Archive for the 'Into The Light' Category
So, Rip Van Winkle: he, am I: awake: again: to find you people, still, all about the same ol’ same ol’: the riven children: raining down from the sky in Ukraine, buried bloody in the sands of Gaza, unseen and unknown and flung into the jungles of Uganda; and still you say, still you say, still you say, you are more than a murderous ape; and in this you lie, and you lie, and you lie, for what you are, is:
just another night
just another night
on the other side of life
oh bloodless clueless white boys
think it’s all camp
don’t, do you
I write along a single line: I never get off it. I said that you were never to kill anyone, and I meant it.
I said that you were never to kill anyone, and I meant it.
And I meant it.
I meant it.
And you kill and you kill and you kill and you lose and you lose and lose and you lose. You have all so lost. You are so already over. Eros uber Thanatos. Alpha unto Omega.
you froze my feelings
but that’s alright
and you’re standing in my light
Don’t you understand? I have arisen not from the dead but from the living. I am not a voice crying in the wilderness. There is no winter here. No dark. No despair. The lights are going on in my house. I shall not allow the President of the United States to enter here. There is no darkness anywhere. There are only sick little men who have turned away from the light. I have all my lights on. And it is my own face I see in the blazing windows of all the houses on earth.
it’s just a kiss away
You’ll just kill, you ur-people, till your sick sad dick is exhausted, and will never rise again.
And then we’ll be there.
We who have already won.
We of love is lord of all.
from & for sugar
(Found this tonight, while looking for something else. A little, pretty much ignored, ditty, writ in 2006; on the slow choking gasping death of the Fourth Amendment. Long before the flight of Snowden. The abuses Mr. Ed has, rightfully, righteously, brought to our attention, they have their roots in sheer rot, writ by the nation’s high courts, decades before. See, to believe me, below.)
A search warrant is a cumbersome and dangerous nuisance that impedes the ability of US gauleiters “to be nimble, to be fast, to be flexible, to operate based on fast-moving information.”
Warrant—so quaint, so creaky, so arcane.This too what the British thought, back there in the late 18th Century, when they deemed it wholly unnecessary to employ such aged artifacts as warrants when searching and seizing persons and property in the American colonies. This the primary reason, according to such authorities as John Adams and multiple members of the United States Supreme Court, that the American colonists eventually erupted in revolution.
The Fourth Amendment was considered critical because:
Vivid in the memory of the newly independent Americans were those general warrants known as writs of assistance under which officers of the Crown had so bedeviled the colonists. The hated writs of assistance had given customs officials blanket authority to search where they pleased for goods imported in violation of British tax laws. They were denounced by James Otis as “the worst instrument of arbitrary power, the most destructive of English liberty, and the fundamental principles of law, that ever was found in an English law book,” because they placed “the liberty of every man in the hands of every petty officer.” The historic occasion of that denunciation, in 1761 at Boston, has been characterized as “perhaps the most prominent event which inaugurated the resistance of the colonies to the oppressions of the mother country. ‘Then and there,’ said John Adams, ‘then and there was the first scene of the first act of opposition to the arbitrary claims of Great Britain. Then and there the child Independence was born.’” Payton v. New York (1980) 445 US 573, 585.
Why a warrant requirement, rather than a provision allowing any random wandering gauleiter to intrude upon a citizens’s person or property, was explained this way by Mr. Justice Jackson, in Johnson v. US (1948, 333 US 10, at 13-14):
The point of the Fourth Amendment, which often is not grasped by zealous officers, is not that it denies law enforcement the support of the usual inferences which reasonable men draw from evidence. Its protection consists in requiring that those inferences be drawn by a neutral and detached magistrate instead of being judged by the officer engaged in the often competitive enterprise of ferreting out crime. Any assumption that evidence sufficient to support a magistrate’s disinterested determination to issue a search warrant will justify the officers in making a search without a warrant would reduce the Amendment to a nullity and leave the people’s homes secure only in the discretion of police officers.
Make no mistake: the Bush people want to place the law solely in the hands of “the officer engaged in the often competitive enterprise of ferreting out crime.” They are not about just obviating the need for search warrants when conducting electronic surveillance. They are about doing away with warrants period.
The comments by Chertoff—whose true name, it is believed, is Skeletor Fuckwad—came in the context of envying the ability of the British to physically swoop down on “terror” suspects without the posh and bother of warrants. His comments were echoed by fellow Defenders of The Fatherland Pat Roberts, chair of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, who whined to CBS that in Britain “[i]f you want to get a warrant, all you have to do is call up a minister,” and Peter King, chair of the House Homeland Security Committee, who informed Fox that “we have to get away from this concept that we have to apply civil-liberties protections to terrorists.”
