“Printing Labels”

So I can barely stay awake at work today as a result of going to see Fahrenheit 9/11 last night. I was surprised and impressed. I honestly didn’t expect much. Prior to seeing the film I knew it preached to the choir but wanted to see it anyway. Finally, someone was preaching to my choir. Thanks network news for neglecting the flock.

Let me put my criticisms of the film up front. First, the film seems to link the House of Saud, the Bush monarchy, and a variety of corporate interests to the events of 9/11 without entirely explaining how. The technique seems to work in the same way as the Bush administration manufactures fear (the film later addresses this as well). This is not to say that there wasn’t some connection, but the film doesn’t go much farther than stating that everybody was rich, friends and getting a whole lot richer. Maybe there wasn’t more too it than that, hopefully there wasn’t. In the end though, complacency that leads to such events seems to be as great a crime.

Secondly, the film portrays the USA PATRIOT ACT in a comical light. While the sequences and stories are amusing, Moore doesn’t fully convey the depths and concerns that opponents of the Act have. The Act is a quite complicated piece of legislation that takes a fine comb tooth to unravel. But that does not mean that one of the most controversial and far reaching pieces of legislation this country has ever seen deserves such shallow treatment in a film of this depth.

The final criticism is the ambiguity running throughout the film that at times is downright contradictory. Are the soldiers stationed in Iraq and Afghanistan, racist, sadistic hooligans, or are they free-thinking, thoughtful, and sensitive individuals who are merely doing their job? Is airport screening that makes a woman drink her own breast-milk yet allows 3 books of matches and 2 lighters per person really in the clutches of big tobacco or just another example of government agencies at work. On a side note, aren’t Republicans all against “big government” and deficit spending? Sorry for the digression.

Every one should see this movie, check their politics at the door and watch it in a most skeptical manner. It really should be criminal to allow others to do your thinking for you and hopefully Moore’s expert lens and at times comical narration don’t coerce the audience into committing such a sin.

The images of the film speak for themselves and will resonate differently for different audiences. Their collective strength is the voice of Moore’s movie and its unmistakable message: the aggression perpetrated by the United States against Iraq was wholly unnecessary. The human cost on both sides of the conflict is represented by images of unbridled grief and the brutal horror of the physical effects of war. While the rest of the world’s media is free to report such images, the beacon of freedom in the world that the terrorists so abhor, is not.

The evil portrayed in the movie is well spoken for and it is here where some of Moore’s brilliance shines. Corporate and individual greed is the star actor in this role. Moore masterfully intertwines images, statements, interviews and promotional materials to illustrate why intervention in Iraq was necessary: money. The refreshing thing that Moore does well is that he does not focus solely on US led (read, white) interests. He also shows Arab businessmen chomping at the bit to get a piece of the action. Economic imperialism without fail follows nations’ quest to be the global hegemon—Iraq is merely an example of the voracious, unchecked appetite of the existing hegemonic power. The dorky executive giddy with anticipation said it best, “good for business, bad for the people.”

Through the Cacophony

The MLS wrap up
She makes $3000/hour
You must be a drug dealer
Back in the day when they
First invented ceiling fans
Condos are more expensive
Than co-ops and there
Are fewer of them
You live and die by
Those rules; financial
Arrangements, absolutely.
There are 12 martini
Glasses lined up with ice
In them. 2nd half
Kettle one, rocks, did
She order yet? No
Problem. Oh yeah, my Name
is mike, I think it would
be. i moved to California
in 1987. Umm, slam down
the mixer pour the pineapple
juice. Scowl. Vapid. You
know how we met each other
in the airport in mexico?
They have very bad tempers
We don’t have anything
Remotely regular—I’m not
Old school. It is so fucked
Up. I’m going home. Yes, sure
Lime, it is not even vaguely
Mine. Vermouth, sapphire,
Campari. Cheers. Where’s C—
This place right here, wall st.
World financial. Yes indeed
That watermelon martini. I do
Water. 3 o’clock last night
I went to cuba
I prefer Jennifer.

