Category Archives: Arrogance of Man

Imperialists’ Contradictory Truths

{ahhhh… a poem.  One that tries to keep pace with the times, as once in a while the girl has to express what she feels inside, what she reads, what she observes.} 

***I was remiss in not stating that the quote, “postage stamp mindset” is not something I made up, but that I read from DAVID ICKE. ***

[thoughts from   ~burning woman~  ]

From discomfort we loudly proclaim our comfort;
Our corruption defines our character strength;
By feeding generic hate we express our love.

Denial of reality is our unshakeable reality;
Our leaders’ lies are beacons for sacred truth.
From endless deceptions we draw certainty.

With guns and prisons we proclaim freedom;
Prejudice and bigotry: these are our banner;
Turpitude measures our standard of excellence.  

Our wars attest it: we stand for world peace,
However many we must kill to attain this.
The world trembles and bleeds at our holy name.

For we are America, bastion of democracy,
Land of the free, home of the brave;
Ever safe inside our postage stamp mindset.

 

 

Do you understand the charges against you?

[short story – by Sha’Tara]

At first it just caused a bit of stir locally and I wouldn’t have thought much of it if I hadn’t been goaded by my brother to follow up on the case.  “There’s something here that needs exposure” he told me.

An unknown woman had been arrested for practicing medicine without a license.  Well, in the current wave of political uncertainty, and, OK, let’s call a spade a spade, craziness, that in itself should not have merited a packed court room.

But it did.  Let me tell you the story as I witnessed some of it, participated in some and as the rest was told to me by a source.

My name is Keith Darbour.  I’m a free lance reporter – my passion – but I hold “real” jobs to pay the bills.  Freelance reporting these days of national paranoia and corporate press ownership and control isn’t what it used to be.  I mean, hell, this used to be thought of as a free country.  I can tell you, that is no longer the case.  But I digress.  Back to the case.

As I said, the courtroom is packed.  “All rise.”  Judge Judy Kean sits at her desk.  There is only one item on her agenda today.  The defendant, a young, tall and slim woman with long wavy dark hair and exotic skin enters between two female guards.  She sits at the prisoner’s dock.  The prelims over, the jury having already been selected, both lawyers make their opening statements.  Basically, the State: practicing medicine without a license.  The defence: extenuating circumstances.

I’ll make my prelims short.  There was a bus accident.  Several people were injured, some seriously.  It was thought a child was even dead.  The defendant (so it is assumed at this point) arrived on the scene and provided first aid and more.  The victims, some now present in the court room as witnesses, claimed that she was able to reach inside their bodies, reset bones, stop haemorrhaging, heal severe tears in skin almost instantly and calm the rest.  Every person affected in the accident walked away healed.  Ambulances and police came, of course, but it became clear at the outset that none of the victims required further help, and many even loudly and vociferously refused such help.

The woman was arrested for healing, oh, excuse me, “practicing medicine” without a license and jailed.  Today is her trial.  Let’s see what comes of this hard to believe situation.  Let’s see how evolved we are, as a society, as a civilization.

Prosecution approaches the defendant and asks her name.

“Under your name rules, translated to the best of my ability, my name is A-125-04-H.  I believe your police erroneously entered my name as Alice Haley.  If you wish, I can use that name.”

“We want your real name, miss.  Can you give us that?”

“I did that, sir.  My name is A-125-04-H”

“Very well, please explain what that means for the court.”

“Certainly sir.  I am Android, series 125, batch 04, category: Healer.  That is what I am, and what I am programmed by my makers, to perform.  I was built to heal whenever I encountered damage to sentient life.  That is what I am and I cannot change that programming, even if I wanted to, which of course I would not.”

Judge: “Do you understand miss Haley what ‘contempt of court’ means? Do you understand that the court has authority over you here as long as you remain a suspect in a very serious crime?”

“Yes I understand that very well, but I must make a clarification to your claim of authority over me.  You have jurisdiction, but not authority, unless I grant you that right, and I must make it very clear that my programming prevents me from doing so.  Therefore I state: you have no authority over me.  Only my programmers do.”

Titters ran through the crowd.  The judge rapped her gavel, “Order.  Any more interruptions and I will clear this court.”  I can tell you she sounded very annoyed and her anger was barely restrained.

“Young lady, I have full authority in this courtroom, including over you.  I have the authority to stop this and have you returned to jail pending an appeal.  Is that what you want?  I won’t have people making fun of this court, or me, understand?”

“Yes, I understand of course.  What I don’t understand is why the truth appears to be such an obstacle to getting on with the facts surrounding my arrest.  Isn’t that why I’m here?  I tell you the truth, witnesses corroborate, and the judgment must be that I be set free.  My “crime” your honour, is practising medicine without a licence.  But it’s my nature to heal damaged life; my programming is my license….”

Gavel again.  “Stop.  You will not turn this courtroom into a circus.  We will have you tell us your real name or you will be in contempt and you will go to a psychiatric institution for observation.  Is that clear?”

Prosecution: “May I continue, your honour?”

Judge: “Yes.”

“Miss Haley, I’ll take that to be your maiden name, where do you live?”

“Galactic quadrant C-5, planet Abergani.  It’s all in my implant but there is no technology here that can read it.  I’m sorry, that’s the best I can do.”

“Do you do drugs, miss Haley?”

