspiring literature available, seldom left familiar turf and rarely dealt with anything of the larger world, especially that of creativity, art, drama, music, etc., which could have been a way out, but in her case is victim to abuse as well in that the abuse foisted upon her was that of stealing her potential for a reasonably meaningful tolerance for life's situations, deprecating even her worthiness to live and stealing her only means of survival, spiritual and social. Without the murdering of the toddlers, somehow she still would have found the big house because she was only allowed to get this far as a breeder for cannon fodder. If you asked her point blank, "Are you a person?" She might have responded with "You know what I'm sayin? " which is standard for get out of my face. Thank her Mama's mama's mama for that, moreover thank the Dutch slave traders and their extensive oceanic cruises provided African immigrants by our literate aristocracy penning for an incubating Big Agra. When Shaquan's trial comes around, it will be a prosecutor's slam dunk with nary a nod given to the horrors visited upon the factors which give rise to the actions of all the past, present and future Shaquans. In addition to the two dead boys, she has a five year-old daughter at "home". What chance for a life will this little girl have - especially in light of her sudden change in circumstance? And if those circumstances had been absent would it be the same cowardly, abused and abusive, straight line to incarceration? We hope not, but statistics are not on her side, still, something could intervene. Its always a good idea to offer support, even if its in spirit.

The people who make it out from under despite all extra judicial efforts to the contrary, at least have a fighting chance to discover life's a bitch on any level, so your level isn't that different in reality from anyone else's. You can change your situation, but first you have to break the chain. To break the chain however, you have to SEE it.

We had a maid who was very much a "member of the family" when I was growing up. Others had live-in maids, a position that made me feel sorry for them having to be away from their own families often a month or more between day visits. My earliest impression of Annette remained until the last time I saw her. Even as I grew taller, she didn't age beyond her initial appearance or dress. It was always the same plaid cotton dress, same broken down shoes, same overworked shopping bags, slowly stepping off the bus wheezing from her side of town into mine. Her shoes were the black lace up short-heel type with huge round bumps made from her bunions. Her stockings were rolled at the calf, her hair in a bun with stray grey curls pressing into the sweat on her forehead. She was hunchbacked from seventy years of dusting antique table legs and under beds. She had a Penguin's walk, swaying but sure, and a worldview shaped by her love of God. Her entire posture spoke of incredible suffering. There'd been a fire, she'd lost her house and her only daughter whom she often spoke of as if she was still alive. [and why not? ] I already knew enough to know some of what had happened to her and her people at large. In fact, I was fascinated by segregation, it made no sense, it was incomprehensible such a thing existed. That Annette's suffering had been so brutally compounded was simply inexpressible, but felt on the emotional plane. Every Christmas we visited Annette's house and took gifts, my mother lavished her with hams and woollens for winter, I believed this was because we could see the daylight between the slats of her uninsulated walls. On her mantle she kept the rubber leg that had fallen from my sister's toy. In order for Annette to get to our home in exurbia, Annette's bus would have taken her through the downtown city route which displayed every type of off limits to Negroes symbols thought up by Satan through which his vessels printed and hand-scrawled sloganry as well as lawfully providing two of everything, one nice something and around the corner one nasty something of the same item for Negroes such as toilets or water fountains. Everything having to do with the body/mind was segregated to prevent the ohmygosh possibility a mixing of some sort could come about. [It reminds me of the rare earthworm with salmonella that may nibble an almond fallen off the tree in which case all harvested almonds must now be pasteurized and microwaved before sale.] Annette didn't talk to me about racism, but Alberta, her fill-in, did. I learned much. Alberta was tall, big boned, glamorous in red lipstick and matching fingernails. She had a nightlife and some days called in sick. I imagined her off time spent in front of a mirror applying fakes. She knew I was a most willing listener and held nothing back. I'd sit cross legged on the carpet and let her roll while she ironed away the day. My mother said Alberta was the world's best ironer. Actually, she was even better with inspiration since I followed up on her recommendations and became a child gospel authority for my clique which meant eventually, I dumped them and made new friends beyond exurbia more to my liking. In no time at all, I found myself rolling on the floor between rows of school desks locked in heated scuffles with some of my former friends and classmates. I started taking the bus downtown to see some of what Alberta mentioned which was always either a club or a gospel tabernacle during choir practice. The lesson was these people I'd mingle with were a lot more interesting on every level than the people I'd met anywhere else in my adolescent life.

