a non-fiction on fictional Arbre from down the wick

This is a conversation that takes place on a fifth world and references planet Earth in discussing a philosophical statement by Ralph Waldo Emerson~


" ... a philosopher named Emerson who had some useful upsights about the difference between poets and mystics. I'm thinking that it's just as applicable in our cosmos as it is in his."
"I'll bite, what's the difference?"
"The mystic nails a symbol to one meaning that was true for a moment but soon becomes false. The poet, on the other hand, sees that truth while it's true but understands that symbols are always in flux and that their meanings are fleeting."

page 883, Anathem 2008 Neal Stephenson

http://www.longnow.org/anathem/

http://www.nealstephenson.com/

~

The mystic and the poet each experience truth in different ways... each creating their own reality of truth.

Republicans and Democrats each experience truth in different ways, each creating their own reality of truth as well.

The U.S. Government is actively working towards limiting the truth of that conversation for every inhabitant of planet Earth.

Actively pursuing covert and open war... mass murders and mass incarcerations,

maintaining complete surveillance of global telecommunication systems,

manipulation of global economic power with long term vision reserved for the rich and corporations.

The C.I.A. has been in the White House since V.P. Bush in 1980.

If you believe in Patriotism, than the C.I.A. exists as a covert servant of the people of the U.S.A. It has chosen to elect Bush II for the past 8 years. It is now advocating McCain/Palin for 2008.

If you believe the U.S.A. is corrupted and Patriotism has become no more than an abstract argument or nostalgic memory, then the C.I.A. has become more of a regulator of freedom than a guardian of it.




These are two possible realities to confront the state of our nation.

The U.S. Government and the mainstream media (television, national newspapers and radio) does not allow certain topics to be debated on a national level.

1. Support of Israel

2. Peace with Iran

3. Criticism of Saudi Arabia

4. U.S. Military and Covert operations in Latin America

5. Reparations for broken treaties

6. Ending the War on Drugs


It is possible that the C.I.A. tries to be a mystic while fantasizing it is a poet...


whatever truth it is hiding from the U.S.A. is destroying the morale of it's citizens through

1. Contentious and false elections

2. Pharmaceutical pacification of the public.

3. Global war on false pretenses

4. Rapid growth and use of prisons



A fictional entity from Arbe in Anathem can see the truth in the duality of poets and mystics that Emerson described to Americans over 100 years ago...

perhaps the C.I.A. will realize that unbridled truth is superior to covert manipulation of it

and liquidate itself.

the Eclipse Chaser con tres huevos

Nobody for President
~ the musical

Last weekend in August 2008
Wylie CK Campground
Outside Granite Falls WA
Llywyd de Void
a.k.a. Lloyd Watson

)

Nelson's Mandala

مرسلة بواسطة el Duderino في


my rational mind can logically justify the fact that everything i do on the computer is broadcast live on the big screen in times square 24/7


i.t.t.

QUOTE (lumpy @ Jun 10, 2008, 04:56 PM)

"That's the most ridiculous excuse for improvident consumption I ever heard."

flute child

He walked into the shade of a table on the side of the brick paved road. In the u.s.a. he was used to very prompt service, waiters would be nearly invasive with their attention to tables. Here it sometimes took ten minutes or more for anyone to approach the table once seated. He leaned back in one of the ever-present curved, white plastic stackable chairs. His eyes adjusted to the oddity of pleasant lighting under the thatched roof, totally surrounded by the brilliant glare of the tropical noonday sun. When the sun was high in the sky it commanded respect. To simply stand under it's power unprotected sucked energy and nutrients out of him. And the sweat, of course. So much heat would gather at the crown of his forehead that it felt like it was touching flame. This caused a virtual fountain which trickled continuously into his eyes. It would sometimes irritate him, so he would wipe his forehead with forearm. Instantly the sun scorched the spot again and the process repeated until dizzy and half blind, shade was found. Once taking shade it was at least ten minutes until his body was at full rest, his eyes were totally adjusted, his breathing had become unlabored, and his skin was dry to the touch.

Sheltered and now relaxed, a girl took his drink order and left him a menu.

Since most of the juices were fresh squeezed the drinks often took another five to ten minutes to arrive. The heat of the place lent itself to slow service. Over-exertion quickly caused an enormous amount of sweat and effort. Slow and steady always won the race here. In the noonday sun everyone who could nearly shut down for an hour or more of siesta. The sun became so intense that just being exposed to it sapped strength and even made thoughts slower, more difficult to produce. Finding shade was necessary... finding a hammock to lie in was divine. Being cradled in the warm air felt like the womb must have, our original home. Occasional breezes would wrap around his body and gently rock him back and forth. It was an ancient rest. To share that comfort with the presence of friends or strangers in nearbye hammocks was also incredible. Such public displays of comfortable rest were rarely seen in in the u.s.a., sunbathing being an exception. But here complete strangers would relax even though fully exposed, hanging helpless in a net above the ground. It felt good to be close to trusting strangers that were so relaxed.

George had placed an order for chicken mole', he had read that mole was made from chocolate sauce and he really wanted to try some. Chocolate and chicken, quite a mix. He was becoming accustomed to the slow service. There were only about six tables at the apparently nameless restaurant. A young family at a table close by was looking through a stack of dvd's that the place had for rent. The children were pleading to watch a computer generated film about animals. It was a lovely day. George watched a beautiful girl walk down the street and he longed to talk to her, to know her. He suppressed the loneliness with a wistful smile and a sip of water. From somewhere behind him a single note began to play. It slowly developed into a simple sounding tune, one that played well off of the chatter of the restaurant and street... the crashing of the waves. It slowly gained in confidence and clarity to the point that George was surprised no-one around him was commenting on it. The tune was innocent and pure, it lacked the slickness of a typical public performance. The honesty of the sound humbled him. It was like listening to a friend bear their heart to him without cloaking the words in pride or ego. After a minute or more, the initial simplicity of the tune evolved somehow. The single notes linked together suddenly seemed to not only compliment the world here at the corner restaurant, but they began to help shape it as well. Even if the other diners had not visibly stopped to listen, their conversations had all unconsciously incorporated the tune into their moments. While at first the tune was a stranger to them all, it had become welcome somehow. A cool breeze from the ocean added to this sense of welcome. A tiny child came walking through the tables of the restaurant then, holding out a worn sombrero upside down for donations. George was so moved by her beauty and poverty that he did not offer her any coins... he just watched her with his heart in his throat. It was her father playing the flute, and he played it for her. It was his music about her, it was his music for her. George observed their visible poverty, compassion and respect washed over him. Perhaps all that man owned in the world was his flute and the love of his baby girl but there was pride in that. There was truth and honesty there that was so real no-one could ever take it from them. George sensed it went deeper than that even. The man held tradition in his flute, his tune and his love for the girl. His song was an ancient song, a timeless song. He did not sing it for money or food or the desire of comfort, he sang it to protect his love. He sang it to prepare the street for the presence of his divine child. His divine love. All of the money in the world could not wrap her in the secure love of his simple songs. He was her herald, his flute paved the way for her presence. She was not a beggar, she was a goddess who lived outside of the world of business transactions and interest rates. She lived on the gifts of strangers and the love of her father.