“I understand what your question means.  In that sense the answer is no, I don’t.  Androids do not ingest either for sustenance or self-pleasuring.  It would negatively affect our metabolism.”

“You continue to claim you are an android.  Does this mean you are not human?”

“Yes.  I am essentially a machine.  I am not human, as you understand the term.”

“Uhuh!” Turns to the jury with a sarcastic smile and a shrug.  Smiles from the jurors.  “How did you get here?”

“Best guess, an error or a miscalculation in the part of those who sent me out to help in a disaster in quadrant D-8.  This, according to my calculations, is quadrant Y-17, sol system X-092, and this is called planet Tiam-2, which you call “earth.  Oh, there’s been a disaster in a country you call Yemen – I should be going there now – may I be excused?”

Smiling broadly, the prosecutor states, “This isn’t a classroom, miss.  Just sit there and answer my questions.”

“But people are dying.  I could be saving their lives now.  I’m being conflicted in my response to programming.  Oh, wait.  I do not need to obey you, you are not human – only pseudo-human.  I can leave.”

“No, sorry but… where did she go?”

I need not add, the court exploded in complete disarray.  The defendant literally faded in front of over one hundred people who were all looking at her.  But that wasn’t going to be the end of it because some moments later “Alice” re-appeared.  There was slight smile on her small but perfect face.  She seemed completely at peace.

“I’m sorry about that interruption.  I just had to go and help.  It’s taken care of for now.  Please continue.”   I could barely hear her over the hubbub but finally everybody settled and it was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop.

“How did you do that little disappearing trick?”

“I did not disappear sir, I cannot do that.  I simply shifted dimensionally.  It’s easily enough done over tiny distances like the circumference of a planet.  I only had to shift over half-way, manipulate your time, perform my duty and return.”

“Why did you not “shift dimensionally” and leave the jail then?”

“I did.  Many times.  If I may say so sir, madam judge, your world is in a terrible mess.  You must do something about all the pain and death your species inflicts on itself and on other life forms.  This is a very unhealthy state of affairs that will not bode you well in the near future.”

Judge, still not recovered from the shock of having a defendant simply disappear from the prisoner’s dock, then reappear a few moments later, stares at the defendant.  “Miss Haley, will you promise to remain here while I confer in chambers?”

“Yes.”

“In chambers – now, and I mean now.  No, no notes!”  (The following I got from the defence counsel later in the day.)

In chambers, Judge Kean:  “Can either of you explain this circus act to me?  Am I being made fun of here?  Who is the escape artist in the dock?”

Prosecutor: “My question also judge.  We’re being played here, question is, who’s behind this, and what’s the point?”

Defence: “Come on.  You saw it for yourselves.  She disappeared and came back.  She’s smart, sure of herself, rattles off information that’s obviously real to her.  What if she’s exactly what she says she is?”

Judge: “Is there a way we can prove it?”

Defence: “Two that come to mind.  Check the computer, what’s going on in Yemen.  How about we ask her to seriously cut herself and watch her heal herself?”

Judge: “Well, here’s the situation.  There was a bombing of a school in Yemen about half an hour ago.  There was apparently much carnage but after some minutes all of the victims walked out of the wreckage as if nothing happened.  They all refused medical help and went to their respective homes.  There is even a picture here of a woman walking among the ruins of the school but she’s wearing the mandatory hijab with which she covers part of her face.  Can’t be identified.  Doesn’t that sound a lot like the bus accident though? Same reaction from the healed victims.  OK, as much as I hate grandstanding, this can only be resolved with a demonstration.  I’ll ask her to cut herself and heal herself.  Let’s just see what her reaction to that will be.”

Judge re-entering the court.  “Thank you for your patience.  We will now ask for a demonstration that will tell us if the defendant is in fact telling the truth, or making a mockery of this court.  Alice Haley, please stand.”

The woman stood, still with that completely peaceful look on her face.  Waiting.

Judge: “I’m going to ask you to prove yourself to me, to the jury and this entire court.  I want you to take the knife that will be given to you and to slice your arm open.  Then I want you to heal yourself so we can all see.  Can you do that, “Android”?

Alice: “It isn’t a question of whether I can, or cannot.  Of course I can do that.  The problem is, self-harming is against my programming.  I cannot do it, however much I’d want to.  Someone else will have to cut my arm, and I will then demonstrate my healing skills for you.”

“Assuming you are telling us the truth, and we checked up on your Yemen story which seems to validate what you told us,  then I will ask for a volunteer to cut your arm.  Anyone?”

I can assure you there were no takers.  Who in any kind of right mind would walk up to a passive young woman and simply cut her arm open, just to prove a point?  Nuts, right?  I looked over the courtroom to see if anyone would have the courage to volunteer.  And I thought, well, that includes me, doesn’t it.   … Me…  Do I have the guts to do such a thing?  Come on, somebody, volunteer, I thought, but no one did.  So it was down to me, Keith Darbour, freelance journalist and private investigator.  I got up slowly.  “Seems like no one is volunteering so maybe, I mean, I think I should then.”

“Thank you.  Your name sir?”

“Keith Darbour, your honour.”

“Ah yes, I’ve heard of you somewhere.  You’re a journalist?”

“Yes your honour.”