That's enough on this, except to state unequivocally, the person you are as a child is the mold for the person you are today. I'd just as rather listen to the Pearly Gate Singers take on Heaven with the Royal Telephone as I would Bach Harpsichord or Falla: Nights in the Garden of Spain, and that's saying a lot.

It is a statement on family denial that my parents and every one of my many aunts and uncles passed away within a comparatively brief time of one another, services attended when feasible, often the same attendees experiencing profound personal loss, the gathering of the clans in mourning and so forth, and yet, I was never notified of Annette's passing and it is impossible she is still around. There is no one left to ask and I don't care to know because I already know she went home for the last time.

May Shaquan have it better next go around and may her little sons rest in peace. Most of all, may her daughter possess the character and insight to break the chain.

Have you ever given any thought to your own reincarnation - should you have to return? You could be dropped into any time period, anywhere, into any level of enlightenment, facing the lies and mentality of that moment.

photo: unknown, c.2010

silence of the lambs

The commenters are eager for a new read. Well okay, there are plenty of items on the radar that invite further scrutiny, perhaps some deliberated speculation, maybe produce a few inspiring thoughts on how to improve an awful situation, I step off my cloud momentarily to look into some of these stories. Yes, I said "stories" as in entertainment, busywork, addictive filler inbetween physical activities. For whatever truth we think we are looking for, these flat screened information picture boxes we're using don't have a lot of truth to share. They do have an agenda however. Does it matter to me? To you? Does it make any difference to read about frothing at the mouth, terror sexual harassment payoffs and takeovers of the new self-created celebs? You should be bored to tears with their nonsense. Its all so predictable, and yet, once in a while, there are jewels in the ruin, but like everything else, they're being supermined into expendable resources, so expect these jewels to become increasingly more complex and sought after, especially as the gates are quickly closing.

First off, the shiniest jewel in our pouch is Arthur Silber, gleaming with extraordinary brilliance. Do not miss his entire Wikileaks series. I don't believe there is anyone else that can dig down to the fundamentals like Arthur does, blowing the arguments of others sky high, friends and fellows alike, no one straying from the white chalk line is spared as he takes you on his trip pointing out the flaws and multitudes of misconceptions. In reading Silber, you just understand meekly that however much you study, look, search, learn, you will never, ever be able to lay out the complexities like he does unless you are him. His area of discussion is of course, not the same area as some of our other favorites, such as Master Visible, no word slouch himself, there is slim basis for comparison except that of fearless inviolate trust in one's own judgment, that ageless, absolute requirement for authenticity as well as the shared inate ability to sift through the dimensions of garbage we endure and go deeper, far deeper than the general public allows themselves the time and exercise in connective thought or even chooses to approach. Most thought it seems, is dressed up in the tattered baggage of our lives replete with mental polaroids, creased and fading from having been pulled out so frequently to illustrate yet the latest version of our own stories. Oh yes, wait, I have one for that somewhere in this stack. Silber shreds all of that. Be forewarned, it is not light reading under any circumstance. But if you follow along, note for note, you will find the great tragicomedy wrenchingly amusing and horrific. I did and do. How did I find this guy? Heh, my heart is warmed just thinking of that day, last fall, after so many years, AGHHHHHHHHHHHH digesting the terrorfried messages of the ruling class:

Give Me the Hippies. Please.

To begin, let's again note this passage from the Washington Post story about Hoh's resignation:

"I'm not some peacenik, pot-smoking hippie who wants everyone to be in love," Hoh said. Although he said his time in Zabul was the "second-best job I've ever had," his dominant experience is from the Marines, where many of his closest friends still serve.

"There are plenty of dudes who need to be killed," he said of al-Qaeda and the Taliban. "I was never more happy than when our Iraq team whacked a bunch of guys."

