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Mar 15, 2007

"It is what It is"

Of all the cultural catchphrases that have bastardized wisdom into pacification... it is what it is ... is the shittiest.
What it is is a stir-fried crock of shit

This catchphrase of nothingness passively negates any conversation that precedes it. It draws a conversational line in the sand... it takes the rhythm and direction of a conversation and concedes it to passive acceptance of the past. It not only acknowledges the speaker of the phrase as an intentionally ignorant participant... it presents the listener with the hopelessness of agreement... or combative defense of the fact that It, in point of fact, is not what the speaker assumes it is.

This is a ripe and prime example of the forked tongue and pretzel logic of a death culture so full of shit that the poo becomes a catchphrase. It is what it is takes the speakers assumptions on an indirect offensive... in the context of a conversation the phrase forces listeners to accept anothers' assumptions as truth or escalate the conversation into an argument that is logically impossible and undesirable to defend...

this being that most times, it is something... but noone knows exactly what.

Whenever there is an It there is an observer... it is what it is deceives the listener by pretending that a truth exists in the statement separate from the speaker or listener. But this itself is an impossibility... if there is no relationship between what It is and the conversation... how can the conversation exist?

it is what You think it is.

it is what i think it is.

it is Not what it is'nt

it is...

what?

Mar 3, 2007

Cornfed Mafia




It is culturally impossible for there to be an entire global generation acknowledging the Divinity of humankind and the righteous magic of Nature as long as Capitalism dominates global agendas. There exists something real called Freedom, as anyone who has pissed over the edge of the Grand Canyon knows well. There also exists (by popular consent) something real called Reality... which is a place where Freedoms can coincide or collide. Reality is imposed upon us by social conventions... freedom can never be given... only experienced.

The gluttonous fascist Reality of the Aryan Empires forever murders the people of Arabia in the hopes of founding the creation of a new society that could replace the one it is destroying. This twisted logic , like oroborus, eats it's own tale into inevitable destruction. Meanwhile the shreds of indigenous cultures across the globe that remain become stronger, truer... more real and more fun.

As King Bush “the lesser” stammers through cowboy proclamations... pausing to edit his freestyles to use words deemed more effective by advisors... the questions of babes begin to make inbred aristocrats wish they were wearing clothes.


The leaders of our country are placing procedures above perspectives... and telling us we need more procedures and less perspectives. Australia and America remain two imperial watchdogs for the U.K. (God save the bitch Queen) and Israel (which apparently learned how to build an exclusionary nation from the Nazis)... both nations grew with U.S.A. bullets and steel... and help from the Bush family. Meanwhile the B.B.C. broadcasts the news for 2 hours every morning of the U.S.A.'s National Public Radio... which in Philadelphia has at least 1/3 of the programs hosted by a jew... and not one muslim on the air. These wars dominate the attentions of a nation founded on the genocide (which still continues today) of the very peoples that welcomed and nourished the lost and greedy and hopeful children of Abraham. The core difference between Muslims and Christians is this... Muslims use their bodies as weapons to defend their God. Christians use their God as a weapon to defend their bodies. It seems that the indigenous peoples of anywhere have found the proper balances... especially in the Americas, from Alaska to Antarctica... they use their bodies and prayers to respect everything around and within themselves, they respect God and never claimed to represent anything beyond themselves. When a Dine' warrior signed a treaty he spoke for himself and no one else.

The endless bounty of the Americas has been plundered for 500 years... the pyramids have gotten larger and shinier and a lot less stable... or permanent...or natural.

Maybe if the 8 billion styrofoam McDonalds containers from the 1980's were all burned at once... the resulting cloud of foul funk would help heal the thinning ozone. Or maybe the next election will somehow have correct vote tallies. Maybe a Navajo Grandmother will finally win.

You can pretend more aid was not possible for New Orleans and men, women and children need to die in Iraq... and opium production is up in Afghanistan while we win a war on Drugs so Corporations can grow... and education will cure your children of the ignorance you embrace...

but you cannot fulfill the prophecy you hope to manufacture... and the actual conclusions of your fantasies scare you into lies and atrocities...

and when you collapse and cry for help you will be forgiven...

or tortured and forgotten...

welcome to this world.

Welcome to Evolutional fulfillment in each moment. Ahh, but your God denies this theory, you say?

Eat some corn... in any form (you likely do daily)...

It did not exist before human interaction.

The truly unwinnable debate is... did God?




eso es

Sep 23, 2006

Finding the Found

found1 (found)
tr.v., found·ed, found·ing, founds.

  1. To establish or set up, especially with provision for continuing existence: The college was founded in 1872.

  2. To establish the foundation or basis of; base: found a theory on firm evidence.

[Middle English founden, from Old French fonder, from Latin fundāre, from fundus, bottom.]