“Would you come down here please, and do as you are asked to?”  I was in it now, couldn’t back out.  I was handed a wicked looking hunting knife – who knows where that came from! – and told to stand beside the defendant.  She looked at me and smiled as she lifted her left arm so I could grab her wrist.  I was shaking like a leaf in the wind until she put her right hand on my shoulder and suddenly everything seemed all right, normal.  I lay the knife on the lovely skin and slashed across veins and tendons.  There was no explosion of blood, just some clear liquid flowing out slowly.  She took her arm from my grip and wrapped her right hand around the “wound” and when she removed her hand there was no sign of the cut.  She was still smiling as if the whole thing was a bit of a joke.  Which to her it must have been.  Such primitives, she must have thought.

Judge: “Raise your left arm, please, miss Haley.”  She did and turned it around for all to see that there was no harm done at all.  She had never screamed, never expressed any pain, not even winced while I slashed her.  It was, well, amazing?  More, it was a revelation.

So what could they do but let her go?  They knew they couldn’t hold her in any case; that she wasn’t doing any harm, quite the opposite.  Now you’re probably wondering, assuming you believe this tale, where she is at the moment.  What can I tell you?  I wanted to interview her but she “disappeared” almost as soon as she was told she was free to go.  I tried to locate her through the Internet alternative media, looking for some weird news about mass healings somewhere, anywhere, but found nothing certain.  Rumours and more rumours, and huge “alternate facts” spin-outs from the court hearing.  Do yourselves a favour: don’t tune in the Alex Jones’ Infowars for information, he’s got hold of the court story and has gone deeper down his rabbit hole than ever before.
What do I think?  I like to think that she’s not only out there, healing people and teaching compassion, but calling more of her kind to assist her.  We could do with more of her kind practicing medicine without a license.  In fact we could do with more of our own kind doing the same thing because these days, really, it seems rather obvious that having the license and charging for services rates much higher than actually having any healing success.  By success I mean that after the medical coteries are done with you, you should be thoroughly healed, not become a crippled dependent on more “specialists” and drugs, ’til death do us part, Amen.

 

The Third Option Explained: where does man come from?

      [thoughts from  ~burning woman~  by Sha’Tara]

As a species, we believe in two basic approaches to human beginnings and development. 

The first is based on religious myths, that some gods, or God, created man from dirt and air and made “man” a living soul.  Then as some sort of afterthought, seeing as his man was lonely, he took a rib from the man and made him a “help mate” i.e., companion, a slave, a sex toy, a secondary appurtenance, a wo-man.  That skewed and screwed up pair of cursed Earthians then proceeded to wander off into the real world and make babies, according to the command to be fruitful and multiply.  I need to add here that if there ever was one divine commandment “man” did take to heart, that’s the one.  Believers and unbelievers alike bend themselves (or stretch themselves) eagerly to fulfill the commands of their God. I also  need to point out that their very first born, a male of course, being “the best of the best of the best, Sir!”  proceeded to murder his only brother because he was pissed at God.  Not an ostentatious beginning all around, was it, but that’s the patriarchy’s crowing (I meant “crowning” but “crowing” is rather fitting) moment.  

Flip the coin over and man’s lofty beginning is ratcheted down by quite a lot.  Now he’s simply the result of billions of years of bits and pieces of sub-atomic particles, then assorted cells (matter) assembling themselves from muck and mire into “man” presumably complete with self-awareness and a sense of “right and wrong” which of course in the ultra-conservative Darwinist sense, makes absolutely no sense at all because in evolution, how can there ever arise consciousness; the sense of right or wrong?  Of morality? Of beliefs in gods and need to worship same?  Well, them’s been thorny issues for die-hard evolutionists, but they’ve certainly been bold in promoting all kinds of laughable theories on how that came about.  I can let that go, there’s enough material on it out there to choke a herd of elephants, not that I’m promoting the idea we should choke a herd of elephants, it’s just a figure of speech. 

What’s the truth then?  How did “we” develop into the truly crazy, twisted numbties we are, poised on the edge of blowing ourselves up sky high; definitely over-breeding and over-populating; poisoning every aspect of our living environment, destroying its ecology for rising numbered stakes? 

Is there a Third Option; another approach to man’s appearance, development and current condition we should be looking at?  An option that the “System” is desperately determined to prevent us from looking into, discovering and worse case scenario for the System, to accept as logical and obvious?  Something logical that would explain “us”?

I’ll say this: it’s possible.  I don’t do facts; I don’t do truth.  There are no such things as facts and there is no such thing as “the truth” in my mind’s world.  There is no Way.  There is no Source.  There is no Law.  There is no One.  And just to emphasize it again, there is no Secret. 

Note that play on words: there is no One.  There is no-one.  Now add “else” to that and you get, there is only me.  Is this a great place to be or what?  From “me” I free myself to “know” how I was made, where I come from, what I am, what I want to be (when I grow up, which is probably never).  I am the only One; the only Truth; the only Way, the only Source, the only Law.  How does that work?  It works perfectly well because none of that matters to me, nor should it matter to anyone when properly reasoned.  After all is said and done, after all the dark clouds have floated over; the lightning has spent itself and the last peels of thunder have echoed and died beyond the far valley of the shadow of death, I still don’t know, nor does anyone else.  I know as much, and as little, as anyone else.  That’s the great equalizer.  