I discussed the second paragraph in detail in my earlier post, showing why I consider it unspeakably awful. Here, I want to talk about the very first sentence: "I'm not some peacenik, pot-smoking hippie who wants everyone to be in love."

Many of those deeply opposed to the U.S. presence in Afghanistan seem to regard this statement as strengthening the case for the truth of Hoh's objections to U.S. strategy, as if to say: "See? Hoh isn't some drugged-out nutcase, who's opposed to war like some disgusting appeaser! He's not against all wars, just against this war! That's why we should listen to him!"

They appear to think this is a good argument. People should be careful about the premises they (perhaps) inadvertently accept in their eagerness to advance their case. I have a very different view of Hoh's statement. My immediate reaction when I read that statement has remained unchanged, and it is very simply this:

Why not? What the hell is wrong with that?

See what I mean? Now he's got a five part series, more to come, on Wikileaks' liberation of raw intel. (UPDATE: Its now a seven part series as of Tuesday, August 10th.) Whether or not you think this is an important issue (it is an extremely important issue), I suggest you do yourself a huge favor and see "what real revolution looks like." (Silber's words.) Revolutionary indeed.

Without jumping into overview, we are doomed to wallow in the cesspool of what life has become, a cynical, sleezy rip off, always peering over our shoulders, always seeing the same old shams playing out with different words, new disguises, endless losses until there is nothing left to lose (we think) but life itself, which in previous posts I've warned against Power from the Grave. You think you'll be safe in death? Our reincarnated selves would beg to differ. What we want is to be unbothered, left alone for God's sake, most of all we want a better life for our offspring. If we never get down to it, leaving our thinking to profiteers somewhere in the distance, our children sleepwalk into the same traps. We may think we have come very far, we may think we are smart and hip to the game, but take my word for it, we haven't even begun to grasp the extent of the hole we find ourselves inside on this bright sunny August afternoon.

The hold on our psyches desperately needs release. If we stay stupid, they win. This appears to be happening as of now, regardless of how many brilliant jewels gleam in our immediate presence. Certainly, you didn't miss Survival Acres post on technology. We ask, what is the point? The point is money. If there was ever an argument for leaving the money economy and dumping your laptop, this is it. Lately, the focus has been on corporations as the ruling class with our rulers being CEOs shape shifting from one product push to another as easily as passing through a revolving door. Why this is a lifestyle at all is absurd. These CEOs know money, from their enormously insatiable perspectives, but do they know their product/s? Of course not, that is why we see repetitive disasters handled by the very people creating them. This is why we see business highlighted as major breaking news. Its juicy news of the weird generally illustrating the out of control hunger displayed by salavating beasts one upping each other in predation. Obviously, somebody is responding positively to predation or these beasts could not continue to haunt the planet. Needless to say, all of this is made exceedingly more absurd by CEOs as politicians, lobbyists and lawmakers. Whenever you read a little business story trashing a particular business luminary you are reading the manipulations of making money, very big money, dirty money, bloodstained money and without "outside of the Zombie Food Court thinking" you could easily misinterpret what is happening resulting in further reinforcement of those rules from the rulers who love it you think that way because they don't, but insist you do.

When we speak of collapse, we are speaking of the way things are at this moment in time and in our recent memory. If you want to see into the future, all you have to do is multiply what you see today by however many years ahead you want to see. As the beasts stumble over themselves elbowing, thrashing, shoveling press releases into their bullhorns to nail everything in sight, it looks like collapse, but don't get excited. Nothing has changed for the better. Indeed, bubbles have burst, but that means nothing, more bubbles are being blown as we speak. Every bursting brings forth a higher level of streamlined corruption, theft and reforms funneling the illusion of legality to home invasion, serial killing and re-education so that you may aid one another in blowing bubbles on autopilot, completely unaware of your participation and compliance. I don't need to show you the charts, or links to statistics sites taking your breath away that nothing has been repealed or reversed or improved any better than it was. You are fighting the riptide in an uphill battle without armor. In other words, what we call collapse is the way of the world now. This is where we started by the way, sex and money makes the world go round. Its just exaggerated itself perfectly paralleling population growth.

