God doesn't give a flying flip if the whole world is falling apart and dying!
Not for a second or a minute, not now or ever or in dimensions with no time, under no circumtances that ever have been or will ever be, God doesn't care: your needs will never change.
That's what every junkie says when you take away their needle. But what does one say to the willfully ignorant? The truth. There's a book (and great film) called The Garden of the Finzi-Continis, about a Jewish family insulated on their estate as the dark winds of anti-Semitism blow in around them. They work on their love lives and forehand strokes as store shop windows are smashed in and "Juden" scrawled across the doorway. There are warning signs of the coming danger but they don't want to feel bad and leave their estate.
Maybe they thought nothing would happen to them if they were "good". Maybe they fancied themselves as "optimists" on the world (confusing that with being optimistic on life). Maybe they were just weak. Whatever the case, their fate was that of a cattle car ride to a concentration camp. At that point - when it was too late - voices of "enemies" who told them to give up their worldly life were revealed as their true friends - and their "friends" who whispered sweet lies revealed as no friends at all.
I just finished reading Jeremy Scahill's shocking expose book Blackwater: The Rise of the World's Most Powerful Mercenary Army. While I read hearts to know what the truth is, I love reading books that expose our true actions and the details are riveting. In it he describes a de facto coup d'etat by American corporations to the point of threatening our sovereignty. Sounds alarmist, doesn't it? Chicken Little crap just to draw attention. Some people protect life in the garden, some people protect the truth.
I'll meet you in the cattle car
As of summer 2007, there were more "private contractors" deployed on the U.S. government payroll in Iraq (180,000) than there were actual soldiers (160,000).
I don't say America is on the path to destruction because of Blackwater, I say it because of the reasons forces like Blackwater are allowed to rise. Our military can no longer operate without the crutch of private contractors. Take them away and our war machine collapses. Pay up or pull out, pal. Military decisions no longer rest solely with our commanders. And corporations - the Caesars of our times - want only more power because that means more profits. These are the same corporations who blackmail us on our healthcare. They'll stop at nothing.
If you took an alien from another planet and plopped him down during the height of our outright rape and oppression by the American occupation, that alien if having even an once of justice within him would have been rooting for the death and slaughter of every American there. We carried out this evil with lust and abandon, ruthless in its infliction, howling in manufactured rage. It was free market principles applied to war: if you can be killed, you deserve to be killed. Doing it in the name of democracy and freedom made it all the more vile.
The only thing we wanted to liberate in Iraq was their oil.
From Naomi Klein:
[Occupation overlord Darth] Bremer enacted a radical set of laws unprecedented in their generosity to multinational corporations. There was Order 37, which lowered Iraq's corporate tax rate from roughly 40 percent to a flat 15 percent. There was Order 39, which allowed foreign companies to own 100 percent of Iraqi assets outside of the natural-resource sector. Even better, investors could take 100 percent of the profits they made out of the country; they would not be required to reinvest and they would not be taxed. Under Order 39, they could sign leases and contracts that would last for forty years. Order 40 welcomed foreign banks to Iraq under the same favorable terms. All that remained of Saddam Hussein's economic policies was a law restricting trade unions and collective bargaining.
If these policies sound familiar, it's because they are the same ones multinationals around the world lobby for from national governments and in international trade agreements. But while these reforms are only ever enacted in part, or in fits and starts, [anti-Christ] Bremer delivered them all, all at once. Overnight, Iraq went from being the most isolated country in the world to being, on paper, its widest-open market.
This brings no outrage
To be fair, we did give candy to their children. But the son of darkness Bremer's final order was his best: it was the one excluding private contractors from all possible prosecution. Which was a good thing for the Blackwater thugs, they were going to need that exemption.
Incompetence is a particularly rabid fetish of the conservative mind - which is natural considering conservatism is based upon irresponsible desire. Lacing our invasion with incompetence is like lacing pot with PCP, the damaging aspects increase exponentially. In their blind bid for profits, Blackwater recklessly sent four poorly informed and misguided mercenaries right into the thick of Iraqi resistance where they were duly killed and their dead bodies paraded around. This happened in the city of Fallujah.
I already posted on the Blackwater murders in Nisour Square but that's nothing compared to the siege of Fullajah triggered by Blackwater's profit lust. In order to make an example of the city, we bombed and snipered anyone and everyone, even seizing control of Fallujah's main medical facilities to prevent treatment of the wounded. Its power plant was also bombed so only mosques and clinics with generators had power. Not that mosques weren't bombed as well.