This was unexpected and overwhelming to George, and as he was still processing all of these feelings and revelations the two slipped farther down the street out of view... and soon even the flute song faded from his perceptions. They had been so unexpected and real, like when a herd of deer unexpectedly appeared at the side of a road staring silent and proud at the loud cars roaring past. There was a chasm in George's mind between the real and true and the nonsense and confusion... this man and child were living with pure love and truth, it humbled him.

Fiction Under Democracy

George got out of a white and yellow taxi, retrieved his backback from the trunk and paid the driver with 120 pesos, "Muchas gracias" and a large smile. When the cab drove off he could hear waves crashing. He walked under the archway of the "San Cristobal" because it was the nearest hotel, leaving the hot dirt of the street for the cool sand of it's arching entrance. He checked in for one night, dropped his belongings in a small room and switched his sneakers for flip flops, cargo shorts for swim trunks. He wondered if he would use the protection of the mosquito net hanging over the bed that night. It was the first he had ever seen in his life. Grabbing a book and a towel he headed to the beach in front of the "San Cristobal". The sun was so hot he quickly sought shade and read snippets of Let's Go! Mexico when he wasn't busy people watching and observing all the differences between this beach and the ones at New Jersey shores he had grown up with. There were still sea gulls... but many more pelicans with huge long beaks that they used to grab fish from the smooth curl of waves just before they broke. Tiny crabs would occasionally pop out of holes in the sand and scuttle amidst tiny sea shells. Skinny, tired looking wild dogs slept in any shade they could find or grabbed any food that beach tourists had forgotten... or didn't constantly guard. A young boy and an older mexican man were tossing a weighted net into the shallows as the broken waves slid back into the sea. They used attached lines to draw in the net, collecting dozens of tiny sardines nearly every time. The shiny floppers were dropped into a well used five-gallon bucket.
There were no ice-cream trucks or boardwalks with caramel corn and Italian water ices, no pizza shops with huge slices for sale. No beach tags required, no cotton candy. There were grandmothers walking the beach with food for tourists and they amazed George. Despite the heat and their age they walked the entire length of the beach in long colorful skirts with huge tupperware bowls perched impossibly on the tops of their heads. After meeting a few he realized that each was carrying something entirely different than the other. One woman had a collection of hard pastries that had been baked in the nearest city. Another had peanuts and home-made candybars that looked like a box of Cracker-Jacks compressed into a solid rectangle. She explained that she had made them herself the day before. For lunch he bought three fish tacos for one U.S. dollar from a grandmother who lived one town away and explained that this was the fourth and final beach she would walk that day. Her son was a fisher and gave her the fish she had used. The red salsa she poured over them was incredible and she had made it herself. The guidebook he had been reading warned against eating local lettuce since it held alot of water that may affect digestive systems not used to the local bacterias... but George wolfed down the three tacos and loved them. He simply could not let the threat of diarreah keep him from this kind of food. It all just made so much sense. The tortillas had been made that day locally, the lettuce was grown nearbye, the salsa was homemade and the fish had been swimming in the ocean in front of him just yesterday morning. All for a price so reasonable it made him feel guilty.
A young teenage boy pushed a wheelbarrow half filled with coconuts up to him. "Coco Loco?" the boy asked and George said yes without knowing what that was... just knowing it would be neat to have a coconut like the ones hanging from trees above him. The little man grabbed a well used machete resting between two arms of the wheelbarrow and sliced a section off the top of a green coconut with four firm chops. He poured a shot of rum inside the small hole and stuck a plastic straw in it, asking for three dollars. George paid, thinking how much more work went into the fish tacos that cost so much less. The coconut milk was sweet and satisfying, he would have preferred it without the rum... which made his hot head feel even heavier in the heat. When he finished the Coco Loco a more experienced fellow tourist from Canada showed him how to split the remains open and use the original chunk of cut coconut shell to scrape the inside. He would never have realized all that fresh coconut meat was waiting in there for him... this was possibly the first edible beverage container he had ever used in his life.
The next morning he awoke to the sound of roosters crowing. At first he was able to ignore them and rest a bit more, but there were alot and they became more insistent as the morning sun crept into the sky. He began sweating too much to lie there anymore. The San Cristobal had a restaurant on the beach side of the hotel in the beach sand. He sat down at a table for two and looked over the menu. There was no way he was ordering a soda when the menu listed fresh squeezed orange, mango, pineapple and watermelon juice. The same fruits were listed as pitchers of "Licuado de" which the waiter explained was a mixture of the juice with water and sugar. He ordered what turned out to be his favorite beverage until the day he died... "Una mezcla de licuado de pina y sandia, por favor senor." It was watermelon and pineapple juice mixed with sugar water. He noticed a cup of coffee cost 10 pesos (one dollar) which was the same as it cost in Wawas from New Jersey to Virgina. He had read once that the Wawa stores were named after a small Pennsylvania town which had in turn been named after an Ojibwe (american indian) word for goose like in the poem "Song for Hiawatha"...