SYNONYMS found, create, establish, institute, organize. These verbs mean to bring something into existence and set it in operation: founded a colony; created a trust fund; establishing a business; instituted an annual benefit concert; organizing a field trip.


found2 (found)
tr.v., found·ed, found·ing, founds.

  1. To melt (metal) and pour into a mold.

  2. To make (objects) by pouring molten material into a mold.

[Middle English founden, from Old French fondre, from Latin fundere.]


found3 (found)
v.

Past tense and past participle of find.





~~ found at answers.com



Any word can be analyzed to the point that it is only recognizable as a sound that is made by one person that is then used by others as well, with each participant having their own perception of the meaning of that sound. The first definition at answers.com claims that found can be a verb, which occurs in the present tense but holds a purpose for the future. The second definition describes the act of taking a solid material, heating it to the point it becomes a liquid then manipulating it so that it becomes a formed object once it has cooled off. The final definition describes found as the act of searching... once it has already occured.

The Dude was a Foundling. One of the Found. Which didn't mean anything really, since being found entailed the irrelevance of Foundage. It was a strange paradox of logic, not unlike the twisty turns of a pretzel. You could follow the twisting lines and see how it had been made, but the point was to make it disappear, and enjoy the disappearing of it. Take the word found, for example. It can mean that something was desired and then acquired. But it can also mean the act of creating something that lasts. Which also happens to metal in a foundry. A common Foundling perspective viewed reality and the things within it as having the eternal and immediate oppurtunity for perfection. But having found also recognized, nay, acknowledged the perfection of inevitable imperfection. Foundage, in one respect, was the recognition that pain and suffering were intrinsic ingredients in life as we know it. The same was true for ecstacy, fear, love and ignorance. Not only everything known was found, but also the infinity of future finds... and the continual process of finding (and maintaining) the Found.

Founders were not card carrying members of anything in particular or publicly recognizable representatives of anything other than themselves. They had no buddy lists of fellow Foundlings, no email daisy chains or even any unified objectives beyond unfolding more Foundage. They had no secret or public symbols... or fucking flags to assimilate their unity into a single pattern of colors and shaped. They could, however, usually recognize another Foundling after extended conversations or through meaning filled shared experiences. Some lived quiet lives, sharing their Found with the natural world while deflecting and ignoring the intricacies of unfound. Also, many artists were particularly adept at projecting their Foundage publicly. These Foundlings tended to become cultural icons, aging into folk heroes that became myths as the generations after them experienced their arts. Beck, Dylan, Guthrie, Ghandi, Dass... conversely, others tended to blaze like the morning sun until their fire was extinguished unnaturally... prematurely. Lincoln, Cobain, King Jr., Marley, Guevara, Hendrix, Lennon... Jesus, it is too tragic, too sad (for the Found) to name more.

The Dude had been, is, and tried to always be... well, Found.



eso es

Beautiful Babylon Babies Unite !!!

This Blog existed after Bush II "the lesser" stole 2 elections, before Google ate Blogger,

This Blog existed after Bush II "the lesser" stole 2 elections, before Google ate Blogger,
Love Trumps hate.

Hits of the Month

Poetic HyperLinks Defeating the Impossibilities of Peace

Also sprach Zarathustra to the brothasistahs lost out in the woods…
Rolling stones and hurricanes prime us for the rapid eye movement of whose dream?
A stairway to the dark side of the moon reveals an orchestrated King
singing the blues while sexual pistols whip Jesus’ son.
Who’s influence weens us?
Me and my friends gratefully raged against the machine for three days
in the shadow of the valley of the dead
so big brother and company held us down while the wind cried
nothing to be gained here (except copied rights),
Then a questing tribe of beastly boys found a digable plant
where a buffalo soldier picked up a Gideon’s bible from the Godfather
in joe’s garage (or was it in one of 200 motels?)
Anyway, on a Holiday, the pinball wizard boy (Billie)
followed his heart and stopped pretending he was the king of the little plastic castles
while education, missed in the house of the naked apes, evolved and mutated
into and with ~ Nature Art Love Truth ~ and we do too…
And somewhere over the rainbow dancing fools send clowns and purple rain
into imagine nations where everything is now sacred
and there are no more public enemies or rusted Roots or minor threats
or bad brains or busted rhymes or widespread panic
and everyone can read the hieroglyphics on the wall
and we are all refugees of courtney’s love attaining nirvana….
But then again, you’re so vain, you probly think this poem’s about you-
we are everywhere and we cannot be beaten
it’s all over now baby blue, all we need is Love
Legalize It