What I’ve just written should be as obvious to anyone as a sore thumb that’s just had an unofficial encounter with a deranged hammer.  Look at all the books; all the history, the philosophy, the religious tomes, tracts and diatribes, the political speeches, the scientific manuals, the economic theories of past and present; the self-help pulp fiction and health magazines and what have you got?  A lot of information certainly, but of what actual value is it?  What you have is a pile of dollar bills based on non-existent physical commodities.  You have promissory notes, nothing more.  Some promise heaven and nirvana; some promise wealth, or health, or peace or  […] (fill in the blanks), but in the end, none have ever delivered on their promises except for brief and tenuous moments in time or to individuals who would have achieved same without the verbal diarrhea.  

I just “clocked” man’s population and this is what I got: Current World Population  7,479,106,500 (as of midnight, January 21, 2017)

That’s right, we’re now at 7.5 billions and rising by the second.  It’s crazy, it’s madness: it’s man-made with his hand-maid. There is nothing “natural” about that sort of rise in any population.  It’s artificial; mindlessly driven by a programming neither “divine” nor “evolved”- an old implant run amuck. 

Have you ever wondered why in ancient times there arose so many taboos and issues around sex?  Why to this day there is such a problem balancing sexual relationships?  Why women whose bodies certainly sexually attract men more than vice-versa, suffer so much discrimination because of the fact that most female bodies are, in fact, sexual organs, and they never “go out of season” as do those of other animals?  Did you ever wonder, if you are a male, why you are always driven to seek the female, no matter your age or situation; (or no matter your religion!) that having your own female partner creates no substantial ‘protection’ or psychological barrier against your seeking, or being constantly aware of and desiring contact with, the female sex around you? 

Addressing women, do you not wonder why, knowing the conditions of the world and the glaring fact of its human overpopulation and the guarantee of a truly shitty future you still desire to have “your own” children, as if your addition to the problem didn’t matter?  As if “having them” trumps your ability to guarantee them a decent, safe, healthy future? Why women in such dire poverty they cannot feed themselves still have that imperative need to give birth? 

Don’t you think that “nature” should automatically jump into the fray at this point to prevent pregnancies, or cause men to lose their sexual interest in female bodies?  Shouldn’t something biological happen to derail the sex drive, if even for a generation or two, or drive it down to only a very small percentage of the population until we reach a level easily sustainable without earth-destroying poisonous technologies or senseless wars and genocides? 

But “nature” can’t jump in here because this phenomenon has nothing to do with nature.  “Man” as he appears on the earth scene is not a naturally occurring biological entity but something off nature’s charts.  Man is a cloned species, a totally unnatural designer (GMO) species, invented for a particular purpose by a race, or races of space beings who

  1. a) deliberately left no trace of their passage here or
  2. b) whose passage was deliberately obliterated by whomever forcefully removed these aliens, or
  3. c) came after the aliens left, attempting to clean up the mess they left behind. 

They cleaned up as best they could, (imagine the clean up after the BP oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico for example, and the on-going after-effects) removing the most dangerous remnants of alien technology, seeing no good reason the destroy the stone structures, then instead of wiping us off, being perhaps empathetic beings, chose to leave us to our own devices hoping that without our masters to drive us we would all naturally return to nature… They seemed to have overlooked the programming, or hoped that it would breed itself out: it didn’t.

Some of the descendants of the cloned bipedal “slave species of God” didn’t return to nature.  Some “remembered” and rebuilt the “cities of the gods” and re-created some of their technology; collectivized into ever-expanding power groups; into city-states and empires, and proceeded from there to go out and plunder, rape and enslave, as did their godly forebears.  They massacred and enslaved the ones who had re-adapted to the land and systematically destroyed their ways, replacing them with cities and industry – the legacy of their ancient masters, gods and forebears.   

They don’t build stone megaliths now, they still don’t have that technology, and can’t remember why they were originally built in any case, but they build highrises, ICBM’s, aircraft carriers, greenhouses and monster trucks.  They invent poison after poison to destroy a natural environment which seems inimical to them; a constant irritation and enemy.  They have re-invented GMO’s – and cloning – two of their alien forebears’ main accomplishments and the basis of much of their technology.  They cram, kill and destroy, that’s the only lucrative game in town; certainly the most exciting; the specialty du jour.  It’s the programming and they’re lovin’ it!   

Did I make it clear what I mean by “the third option”?  That we are the by-product of alien intervention, manipulation, meddling, in the natural cycle of a planet?  The evidence of this Third Option is irrefutable.  There is us, the pseudo-humans, a species obviously two bricks short of a load as concerns interaction with nature and… lo and behold, we have stone megaliths like the great pyramid, Baalbek and a plethora of other unexplained  (in terms of size, locations and purpose) stone artifacts from prehistory being discovered everywhere, including under seas and oceans; constructs which our benighted “Darwinist evolutionists” and religionists again try with pitiful, childish and laughable pseudo science; anthropological legerdemain or reference to divine miracles, to “explain” away.  But they are not going away and the curse of real science is that it drives the quest for definite explanations and will never rest satisfied with academic pronouncements, comical “pulpitations” and massive doses of propaganda. 