"All the wild-fowl sang them to him,
In the moorlands and the fen-lands,
In the melancholy marshes;
Chetowaik, the plover, sang them,
Mahng, the loon, the wild-goose, Wawa..." ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


George had learned how to enjoy coffee from Wawas in high school. Many people did, Wawa sold over 165 million cups a year. But this cup was so much better. It was pure Oaxacan beans... so sweet it reminded him of hot chocolate. Corn and coffee had lined the road to town for many miles in dry fields with patches of pale green. His pancakes were small but delicious... the waiter brought a tiny pitcher of local honey instead of maple syrup. The taste was much more delicate than the lucious molasses of tree sap. He pinched some chili powder onto his eggs then salted them with another pinch... there were no salt and pepper shakers. In fact there was no black pepper in sight. The chili powder more than made up for it. The salt was in a small glass dish and he noticed a mexican couple using the salt quite liberally... they were pinching it out of their dish and sprinkling it on their plates while they chatted.
As he admired their bronze complexions and beautiful smiles it occurred to him that there was really no such thing as a "mexican". Gilberto, the cab driver from the day before had explained to George that he also was an American just like George was... although not a citizen of the United States of America he did in fact live in the heart of the Americas... which stretched from Alaska to Cape Horn, Chile. He had further described the switchbacks and cliffs they were driving through as the middle of a massive and continuous chain of mountains called the American cordillera, "the spine of the world". So all these mexican hosts were really native americans; totally indigenous Americans and people whose ancestors had mixed their bloodlines with the rest of the world. If they were within the fifty states George would have called them American Indians. Gilberto had described himself as Zapoteca, his people had built pyramids in the area more than 4000 years past. This part of the world had invented corn. But Gilberto had explained that his people had not made the corn... the corn had made his people. There were many beautiful legends of the Corn Mother as Creator across the Americas... the very life and harvest cycles of corn were central to the religious beliefs and ceremonies of most indigenous American cultures. For example, he said, the Maya regarded corn as a gift from the gods and it was a sacred duty to cultivate it for them. In fact, humanity was originally fashioned from corn after the gods had tried with other materials and failed repeatedly.
This all came back to him in a flood of memory that afternoon as he smoked a cigarette after a late lunch. He had noticed a younger girl with food in a tupperware bowl that alot of "mexicans" (now he grimaced at the thought) were buying from. He asked her what she had and to his surprise she was selling iguana tomales. A leave of corn was wrapped around a paste of moist cornmeal and chunks of iguana. He had never had iguana for anything but a pet once in college. Other than some thin bones similar to one that had been in the fish taco the day before, it was tasty, especially with some of her salsa. George would taste anything once, he knew he would eat some iguana again. He was swinging lazily in a large and extremely comfortable hammock while the midday heat baked the white sand and Grandmothers hid in the shade of their tupperware bowls. It occurred to him that this was paradise. The land of eternal spring. If the bananas were not in season than the mangos were, or coconuts. He could have swam to the huge rocks near the shore and scraped mussels off their wet sides. Except for three to four months of rain each year, a pair of shorts was the only clothing needed. The only thing he really needed besides a place to keep his things was alot of water, as the heat made him sweat constantly. A five gallon jug just like the ones at office watercoolers cost him one dollar, the truck drove through town daily. Another truck drove through town daily, the driver announcing the different fruits and vegetables he had that day for sale. His voice was distorted by static and the poor quality of his ancient speakers. There were people living on the beach here that didn't even have a room for the night... they rented hammocks and slept under the stars.
The sun was falling lower in the sky and George noticed that it was likely to drop below the ocean in between the cliffs on the shore and a large rock that jutted out of the water where the waves were crashing, just offshore. He was running low on cigarettes so he began the short walk to a nearbye market. He didn't want to miss his first mexican sunset. Even though he was a tourist from the land of capitalism and corporations... he felt everything was different here. He felt it in his bones. This was going to be an indigenous sunset as opposed to the suburban ones he had enjoyed for most of his thirty years on earth. He had seen other natural sunsets... ones without power lines and jet contrails... without the eerie discolorations of the smog stained sky. He would never forget sunsets in the deserts of Arizona and New Mexico where he felt so alone but empowered by the silent majesty of a days end. Here they called it la puesta. People were beginning to gather on the dunes to watch la puesta. The tiny market was at a bend in the dirt road and only had two refrigerators. They were filled with beer, Gatorade, Coca Cola, Fanta, milk and yogurt. He realized then that some corporations had established footholds wherever electricity existed. It was probably a global rule that where refrigeration existed there was Coca Cola to be bought. He opted for a yogurt, having read in his tourism guidebook that it contained live organisms that were very beneficial for digestive systems. When he was a child his parents had vacationed in Acapulco. They returned with a beautiful rainbow colored blanket with corn and a person across the center. They also came back with horror stories of the terrible diarrhea they had experienced, his father had called it Montezuma's revenge. Montezuma was an Aztec ruler who had lost his empire to Hernan Cortez 500 years past. His father had told him that the illness was a curse Montezuma placed on all invaders to his lands when his rule ended. George was certainly not looking forward to this revenge, but he supposed he deserved it... he had been raised in the strange mix of European and American cultures that had evolved in the suburbs of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He knew virtually nothing of the Aztecs or the Zapotecs but here he was immersed in their land and culture and loving every minute of it. Other than the money he was giving the town for food, rent and cigarrettes he was doubtful he had brought anything truly meaningful to their paradise. Yes, revenge was well deserved. George had a more practical