Is there a way out? Do you want a way out? Everyone reading will have a different answer, many will have a different answer depending on what day it is, some depending on what hour of the day and what side of the bed they greeted their day. While Wyclef Jean runs for president of Haiti, Sean Penn reminds us it is more than a possibility the sweatshop corporatocracy sees a soulful reggae star as putty in their hands. Our best intentions can and will be undermined and you will never know what happened if you don't smarten up fast. It has happened easily millions, billions, quadrillions of times before throughout all of recorded history, human nature is at once gullible in its goodness and forever searching for supremacy. Everyday somewhere on this planet, the little lambs are led into the lions' den under the impression its a grand improvement. The very key that could release them, courage coupled with intelligence, you see, evades them.

How does one find courage? If you've never possessed that quality before, you probably think courage is something that just happens naturally in an emergency (emerge and see), an immature and ultimately escapist definition. It can not emerge permanently when you attempt to command it. Courage comes from disassociation to something you cared about deeply and discovered to your increasing disappointment such selfless caring was not deserved or to be feared or supported by your attention. When you decide and know beyond all doubt, your singular relationship to the world at large offers nothing equal in return but further loss and seemingly inescapable tragedy, true courage can be born, courage to see people and events as they are, courage to deal with them as they must be dealt with, courage to survive them and master them on your own terms. This means most of us will never experience real courage because we are loathe to untie ourselves from morphing illusions served on a sterling platter starting with harmless flatteries gradually growing into full blown lies of glorious heritage and promise.

One cannot progress beyond what is promoted without suffering seriously. And by now you know suffering is the requirement for enlightenment, but suffering is exactly that which is most avoided. Often, it is hidden from us in the very language which would make it clear that we are suffering and therefore unrecognizable in its magnitude. We cover it up willingly, courage absent, satisfying ourselves with illusions, making do while the better than it was before never comes around as it is imagined. The key then would be to cease imagining, hoping, wishing and expecting, but to disattach and attain courage from the starkness of reality. Good luck with that. There is a reason addictions are so difficult to treat. Aside from the addiction growth industry, reality is not exactly everyone's favorite subject. However, it better move up on the charts, and soon.

More later.

photo: Julian Assange, c. google images

What plan?

We are about to learn something more about mourning than we ever thought we'd experienced beyond that all-encompassing kind of mourning already survived and to come again somewhere within each of our individual stories: a mourning so intense you learned there was no recovery. No, the kind of mourning I am speaking of defies language ... too huge to grasp and too heavy to articulate even in the contemplation of description. You are reading here, then you might try it on, but I caution you, all the Forces whisper you cannot preview the experience and will not want to, either. That's fine. That is a start.

I'm not trying to amuse you, but one of the conclusions I've drawn from the study of anthro-junkieology is that is takes 2 months to become an internet addict all courtesy, of course, to the GOM. I succumbed. Unlike many however, I am quite solid with my role and have some immunity as one needs to keep their cool when the Apocalypse brings on its truths. If you know how to handle your mind, you will know your role ... if you want to be there in the here and now, that is.

This past few remarkably beautiful, late spring - early summer days have been memorable for their perfection of color and composition. I once read in Terrence McKenna's bio something he wanted everyone to understand, after he knew his prognosis, he would look at a tiny bug crawling and break into tears at the perfection of it all.

There will be no grand coming together. Of course there should be, but lies separate humans and we are separated as I've often posted before. We have seen how the story is going to go, there will be lies contradicting lies because no one is allowed to say anything now - except agency copywriters who are flooded with press releases by the second, towering stacks of .pdf's., all of which appear to have no order as if the copywriter was some self-professed "expert" at mind reading on a grand scale ... There will be those who lie and there will be those that cannot speak anything but truth. You can see the difference in the gluttonous desires and homogenization of the character. We, likely of another parallel, to the best of my knowledge, have nothing in common with these models of the new celebrity.

If a man never directly answers my question and lies every time he opens his mouth, I would stay pretty far away. Whatever level we are concerned with in human communication goes for all levels. (Actually, there are no levels if you are dealing with the truth all the time, rather than when truth is just a faux pas.)

