Joel Robert Miller

So i was sitting on a Zapotec playa, basking in the paradise of it all, smoking cigarettes and herb with a wonderful old anarchist. He just made so much sense. I told him i wish he was running the show in the USA, because he was so good at cutting through the bullshit. For example, his next play is to be titled "Nobody for President"... and he wants it shouted from the rooftops. The more i got to know him the more my love for him grew, at one point i looked him in the eye and said, "You know, we could very well be the same person" to which he replied "I am fine with that"... and it made me feel so good. Then i flicked my cigarette towards the ocean, and a sand crab popped up out of its hole, ran to the butt that was rolling across the sand in the breeze, grabbed the cigarette with the smoking end pointed high at the sky, scuttled back into its hole, with the smoking cherry being the last thing to disappear.

He let me borrow a letter he had written, i offered to post it here on my website. i invite you to bask in the wisdom of America's finest eclipse chaser.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Love Song by LLwyd deVoid

A Love Song to my Sisters in their seventies (LLwyd deVoid, himself well into his seventies, uses this, the occassion of Marian Kimes' 75th, to cast a glance back at the women of our generation).

When I plighted my troth to Suzanne, it was with the expectation that we should share the experience of growing old together. Then, when she unplighted hers to me, it forced me to love them all equally, instead of loving one of them to the exclusion of all others. Which is as it should be since it is a mistake to make any one thing in the universe more important than everything else. Everything is as important as everything else. One thing is certain: we are human beings first; man and woman is an ad hoc condition.
What a rewarding and eventful experience growing old with my generation of women continues to be. Rare jewels all, we were born during the last time the death rate exceeded the birth rate in this nation. Disenfranchised first by the heroes of World War II and then suppressed by the tyranny of numbers in the baby boom; instead of governing we had to be content to try to make government take responsibility for its actions.
Who are these gals?
Their mothers came through the Roaring Twenties and their grandmas, the Gay 90's. There's the geneology of a gal who can hang in with you at a party. I first noticed them as classy fifty's chicks sporting a set of perky pointy boobs. These are not your big titted baby boomers. These women were born into the depression and know how to make the best of hard times. And have a good time doing it. Who impose peace wherever they go in homage to Her, who has no name. Women who exhibit the courage and the zeal to storm the barricades. Women of the pill who could, and did, fuck anybody without regard to race, creed, national origin or sexual orientation. They forced integration on the USA by being nondiscriminating. They insisted on the equality of the sexes - lived it. Riveter, plumber, senator, doctor and priest have been stripped of the male connotation and stand revealed as dickless. the world of work is neuter and the male sexist worker, who is not aware, quickly learns what emasculation is.
It helps if the man doesn't mind doing a little housework. She becomes a woman when she wills it. I've been so honored and i can testify uppity women sport the very best pussy.
Yes! I'm proud of my gals, who stood shoulder-to-shoulder with me confronting violence with nonviolence. Serving hard time for it. I know a 70-year-old Catholic nun who did six months in a Federal penitentiary for the crime of trespass on the School of the Americas. One way to get to be a sainte is by going to prison for crimes of conscience. No blood, no foul, I say.
So how does one relate to a woman who has abjoured love? One is allowed, without insisting on it, to suggest things which may provide mutual enjoyment. My gals have followed me to the ends of the earth in the quest for mutual enjoyment. There are indications my partners have likewise enjoyed themselves, but that is for them to say. There are those, however, who keep coming back for second and third helpings. It really gets good when we got so far into it that we are no longer doing the trip.
The trip is doing us.
Come with me.
We'll go flying with the gods - mezcal drunk on a beach in Oaxaca - take the demon rum to three falls. Aches and pains all over, but it feels good because we know we have won.
Whose keeping score?
We'll go see an eclipse or watch a volcano blow up - both of them at the same time.
Let's cast our shadows on the face of the moon and walk down the sharp ridge from King's Peak in the dark.
Dangerous? Babe, a little danger adds spice to your life. Believe me, some one is taking care of us. I don't know her name, but i do know she has forgiven all debts, even those of gratitude.
Thanks anyway.
Let's walk among the Sendero Luminoso and the Zapatista.
What good is a guardian angel if you don't give her something to do?
Let's get a rush. Join a human chain around a Federal building and then sit down on the pavement. Look up at the mounted policeman stamping his horses hooves inches from your body. Put a real spike in the pucker meter. Ghandi was right. Horses will not walk on people.
What's next? You could do worse than join me Mother's Day at a demonstration protesting the doings at the Nuclear Test Site, outside of Las Vegas. Or a Caribbean adventure in '06.
We're not done yet.