take on the situation as well. Any germs he ingested that caused him an upset stomache he would eventually build an immunity to... so each battle would only make him stronger. He wondered if the immigrant latin american workers in Pennsylvania experienced Montezuma's revenge as well... they probably did... but for leaving, not entering the mighty rulers lands. Many of the immigrants could be found in front of Wawas and Home Depots early each morning, looking for work. There was alot of manual labor for them to do in George's suburb... high school kids nowadays were too busy to mow their own lawns let alone their neighbors. Many of the pizza shops George frequented were run entirely by latinos (he winced again at the thought, native american seemed a much more respectful term now) and most of the housecleaners, cooks and dishwashers in his area restaurants and hotels were native american also. Indigenous. With all his neighbors and friends making big money at desk jobs there was an urgent need for people that were willing to actually work with their hands.
He flipped open the bilingual dictionary that was in his black backpack. "Indigenous ~ born or engendered in, native to a land or region, especially before an intrusion, especially of plants and indigenous peoples." George decided he wasn't an indigenous american even though he was born and raised in Pennsylvania. As far back as his great-grandparents, his family were native Pennsylvanians, he knew that for sure. But William Penn wasn't even a native. His bloodline was native to European ancestors and his culture and lifestyle came from a world that was being made after an intrusion... video games and televisions, radios and cars, jet airplanes and cell-phones, microwaves and ... everything that occupied the majority of George's time. Many thousands of traditions came to the Americas for 500 years from Europe. American culture had always reflected and absorbed them all.
He had been born after the nations of Europe intruded. When Spain, France, and England claimed American land as their own it became a cultural war with everything indigenous. Here on the dirt road in the shade of a palm tree a rooster walked in front of him and he felt more indigenous... if such a feeling even existed and wasn't a delusion of his heat riddled mind. It was simply that here on the southern coast of the middle of the Americas it was apparent that European influences were still regarded as foreign. Most technological icons could be found here but they were novelties that intruded on Nature and the very natural pace of life all around George... where the ocean met the land in sheer cliffs and stunning mountains. He could probably have found a microwave somewhere close by but why would he want or need one when a man was standing at the edge of the road roasting chicken and whole white onions with a fire that he tended almost unconsciously, with a quiet pride. George wondered if chickens were a European import or natives like the wild goose, Wawa. The road rounded a bend and he noticed a hand painted sign on the huge stone cliffs to his right. "It is Illegal to kill Iguanas and you will be arrested if you do" is basically what it said. Looking above the sign he saw some movement and realized that he was looking at a wild iguana. He stepped away from the steep rocks and studied the craggy face of stone. As he smoked another cigarette he counted five iguanas spread across the cliff. He had kept one in an aquarium for two years in college, he had eaten some for lunch, this was the first time he had ever seen any that were indigenous. They were impressive. Some were 30 feet or more above the road, all were apparently comfortable in their precarious perches. They moved with the slow ease that only comes with confidence. They looked large and ancient. George wondered where the local girl had gotten her iguanas... he decided then to ask her if he ever recognized her again. He remembered she had a lazy eye and looked tired from likely walking all day.
It took him about five minutes to find a trashcan for his yogurt container, once he learned the word was la basura he was quickly accomodated. That was yet another difference between "his" world and this more indigenous one... his had alot more trash. Here most trash including toilet papers was burned near sunset... he could see a few wisps of smoke across the street as someone got rid of their own. But plastic and aluminum were not fit to burn, and so much of his Pennsylvania trash was like that. Unnatural packaging destined for land-fills. Fruit was so much simpler. After a coconut or a mango was eaten, the animals and the earth appreciated it when the remains was left to just rot naturally. Compost piles just made sense and these starving wild dogs sure loved them as well. He walked back onto the beach sand as the sun grew close to the watery horizon. It was a deeper red now and the low distant clouds were glowing purple and pink. The only people that were not staring at it were the Grandmothers who walked in his direction, hoping for a final sale before heading home for the night. A young couple walked over to him and the guy asked for a smoke. They spoke as the sun set, it turned out they were from Texas and poor... George guessed they might have been hiding out way down here in Oaxaca. They spoke of having a fire on the beach shortly, they had some fish and were going to cook it. George suggested he could hit a market and join them for dinner, they agreed. Heading back to the same mercado George could not notice any iguanas in the fading light of dusk. He thought about what to bring to the Texans fire. Some roasted onion would be nice, like he had seen in the street earlier. Some chicken would be great as well. He made a mental note to try the street vendor's pollo asado soon and compare it to the feast he was planning for that night. He should probably tip the man well for the inspiration. The onion was easy to find but he didn't see any chicken. He didn't see any meat section at all. He knew the familiar shrink wrapped meat cuts were not in either of the two refrigerators either. In his halting spanish, he asked the couple at the register if they had chicken. The man looked at the woman and she returned his questioning gaze. He looked at George and asked, "How big do you want your chicken?"
George didn't really understand the question until the man started to make sizes with the two hands in front of him. In a sickening rush of comprehension that began in his gut and ended with his humble reply, George realized that they were going to head into the backyard of the store and kill one of their chickens for him. "No thank you, just eggs and cheese please" he stammered. It almost felt as though the woman was as relieved as George was by the time he left the store.Despite the laughter of the Texans when they heard his story, the onion omelets were delicious, lacking only chili powder. Contrary to that very morning, George was glad he would awaken to roosters crowing.