Up on the Supreme Court, boy in the bag Antonin Scalia, in his majority opinion this term in Hudson v. Michigan, publicly sharpened the knife for slicing the hamstrings of the Fourth Amendment, airily indicating that the exclusionary rule—which states that evidence obtained in violation of the Fourth Amendment may not be used against a criminal suspect at trial—may have outlived its usefulness, and become ripe for “re-examination.”
We have been here before. Mr. Justice Douglas, during the reign of an earlier tyrant, in a case that led directly to the establishment of the FISA court, surveyed terrain similarly pitted and scourged by executive abuse, and, in United States v. United States Dist. Court (1972) 407 U.S. 297, 324-333 (citations omitted), said this:
This is an important phase in the campaign of the police and intelligence agencies to obtain exemptions from the Warrant Clause of the Fourth Amendment . . . .Here, federal agents wish to rummage for months on end through every conversation, no matter how intimate or personal, carried over selected telephone lines, simply to seize those few utterances which may add to their sense of the pulse of a domestic underground.
We are told that one national security wiretap lasted for 14 months and monitored over 900 conversations. Senator Edward Kennedy found recently that “warrantless devices accounted for an average of 78 to 209 days of listening per device, as compared with a 13-day per device average for those devices installed under court order.” He concluded that the Government’s revelations posed “the frightening possibility that the conversations of untold thousands of citizens of this country are being monitored on secret devices which no judge has authorized and which may remain in operation for months and perhaps years at a time.” Even the most innocent and random caller who uses or telephones into a tapped line can become a flagged number in the Government’s data bank . . . .
That “domestic security” is said to be involved here does not draw this case outside the mainstream of Fourth Amendment law. Rather, the recurring desire of reigning officials to employ dragnet techniques to intimidate their critics lies at the core of that prohibition. For it was such excesses as the use of general warrants and the writs of assistance that led to the ratification of the Fourth Amendment . . . .
As illustrated by a flood of cases before us this Term . . . we are currently in the throes of another national seizure of paranoia, resembling the hysteria which surrounded the Alien and Sedition Acts, the Palmer Raids, and the McCarthy era. Those who register dissent or who petition their governments for redress are subjected to scrutiny by grand juries, by the FBI, or even by the military. Their associates are interrogated. Their homes are bugged and their telephones are wiretapped. They are befriended by secret government informers. Their patriotism and loyalty are questioned. Senator Sam Ervin, who has chaired hearings on military surveillance of civilian dissidents, warns that “it is not an exaggeration to talk in terms of hundreds of thousands of . . . dossiers.” Senator Kennedy, as mentioned supra, found “the frightening possibility that the conversations of untold thousands are being monitored on secret devices.” More than our privacy is implicated. Also at stake is the reach of the Government’s power to intimidate its critics.
When the Executive attempts to excuse these tactics as essential to its defense against internal subversion, we are obliged to remind it, without apology, of this Court’s long commitment to the preservation of the Bill of Rights from the corrosive environment of precisely such expedients. As Justice Brandeis said, concurring in Whitney v. California: “Those who won our independence by revolution were not cowards. They did not fear political change. They did not exalt order at the cost of liberty.” Chief Justice Warren put it this way in United States v. Robel: “This concept of ‘national defense’ cannot be deemed an end in itself, justifying any . . . power designed to promote such a goal. Implicit in the term ‘national defense’ is the notion of defending those values and ideas which set this Nation apart. . . . It would indeed be ironic if, in the name of national defense, we would sanction the subversion of . . . those liberties . . . which [make] the defense of the Nation worthwhile.”
The Warrant Clause has stood as a barrier against intrusions by officialdom into the privacies of life. But if that barrier were lowered now to permit suspected subversives’ most intimate conversations to be pillaged then why could not their abodes or mail be secretly searched by the same authority? To defeat so terrifying a claim of inherent power we need only stand by the enduring values served by the Fourth Amendment. As we stated last Term in Coolidge v. New Hampshire: “In times of unrest, whether caused by crime or racial conflict or fear of internal subversion, this basic law and the values that it represents may appear unrealistic or ‘extravagant’ to some. But the values were those of the authors of our fundamental constitutional concepts. In times not altogether unlike our own they won . . . a right of personal security against arbitrary intrusions . . . . If times have changed, reducing everyman’s scope to do as he pleases in an urban and industrial world, the changes have made the values served by the Fourth Amendment more, not less, important.” We have as much or more to fear from the erosion of our sense of privacy and independence by the omnipresent electronic ear of the Government as we do from the likelihood that fomenters of domestic upheaval will modify our form of governing.
In dissent, in Osborn v. US (1966) 385 US 323, at 340-354, Mr. Jusice Douglas went further:
We are rapidly entering the age of no privacy, where everyone is open to surveillance at all times; where there are no secrets from government. The aggressive breaches of privacy by the Government increase by geometric proportions. Wiretapping and “bugging” run rampant, without effective judicial or legislative control.