Nice and classy

Sen. Patrick Leahy...go fuck yourself.

what me, apologize?

It’s the new television

I have come to realize that I am missing quite a few compact discs that have music on them that I paid legal tender for. This is disturbing. I want to listen to something and then cannot. I cannot tell you the endless frustration that this breeds.

Televisions serve one purpose and one only entertainment. This blog serves many more, at least in my egocentric universe.

Random thoughts are firing fast this evening…

The new book by Anonymous looks like it might be worth picking up. It has amazed me that somehow the politics and talking points of the people running this country are being bought. “They hate our freedom.” I call bullshit on that one. Bullshit though it may be, it happens to be the double coupon at the ignorant voter grocery store.

My true belief has always been that somewhere beyond the reactionary politics of the last few years the career wonks in the CIA and at the State Department had at least some idea what was going on. I’ll be interested to see if the book is vindication for that.

“Fahrenheit 9/11” came out today—I’m going to try to catch it tomorrow. All credit to NRG for this one, “Go see it, make it your ‘Passion’!”

Saltines for breakfast and saltines for lunch. (no verb needed)

I am starting to understand political apathy amongst the younger generations…the frustration of being right[left] can be so overwhelming some times.

My god how did it get to be this late?

I was ironing and someone had the audacity to interrupt me after 23:50. I say audacity because there is no such thing as a mobile booty call from 3000 miles away. You know who you are; laugh now.

All things being equal, I love worthless clichés. It is way too easy to become sedate and commonplace for the ordinary person and that it is why it is all the more perplexing to hear of the extraordinary doing the same. There is something to be said for being one’s own best friend.

Spent the evening on the roof with the Dutch, the green bottled Dutch that is.

As progressive as I like to style myself, I was thinking that if I was alive in the mid 19th century, British, wealthy and of good pedigree, and younger than I am old now; I would have been a model imperialist.
My how things change in a couple of centuries…

Come to think of it, maybe I do believe in reincarnation.

put your listening ears on

looks like i typed anyways...next time you won't be so lucky

inspirational solitude

Fireworks in the Night Sky

the floor is so quiet
i am wrapped in parquet
my toes are weeping softly
exuding invisible tears
for the years of tortoises
not soon forgot and
the hordes of masses
confused by the elasticity
of never turning around
masses silently walking
towards nothing but
fate and that which
for the remainder of their
life they will forget
about along the same
lines as that meal
a fortnight ago and
yet in the eyes of a
few who knows maybe
you exists a gleam and
joy a freedom from
the mundane punctuation
and lives molded by
the operatic stylings of
the latest hip hop mogul
and surprised by
the willingness to forgo
it all for a walk on the
quiet pavement of foreign
happiness and the mortal
solitude of deaf ears and
quiet forges while all
the while wondering if
it really is nice to
meet you or if you are
just the latest amalgamation
of a borrowed pen and
a stained carpet but
the bumble bee fireworks
of politics and barbers
escapes even the most
fundamental washer of
windows for they know
that a safari can be
had anywhere but here
unless it is on the inside
of a mind scribbled on
endlessly by street performers
and graffiti artists who
ply their trade on the
unsuspecting vendors of
watches and fruit who
are in direct competition
with the hawkers of
lost fortunes and promises
wasted yet all along
there are only so many
conjunctions conjured
up to replace the non
stop work of the
crumpled up sheets of a
failed career or the
dream endlessly pursued
with the altruistic hope
of wanting that one
paper cup and paper clip
that forces one to sit
upright in their bed
in the middle of the night
mindlessly ashing the
unlit cigarette of cognizance
with such ephemeral glee
thinking that only the
angels must have any
idea what this is really
like

pause

inarticulate seltzer bubbles drown
out the endless drone of a beat
from the hinterland of their
soul quietly escaping the gaseous
prison of a sewer and a
swamp of the disregarded remnants
of yesterday’s existence in a funk
of stale food and continents
divided not by oceans but
thoughts and the minds
of the physiologically alike
but ideologically different
indifferent to the daily
doings of citizens over
where without trash
compactors and makeshift
friends juxtaposed against
the real and as effervescent
as all that is temporary
constantly drifting unaware
of that inescapable happiness
of the thoughtless------

Dear White Walls:

My self imposed period of mourning is over. It is time to move on and it appears that the team will be blown up. This should be interesting.