He heard a flute as he sat in the open air table at a restaurant standing at the edge of Roca Blanca calle. White rock street. It wasn't an arbitrary name, or a family name.

haha real funny

Gary Mule Deer

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Gary Mule Deer
Born	Deadwood, South Dakota
Occupation	Actor Comedian musician
Website Official Website

Gary Mule Deer is an American comedian and country musician. During a career spanning several decades, he has appeared in films such as Annie Hall, Up In Smoke and Tilt, and has been a frequent performer on television shows such as Make Me Laugh, The Gong Show, Late Show with David Letterman and The Tonight Show.

In the 70's, Gary performed in Denver with Denny Flannigan in a comedy act called "Muledeer and Moondog Medicine Show". They traveled for 6 years performing at comedy clubs, The Playboy Clubs and the College circuit. They were Rock and Roll Comedians, opening for many acts including the Doobie Brothers, Boz Skaggs, etc.

Gary Mule Deer has also done several live shows at casinos in Las Vegas, Lake Tahoe, Atlantic City and Reno.

Gary was once roommates with comedian Steve Martin and Michael Johnson.

i grew up in Lionville, Pennsylvania

"The young man, when he had settled his mind upon marrying some special girl, would appoint an uncle, or some elderly man to be his go-between. Extra dignity was lent to the occasion by having two old men for negotiators. He would then procure some wampum, if he were rich enough a collar or necklace, if not, just a string. Next he would compose a message, the main points of which would be represented by the arrangement of white and purple beads. This message, accompanied by the mnemonic wampum, would be forthwith entrusted to the go-between's care, and he would go to the home of the girl's parents carrying the wampum in a rolled-up red handkerchief or other gaudy cloth. Here his message would be delivered, and the wampum left , to be debated upon by the girl's family. The negotiator would depart for a while to allow time for deliberation. Before long he would return for an answer. Now should the girl's family have decided negatively, the wampum would be returned to the old man, who would deliver it to the sender. And the matter was dropped. But should the suitor be favorably regarded, the wampum would be retained and upon the negotiator's next visit he would be answered in the affirmative or asked to defer a little longer. The retention of the wampum was considered a sign of consent. It often happened that the husband, after the wedding, would buy back the wampum" (Speck 1976: 254-255).

Warrior Priestess de la E.Z.L.N.

Call in the Marines

Control Room say:

"This shit sounds broken."

"it was his ship in a bottle"

Ate

ocho



eight

No Need For Alarm

Del tha Funkee Homosapien is an alternative hip hop artist. Del was born Teren Delvon Jones on August 12, 1972 in Oakland, California ^[1]. He currently lives in Richmond, California.

Biography

Cousin of renowned rapper Ice Cube, Del began his career writing lyrics for Cube's backing band, Da Lench Mob.^[2] In 1991, with the help of Ice Cube, Del released his first solo album, I Wish My Brother George Was Here,^[2] at the age of 19. The album was a commercial success, largely due to the popularity of the hit single, "Mistadobalina". Ultimately Del, who was not pleased with the limited musical range of the album, took matters into his own hands, and severed his production-artist relationship with Ice Cube for his next album, No Need for Alarm.
Due to touring, mundane activities, and frequent psychedelic drug use, it would be another five years before the release of his third album. About a month before the release of his third album Future Development Del received an auspicious letter from his label, Elektra, stating that his contract had been terminated.

Together with his crew, Del has established his own independent record label, Hieroglyphics Imperium Recordings, which primarily consists of an expanded Hieroglyphics roster and a few other artists with whom the group collaborates regularly.

Del's impact on the music world did not end with his solo work of even the albums his label released. At the beginning of the new millennium Del branched out and through his work with Dan the Automator on the Deltron 3030 record and later with the Gorillaz multi platinum first album (and on which he voiced the hit single, "Clint Eastwood"), Del continued to push the boundaries of the art of MCing and proving that talent and versatility could make rap relevant outside the traditional boundaries of genre.
When asked about working with Def Jux, Del commented: "I look at this as an opportunity to spread the gospel a little thicker. El-P and I have known each other for a long time and I respect what he does. I see Def Jux out there doing their thing, I think we can help each other build new audiences. I'm looking forward to working with El-P and Def Jux on future projects as well."

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Del_tha_Funkee_Homosapien

My Heart Soars

"There is a longing in the heart of my people
to reach out and grasp that which is needed
for our survival. There is a longing among
the young of my nation to secure for them-
selves and their people the skills that will
provide them with a sense of worth and
purpose. They will be our new warriors.
Their training will be much longer and
more demanding than it was in olden days.
The long years of study will demand more
determination, separation from home and
family will demand endurance. But they
will emerge with their hand held forward,
not to receive welfare, but to grasp the
place in society that is rightly ours.

I am a chief, but my power to make war
is gone, and the only weapon left to me
is speech. It is only with tongue and speech
that I can fight my people's war."

by Chief Dan George






Chief Dan George, OC (July 24, 1899–September 23, 1981) was a chief of the Tsleil-Waututh, a Salish First Nations people located in Burrard Inlet, British Columbia. Chief George was also an Academy Award-nominated actor and an author.

Acting career

In 1960, when he was already 60 years of age, he got his first job acting in a CBC Television series, Cariboo Country, as the character "Ol' Antoine". He performed the same role in a Walt Disney Studios movie, Smith!, adapted from an episode in this series (based on Breaking Smith's Quarter Horse, a novella by Paul St. Pierre). At the age of 71, George won several awards for his role in the film Little Big Man, including a nomination for the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor. He continued to act in other films, such as The Outlaw Josey Wales, Harry and Tonto, and Americathon, and on television, including a role in the miniseries Centennial, based on the book by James A. Michener.
George acted the role of Rita Joe's father in George Ryga's stage play, The Ecstasy of Rita Joe, in performances at Vancouver, the National Arts Centre in Ottawa and Washington.
During his acting career, Chief Dan George always worked to promote better understanding by non-aboriginals of the First Nations people. His soliloquy, Lament for Confederation (full text), a riveting indictment of the appropriation of native territory by white colonialism, was performed at the city of Vancouver's celebration of the Canadian centennial in 1967. This speech is credited with escalating native political activism in Canada, as well as touching off widespread pro-native sentiment among non-natives.
In 1971, George was made an Officer of the Order of Canada.
He died in Vancouver in 1981 at the age of 82.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chief_Dan_George

me

I kiss trees

Old growth forest

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Old growth forest, also called primary forest, ancient forest, virgin forest, primeval forest, frontier forest or (in the UK) Ancient Woodland, is an area of forest that has attained great age and so exhibits unique biological features. Old growth forests typically contain large live trees, large dead trees (sometimes called "snags"), and large logs. Old growth forests usually have multiple vertical layers of vegetation representing a variety of tree species and age classes.

Redwoods in old growth forest in Muir Woods National Monument, Marin County, California.

Forest regenerated after severe disruptions, such as clear-cut or fire is often called second-growth or regeneration until a long enough time passes that the effects of the disturbance are no longer evident. Depending on the forest, this may take anywhere from a century to several millennia. Hardwood forests of the eastern United States can develop old-growth characteristics in one or two generations of trees, or 150-500 years.

Old growth forests may be home to rare species which depend on this now-rare habitat, making them ecologically significant. Biodiversity may be higher or lower in old growth forests than in second-growth forests depending on specific circumstances. Logging in old growth forests is a contentious issue in many parts of the world.

www.catpress.com/planet/jhill/jhillinteng.htm

Native Americans have always had a close relationship with all the creatures of the Earth. Did you get closer to their view of life through your experience? Have you been in contact with any Native American tribes since then? I know, for example, that you are involved in the campaign for Leonard Peltier's liberation.