How much longer can they keep up appearances when everybody knows its an appearance? It is now surreal to think on our mission in foreign lands which has never been made clear as it should have been all along. On one level, it is of course clear, but on the level it counts, it is kept from us. This game has worn out its ability to serve any purpose other than irreverent marketing entertainment, and it makes us look terrible and evil to our partners who are fading, weary of the game, fully aware of the direction undertaken, wanting nothing to do with us anymore, feeling the requirement of self-protection as healthier. This is only natural and appropriate since the human species is more concerned with humanity than with the pursuit of wealth and technology. It would seem, considering the petro-techno-instawealth detour that got us into this mess, instead of driving straight into a flat dead end, our species would have been better served to examine itself and how itself can expand its consciousness and become one spiritual body encouraging the magnificence and creativity of the human heart/soul/mind progressing towards friendly relations with inhabitants of other planets. What are we doing? We could be soaring in the heavens by now, flying fearlessly under our own power, visiting parallel universes, sharing solutions, communing with the Gods in person in the Human Realm and learning important lessons from those in the Animal Realm. We could have learned knowledge of true value instead of learning garbage. Garbage is at least one suitable term to describe what humanity did not need and is cast out regularly in an effort to purify and sanitize our surrounding oblivious to the miles of towering landfulls with giant dozers gliding up and down the mountains pressing plastic casing and broken plastic parts mixed with used paper towels and the rotted discards of spoiled people who stopped caring about anything because they consumed too much, pressing all of it flat into the previous day's compressed layer of the same until they are forced to cover it up with sod and glide on to the next available acre. When you empty a few 30 gallon bags of garbage in your living room you wind up close to the same place you are today. I ask you, was that necessary? Why did you do that? Now we have to clean it all up and know well in advance of such a project we will be all alone in our living room since many want the garbage to remain exactly where it is and will in fact replace it if you happened to make a dent in the mountain. We will find it a defeating exercise, illegal at its core according the the laws in support of corporate personhood. You will have to live with it for now, repulsive and disgusting as it is, unhealthy, unsanitary, capable of attracting infestations of creepy things and more.

What is the plan?
As it stands today, biblical mass migration and mass evacuation, as was done by the Okies in the 30's and by the Iraqis, the Native Americans, Haitians and countless others throughout history, including our own ancestors. (Migration is just a nicer way of saying evacuation which is to flee, rather than flee with a solid plan of where it is one is landing and where they will live and what they will do when they get there.) In this way, our patchwork quilt will become mixed up even more which means anyone harboring prejudice needs to dissolve the hatred like yesterday. I do not want to hear any bs about bringing down home values in the neighborhood, that's handled by another department in petro-techno-instawealth concerned with garbage distributions anyway. Rather, I expect us to welcome the oppressed and suffering with open arms and make way for them to contribute and rebuild sustainably within our communities. The smallest kindnesses shown are powerful potential for reversing the tide. We all need one another, we are all in this together. Turn no one away. Soon enough we'll be migrating too, since it is more than obvious Ferdinand and Isabella are on a different page in a cheap spy paperback and will never even consider how it ever got to this point. Even though enough history has been upended by rewrites according to the victor, some of it actually happened as real life evidence of tragic effect is to be seen everywhere, such as occurred with the Dutch maritime traders in 1604 barging into Africa and setting loose the Atlantic Triangular Trade monster from Hades which progressed into more elusive, religious and indecent conquests altruistically known as "exploring" and "discovery," bringing huge monetary reward to those reading the same pulp fiction.

I'm fond of Stephen Crane's short story The Open Boat written during an especially dark literary period termed Modernism and published in 1898. You should read it through and if you do, you will remember it for the remainder of your days. It is brief and appropriate for these times:

..."If I am going to be drowned--if I am going to be drowned--if I am going to be drowned, why, in the name of the seven mad gods who rule the sea, was I allowed to come thus far and contemplate sand and trees?"...

In other words, and you will be doing that all the way through this timeless work and again as it reinforces itself repeatedly in human interactions: have we come so far, suffered so deeply, loved so dearly, endured torture and needless oppression beyond all reason, all for nothing?