Write in candidate for President 2008

Vote for a Navajo Grandmother for President 2008.

i want to eat the left eye of George Herbert Walker Bush, with ketchup on it.

It's true. i want to eat it. preferably live on national television and radio. In addition, I strictly desire to do so with the voluntary consent of the man himself. I think it would do a lot for the healing of our world... hopefully sooner rather than later, W will feel the same. He can use an optical replacement of some sort if he were to so choose, but I personally would much prefer him to use a pirate patch... for that is what he is and that is the family he is seeded from. For the corporate domination of global cultures, for the pharmacological narcotizing of everyone, for the drug wars, for the white power, for a war with an unjust premise and hundreds of thousands of dead men , women and children, for the start of the end of lies... i want to eat his left eyeball. with ketchup. About a month ago i wrote that in the sand of a beach in paradise. at night, in big letters. Just before i wrote that i had written "Waves are the Wings of God" ... but i had written it in the wet sand and as waves washed the words away it struck me to leave something more lasting. i walked a little away and upslope, and carved my desire for comida in the dry sand... the sand that got wetter the further i gouged my finger in. As for the eye, I am confident that there are masters across this fine earth that are well versed in the proper extraction and preparation, and i welcome their counsel, most naturally. ~el duderino

hot shit

monty python
"...So always look on the bright side
of death
Just before you draw your
terminal breath
Life's a piece of shit
When you look at it
Life's a laugh and death's a joke
it's true
You'll see it's all a show
Keep 'em laughing as you go
Just remember that the last laugh
is on you
And always look on the bright side
of life..."
[Monty Python -
Always Look on
the Bright Side of Life]

in perspective...

within this Milky Way,

how close can governmental spy satellites zoom in?

Peri Pheral

the gang and the government are no different.

Viva Canada

Senator John McCain, FUCK YOU

It is with great alarm and concern that I have discovered that Senate Bill 1003 "The Navajo Hopi Land Settlement Act Amendments of 2005" is now before Congress. This letter is written in support of traditional Navajo (known in their language as Dineh) who will be forcibly evicted and dispossessed of their homes under this bill. I support the right of these families, who are among the few remaining American Indians who still speak their traditional language and practice their traditional culture, to remain on their lands and strongly oppose Senate Bill 1003.

The Congressional Budget Office (CBO) "estimates that enacting S. 1003 would have no significant effect on direct spending or revenues." In fact, the original Navajo Hopi Land Settlement Act of 1974 forced 1000s of hardworking self-sustaining families into welfare dependency, despair and early death. This ill-conceived bill may actual force hardworking independent people into welfare dependency on the federal government and increase the cost to US taxpayers.The cost overruns and inadequate financing of the relocation program are not the fault of the Navajo and are entirely due to major miscalculations on the number of affected people and federal governmental incompetence. Adding insult to injury, the lands designated for relocation are contaminated by one of the worst uranium mine accidents in US history.

A Washington Post investigative article has uncovered massive fraud and collusion involving Peabody Coal company and a consortium of 23 Utility companies in the passage of the original relocation law, P.L. 93-531 that led to the forced relocation of over 15,000 Navajo in what experts call one of the "worst involuntary resettlements" worldwide in the modern era. To remove the remaining people based on amendments to this corrupt and fraudulent law is nothing less than environmental ethnic cleansing.

The Navajo tell us that it is no coincidence that the land from which the Navajo are being removed contains over $ 20 billion worth of coal. Jack Abramoff and his associates have been involved in lobbying for companies interested in the Navajo's land and we support the request of the Navajo families for an investigation into any activities regarding Jack Abramoff and Senate Bill 1003. This bill comes at a time while Peabody Energy is in the process of acquiring a life-of-mine lease in the Black Mesa area even though the Black Mesa Mine is temporarily shut down.