Julia Butterfly:

Yes, Leonard Peltier is a Native American who has been in prison for 25 years for a murder he did not commit. Like other people who have been wrongly imprisoned, he is paying for standing up for what he believes in and for defending the rights of a minority. I have been in contact with two Native American tribes in particular: the Lakota from Pine Ridge, South Dakota, and the Dineh Navaho from Big Mountain, Arizona. The Lakota of the Pine Ridge Reservation are the poorest people in the US. The unemployment rate is 98% there. With the Circle of Life Foundation we are working to improve their conditions.

All of the indigenous tribes knew how to live as one with nature. They taught about the three S's, that is Sovereignty, Subsistence and Spirituality. Sovereignty is the ability to self-govern by living according to the laws of nature. Among the Natives, the rules for humans patterned the rules of nature. Subsistence is about seeing the difference between needs and wants -in other words not to destroy what we need because of what we want, because of greed. Spirituality is about recognising that every life is sacred. Every time they take a life for food, the Natives ask for permission first, and then they give thanks.

The Lakota have really taught me a lot. For example, in the Lakota language there is no word for mitigation. Mitigation is the word we use when we are trying to clean up the streams we have polluted. The concept does not exist in the minds of the Lakota because they do not make a mess in the first place, so they do not need to clean up. The Lakotas have so much to teach us. Unfortunately these three ways of living have been undermined and destroyed in every possible way, but the Natives who hold on to their spirituality are so much richer than the wealthiest people in America.

http://juliabutterflyhill.wordpress.com/

Coal is Sacred

/energy/article/37507/print

NEW YORK (Reuters) - Greenpeace posed as a pro-coal organization to become a sponsor of the 2008 McCloskey Coal USA conference, which was surprised but allowed them to deliver a brief anti-coal message, officials said Friday.

When The McCloskey Group figured out who the Institute for Energy Solutions really were, they decided to let Greenpeace have their booth under the phone name and make brief remarks, organizers said.

The conference managers did take the precaution of adding security because of Greenpeace's reputation for confrontational, disruptive tactics, they said. The muscle was used once, to eject one Greenpeace member.

Greenpeace spokesman Carroll Muffett was allowed to speak against coal as a polluting fuel for a few minutes, and the team manned a booth offering information and anti-coal paraphernalia.

"It's a lot of value for the money," said Muffett of the $8,500 co-sponsorship fee that made the Greenpeace front group publishers of the conference brochure.

In the brochure, an ad for the fake Institute seems pro-coal, but if readers go to the www.tomorrowsenergytoday.org website, they are redirected to www.coal-is-dirty.com.

The Greenpeace team handed out business cards that read: "The Institute for Energy Solutions is a joke. So is clean coal." The cards were signed Greenpeace.

Muffett said the environmental action group merely copied a tactic used by several industries, creating a benign-sounding but phone front to promote their position.

Gerard McCloskey, chairman of the consulting and publishing company that bears his name, said it was his second experience with Greenpeace recently.

The group disrupted a conference in London several months ago, and he decided to try to have a conversation with Greenpeace, McCloskey said.

"I thought what we should do was engage them," McCloskey said. "All of us have children, grandchildren. It was good to see Greenpeace here willing to put their argument out."

As the conference broke for lunch Thursday, Greenpeace had Muffett's 9-year-old daughter and two boys ages 10 and 11 handing out asthma inhalers and masks.

That offended some attendees. "I think that using kids ... was inappropriate," McCloskey said.

Muffett demurred, saying the 10-year-old boy has asthma and the youngsters wanted to be there. "What to me is unconscionable is to sell a product when you know it gives children asthma," Muffett said.

Muffett said he was pleased with the effort and called the conference attendees "quite receptive" after they listened quietly and responded to his remarks with polite applause.

"Maybe the coal industry's excessively polite," McCloskey said.

McCloskey said he would like to address a Greenpeace meeting. "I would like to persuade them that they're wrong in key areas," he said.

(Reporting by Bruce Nichols; Editing by John Picinich)

Hayduke Lives!

• My job is to save the fucking wilderness. I don't know anything else worth saving.
  • George Hayduke in The Monkey Wrench Gang, pg. 200 (1975)

• One man alone can be pretty dumb sometimes, but for real bona fide stupidity, there ain't nothing can beat teamwork.
  • Seldom Seen Smith in The Monkey Wrench Gang, pg. 313

• Heaven is home. Utopia is here. Nirvana is now.
  • Abbey's Road (1979)

• We're all undesireable elements from somebody's point of view.
  • Abbey's Road

• May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.
  • Earth Apples: The Poetry of Edward Abbey (1994)

• Without courage, all other virtues are useless.
  • Confessions of a Barbarian: Selections from the Journals of Edward Abbey, 1951-1989 (1994)

http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Edward_Abbey


"A patriot must always be ready to defend his country against his government."


" Anarchism is founded on the observation that since few men are wise enough to rule themselves, even fewer are wise enough to rule others. "


"The idea of wilderness needs no defense, it only needs defenders. "



Viva Edward Abbey







George Carlin R.I.P.

Pauline for President

" True hunting's over.
No herds to follow.
Without game, men prey on each other.
The family weakens by the rights we swallow...

True leaders gone,
Of land and people.
We choose no kin but adopted strangers.
The family weakens by the lengths we travel...

All of us with wings..." Perry Farrell




Write in Pauline Whitesinger for President 2008

Ain't No Half-Steppin

Tuesday, June 24th 2008: Israel breaks the peace deal with Hamas, the US recession worsens, Bush continues to illegitimately control America

and the Media continues to use the coming Presidential election as the backdrop distraction to deflect attention away from our treasonous leaders.

While McCain flounders valiantly in trying to rally the elites around him



the Obama campaign advances solidly and stealthily like a well-oiled machine.

I would not be surprised if he were a member of the C.I.A.... or at least had them running his election campaign.