Man’s civilization train doesn’t run on a natural cyclic track but counter to it.  It began with an alien invasion and global conquest; it was built on a straight, downhill track, and it comes to a sudden end.  At the end of the track there’s a safety barrier, of course, as all train track terminals do, but at the exponentially gathered speed of this monster, that barrier has no chance to hold.  The train will plough through it as if it was kindling to fly off over the abyss, plummeting to perdition.  The only survivors will be the few who doubted the train’s purpose and vaunted safety or it’s societal necessity and who wouldn’t get on board, despite the many threats and inducements.  

To those on board, particularly to those partying in the First Class compartments I have one question: do you have any idea how close you are to hitting the barrier? My guess is, none, and you could care less.  Caring about consequences; taking personal responsibility simply isn’t part of the programming.  Only the few who have broken the programming can understand what that means and they’re too few to create much more than a few local disturbances, easily quelled by security forces; the effects sucked in global apathy, leaving no trace. 

World population clock link  http://www.worldometers.info/world-population/

The Kindergarten Art Class

[thoughts from   ~burning woman~   ]

From my current level of awareness and observation, I see mankind as a bunch of unruly kindergarten kids crammed together and told they’re having an “art” day.  To get them started, there’s a pile of paper sheets on the floor, and next, a big bowl full of crayons of every conceivable colour.  The kids are sat on the floor and more or less arranged around the items.  Predictably things don’t go as planned, or even as unplanned.  Some kids just lie back on the floor sucking their thumbs, trying to fall asleep.  Some just grab paper and fistfuls of crayons and begin to draw wildly across their papers.  Some quietly and dutifully wait for some sort of instruction.  Some look at the ceiling and smile at something.  Some start to argue over the items, a fight erupts and a couple of kids start to cry.  Pandemonium reigns supreme. 

So far I’ve described our general interaction as social communities through academic, scientific, religious, political, business and financial processes.  Basic Earthian interaction. 

But I missed something, didn’t I.  I forgot to add that there is here at least one adult, one supervisor, someone with presumably superior knowledge and wisdom to bring these children together for a purpose that will bear some fruit.  At the end of the exercise, each child will have a piece of paper with something drawn on it to take home. 

Obviously, the Teacher aspect is missing in earth’s kindergarten art class.  There is no one to bring the kiddies to stop fighting and to cooperate together and share the items offered on the floor.  So you have an entire planet running on a  pre-interventionist-teacher anarchic condition. 

We already know why the kiddies act the way they do: it’s how they were raised, what they’d already observed at home; what they’d seen on TV or what they’d already experienced on playgrounds, in doctors’ offices and daycare.  Also, it’s something locked in their DNA.  It’s what they are.  It’s their nature running its course and without the teacher intervention, that will be the course of their entire lives.  Nothing will ever fundamentally change for any of them.  That last line is worth repeating because it is a truism if there ever was one:  nothing will ever fundamentally change for any of them.   

We’re not short of groups and organizations trying to shove the teacher aspect in our face.  Put your faith in science and all will be well.  Believe in Jesus and you will be saved.  Convert to Islam and Allah will bless you.  Vote for the Democrats.  Join the army.  Join this, join that; support this, protest that; love this, hate that.  There’s stacks of papers and bowls of crayons and anybody can draw lines in any sort of colours they want. Or can they? 

It’s complicated.  Someone’s sitting in the wrong place and they won’t move.  Someone’s using the wrong colours and they won’t stop using those colours.  Someone’s got paper they didn’t pay for which they took from someone else’s stack; they stole from them and now the “victims” want them punished for their crime.  There are threats: if they’re not punished we’ll get some friends (allies) together and we’ll beat them up ’cause we’re better than they are.  

Earthian civilization, in a nutshell. 

Faced with this incurable condition, what do you, as an intelligent person do?  Basically you can do whatever you want.  You can choose to become one of the bullies, or one of their victims.  Or you can choose not to participate in the art class as long as there is no consensus on how it should proceed. 

The Art Class:

               No matter where you sit, it’s anarchy all around and you’re expected to share a space with people who fear and hate other people in the class.  “Look at her: she’s black.  She shouldn’t be allowed in here!”  “Look at him, he’s got no shoes, that’s gross!”  “Look at those two with their ragged clothes munching on a couple of pieces of stale bread: that’s disgusting!”  “Him?  Don’t even think of being friends with him, he’s a Jew and we hate Jews.”  “Look, she wearing a hijab, she’s a Muslim and flaunting it; she needs to be taught a lesson.  Those kids in the corner?  Their parents are commies.”

               We may not be able to have them thrown out of the class but at least we won’t associate with them and when we get the chance we’ll gang up on them and beat the hell out of them.  That’ll scare them and they won’t come back.  We don’t want them here.  This is our place and this is our stuff now.

Let’s say you are a reasonably intelligent person and you realize it’s not possible to participate in the class without compromises.  No matter what, if you choose to sit with the two eating the stale bread, you find out they hate the black girl.  If you sit with the black girl she tells you she hates the kid in bare feet ’cause he’s Catholic.  If you sit with the Muslim girl you discover that she has been taught to hate Jews and Christians and she tells you that as the enemies of Allah they must die.  If you choose to sit with the bullies who by now have most of the paper and crayons, maybe they’ll let you borrow some paper and maybe one crayon but the deal is, you swear to join them in the bullying later. 