"It's hard to differentiate between people who are insurgents or civilians," said Maj. Larry Kaifesh. "It's hard to get an honest picture. You just have to go with your gut feeling." Now there's a comforting thought on our revenge filled fantasy.
You want outrage? Simon, shut yo mouth!
As reported by independent U.S. journalists: "Snipers fired indiscriminately, usually at whatever moved...friends of mine who went out to gather in wounded people were shot at...every single ambulance I saw had bullet holes in it...Of 20 people I saw come in the clinic I observed a few hours, only five were 'military-age males'. I saw old women, old men, a child of ten shot through the head; terminal..." But this is war and we were "forced" to go there and inflict indiscriminate collateral damage.
Mercenaries are now the private armies of politicians (morons need to read up on samurai history to learn the dangers of that), used when our military is not politically viable. Ever hear about our intervention in Azerbaijan in 2004? That's where we went to the Caspian sea to protect our oil and gas interests. That was a Blackwater solo operation because "sending a contingent of uniformed U.S. military would be a provocative move. A private contractor helps keeps things under the radar." A rose by any other name is just as lethal. With our private armies, the old rules don't apply, no Congressional (or popular) approval needed.
But if there's one thing Americans as a whole could care less about it's a dead foreigner. It's not like they're doing shit here, right? Blackwater is set apart from simple war profiteers by the defining characteristic of its executives' very long view. They...have set out to carve a permanent niche for themselves for decades to come. Blackwater's aspirations are not limited to international wars. Its forces beat most federal agencies to New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina as hundreds of heavily armed mercenaries fanned out into the disaster zone...billing the government $950 a day per Blackwater soldier.
Nothing like guys with automatic rifles with out-of-control egos wandering around bound to no rules of engagement such as the military and police. This is on American soil, folks. [The anti-Christ 43rd President] used the Katrina disaster to try to repeal the Posse Comitus Act (the ban on using U.S. troops in domestic law enforcement), and Blackwater and other security firms initiated a push to install their paramilitaries on U.S. soil, bringing the war home in yet another ominous way. "This is a trend," said one Blackwater mercenary in New Orleans. "You're going to see a lot more guys like us in these situations." Now there's a prophet I trust.
But these are loving, kind, caring people seeking justice for all and rescuing cats from trees. Do we really need a constitution in this country when we already know everyone's trying to do the right thing? I think not! That's why I don't get upset when I read CCR's Michael Ratner's comments: "Their actions may not be subject to constitutional limitations that apply to both federal and state officials and employees - including First Amendment and Fourth Amendment rights...These kind[s] of paramilitary groups bring to mind Nazi Party brownshirts, functioning as an extrajudicial mechanism that can operate outside the law. The use of these paramilitary groups is an extremely dangerous threat to our rights."
Yeah, whatever.
"We must promote a more entrepreneurial approach: one that encourages people to be proactive, not reactive, and to behave less like bureaucrats and more like venture capitalists."
These literally insane words were written by Donald the Duck Rumsfeld in summer of 2002 in an article titled "Transforming the military". Private armies are a wet dream for the-powers-that-be, for sale to the highest bidder, with loyalty only to the almighty dollar, to be used any way their masters see fit. It's only a matter of time before oil spikes again, hitting $300 a barrel and more, wrecking the economies of the world and choking food supplies. Think Blackwater will find work then?
Hard to eat freedom of speech
So as the dark winds of greed blow in around us, we ache only to stay in our garden a little longer, avoiding all the "feel bad" news and gossiping excitedly about the tennis club. We're not ready to give up our ways just yet. Anyone who doesn't believe America is capable of fascism has never been unemployed. Wait long enough and the time for choice will pass. None of the Finzi-Continis survived.
Take it from someone who knows: if we really want to feel better, it comes only from facing our solutions.
"You ain't gonna get what you want. I'm not going to get what I want. Nobody wins. Such is the price of Silence."
My grandfather said that just before he died. He was talking to God. I was just a kid from the city hiding in the barn just 'cause I wanted to hide out. Visits to Gramp's ranch were like heading to a foreign country, never really sure of the rules of engagement. I remember asking myself if it really was OK to live on such a wonderland ranch - there was so much room to dream.
But when I heard Gramps come slamming his way in it sucked all the air out of the barn and I naturally crouched down in curious fear. He grabbed a pitchfork and stabbed clumps of hay like he wanted to kill them, slinging them angrily from one spot to another. All I could think about was staying out of the way.