In the past week there have been three very specific criticisms brought against him by the fifth estate...

1. He refuses to take 85 million dollars that the U.S. Government could give him

2. He denied the right of dressed Muslims to sit behind him at a photo op

3. He made his own Presidential Seal

~ call them criticisms, statements of fact, observations or news... all three end up as tactical victories for the Obama campaign.

These "mistakes" actually confront his critics with information that forces them to evolve their opinions...

1. He is saving the U.S. Government 85 million dollars

2. The sight of Obama near a Muslim in the Land of the Free is too threatening for the American public today

3. Even if the Presidential seal offends you, it forces the reality of the possibility into our conversation and thoughts

"Issues are never simple. One thing I'm proud of is that very rarely will you hear me simplify the issues." Barack Obama

"Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of the opponent's fate. " Sun Tzu

"You know, my faith is one that admits some doubt. " Barack Obama

"Pretend inferiority and encourage his arrogance." Sun Tzu

In Truth, We are Able

So, the media is reporting that Obama has unveiled his own pseudo Presidential seal with the Latin translation for "Yes We Can" on it... Vero Possumus.

This is interesting because his "Yes We Can" slogan is a translation from the Latin American political cry of "Si, Se Puede"

But what no-one has mentioned yet is what it replaces on the true Presidential seal,

E Pluribus Unum ~ "Out of many, One"...












Which leads me to believe that Obama is using Latin to politely tell America that although Bush has divided us,

Unity is possible.

Fascism: it's foul funk hits us all... administrators and subjects alike

http://www.chelseanow.com/cn_59/pier57cops.html

Pier 57 cops also exposed to toxins during 2004 RNC

By Chris Lombardi

As lawsuits proceed in the case of detainees hauled in to Pier 57 during the 2004 Republican National Convention, more than 42 reports filed by NYPD officers on the scene indicate they, too, were exposed to diesel dust, harsh solvents, black oil and asbestos.

The reports, obtained under the Freedom of Information Law (FOIL) by the Environmental Justice Law Project, appear consistent both with plaintiffs’ testimony in those suits, who are suing the city and Hudson River Park Trust, and the reported condition of the building before 2003, when it was still a bus garage run by the Metropolitan Transportation Authority.

Plaintiffs in the suits charge that the NYPD held them for an average of 33 hours at the pier in metal cages atop a floor covered in oily muck, and that HRPT, which loaned the pier to the NYPD for the week and protested when the detentions hit the news, should still bear some responsibility. Right now, the suits are still at the deposition stage, with the 500-plus plaintiffs spending days at the federal courthouse downtown.

“They’re keeping them for eight hours at a time, sometimes,” said Law Project co-founder Martin Stolar.



...“MOS (member of service) performed 12 hrs X 8 days at [Pier 57].... [blacked out] because of sore throat, irritated eyes & chest congestion. Saw PMD [NYPD paramedic] 9/4. Was given antibiotics, cough syrup and a puffer,” the latter presumably to help her breathe. Alone among the reports released, #1678 also contained advice about how to protect herself and her family from the lingering effects of exposure."

...many of the aromatic hydrocarbons used to clean large vehicles are listed on the Center for Disease Control’s American Toxic Disease Registry. Peffers added that she was quite disturbed about the detention of protesters in such a place, before the building had been certified as free of either asbestos or other toxins.
“For solvents, all exposure routes are significant,” said Peffers. “Respiration can cause long-term breathing difficulties and neurological problems.

...Kupferman added wryly that the evidence from the reports moves away, finally, from earlier stages in the RNC litigation, when videotaped evidence contradicted police testimony. The officers, after all, filed these reports just as their boss, Police Commissioner Ray Kelly, was telling CNN that protesters’ descriptions of the pier were “exaggerated.”

Will it take armed resistance to end Eco-Terrorism?

In 30 years the Black Mesa mine has contributed an estimated 325 million tons of CO2 to the atmosphere! If Peabody's Black Mesa Project is permitted, coal from the Black Mesa mine could potentially contribute an additional 290 million tons of CO2 to the global warming crisis!

Save Nihima Dzil Yijiin! Protect Our Mother Black Mesa!

The Office of Surface Mining (OSM) has recently re-activated the Black Mesa Project (BMP) Draft Environmental Impact Statement (DEIS) in May 2008. http://www.wrcc.osmre.gov/WR/BlackMesaEIS.htm

After being shelved for one year, the preferred alternative for the draft EIS has changed to Alternative B.

In 2006, OSM released the DEIS for the BMP supporting preferred Alternative A. Which meant the expansion of the mine, the building of a coal-washing facility, the use Coconino Aquifer and Navajo Aquifer, and re-building of the 273-mile coal slurry-line to transport coal to the Mohave Generating Station. It is still unclear what exactly Alternative B is, community people of Black Mesa are outraged for the lack of notification and sudden change in the DEIS. Residents of Black Mesa have been opposing the BMP draft EIS since its release. In particular, the majority of public comments submitted to OSM last year are comments regarding Alternative A.

The proposed Black Mesa Project will have many harmful impacts to the ecological and cultural life ways on Black Mesa, particularly to the environment, and Navajo and Hopi communities. The spiritual significance of the area is manifest, providing religious shrines and/or offering places. To the Dineh (Navajos), the whole Black Mesa region including Navajo Mountain represents one of the supreme deities ~ Female Mountain... and the belief is that she possesses both human and divine forms and qualities as she lies across from her male companion, the Chuska Mountains . Both of these ranges are considered alive, and they dictate systems for all life forms across these particular landscapes. According to Dineh spiritual understanding, Black Mesa as a female entity is the provider of medicinal herbs, tobacco blends and regional floras and faunas.

The Dineh's spiritual view further describes that Navajo Mountain in Utah is the head, Marsh Pass below the north rim of Black Mesa is a turquoise necklace, in her left hand she holds a sacred staff (the El Captain spire), in her right hand she holds a medicine basket (Cowsprings Formation around the confluences of Moenkopi-Cowsprings washes and Coal Mine canyon), and her bare feet are the jutting mesas of Hopi country. The Dineh, children of Female Mountain, were given the responsibility of ritual prayer offerings to insure the continuation of the hydrologic cycles that replenishes (her) bodily fluids ( the Navajo Aquifer) and that also regenerates the natural springs throughout.