Fortunately there is one more choice.  You can turn your back on all of them and walk away, alone.  No paper, no crayons, no personal space on the floor, just yourself and the wilderness: thorns and hail, flowers and butterflies, blizzards and loneliness, gently flowing streams and renewal.  More chaos, surely, but this time it isn’t deliberately ignorant or evil.  It accepts you without throwing a mantle of exclusivity around you. You swim or sink – nobody cares, it’s all up to you.

But what about that programming?  What about that Earthian DNA shit?  Well, that is a thorny problem ‘cause you can’t blame that on anyone else, you have to face it.  You need to get rid of your Earthian programming, or at the very least you need to cancel its inimical effects on your mind. 

That’s when you say, hey, I’m me!  I’m not what I was born to be; I’m not white, French, doctor, politician, student, taxi-driver, female, male, mother, leader, young, old, voter, entertainer: I’m me.  Just me. 

Everything up to and until I left the kindergarten class was me according to society. Society had designed the pigeon holes and I could only choose to function as an adjunct of society from one of those holes.  Not anymore.  Now, I can be me, according to my own choices.  To hell with society and civilization. 

I am about to reinvent myself as something completely new.  Everything I am from this point on is the chosen me; chosen and designed by myself, no one and nothing else.  I will never again return to the kindergarten art class; not for love, not for money, not for reputation, not for salvation.  Being in collusion with the denizens of the kindergarten class is something I will no longer do until the day when I can no longer do it. 

 

Ah well, why not some Fred Reed?

Now don’t go quoting and saying that Sha’Tara indorses (the dictionary claims that’s a variant, but I think it’s an indoor form of endorsement) Fred Reed.  I just think that he’s sometimes a Good Read.  But I do think the following is pretty accurate.  Enjoy, and please, don’t go posting it as if it came from me. It does not, did not, will not.  I just copied and pasted.  Last and final disclaimer.  Ok I did add a couple of comments.  It’s what I do, comment.  I think my entire life is a comment… or a series of comments.   

Also, and for good measure, this was written in 2010, which is like saying, Oh boy, ancient history already!  You think so?  You could write the same article today, about today’s situation wherever in the world and come up with the same conclusions and reactions. Even the tapeworm-brained senator Lindsey Graham is still at it, in fact even worse.  Now he wants the ethics committee done away with.  Well, I’m sure he’s got a good reason, if a tapeworm brain could reason, which it cannot since, as Fred remarks, a tapeworm doesn’t have a brain. Also note that Israel’s “Bibi Nut-and-Yahoo” is also still at it, and much, much worse than in 2010.  His bad everything days are coming closer and closer together.  

Back when in prehistory, my history teacher would say, “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”  If I were in his class today, I’d venture a correction: “Uh, Mr. Andres?  Shouldn’t it be, ‘The more things change, the worse they get’?”  Predictably he’d give me “the look” and I’d be telling myself why can’t I just shut up, just shut the hell up?  

Brain as an App-start using it-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Let’s Attack Iran!     by Fred Reed

Senator Graham has the brains of a tapeworm, making him eminently qualified for the senate. Tapeworms, I note, do not have brains. It is characteristic of warlike innocents, to include the Pentagon, to believe that if you destroy navies and air forces, you win wars. This worked well in Vietnam, you will recall, and as soon as we destroy the Taliban’s navy, Afghanistan will be a cakewalk.  Oh good. I see that Senator Lindsey Graham wants to attack Iran. The US, he says, should “sink their navy, destroy their air force and deliver a decisive blow to the Revolutionary Guard.”

Now, I understand that practicality and realism are alien concepts in American politics, to be approached with trepidation, but maybe, just once, we should think before sticking our private parts into a wood-chipper. Just once. I do not propose consistent rationality, forethought, or intelligent behavior. I profoundly respect my country’s traditions.

However, folk wisdom from West Virginia: Before you say, “I can whip any man in the bar!” it is well to scout the bar.

Some will find the thought of American martial incapacity outrageous. Can’t beat Iran? Buncha towel monkeys? Among grrr-bowwow-woof patriots, there exists a heady delusion of American potency, that the US has “the greatest military power the world has ever seen.” Ah. And when did it last win a war? In Afghanistan, for ten years the gloriousest military ever known, the expensivist, and whoosh-bangiest, hasn’t managed to defeat a bunch of pissed-off illiterates with AKs and RPGs.  Note that the United States cannot defeat Iran militarily, short of using nuclear weapons. It is easy to start a war. Finishing one is harder. I could punch out Mike Tyson. Things thereafter might not go as well as hoped.

At this point Lindsey of Persia will doubtless allude to the wonders of air power, of “precision-guided weapons,” of smart bombs that presumably read Kant on the way down. Those pitiable Iranians would have no hope of stopping our mighty bombers. True.

Implicit in this Thomistic fantasy (Clancy, I mean, not Aquinas) is that Iran wouldn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t dare fight back without a navy, etc. Lindsey had better be very sure that Iran couldn’t block the Strait of Hormuz in retaliation. Enough of the world’s petroleum comes from the Gulf that the price would rise drastically if the Straits were blocked. Some economies would simply stop.

How many supertankers going up in flames would be tolerated before operators of tankers refused to risk it?