"Jesus!" he spat, stopping to gather himself.
Yup, something had set him off alright. Hoped to hell it wasn't something I did. I was known for always doing the wrong thing - The Worst Thing Possible usually. So as I listened to my grandfather continue his string of expletives I frantically scoured my mind for any possible transgressions I may have done. For the life of me I couldn’t come up with any - but that didn't necessarily mean anything.
Then Gramps started in having his conversation. I found out who he was mad at: God.
"You just fucking hate me, don't you you goddam bastard! Why don't you just come down here and kill me you want me dead so goddam bad? You still mad for what we did do Jesus? Is that it? Well, I guess you didn't like his goddam ass too much better considering what you let happen to him. Jesus, there's no living with you!"
Gramps was venting but the steam stayed trapped within, his face redder with each passing word. "What's he so mad for?" I whispered to myself, secretly hoping the words could reach his ears. Startled the crap out of me when he replied out of nowhere: "Why don't you shut the fuck up!" Not that it was truly physically possible, but I scooted back even further in my corner.
"You're so goddam fucking smart, tell me what the fuck I should do! Jesus, I wish I could stick a knife in you the way you stick one in me. I got no way outta this shit! Do you hear me you deaf fucking son-of-a-bitch? No fucking way out!" That's how I was starting to feel too, reluctant witness that I was.
Then he flung the pitchfork away like a hot potato and stilled himself into a volcanic statue. I stopped breathing as well. I thought maybe he was deciding if he was going to kill somebody or not. I'd taken myself off the suspect list at this point - I was annoying but not that annoying - but nearest I could figure he wanted to kill God. Or...
Shit, he wanted to kill himself! I tried brushing the thought away but its wind was too strong. So now what do I do? His agony was like a live wire, snapping and curling every which way and I didn't dare get close to it. Who am I to tell someone suffering this badly to live anyway? Heaven seems so finite while hell is without end. The China Syndrome.
I can't imagine the look on my face at that moment. When I first heard about the China Syndrome it scared the shit out of me, but to witness it? Terrifying. An older cousin told me about it once, me wide-eyed in fear no doubt. She was talking about when a nuclear reactor melts down and if they don't stop it in time then there's no stopping it at all - the core cuts all the way through to China. Had Gramps reached that point?
I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to rush out to him. We'd been famous friends at one point, with me practically begging for return trips. We rode for hours on horses together as I pretended I was Daniel Boone exploring countryside for the first time. Gramps and I were so much alike! He called bullshit on everything same as I did. I'd just grin away when he'd start one of his rants. And he was damn funny too. I smile even now with the remembrance.
But mine was a burning soul and I couldn't resist lighting flame to a grassy field, just to watch it burn in fascination. I can still see my evil little hands striking the matches, pretending they wouldn't really burn. It was never the same after that. Gramps wasn't near as mad as I thought he'd be, saying lightening could have done the same thing. But I didn't know that.
My world inverted. Gramps never said a word to my parents - or anyone - about what I did. Mom and Dad sent me back like usual for my visits, thinking it pleased me. I had bragged on my famous friendship so much there was no taking it back. It was a living thing, clearly meant to last forever. But I was the Judas who destroyed all that while my grandfather remained the fine and noble person I so dearly admired. I was mystified how he tolerated me at all...
Silence consumed every corner of the barn. But it was the silence of a man with a dagger stuck in him as his mouth opens but no words can escape. And that was exactly the look on my grandfather’s face at that moment. A thousand possible responses crossed my mind to speak - all of them wrong, I was not programmed for moments like this. Then Gramps gave me a clue.
"She's gone," he stonily muttered. "What am I supposed to do?"
Did he mean Grandma? But that was two years ago she died - a lifetime ago in the tormented years of my youth. He was still missing her? Needing her even now? Was God so cruel Gramps was to miss her forever? Didn't his needs stop when she died? That would only be fair if you asked me. Nobody did though.
Grandfather pleaded to the ceiling. "I don't know what to do. Please tell me what to do." Then he crumpled to the ground in defeat, spirit wolves tearing his flesh apart, eating him alive. I know what my innocent soul would have done. An innocent soul would have rushed to his grandfather's huddled body and protected him. But I couldn't leave my prison of shame - giving me further sentence, staining my soul. Then I heard his final words on God's silence and how nobody wins...