If you have ever had any curiosity as to the purpose of title insurance or how it works, read this.

I truly planned to have something to say today. Really, I did. The trouble is that now that I’m reclining on the couch, laptop on top of my lap, my eyes have become heavy. I think I am starting to understand what it would be like to be blind and know how to type. I would write some really funny letters. I hear Morse code.

I fell asleep.

I woke up.

The shroud has lifted.

Obviously my life is currently consumed with that that really does not matter much in the grand scheme of things: the NBA. Yesterday hurt.

Will somebody please clue in the veep and his friends. Again today he made his claim that Saddam and UBL are tight:
"He was a patron of terrorism; he had long established ties with al Qaida."
Why can’t they just admit that they made a mistake and work towards resolving it? Read the AP story here.

The other thing that is on my mind is the whole stem-cell debate. I don’t know volumes about it by any means, but I read a couple of things today that kept my mind thinking—thinking that it really isn’t the end of the world to allow it to happen. I want to start researching what attitudes were about in vitro fertilization when it was being researched. My hunch is that a parallel can be drawn to this current debate. I’ll save that argument for another day when I have more knowledge. Any help is appreciated.

I read Patti Davis’ understandably emotional thoughts on the issue and then the President’s. (caveat: the Bush remarks are from 2001, I couldn’t find anything more recent) The blanket detachment that he conveys in his statement while feigning to appear as if this is something that torments him is appalling. He says that he has spoken with almost everybody who is anybody on the issue. The illustration for his understanding is classic Bush rhetoric:

On the first issue, are these embryos human life -- well, one researcher told me he believes this five-day-old cluster of cells is not an embryo, not yet an individual, but a pre-embryo. He argued that it has the potential for life, but it is not a life because it cannot develop on its own.
An ethicist dismissed that as a callous attempt at rationalization. Make no mistake, he told me, that cluster of cells is the same way you and I, and all the rest of us, started our lives. One goes with a heavy heart if we use these, he said, because we are dealing with the seeds of the next generation.

Is he really thinking clearly and carefully about this or for that matter anybody that makes these arguments? People created the embryos for sure—somebody’s egg and somebody’s sperm, after they hopefully get pregnant and have the kid are they really that willing to send the “leftovers” out to whomever wants them? It is not all that remotely different than some of the anti-cloning arguments. Further, who wants their progeny running around without their knowledge?

It is a completely different argument than the adoption argument too. People adopt primarily because they want a young goat and can’t have one. They are able to adopt because someone didn’t want the kid in the first place. I’m pretty sure people don’t go around making embryos because they don’t want to have children—isn’t the whole point of in vitro to get pregnant?

In the counterfactual, what if I have a living breathing child or parent or even myself who could be helped by this research and my wife and I decide to undergo the process for the express purpose of donating embryos (as many have done already apparently) for research. Why won’t the Feds release research dollars for new lines of stem-cell research on those embryos that are donated? This seems to be a more happy medium, than the blanket denial currently in place.

It is musing how the Court ruled today on the pledge issue by completely avoiding the Constitutional issue—I can’t wait to see the spin on that.

Lakers in 7.

a great quote

"Dad was also a deeply, unabashedly religious man, but he never made the fatal mistake of so many politicians -wearing his faith on his sleeve to gain political advantage."

"True, after he was shot and nearly killed early in his presidency he came to believe that God had spared him in order that he might do good. But he accepted that as a responsibility, not a mandate. And there is a profound difference."

--Ron Reagan

That light at the end of the tunnel is a train

And the monkeys are running the zoo.

It has been an interesting week of boredom and fascination with boredom. My job intrigues me, not because it is terribly boring and tedious, but rather because I curiously feel like the forgotten bastard child. I go about my day in the most anonymous of fashion, not by design I tell you, but out of geography and utter lack of responsibility or accountability for one of the alleged “most important” jobs in the firm. The rhetoric is understandable, but the rationale is laughable.