The Air Force, to include Naval Air, may be confident that it can destroy all of Iran’s missiles. The Air Force always believes that air power can do anything and everything – make coffee, win at marbles, everything. After all, don’t its airplanes say “Vrooom!” and “Swoosh!”? Don’t cockpits have lots of portentous buttons and spiffy little screens? Unfortunately the Air Force is regularly wrong. Iran recently began serial production of the Nasr 1, an anti-ship cruise missile. Tankers are thin-skinned and highly flammable. The Nasr 1 can be fired from the back of a truck. Trucks by their nature are mobile. They are easy to hide.

In fact the entire military is regularly wrong about the ease and duration of its adventures. For example, it had no idea that Viet Nam would turn into an endless war ending in defeat (if that makes sense). Iraq notoriously was going to be a walk in the park. That the war on Afghanistan would last ten years with a distinct possibility of defeat…this never occurred to the soldiers.

It is barely conceivable that the Five-Sided Wind Box could do what Field Marshal Graham thinks it could do. The unexpected is always a possibility. But, the stakes being what they would be in Hormuz, hoo-boy….

Another possibility is that Israel will attack Iran, as it has threatened. I would like to think that even Bibi Nut-and-Yahoo has better sense but, if the US can produce gibbering wingnuts, why not Israel? The practical effects of an Israeli attack would be indistinguishable from those of an American attack: America would have to solve the problem. Which it probably couldn’t. Israel can bomb Iran’s nuclear codpieces, but it can’t defeat Iran. And if the Strait were blocked after an Israeli attack, the entire globe would holler, “Israel did it!” which would be true.

The distance from “Israel did it” to “The Jews did it,” though logically great, is emotionally short. People think in collective terms. Remember that after some Saudis dropped the Towers, the alleged war on terror morphed almost instantly into intense hostility for Moslems. It doesn’t make sense, but what has that got to do with anything?

Congress doesn’t support Israel because it likes Israel, but from political expediency. If the wind blows the other way, so will Congress. Gasoline at twelve dollars is a lot of wind in a commuting country.I know a lot of Jews, who are all over the place politically and intellectually. They have in common a complete lack of resemblance to the scheming, hand-rubbing, heh-heh-heh Jews of Neo-nazi imagination. Few sacrifice Christian children (a temptation strongest, I can attest, among Christian parents). But…people think collectively.

Things worsen for America, yet we really don’t know where the country is going or how it will react. The last domestic catastrophe was the Great Depression, when America was a very different place. How bad can things get, economically, politically, internationally? How does a pampered population incapable of planting a garden respond to genuinely hard times? “It can’t happen here,” one hears. What can’t? I suspect that all sorts of things could happen, given sufficiently hard times.

The United States is today an edgy, unhappy country, sliding toward poverty, increasingly dictatorial, inchoately angry, hostile to blacks, the French, Mexicans, Moslems and, creepingly, the Chinese.  (Jews, perhaps to their surprise, don’t make the enemies list.) Americans don’t do cosmopolitan. The federal pressure for diversity exists because otherwise no one would associate with anyone else. The Persian Gulf is one of few places that plausibly might wreck the industrial world. There would have to be someone to blame. And Israel can’t survive without American support.

Maybe I’m crazy. But if I were an Israeli, I’d find a nice café on Diesengoff and enjoy a double cappuccino, watch the girls, and keep my bombs in my pocket. Let somebody else take the fall.

{OK, so he forgot to include the Russians in the list of hostiles but then in 2010 they were relatively quiet, watching the latest Pentagon production in wide screen: “Our Troops Conquer Afghanistan” – a sequel to “Our Troops Conquer Iraq” which was a late sequel to “Our Troops Conquer Grenada” which was a sequel to “Our Troops Conquer Vietnam” which was a sequel to “Our Troops Conquer Korea” … OK, so it’s a bit redundant but as long as the sheeple keep watching and paying, just keep the reels spinning, and keep ’em coming. My comment here}

November 9, 2010

Fred Reed is author of Nekkid in Austin: Drop Your Inner Child Down a Well and A Brass Pole in Bangkok: A Thing I Aspire to Be. His latest book is Curmudgeing Through Paradise: Reports from a Fractal Dung Beetle. Visit his blog.

Copyright © 2010 Fred Reed

The Best of Fred Reed

The Gryphon and the Poet

griffin1

I wish you good wishes
Said Gryphon from her stony perch
as Poet passed her by in search of inspiration.

Good wishes indeed, and for what?
Replied the Poet with frown and down-turned lip
Annoyed at the interruption to her thoughts.

The night!  I wish you a good and long night
For not another will there be
‘til tomorrow is complete,
done and fully accounted for.

Much ado about nothing,
Replied the Poet scornfully, boastfully:
Of nights and of days
We have many and for some, to spare!

What hubris, said Gryphon;
Only a human would thus speak
So irreverently of time.

But, insisted the Poet,
Are you not Gryphon, immortal, timeless?
What can a day and a night mean to such as you?

They call you a Poet, a writer of wisdom,
growled Gryphon with a deep sigh,
And cannot answer that?  Fie on you!
A journey of a thousand miles
Begins with a single step, not so?

A Truism, bah! A bumper sticker!
Is that the extent of your eternal wisdom, Gryphon?

Foolish human, speak not of what you know naught.
Speak not of eternity, of that
which forever lies beyond your ken.
Do you not see, can you not comprehend,
Immortality is made of days
Each day accompanied by a single night?
What is more sacred, the journey?
Or the road by which the journey is accomplished?