He'd been funny that morning, cracking me up. I told him I wanted my eggs over easy but he was scrambling them instead, telling me in an accented voice, "We must cook the eggs this way or we lose the war!" It was in reference to his regiment's foreign born cook in WWII, whose excuse for everything was the outcome of the war depended on him doing things his way. Gramps loved the genius of his absurd argument and made the man mythic in my mind. Gramps made everyone seem mythic. To think he put on such a show for me when he was dying inside.
I've been running ever since that moment in the barn, never confessing my crime of silence. Afterwards, if someone gave me something I didn't want, I very politely said thank you. If I got something dear to me, I'd say nothing. I went the opposite way of my feelings before I could betray them like I had my famous friendship - the last of its kind for me. Yes, silence is like the China Syndrome - the destruction never stops.
It's good to be fixed! And it's good to have Answers. We like answers in this world of ours. Nice, simple ones to quell our disturbing minds. "Get thee to a therapist!" we like to say. And to hell if it really works for everyone or not.
Therapy just makes me want to go back to smoking pot. I heard it's improved in the last twenty years.
But sheep that I am, I succumb to peer pressure, put on a happy face and claim to be fixed. Gosh, just like being home all over again. Meet the new parent, same as the old parent. But secretly, way down deep inside, I still think ya'll are a bunch of lying, cocksucking assholes. But I don't say anything because I need a job. (Is that why you require jobs, so people will speak well of you even when undeserved?)
So dear friends I got the chance to put your alleged reality to the test yesterday when I passed some poor bastard hanging on the side of a cliff, moaning and groaning. "He needs therapy!" I thought. Hold on, dude, wisdom is just a word away!
"Help me! I'm going to die!'
"Shit, man, I know that feeling. It sucks! But one thing you need to know: you're not alone!"
"Aren't you going to help me the fuck out of here??"
"Sorry. I'm not the fixing lives business. You're on your own, pal."
"Heeeeelp!"
"Have you tried deep breathing? That helps."
"Deep breathing? Are you an idiot?"
"Name calling helps nothing and is an indication of immaturity. Here's a chance for you to grow up and listen to someone else."
"Deep breathing won't save me! I can't hold on forever."
"That's future-thinking! Stay in the now."
"Do you know what the word 'need' means? I need help. I can't get out of this position without help. Who can survive without their needs being met?"
"Interesting philosophy!"
"It's not philosophy! It's reality!"
"Oh, who's to say one person's version of reality is more true than another's? Tell me, have you tried prescription medications?"
"How can I call a doctor from here! I can't even move. My hands are killing me!"
Are you on any prescription medications?
"Precisely why medication will help. You're holding on to your pain. Meds will help you feel nothing at all."
"That's a total denial of reality!"
"Da Nile is a river in Egypt! Hahahaha!"
"You're mad!"
"No sir, you're projecting yourself onto me. Laughter's good for the soul!"
"This is not the time for laughing!"
"Dude, you can't keep feeding your negativity like that. No one's going to want to be friends with a sourpuss. C'mon, gimme a grin!"
"Your words are wasting time. I'm losing my grip listening to them!"
"Refusing therapy will most certainly cause you to lose your grip. Frankly, I don't know how you ever expect to feel better without diligent compliance."
"I just need a hand out of here."
"Now if I give a hand to you, then I'll have to give a hand to the next guy, and the guy after that and pretty soon there'll be no time left for me!"
"I'm so confused! Why are saying these things to me?"
"Therapy will help with your confusion."
"Fuck you! You don't understand anything!"
"Well, I certainly don't have to stand here and listen to that! I'm setting boundaries with you until you change your attitude. That is best for both you and for me."
"I hate you! I hate my life! I hate this whole fucking world!"
"Just not going to change that negative self-talk are you? OK, I give up. I see perfectly clear what you need now."
May I borrow five pound and two? I'll write a lovely poem for you! May I motor in your car? I'll sing your praises from afar!
I keep a blog on the internet, It's sure to change the world, I bet! My words are the way to worldly riches! (And maybe even hotty bitches!)
It's just a matter of time, you see Before my big discovery! To be called smart in your time You'd wisely lend me your last dime.
I don't mean to cause undue pressure, But my talent is one to treasure! My dreams are beautiful, bright and true! Just imagine what one more quid would do!
Let me take you to soaring new heights! Words of love, the eternal delight! Are not my entreaties a fun-fun thing? Timeless art awaits your funding.
Sith Lords, long thought dead and vanquished, stage a devastating attack on the Alderon system, the crown jewel of the republic. Outrage enflamed the galaxy from one end to the other as the cry for war drowned out all other voices.