Coal is the liver embodiment of this female mountain and its functions will be jeopardized if it is furthered extracted. Despite scientifically supported methods of reclamation and hydrological analysis, the terrain and its ecosystem will lack soil nutrients that the liver provides which are necessary to rebuild natural landscapes and to re-energize plant ecology.

Thus, the modified Alternative B as it concludes in the Draft EIS inadequately interprets the destructive processes of aquifer and coal extraction of Dineh and Hopi lands that encompasses mostly pristine topography that contain numerous cultural and religious sites. The haste in soliciting comments for an entirely new project precludes an adequate representation of these harms.

Obama threatens White Power majestically

"This is where the party ends
I can't stand here listening to you
And your racist friend
I know politics bore you
But I feel like a hypocrite talking to you
And your racist friend

It was the loveliest party that I've ever attended
If anything was broken I'm sure it could be mended
My head can't tolerate this bobbing and pretending
Listen to some bullet-head and the madness that he's saying



This is where the party ends
I'll just sit here wondering how you
Can stand by your racist friend
I know politics bore you
But I feel like a hypocrite talking to you
You and your racist friend

This is where the party ends
I can't stand here listening to you
And your racist friend
I know politics bore you
But I feel like a hypocrite talking to you
And your racist friend

Out from the kitchen to the bedroom to the hallway
Your friend apologizes, he could see it my way
He let the contents of the bottle do the thinking
Can't shake the devil's hand and say you're only kidding"

song: Your Racist Friend
Artist: They Might Be Giants
Album: Flood





My neighbor is a racist. So is his wife and i suspect his dog as well. He has a large American flag hanging on the wall of his front porch, he told me that inside the house he flies a Confederate and a Nazi flag also. He told me his relative is in History channel documentaries for being the head of the SS in Nazi Germany until he was assassinated by Hitler... for arguing that Jews were white.

When i asked him if he would be voting for Obama, he physically recoiled away from me and only responded wordlessly in the negative.

I am not a racist (i am white with no pride) but i can totally relate to his reaction, that is how i have always felt about G.W. Bush.

What's Happened?

The Happening

Is a good movie, i liked it. Some major themes it intensely explored for me were Death, Youth and Language. The possibility that the northeast USA is confronting a terrorist attack directly confronts the emotions of 9/11... with bodies dropping off a building in NYC as a terrible reminder. Central to the action is the way adults comforted children as people were dying. The film has one main premise: what if humans were afflicted the same way that bees are with colony collapse disorder. That horrifying possibility is what makes this a horror film.

The films action doesn't make sense. How can it, when it is confronting a human world that isn't making sense either. We are singlehandedly destroying the very environment that we need to survive. Mother Earth is reacting to our lack of logic and resisting... fighting back. The suicidal annihilation of bee colonies can seem to us lacking purpose or reason but the effects are clear... no more bees would have a devastating effect on life as we know it.

As the human colony collapse begins to unfold in the film a quote is flashed on the screen attributed to Einstein, " “If the bee disappeared off the surface of the globe, then man would only have four years left to live.” Whether or not he said it is debatable. Whether or not it is true is debatable as well. The only inarguable fact we can confront right now is that the bees are disappearing. The only part of the plot of "The Happening" that we can reliably comprehend is that people are killing themselves.

Our environment is being ravaged on catastrophic proportions. When a catastrophe occurs our language fails us and it is disorienting to our minds. This is captured in the fatal attacks of The Happening. The first stage of assault is loss of speech. The second is physical disorientation and the third is death.

The acting in the film lacks gravity... the goal of the actors is not to transport the viewer into the world of the film where their feelings and emotions mirror our own. The actors are more treated as delivery vehicles... they sacrifice authenticity and realism in order to force their situation directly onto the movie audience. It is simply not possible to realistically "act" in a way that confronts the illogic of our environmental actions. The only actors capable of doing that are the ones that are killing themselves. The ones in collapse.

But somehow there is good in humanity and hope for the environment... i cannot prove this but i feel it in my gut. Or maybe i am just hoping, because i don't want either to end. Likewise i know this was a good movie and i feel it in my gut as well...

because when the credits scrolled up i didn't want it to end.




It is relevant that the movie title occurs in present tense.

Aye, I have two eyes.

The English language has evolved from the rule of the English throne...

meaning that it inherently relies on the concept of one acknowledged human ruler.

That underlying aspect and philosophy of the language has undergone transformation and evolution ever since it become exposed to the cultures of the Americas... which have always recognized the inherent equality of all humanity in their attitudes, practices and languages.

Just as the authority of the King was usurped once his subjects became exposed to Americas' shores...
the authority inherent in his lingual usage of the word "I" has also been destroyed.



There is no Native American language having a direct translation for the word I. It is more simply done in the Spanish language, where "I" becomes "Yo"... this being possible because the Spanish language also comes from an aristocratic ruler.

Since American Democracy rejects the existence of a supreme human ruler it logically follows that the American English language cannot allow the exists of a literal I.

I becomes all of us, I is really We from a personal perspective.

The existence of I is suspect on several levels, really. To begin with, as a word it hardly exists... in point of fact it is merely a letter.

In addition it barely exists even as a sound. "I" is the same as "Eye" and the same as "Aye".

For all we know, when George Washington was confronted by his father for chopping down an apple tree he may have responded, "Eye cannot tell a lie".


....

"And that's very important for, I think, the people to understand where I'm coming from to know that this is a dangerous world. I wish it wasn't.

I'm a war president. I make decisions here in the Oval Office in foreign-policy matters with war on my mind. Again, I wish it wasn't true, but it is true. And the American people need to know they got a president who sees the world the way it is. And I see dangers that exist, and it's important for us to deal with them."

G.W. Bush

THE OVAL OFFICE, FEBRUARY 7, 2004

BROADCAST ON NBC’S “MEET THE PRESS”

SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 2004

PLEASE CREDIT ANY EXCERPTS TO NBC’S “MEET THE PRESS”