Therefore, we support the Navajo families in opposing Senate Bill 1003 and respectfully request

* That the Senate remove Senate Bill 1003 from consideration
* That the Congress pass a resolution opposing forced relocation of Native Americans
* That Congress help the communities already relocated rather than closing any federal offices that may be able to help them
* That Congress work directly with affected families and communities to resolve any land issues and listen to them, not just Jack Abramoff or other high paid lobbyists.

!!!


This bill (Senate Bill 1003) will permanently displace the indigenous families of Big Mountain and surrounding communities on Black Mesa from their ancestral lands and will relieve
the federal government of any further responsibility for the relocated people. S.
1003, sponsored by Senator John McCain (Republikkkan-AZ), comes as Peabody Coal, the world's largest coal company, is planning to expand its strip mining of American Indian
lands, drawing down a high-quality residential aquifer in the process. Only one
thing stands in Peabody's way: indigenous people live on the land below which lies
billions of tons of low-sulfur coal. As with their ancestors, the land is the basis
for the Black Mesa people's traditions, spirituality, and livelihoods.

There is still time to act!

http://www.blackmesais.org/

blackmesais@democracyinaction.org

ZAPATA

Can someone please tell me how the FUCK it is...that there has been a publicly successful revolution of the People in America, specifically Chiapas, Mexico... for ten fucking years now (since the day the NAFTA treaty was signed) ...

and not once in my entire goddamn 32 years of life have i heard it mentioned once on television or radio in the United States of America... Land of the Free and Home of the Brave???????????????

~el duderino

School of the Americas is an Atrocity and a War Crime

infuriating info here

Wake up White People

FUCK all laboratory drugs FOREVER

Why is it that in every part of the world that people Desire to live in... there is always a large, expensive house high up in the hills closest to town... and the person living there sells drugs. And one of them is always cocaine. And why is it that, always, the normal folk of the town are addicted and paranoid as well ~ since the police always harass them, fine them, jail them, beat them and kill them. Now to the heart of this rant- why is it that when the police see the rich (white) man from the mansion on the hill; they smile and embrace each other, then the Cops kiss the Guy's ass.
Why is it more dangerous to Pigs to see a poor, indigenous itinerant worker smoke a joint?

KracK Killz KracK Killz KracK Killz KracK Killz KracK Killz KracK Killz KracK Killz

fuck the KKK, fuck the government drug trades, fuck the white power, fight the power.

Love Song, by LLwyd deVoid ...a message from God, to the ladies

So i was sitting on a Zapotec playa, basking in the paradise of it all, smoking cigarrettes and herb with a wonderful old anarchist. He just made so much sense. I told him i wish he was running the show in the USA, because he was so good at cutting through the bullshit. For example, his next play is to be titled "Nobody for President"... and he wants it shouted from the rooftops. The more i got to know him the more my love for him grew, at one point i looked him in the eye and said, "You know, we could very well be the same person" to which he replied "I am fine with that"... and it made me feel so good. Then i flicked my cigarette towards the ocean, and a sand crab popped up out of its hole, ran to the butt that was rolling across the sand in the breeze, grabbed the cigarette with the smoking end pointed high at the sky, scuttled back into its hole, with the smoking cherry being the last thing to disappear.

He let me borrow a letter he had written, i offered to post it here on my website. i invite you to bask in the wisdom of America's finest eclipse chaser.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Love Song by LLwyd deVoid

A Love Song to my Sisters in their seventies (LLwyd deVoid, himself well into his seventies, uses this, the occassion of Marian Kimes' 75th, to cast a glance back at the women of our generation).