The Age of Peace and Prosperity was over, proven illusory. A New Order was demanded - by faces shrouded in secrecy. The fabric of the galaxy unraveled exactly as the Sith Lords had designed. This change - a warping in the path of the universe - came in the twinkling of an eye.
Luke Streetwalker, abandoned and outcast for his warnings against the Sith Lords during the Age of Prosperity, seeks to piece together a rebel alliance to restore a time of love. But though his message on the Sith Lords is now heeded, Luke fights an uphill battle to stop the spread of war fever which will ravage the Alderon system even further...
"Luke, you pussy! We have to have war! Don't be so naive!"
The chastising came from a right-wing droid. (All droids were right-wing by virtue of their programming coming from eGeeks, a malcontent, anti-social and masturbatory lot bent on running the universe from their mother's basement). Luke rummaged through the remains of his home, furious at the insanity of it - yet determined to stop it. The droid prattled on. "You just going to stand there and take it? Time for war! Yeehaw!"
Annoyed, Luke switched off the Beck droid knowing it's pointless to argue with a mindless entity. But words of war surrounded him wherever he went. Even the local cantina played war songs and sold "freedom food" in honor of the new sentiment. Though having been right on the Sith Lords - that being out of sight meant only the greed ran deeper - his message for fighting them was lost all over again. Reason had died with the attack.
Luke cried as he saw precious farmland poured over in concrete as munitions plants replaced nature's plants. Just as he feared, food production fell but with the storehouses still full from the Age of Prosperity no one concerned themselves such troubling trivialities. Luke knew he would need help and he found it in his reprogrammed droid R2Cat2 bringing him a message from Princess SlayYa, telling him of another voice speaking out against the war: barack-wan kenobi.
An alliance was formed. Princess SlayYa, renowned across the galaxy as the finest fencer with a light sabre ("You can't hope to win - only for a draw."), teamed with Luke in search of barack-wan and his audacious powers of hope. Time did not stand still, however, as the sky darkened with fighters launching off to battle cheered by droids and eGeeks and the rest of the simple-minded. In the Imperial Senate, the President declared the end of democracy - and that too was cheered.
The war had begun; the war declared done; the war never won.
___________________________________
The Drone Wars and a Horrible Truth Is Revealed
As the republic became an empire bound by war and famine...
War begat war. And even after victory declared, more and more troops were demanded until even the mercenary forces of Blackwater Fett were called in. Still, war lust ran high in the Alderon system, no one questioning the ever increasing powers of the Emperor-President or conduct of the attacks. The rebel alliance reached its darkest hour.
But with the flow of body bags returning and reports of hundreds of thousands of deaths infecting the Alderon soul, an ill feeling arose in far off segments of the galactic front. But though support was fading at the edges, a searing core of hatred propelled the wars forward against all dissent.
The Imperial Senate lost all power, cowering before the Emperor-President. Had the Alderon system gone too far? Were its motives as pure as claimed? Quietly, the rebel alliance investigated the truth as reality strayed further and further from the Official Explanations. As the anti-war movement gained a foothold, the rebels discover a secret too terrible to be believed...
Contact had been made with barack-wan kenobi, his campaign to enter the Imperial Senate a successful one. But with all power stripped from the governing body, he was forced to use the power of his Jedi mind, swaying millions with his words. "Hope," he said, "is not lost." Talks brewed of his possible takeover of the Presidency.
"This is Princess SlayYa," introduced Luke, "be stupid at your own peril." Using her unparalleled skill, her lightening sabre cut through all idiotic arguments, exposing the illogic of war for war's sake. But it was like fighting a hydra, another false argument popping up with each one slayed. "Victory" could only be seen in the shrillness of each new contention for the wars, hysterical and out of touch. In a fatal error, the people of the Alderon system soon disengaged from the debate, hoping both sides were wrong.
Luke, meanwhile, penetrated the highest echelons of the empire in an attempt to find the truth for the escalations. Good news was not expected when he found he could slide his way in by using a cloak of evil. With anxious ears Luke listened to words of infamy hissed from the newly declared Emperor.
"Everything is going as planned, Darth Cheney!" The Vice-President a Sith Lord! Can't be! "Our profit per soldier is skyrocketing. The more we get killed the more the manipulated masses insist we stay! It's like a dream come true! Money! Death! Power! And how can they speak against us without speaking against themselves? We are the greatest liars in history! The Force is with us!"