The Poet opened her mouth to reply:
Gryphon put a sharp and heavy claw across her lips:

Silence!  Small-minded, foolish human,
Do not make me entirely dislike you
For I know you would venture a choice,
An opinion borne on wings of ignorance,
Choosing one over the other
As though you cannot see
One cannot be without the other.
Would you have the day without its night?
A bird without its wings?

 

God’s Dilemma Resolved

[off the cuff   by Sha’Tara]

One day on earth, it so happened that two people were praying. 

One was in a Christian chapel, on his knees.  He was praying for God to destroy all Muslims.  He was very sincere, as sincere as he knew how; as sincere as he’d seen his preacher being sincere the Sunday before when asking the faithful to pray to God for the destruction of Islam.

Almost at opposite points on the planet, another man was praying on his mat, careful to kneel down and bow all the way to the floor from his prayer mat, careful to face Mecca.  He even had his GPS on to make sure.  His request to Allah was much in line with the Christian’s request, that God should destroy all the enemies of Islam, particularly all Christians. 

God, to that point, on that day, was having a great time.  He’d scored, not one, but two, holes in one on the Great Divine House lawn golf course.  He’d beaten both Michael and Jesus.  As I am saying, a great, great day.  Then he opened his iphone to check on the incoming requests – he didn’t always trust his staff to deal properly with the more difficult ones.  Try to imagine his chagrin to see the two aforementioned prayers flashing on the screen in front of his eyes.  They had a priority one rating. 

As you probably assume, God isn’t given to profanity; he doesn’t care that much for it even in lesser beings though he tolerates the odd infraction from the earth creatures.  He knows them well and if he didn’t make allowances for them, he also knows only too well that his arch enemy, the guy with the endless fracking and endless spills that burn forever, would get all of them for himself.  But in this instance, God let out a typical Earthian swear, a rather common one, “Ah shit!  How stupid can these people be, huh?”

“What’s up dad?” asks Jesus, who’d just parked the divine cart and had ambled over.  “I haven’t heard you swear in public in a long time.  It’s from earth, right?  What’d they do now?”

“Have a look!” And he hands the phone over to the Son.  “I really shouldn’t pay any attention to this crap, really.  But if I don’t do something, this is going to be more spam and I can’t very well block, like, five billion people from that planet now, can I?  There’s the odd tweet in there that is actually legitimate.

“I see what you mean, dad,”  says Jesus handing the phone back.  “What would a person have to do to teach them the rudimentary lessons of life on a tiny world with no place to go?  I dunno, I did my part back when and I’m not going back there, read my lips.  I think your really fucked up when you made those critters, dad.  What were you on, anyway?”

“Hey, son, watch the language.  Reality check!”  and the old man slaps his son across the left cheek.  “This is heaven, not earth. Remember one of the cardinal rules, at least: honour your father and mother.  Well, at least honour your father.  And you’re not too old for the soap treatment.” 

“Sorry dad.  I know it’s a touchy subject.  So whatcha gonna do about those tweets?”

“What am I gonna do?  I’ll tell ya.  I’m of a mind to answer both their requests, on the spot.” 

“Really?  On the spot?  How do you plan on doing it?”  Jesus looks very excited at the prospect of finally getting his revenge. 

“Well, maybe not on the spot.  I have to think.  What’s the main concern down there now?  War?  Genocide?  What?”

“Climate change!  They’re all mostly focused on that at the moment.  Their doomsday prophets are faking for, the reactionaries faking against.  It’s big overtime on the Internet, poised to go viral any day.”

“OK, climate change it is.  I’m going to throw the works at them: earthquakes, tsunamis, tornados, lightning storms, floods, droughts, cave-ins, volcanos, golf-ball-size hail, meteorites, sun flares, and I’m going to kill everything in the oceans this time.  I want to see world wide plagues from rotting fish.  And I want to see some real famine, not this piddly African stuff.  I want to see Mexico City, Riyadh, Jeddah and New York totally starved out and overrun by rats and cockroaches.”

“But what about those that aren’t claiming to be ours, like those social Darwinists, communists, atheists, agnostics, pagans and all the others with their ancient religions?  What happens to them?”

“I should care about those?  They were all going to hell anyway, and they were all going to die, right?  That changes nothing for them.  Just a change of direction for those that call on my Name with their ignorant tweets.  I’m fed up to here with ‘em.”

“Who’s going to be in charge of the fireworks, dad?”

“You seem a mite eager boy. I dunno… I am thinking of teaming up Raphael, Gabriel and of course, Michael.”  Jesus pouts.  “OK, I hate to see a grown man cry.  The show is yours.  You have one earth year to get everything ready for the big launch.  And don’t forget, I want a pavilion on the moon with all amenities.  Slave girls; ambrosian ales.  And I want to see everything to the end, however long it takes.”

“Won’t they wonder why you’re not answering their tweets, I mean prayers, in the meantime?”

“Why should they?  You know as well as I they’re used to that.  But this time, oh yeah baby I’m going to answer their prayers, and they’ll know it’s me doing it. 

“We need an impromptu meeting.  Get some people together.  Don’t forget those earth physicists, you know the ones who invented those weapons of mass destruction?  Bring in a couple genocidal maniacs too.  Their ideas will come in handy. 

Sushi anyone?”