When I plighted my troth to Suzanne, it was with the expectation that we should share the experience of growing old together. Then, when she unplighted hers to me, it forced me to love them all equally, instead of loving one of them to the exclusion of all others. Which is as it should be since it is a mistake to make any one thing in the universe more important than everything else. Everything is as important as everything else. One thing is certain: we are human beings first; man and woman is an ad hoc condition.
What a rewarding and eventful experience growing old with my generation of women continues to be. Rare jewels all, we were born during the last time the death rate exceeded the birth rate in this nation. Disenfranchised first by the heroes of World War II and then suppressed by the tyranny of numbers in the baby boom; instead of governing we had to be content to try to make government take responsibility for its actions.
Who are these gals?
Their mothers came through the Roaring Twenties and their grandmas, the Gay 90's. There's the geneology of a gal who can hang in with you at a party. I first noticed them as classy fifty's chicks sporting a set of perky pointy boobs. These are not your big titted baby boomers. These women were born into the depression and know how to make the best of hard times. And have a good time doing it. Who impose peace wherever they go in homage to Her, who has no name. Women who exhibit the courage and the zeal to storm the barricades. Women of the pill who could, and did, fuck anybody without regard to race, creed, national origin or sexual orientation. They forced integration on the USA by being nondiscriminating. They insisted on the equality of the sexes - lived it. Riveter, plumber, senator, doctor and priest have been stripped of the male connotation and stand revealed as dickless. the world of work is neuter and the male sexist worker, who is not aware, quickly learns what emasculation is.
It helps if the man doesn't mind doing a little housework. She becomes a woman when she wills it. I've been so honored and i can testify uppity women sport the very best pussy.
Yes! I'm proud of my gals, who stood shoulder-to-shoulder with me confronting violence with nonviolence. Serving hard time for it. I know a 70-year-old Catholic nun who did six months in a Federal penitentiary for the crime of trespass on the School of the Americas. One way to get to be a sainte is by going to prison for crimes of conscience. No blood, no foul, I say.
So how does one relate to a woman who has abjoured love? One is allowed, without insisting on it, to suggest things which may provide mutual enjoyment. My gals have followed me to the ends of the earth in the quest for mutual enjoyment. There are indications my partners have likewise enjoyed themselves, but that is for them to say. There are those, however, who keep coming back for second and third helpings. It really gets good when we got so far into it that we are no longer doing the trip.
The trip is doing us.
Come with me.
We'll go flying with the gods - mezcal drunk on a beach in Oaxaca - take the demon rum to three falls. Aches and pains all over, but it feels good because we know we have won.
Whose keeping score?
We'll go see an eclipse or watch a volcano blow up - both of them at the same time.
Let's cast our shadows on the face of the moon and walk down the sharp ridge from King's Peak in the dark.
Dangerous? Babe, a little danger adds spice to your life. Believe me, some one is taking care of us. I don't know her name, but i do know she has forgiven all debts, even those of gratitude.
Thanks anyway.
Let's walk among the Sendero Luminoso and the Zapatista.
What good is a guardian angel if you don't give her something to do?
Let's get a rush. Join a human chain around a Federal building and then sit down on the pavement. Look up at the mounted policeman stamping his horses hooves inches from your body. Put a real spike in the pucker meter. Ghandi was right. Horses will not walk on people.
What's next? You could do worse than join me Mother's Day at a demonstration protesting the doings at the Nuclear Test Site, outside of Las Vegas. Or a Caribbean adventure in '06.
We're not done yet.

i want to eat the left eye of George Herbert Walker Bush, with ketchup on it.

It's true. i want to eat it. preferable live on national television and radio. In addition, i strictly desire to do so with the voluntary consent of the man himself. I think it would do alot for the healing of our world, and hopefully sooner rather than later, W will feel the same. He can use an optical replacement of some sort if he were to so choose, but i personally would much prefer him to use a pirate patch, for that is what he is and that is the family he is seeded from.

So, for the corporate domination of global cultures, for the pharmacological narcotizing of everyone,

for the drug wars, for the white power, for a war with an unjust premise and hundreds of thousands of dead men , women and children, for the start of the end of lies... i want to eat his left eyeball.

with ketchup.

About a month ago i wrote that in the sand of a beach in paradise. at night, in big letters. Just before i wrote that i had writted "Waves are the Wings of God" ... but i had written it in the wet sand and as waves washed the words away it struck me to leave something more lasting. i walked a little away and upslope, and carved my desire for comida in the dry sand... the sand that got wetter the further i gouged my finger in. As for the eye, i am confident that there are masters across this
fine earth that are well versed in the proper extraction and preparation, and i welcome their counsel, most naturally.

~el duderino