Eerily quiet down here, today it was. The combination of the markets being closed and the rumor of the subways being attacked (thanks NYPD for the email telling us it was all a hoax and for the incredible security nonetheless) produced quiet streets. Understand that ‘quiet’ is somewhat of a relative term, the horde of humanity normally present was replaced with a small throng. Also, it was the national day of mourning.

The circumstances of the last week do fascinate me. As a student of the history and a watcher of the people, the passing of Reagan and its aftermath are quite fascinating. The cult of the leader seems to be alive and well. In death, suddenly he has become a secular messiah of sort to the masses and the power structure. Unfortunately, for me much of this seems hollow. In a weird way it reminds me of those royal weddings of monarchs in Europe. The pomp of a state funeral is a place to be seen—it is in no way different than a hot oscar party. A few are undoubtedly exceptions, family namely but also those who were truly friends, even if they happen to be former world leaders—Thatcher came to mind.

I was unable to watch today’s ceremonies but did read all the transcripts. Moreover, I read tons of commentary today and the range of opinions are understandably wide—but criticism is conveniently pushed off to the side. The thing that is intriguing is not how many have written or spoke glowingly, no one wants to look like they are shitting on the freshly dead, but rather how those true believers in all things Reagan have capitalized on his death as an opportunity to further criticize any opposing belief and rekindle the mantra that if you are not ultra-conservative you lack the conviction to be an American. Why make death divisive?

Hopefully the death of the father of the neo-conservatives will spur some positive change—namely stem-cell research. Unfortunately, it is also an opportunity to rehash all the policies and jingoisms that made him so beloved by conservatives and furthers the political, social, and economic chasms that paralyze our country.

Let’s Get Civilized!

The White Man's Burden
by Rudyard Kipling

Take up the White Man's burden--
Send forth the best ye breed--
Go, bind your sons to exile
To serve your captives' need;
To wait, in heavy harness,
On fluttered folk and wild--
Your new-caught sullen peoples,
Half devil and half child.

Take up the White Man's burden--
In patience to abide,
To veil the threat of terror
And check the show of pride;
By open speech and simple,
An hundred times made plain,
To seek another's profit
And work another's gain.

Take up the White Man's burden--
The savage wars of peace--
Fill full the mouth of Famine,
And bid the sickness cease;
And when your goal is nearest
(The end for others sought)
Watch sloth and heathen folly
Bring all your hope to nought.

Take up the White Man's burden--
No iron rule of kings,
But toil of serf and sweeper--
The tale of common things.
The ports ye shall not enter,
The roads ye shall not tread,
Go, make them with your living
And mark them with your dead.

Take up the White Man's burden,
And reap his old reward--
The blame of those ye better
The hate of those ye guard--
The cry of hosts ye humour
(Ah, slowly!) toward the light:--
"Why brought ye us from bondage,
Our loved Egyptian night?"

Take up the White Man's burden--
Ye dare not stoop to less--
Nor call too loud on Freedom
To cloak your weariness.
By all ye will or whisper,
By all ye leave or do,
The silent sullen peoples
Shall weigh your God and you.

Take up the White Man's burden!
Have done with childish days--
The lightly-proffered laurel,
The easy ungrudged praise:
Comes now, to search your manhood
Through all the thankless years,
Cold, edged with dear-bought wisdom,
The judgment of your peers.

The White Man's Burden was first published in McClure's Magazine (Feb. 1899).

Yup...

Wait for the third shoe to drop…

Ray is dead. Ronnie is dead. Who will be the third R?

I am really enjoying the Miss Kitten album I COM. It is a real nice blend between all.

I’m just about to leave to watch game 3; but in spite of my financial morass, I am quite excited about the state of sport. The Tour starts July 3 and Euro 2004 starts this weekend.

I have decided to keep my addictions in check—as you may have noticed, I’m only making headway on the politics one and I think I’m about to fall off that wagon.