Darth Cheney bowed before his master who had escaped all blame in the intentionally botched battles. Such was his master's powers, no criticism could touch him, responsibility deflected to "bad advisors" for this "well-meaning" man. Perversion gripped the solar system as incompetence was sympathized, greed normalized, and wishful thinking worshipped as the truth. The dark lord Cheney brought more good news.
"There's a resolution before the Senate to raise you from Emperor to Daddy. Once done, our rule will be permanent - barring the sheep actually grow up."
Luke's worst fears had been confirmed. Those immature bastards! They've taken over everything! It's true after all: our Daddy is a Sith Lord!
___________________________________
Episode III: Return Of The Big Lie
Pain has come to the empire. Starvation is spreading even as wars carry on unabated. A cry for change rings out...
With suffering came a call for change. barack-wan kenobi's star rose as an anxious empire sought salvation from the unbearable Sith overlords. Princess SlayYa rallied support for a new hope with her impeccable logic finally grinding away at the consciousness of the Alderon people. At long last the winds of war were changing direction.
Tears of joy flowed and fireworks exploded with barack-wan's toppling of the reviled Sith lords. Order and respect were deemed restored in the empire. Years of blatant corruption rotted the infrastructure, money-lenders had hoodwinked millions with governmental complicity, and a war-weary populace ached for relief. Overflowing crowds applauded the new Daddy (barack-wan retained the Sith Lord's powers).
But Luke Streeetwalker never saw a change in the hearts of his Alderon cohabitants, observing rather a mere reaction to their newfound anguish. Was true change on the horizon - or simply a mirage? Was this as times before, when the Sith Lords appeared overthrown but in reality still ruled from the shadows? Luke had to find the answers to these questions before his soul could rest with the Force.
With the promise of change, the anti-war movement died down even with a waxing of the wars. The economy of the Alderon system had collapsed under the weight of greed unleashed by the Sith Lords. And yet even more was taken from the needy and given to profiteers - with nary a whisper of serious dissent. The power seized by the Sith Lords was not only not returned, but increased. But the new Official Story was things had changed for the better, no need to worry. From the Dark Side of the Force a knowing laughter could be heard.
Yes, the Sith Lords had won once again by going underground. barack-wan kenobi used his mind tricks for what he said he believed was good. "These are not the banks you're looking for. Move right along," he soothed to a group of infuriated Sand Traders whose land had been swindled. Useless Idiots screamed in fanaticism to support barack-wan or the evil Sith Lords would return to power and all would be lost. The policies did not stop but the protests did. The Grand Deception sealed with a kiss.
The last of the Jedi of the Light, Luke walked a lonely road. He frowned as children were pushed away by their parents. "Stop your whining, brats! Everything is fine! Now shut up or no one will love you!" Later, he saw those same parents pushed away by the Imperial Senate - only this time the parents were told to shut up or be unloved. They complied lest their own words be used against them, the Grand Deception upheld. From tangled webs as these did still the Sith Lords pull the strings. Nothing had changed and the Word was neither spoken nor heard.
So what will they do when they do when they find their money and their military won't save them?
Touching of two souls; Tenderness lost in the wind; Broken heart remains.
_________________________________
There once was a time when a grown man could squat down in the grocery store in front of a small child and say, "Hello, little girl!" and the mother would say, "What a nice man!"
Then came a time when a grown man would squat down in the grocery store in front of a small child and the mother would whisk her away, telling her daughter, "Don't talk to strangers!"
Now when a grown man squats down in the grocery store in front of a small child and says, "Hello, little girl!" he is whisked away and charged as a pedophile and branded 'sex offender' for life.
This is the sign of a growing soul?
_________________________________
There once was a time war profiteering was considered high treason, a betrayal of the public trust and the most cowardly of acts.
Then came a time when peace was more feared than war and the profiteering became a "necessary evil" in the partnership of dealing death.
Now war is an addiction, endless and always needing to up the dosage; waged solely for profit.
This is the sign of a growing soul?
_________________________________
There once was a time a man could work well and make a social contract for living, his common fortune raising the boats of everyone.
Then came a time the boats of others mattered no more, each man concerned with his fate alone, lowering the tide of every man's living.
Now the water is evaporating, the social contract long ripped to shreds and what boats are left demand the remaining water for themselves - and get it.
This is the sign of a growing soul?
_________________________________
Blame it on policies or politics or pettiness - but those too are mere signs of the wind. There are those who weave the fabric of society and those who tear it apart - each side calling the other the enemy of good. I know I cannot change which way the wind blows, but if my wind blows true this feather will land where it belongs.