I love my job, especially my cubicle away from reality and my thirteen inch monitor.

sorry for some of you

but i'm glad i'm out. enjoy!

It is hot inside this macaroni

Bryant’s heroics once again saved the Purple and Gold.

So I am listening to this song as I write and the refrain/chorus, whatever the hell you want to call it, keeps repeating the phrase that “I am no cyberwhore.” That is funny.

A friend and I have a new idea for a mildly adult themed cartoon—artists wanted, inquire within.

Poverty is no longer creeping into my life—it is full speed ahead and the bastard doesn’t look like it has any intention of slowing down. This, as I’m sure you can imagine, presents all sorts of difficulties.

There are all sorts of templates for things. My eyes hurt and feel warm to the touch—must be the heat today. Why is it that when the weather heats up, this city all of a sudden smells like excrement and cat piss? It makes no sense to me—especially at 13:30 in the middle of the financial district. Speaking of Wall Street, we now have 4 new midday hobos (one of them is actually a hobette). One dude just sleeps all day next to the side of a building, he’s chill. He doesn’t bother with begging or asking for something or preaching impending doom, he just sleeps—by night he is gone. It is hobo, hobette and their little hobito that get me. They sit around with a plethora of signs about how hobo just got laid off and how they are hard up. Now I’m as liberal as the come but, GET A FUCKING JOB! You have a kid for god sake and your sitting begging on a street where nobody gives a damn about you. Better yet they are doing it away from the touristy area—they aren’t getting any vacation pity. The reason they piss me off so much is because they have hobito. Why do you have a kid on the streets—it is not a prop. They spend their prime job hunting time on the street begging. You can tell they haven’t been on the streets long, because each day they are remarkably clean and groomed. They other guy that sleeps all day looks as if he was born in dirt. I also think he might have to have his feet amputated.

I love short paragraphs.

Cartoons from the flip side.

Cartoons from the flip side.

I feel like a European vacation.

How is this for mundane: I’m peeling potatoes tonight (Yukon Gold, if you must know) and apparently I have a very good peeler. I managed to peel of a good chunk of one of my fingernails. Pain is not an appropriate word—frustration is better. I’m having difficulty typing.

I spent a good part of the evening pontificating about what went wrong with the Lakers yesterday. The sky is not falling yet. However, one must always believe.

Some words for dinner.

"Mmm Skyscraper I Love You"

mmm skyscraper i love you. mmm skyscraper i love you.
mmm skyscraper i love you. mmm skyscraper i love you.

thirty thousand feet above the earth. its a beautiful thing.
and you're a beautiful thing.
thirty thousand feet above the earth. its a beautiful thing.
everybody's a beautiful thing.

mmm skyscraper i love you. mmm skyscraper i love you.

and i see elvis! elvis!

i see porn dogs sniffing the wind. sniffing the wind for something new.
porn dogs sniffing the wind for something violent they can do.
porn dogs sniffing the wind. sniffing the wind for something new.
porn dogs sniffing the wind for something violent for me and you.

will you be my big plaything. my total big disorientator.
will you be my big plaything. my ninja power. my number cruncher.
yes. yes. yes. no. yes. yes.
yes. yes. yes. yes. no. no.

and i see elvis! and i hear god on the phone.
mmm skyscraper i love you.

i see porn dogs sniffing the wind. sniffing the wind for something new.
porn dogs sniffing the wind for something violent that they could do.
porn dogs sniffing the wind. sniffing the wind for something new.
porn dogs sniffing the wind for something violent for me and you.

the city is a whore tonight.

and i see god talking! elvis! god talking!

pornfest pork fat jesus christ night light.
elvis fresh meat and a little whipped cream.
pornfast cornfat jesus christ night ride.
elvis fresh meat and a little whipped cream.
thirty thousand feet above the earth. thirty thousand feet above the earth.
beautiful thing. you're a beautiful thing.
thirty thousand feet above the beautiful earth.
mmm skyscraper i love you. mmm skyscraper i love you.
mmm skyscraper i love you. mmm skyscraper i love you.

like i feel you. like i feel you. like i feel you. like i feel you...