500 years ago the most dominant force on the planet was religion. Wars were raged and lives tortured over whose version of God was correct. (Of course, this still goes on today, just in a different form, in case you're tempted to feel morally superior). Kings were obliged to the Pope and killing infidels was not only common but considered necessary to our survival. The logic being, of course, that without God's approval one has no future - so destroy all those who disagree as to whether God approves of you! And that is how Father Domingo came to be in a Japanese prison in the year 1600 AD.
The Portuguese came to Japan in 1549 along with their Catholic fever. But even within their own religion were factions: the Jesuits and the Franciscans. Father Domingo was a Franciscan monk which was unfortunate since the Jesuits had the upper hand in Japan, didn't like his teachings and had him dispatched forthwith into prison. Inside this living hell, he made converts of what prisoners he could, preparing them for the unusually cruel version of Japanese crucifixion.
Each morning came the man with the List. If your name was called, time to die - slowly over days. The Father would bless the poor bastards and send them out. This he had done for two years when one day a sailor was brought in who had wrecked upon the Japanese shores. His name was Blackthorne, the ship's pilot, who'd just came from a visit with the powerful Lord Toranaga. But the Catholic priests hated this heretic Protestant pilot who washed up on their private little domain of Christianity, reviling Blackthorne for revealing to Toranaga more than one version of Christianity existed.
So Lord Toranaga jailed him in apparent appeasement - all the while knowing the monk was imprisoned there already. Father Domingo gave the Pilot an education on Japan and the inner workings of the Portuguese trading. He also taught him conversational Japanese to help him get by. What Blackthorne learned in that prison would have remained hidden from him forever had the Jesuit priests had their way. But learn he did - until the day came his name was called out by the man with the List.
With grave fear Blackthorne approached the exit of the foul den of sick and dying bodies, following the List Man - to his happy surprise - all the way to the prison gate. He was being released! An escort waited for him to take him back to the castle where Lord Toranaga awaited. Blackthorne was bathed and set in luxury. Toranaga explained he needed Blackthorne in prison as a ruse to keep him safe from his rivals. The Lord then whisked away the ship's pilot to safe territory.
Father Domingo - though he had done right in his heart - had betrayed Jesuit secrets to Blackthorne, aiding an enemy to his oppressors. So what must have he thought when a few days after the Pilot's departure his name was called on the morning list. After hundreds of days of dodging the bullet and preparing others for an unspeakable fate, Father Domingo was unable to prepare himself. His old and tired body would wilt painfully when stapled to the cross in the searing sun. And the thought of that fatally seized his heart, collapsing him to the ground dead.
Father Domingo was not a happy camper as he confronted his Maker. "You bastard motherfucker! It's HELL down there. You leave me to live at the mercy of animals with no way out? YOU try living down there sometime! Jesus fucking Christ, it's a madhouse! I believe in love, I really do! But for what? To be gutted like a pig? You say I deserve that, so be it. But I can only stand so much! Damn, you're one hard son-of-a-bitch!"
God then revealed to Domingo the truth, showing him Blackthorne pleading to Lord Toranaga for the father's release and return to stature. Toranaga was more than happy to oblige and thus sent the order for the padre to be set free. For while death seemed to surround the monk whichever way he turned, his inner fidelity to life had actually saved him.
Pulling himself off the brown pillowed couch of his shadowed condo, Therapy Man attacked the landfill heaped upon his glass-topped dinette set. A week's worth of mail - some half opened, some ignored - clustered around the middle with a 3 day old newspaper unfolded in the middle. Crumbs dotted the table's landscape like shrapnel from a bomb. Lint tinged drops of syrup lingered near the edge of the placemat. Therapy Man could stand this festering wound no more.
With a few final wipes of the paper towel, the wound was healed and Therapy Man was on a roll. He steamrolled through all that dare offend his dwelling. Pity the out-of-place pen or unfiled paper, he dispatched them with ruthless efficiency, bringing order out of the chaos and harmony to his world. Back in the living room, he brought to light a soy candle, filling the room with a soothing aroma. "Now I can rest," mused Therapy Man, and lay back down to a hopeful compensation on the comfy couch.
Yet even with this grand accomplishment, his heart still pounded. Without warning, earlier in the middle of the bright, cold afternoon, he’d lost the sun and the day went black. Dark Terror shrieked in his stomach, begging for release, pleading for the light. Crippled and bent, he limped to his divan, pulling the ever present blanket over his head, hiding from death one more time. All the rope in the world knotted end to end couldn't reach bottom of Therapy Man's hole. He shivered, stuck in a vast, echo-less emptiness.