Apparently Yukiko means Snow in Japanese—

Folks, I’m back on the scene, the ESL scene that is. So all my plans fell through this evening as planned and I decided to take a walk on the wild albeit random and terrifying side. I met up with her on Christopher street and we went to find a place to grab a drink. The idea was for something quiet, kinda mellow like, where conversation could flow and sparks could fly. Truth be told, I randomly picked a great spot. The Grey Dog is a great little café right off of Sixth Ave. where magic could be beheld.

Unfortunately for me that wasn’t the case. The situation was such: it is no small secret that I have a fetish for words, especially the spoken type. I like to talk. The smaller secret, but not so small, is that my white guilt lends itself nicely to the mirage of hope that I can one day become an international playboy, the kind who transcends continents, time, and space. Reality however is a bitch.

We chatted. More appropriately I spoke, inquired and she politely laughed. I honestly think she had a good time. My difficulty though was more tangible, language at times is a spoken art—this classically trained pianist didn’t possess it. She was however quite fond of the one thing she knew. I like that, but not enough to pursue it. One thing is not enough; I’m complex and the fairer sex should be too—at least for me.

Budget Cuts

This evening might be as fun as last night. I have again made plans not to do a whole lot, maybe some late night Grace, but that is about it. I spent most of the day wandering through my mind.

Then I got adventurous. Took out the trash and stepped outside to enjoy the air. Today is my favorite type of day; not cold, not warm, windy and overcast. Spent the better part of the afternoon ‘optimizing’ the laptop—electronic housekeeping if you will. I came to realize that a computer is really no different than a dwelling when it comes to pack-rattery, maybe even pack-rattiness. I thought about it. I have an entire cabinet and one drawer pretty much just full of shit that I don’t really need. They serve as both file cabinets and a sort of wasteland for take away menus. I have more old bills saved up on the notion that someday I might need them. Pray tell, when am I ever going to need an old ConEd bill? Maybe when I get sued for the next blackout—it might be my fault if I use to many kitchen appliances in the summer months. But I digress…

Reagan died today. No need to trash the dead, but damn, charisma goes a hell of a long way. Mental note—get some.

Meant to run errands today and did in my own virtual way—freshdirect.com brings me happiness. Besides, where else can you impulse buy artichokes?

Tomorrow is the 60th anniversary of D-Day. Here’s what the former president had to say about it 20 years ago:

“The men of Normandy had faith that what they were doing was right, faith that they fought for all humanity, faith that a just God would grant them mercy on this beachhead or on the next. It was the deep knowledge — and pray God we have not lost it — that there is a profound moral difference between the use of force for liberation and the use of force for conquest."

It is funny how the ephemeral brilliance of politicians can be interpreted in so many ways.

What I see right now...

It is amazing

The wick on my green candle has a bulbous piece of carbon on the top of it. This seems strange. I have yet to figure out exactly how the wick of a candle operates. Any technical or scientific description would be most appreciated.

I actually got to start doing some ‘real’ work today. My phone was finally installed and I started calling. My job entails calling people that have diseases allegedly related to asbestos and finding out exactly when, where and how they were exposed. The few people I spoke with foreshadowed the boredom and sadness that seems sure to follow. First call: voicemail, “Hi this is R__ B___ with W__ and L___. This message is for X regarding your asbestos claim that our firm is handling for you. At your convenience, if you could call me back at 800—so I might speak with you regarding you job history it would be greatly appreciated.” Second call: actually spoke to this woman in AR who is convinced that asbestos was all around her when she put cameras together. I am somewhat suspect of her claim—she is a spot sick but she also has smoke 2.5 packs of GPC’s for the last 30 years.

The third call relates more to the sadness I think that I might actually encounter. It was a guy who has never smoked, who was 83 years old. An aside: if you smoke and are exposed to asbestos, you have a 90% greater chance of getting some type of cancer or serious illness than people who don’t. Avoid asbestos people. Back to the old man; his wife answers the phone and asks me a million questions, when she finally understands who I am and why I’m calling, she lets me talk to him only because I’m with the firm. He gets on the phone and strikes me as a kind, old, blue collar gentleman. We chat, he has a great memory, remembers job sites and products he used by name—smart guy. He starts telling me how he is getting worse, his lungs only operate at 13% capacity—and then somewhat ashamedly tells me that its not to make me feel bad, “cause [he’ll] be OK” but rather so I can document it. We keep talking about how he became a carpenter at 16 and then was a firefighter for 30 years—the whole time doing construction on the side. Eventually he started building houses on his own. We have to ask if the client was ever in the military, part of the questions you see, since the armed forces were where a ton of these people were exposed. So I ask. His response was intriguing, “sadly, I never joined.” Those four words told me a lot about who he was, what he stood for and what he believed. Moreover, it encapsulated something I already understood. My generation is completely different than those twice removed from me. Not better, not worse, but different.

The thing that struck me was how quietly he uttered the phrase, as if it was something to be ashamed of. Who knows what this man’s politics are or what he feels about whatever is going on domestically or abroad, but one thing for sure, is that part of his identity is tied up in the fact that he didn’t serve for his country and thus he didn’t do something he should have—somehow you could sense that he felt less a man. I could tell him he was wrong, but was an argument I could never win. His sense of duty and honor is completely different than my own. Or is it?

Duty and honor must be somewhat situational, they must be somewhat determined by outside factors and attitudes of the day. Additionally, they are tied up in one’s upbringing, one’s education and one’s individual world view.

If the world today was as his world was then, there’s a good chance I might feel the same way.

But I don’t. The world is different, geopolitics is different, yet, there are still very real lessons to learn from long ago and not so long ago. While I will never join the military and will never feel bad for not doing so, neither my decision nor anyone who makes the same decision should be questioned on matters of patriotism or love for one’s country.

Almost universally it is agreed that WWII was a right and just cause to get involved in. Through the purview of history, society can understand that the world is a better place for standing up to tyranny and the insatiable desire for power and possession. This world is not the same place. The insatiability of leaders of nations, of man has been replaced, no—augmented, by the insatiability of corporate greed. It is not just the greed of the few that dictates the irrational now; it is the greed of the many. The many, though, have a variety of faces, colors and even nationalities. This is what now dictates the world and decisions of leaders of humankind. Yet, even as blame is placed where it is most deserved, is this not somewhat hypocritical? Don’t you and I everyday partake and reap the benefits of this greed in some small sense? What is the solution, has the western world become too big, too populous, and too accustomed to its way of living to solve the problem on its own? Is it even a problem that can be solved? These questions transcend politics and live in the realm of humanity. They are not weighted on one side or the other. They are neither painted red nor blue, and they do not bear the emblem of an ass or an elephant.

There is a new documentary I want to see—maybe I’ll go this weekend and catch a matinee, NYC style ($10.25)

Also, Remember.

Dell and the monthly catalogue

Who buys a new computer or flat screen every month?

Day 2 of job. Still nothing to report, pretty much sat around all day doing nothing. So far, I am really unimpressed.

For some reason my grades are still not out.

Lakers in 5 (maybe 6).

And I really like this car, too bad I gots no cash and no need for a car.

stay tuned, more later

I feel blessed

the nonsense GROWS

1st day of work and the meaning of sovereignty…

So I am confused, which anybody who knows me knows is not something really new. The mundane comes first.

So today was the first day of many joyous days to come that will involve me talking to old people about their diseases or if their dead, their estates representatives. I also get paid less than minimum wage. I won’t leave the office until six in the evening but at least I don’t have to get in until 10. We’ll see how this goes and I’ll keep you posted.

So I get home to read the news and eat leftover pizza and drink South African red wine and check for grades and use the word and to many times in one sentence and then get a bit riled up.