But he'd mastered his universe now and rewarded himself with the distraction of a hockey game. His sprits lifted when his favorite player scored a goal. Just think, if he hadn't pulled himself together, he'd of missed that in his despair! Therapy Man cursed as the game was tied in the dying seconds but then rejoiced in the ensuing shoot-out victory. All in all, a most delightful diversion. Riding the wave, he picked the phone and called a long distance connection he leaned upon on occasion. He played his happy role well, laughing at the appropriate times, engaging himself in the conversation.
As he hung up the phone, the heat kicked on - the universe was conspiring to comfort him! He'd just needed to let it in the door, fend off demons of defeat and accept the good things he deserved. The river of hope would lead Therapy Man home. He knew all the tips and tricks by now. For tomorrow he resolved to check out the new nature park he’d read about with peaceful views of the lake it encircled. Rewarding himself for his good and socially acceptable behavior, he even piddled around on the internet, heaving heavily on images of Women Unobtainable, arousing his desires.
Standing up satisfied from his office chair at the end of the evening, at that point he knew he’d done all he could do. But instead of a victory march to a hard–earned night’s sleep, Therapy Man stood motionless, inanimate in the darkened room, a statue with no signs of provable life. Then he smiled a wry smile. "Well, that’s that," he confirmed.
Entering his barren bedroom, Therapy Man methodically pulled out the bottom drawer of his dresser and faced his final fate with the revolving of a single chamber.
The good doctor issued this near apology recently for his Friday Fiction piece on a potential Iraqi suicide bomber - some would say a not very entertaining subject! But this one small incident speaks to a larger issue of our times - times like ancient Rome as the empire declined yet all eyes focused on the Coliseum for escape. Now Roman politics may be fun to read about but I'm sure it was not much fun to experience what with all the daggers and poisons and whatnot. So we avert our eyes because deep in our hearts we know what fate has in store for us when we condone such wickedness.
America of today is guilty of committing the greatest act of evil in the 21st century. Because of that we are engaged in endless war and silently preparing ourselves for a last ditch scramble of our resources as we refuse to release the yoke of greed and remove it as a basis for life. News of this is about as welcome as reading about the successful Barbarian invasions was for the Romans. Who wants to think about that shit?? Shut up and keep the party going!
Obviously, if one were to peruse my previous postings you will find frivolity and fun for fun's sake. That's because fun is as important as anything for survival. Fun while your ship's hull is breached though is quite another matter! It's a matter of priorities. I don't blame the media for this. I'm sure the Roman papers were all about who was sleeping with who in the Senate, political intrigues and who the baddest gladiator was of the time. In other words, giving the people what they want. A paper can only lead a horse to water, it can't make him think.
Keep 'em coming, doc!
"I was perfect in our relationship. I did everything he wanted!"
This was uttered in my group therapy session by a woman who was beaten for seven years. She abrogated her responsibilities to herself and turned her life over to another person. And for that she paid with ruptured eardrums (among other things) from the beatings she endured. So giving people what they want is not only an act of irresponsibility but makes you a participant in the destruction - your own destruction (everybody counts). It's easy to give in an serve what you know people will like and that is fine just as long as you don't do it at your own expense.
Many professional entertainers end up defining their self-worth by their ability to entertain. The more consumed they became with that thought the greater their need to escape that "reality" - sometimes by death. But I say we as whole are on that path, applying pressure for sharing only entertainment and never our larger truths. (The best do both). Children are the ones most receptive to our messages and I've noticed a common trait when I read about child suicides: "Oh, he was such a good kid. He just wanted to make everyone happy." Obviously, no one asked the kid if he was happy. Fuckers.
You wouldn't know it from my blog - and it's not my intent that you should - but I like life, I believe in it more than anything else in the world. I can make any subject entertaining because everything we do is all part of the human comedy and I know the road from which that divines. And knowing that is good news - the greatest possible news imaginable! But I don't share that to a world who wants only half the message.
Those people in the lifeboats are so negative!
So screw all the so-called "optimists" who stay aboard the Titanic spouting garbage like, "Everything is fine if we just believe it! We can lick this thing! I have faith in the human spirit! We need only support our Captain!" True human spirit seeks survival in the lifeboats, admitting a mistake and going on. Yes, there's no Lido deck on a lifeboat, not a lot of happy faces or parties or entertainment either. But there is life - and that beats the fuck out of being entertained while sinking.