I started by reading that my man, his highness GWB, has now compared the WAR ON TERRORISM [sic] to World War II. This struck me as odd. I, being not alive at the time and so have to take what books, oral tradition, and media tell me as fact, distinctly remember this guy called Hitler or something like that who had his sights set on global domination. A truncated remembering of this makes me recollect that in order for this not too attractive, failed student and non-descript military veteran to come to power he had to manufacture a series of events (read, lies) to get the people of the nation to vote for him. He won, but by no means fair and square. He then proceeded to bring that nation to a xenophobic climax that allowed him to strip any one deemed an enemy combatant, I mean someone whose views he didn’t like, of citizenship and to be treated quite poorly. Eventually this poor treatment escalates, peeps get carted off to special places, yada, yada, yada, and then slaughtered, raped, and generally just denigrated as a human.

This war on unfettered geopolitical, economic and cultural imperialism is just like the war that the US, Britain, the former Soviet Union and others (not you Vichy France) undertook to stop that guy Hitler from unceasingly invading sovereign countries. Except this time invasion of sovereigns came from the so-called good gender-neutral persons. When was the last time good gender-neutral persons started a war?

This brings me to my point about sovereignty. Merriam-Webster online defines sovereignty as, “a: supreme power especially over a body politic b: freedom from external control: AUTONOMY c: controlling influence 3: one that is sovereign; especially: an autonomous state.” More or less that was my idea too.

So then I read this Powell: Iraq Will Not Get Veto on Troops. Now everything makes perfect sense. Sovereignty means if I and my first-rate army, plus twice as many “contractors” and a few mercenaries, come into your country sans provocation, obliterate your infrastructure, topple your leaders, make it criminal to be a member of a political party (nice democratic touch by the way), kill approximately 10,000 of your innocent civilians that I wanted to give democracy and freedom to, and then give you back your country with a puppet government and decide that I’m still gonna park my 300,000+ support peeps there just in case you get pissed off and want to do something about it; you are then considered a sovereign nation. Somebody needs to tell these lexicographers that one of their words has the wrong definition. Oh and by the way if you’re upset about your new breed of sovereignty and want to do something about it, don’t worry I understand, “That's why [I am] giving them back their sovereignty.”

back in the working world

Dateline New York:

At 10 A.M. on 2 June 2004, the R will be officially employed once again, albeit at compensation rates not seen since 1995 or earlier and basically doing Erin Brokovich's job.

some idle thoughts from a not too distant day in central park

ITS GONE UPSIDE DOWN,
THE INSIDE OF MY HEAD, IT HAS
AROUND AND DISAPPEARED THE LINING
OF SUBTLE CEREBRALNESS
DISPLACED WITH THE IDIOTIC
RAMBLINGS OF
A BOTTOMLESS BLUE BOTTLE.
WHERE DID THE DELICACY AND
BEAUTY OF MY FORMER SELF GO?
THE GREEN OF A MUGGY
JACK-HAMMERED DAY
THE EMPTY SOUL OF REGRET
AND ME
TOGETHER IN OUR HUMANITY
IT’S QUIET WHEN THE FEAR
SUBSIDES,
THE PORES EXUDING THE
MEANINGLESS OF IT ALL
THEN THERE IS YOUR
THE HAUNTER OF MY THOUGHTS
THE DICTATOR OF MY ACTION
MY INACTION
MY EYES CLOSE AND YOU ARE THERE
THE SLAVE-MASTER THAT NEVER WAS.






THE GREEN REFRESHING COOL WATER OF
AN URBAN OASIS IS MUTED BY ITS OCCUPANTS
THE SOUNDS OF CITY ECHOING OFF THE
SPRING LEAVES OF AWAKENED TREES
A NEST, BURROWED DEEP, AND HIGH UP
IN AN ELDER TREE WHO HAS SEEN MORE
AND LISTENED LONGER THAN YOU OR I

A DOG BARKS, A CHILD CRIES, AND THE BREEZE
SURROUNDS, SAYING SOMEWHERE, VICTORY
IS NEAR
WHAT IS THE BATTLE BEING WAGED BUT OTHER
THAN ONE OF SENSIBILITIES
REASON’S VALIANT EFFORTS AGAINST COMPLACENCY.

so this is new...

hey friends and family, i decided to start a new creative effort since CS is lagging with the novella. as it goes along we'll see where it goes, feel free to comment at any time.

r.