Secret observation booths in government offices and closed television circuits in industry, extending even to rest rooms, are common. Offices, conference rooms, hotel rooms, and even bedrooms are “bugged” for the convenience of government. Peepholes in men’s rooms are there to catch homosexuals. Personality tests seek to ferret out a man’s innermost thoughts on family life, religion, racial attitudes, national origin, politics, atheism, ideology, sex, and the like. Federal agents are often “wired” so that their conversations are either recorded on their persons or transmitted to tape recorders some blocks away. The Food and Drug Administration recently put a spy in a church organization. Revenue agents have gone in the disguise of Coast Guard officers. They have broken and entered homes to obtain evidence.Polygraph tests of government employees and of employees in industry are rampant. The dossiers on all citizens mount in number and increase in size. Now they are being put on computers so that by pressing one button all the miserable, the sick, the suspect, the unpopular, the offbeat people of the Nation can be instantly identified.
These examples and many others demonstrate an alarming trend whereby the privacy and dignity of our citizens is being whittled away by sometimes imperceptible steps. Taken individually, each step may be of little consequence. But when viewed as a whole, there begins to emerge a society quite unlike any we have seen–a society in which government may intrude into the secret regions of man’s life at will . . . .
Once electronic surveillance . . . is added to the techniques of snooping which this sophisticated age has developed, we face the stark reality that the walls of privacy have broken down and all the tools of the police state are handed over to our bureaucracy on a constitutional platter . . . .
Such practices can only have a damaging effect on our society. Once sanctioned, there is every indication that their use will indiscriminately spread. The time may come when no one can be sure whether his words are being recorded for use at some future time; when everyone will fear that his most secret thoughts are no longer his own, but belong to the Government; when the most confidential and intimate conversations are always open to eager, prying ears. When that time comes, privacy, and with it liberty, will be gone. If a man’s privacy can be invaded at will, who can say he is free? If his every word is taken down and evaluated, or if he is afraid every word may be, who can say he enjoys freedom of speech? If his every association is known and recorded, if the conversations with his associates are purloined, who can say he enjoys freedom of association? When such conditions obtain, our citizens will be afraid to utter any but the safest and most orthodox thoughts; afraid to associate with any but the most acceptable people. Freedom as the Constitution envisages it will have vanished.
The worst decision in the history of the United States Supreme Court was Dred Scott v. Sanford. Which held that black people are not human beings, and never would be.
That decision no longer stands.
The second worst case was Terry v. Ohio (1968) 392 US 1.
That case still stands.
In it, the Supreme Court departed from “probable cause” as the Fourth Amendment standard, inventing a “reasonable suspicion” standard that has, some 45 years on, dissipated into no standard at all.
Only Mr. Justice Douglas dissented in that case. Four of his brethren later confessed the error of their ways. But by then it was too late. Here is some of what Justice Douglas wrote in Terry dissent:
I agree that petitioner was “seized” within the meaning of the Fourth Amendment. I also agree that frisking petitioner and his companions for guns was a “search.” But it is a mystery how that “search” and that “seizure” can be constitutional by Fourth Amendment standards, unless there was “probable cause” to believe that (1) a crime had been committed or (2) a crime was in the process of being committed or (3) a crime was about to be committed.
The opinion of the Court disclaims the existence of “probable cause.” If loitering were in issue and that was the offense charged, there would be “probable cause” shown. But the crime here is carrying concealed weapons; and there is no basis for concluding that the officer had “probable cause” for believing that that crime was being committed. Had a warrant been sought, a magistrate would, therefore, have been unauthorized to issue one, for he can act only if there is a showing of “probable cause.” We holdtoday that the police have greater authority to make a “seizure” and conduct a “search” than a judge has to authorize such action. We have said precisely the opposite over and over again.
In other words, police officers up to today have been permitted to effect arrests or searches without warrants only when the facts within their personal knowledge would satisfy the constitutional standard of probable cause. At the time of their “seizure” without a warrant they must possess facts concerning the person arrested that would have satisfied a magistrate that “probable cause” was indeed present. The term “probable cause” rings a bell of certainty that is not sounded by phrases such as “reasonable suspicion.” Moreover, the meaning of “probable cause” is deeply imbedded in our constitutional history. As we stated in Henry v. United States, 361 U.S. 98, 100-102:
“The requirement of probable cause has roots that are deep in our history. The general warrant, in which the name of the person to be arrested was left blank, and the writs of assistance, against which James Otis inveighed, both perpetuated the oppressive practice of allowing the police to arrest and search on suspicion. Police control took the place of judicial control, since no showing of ‘probable cause’ before a magistrate was required . . . .
“That philosophy [rebelling against these practices] later was reflected in the Fourth Amendment. And as the early American decisions both before and immediately after its adoption show, common rumor or report, suspicion, or even ‘strong reason to suspect’ was not adequate to support a warrant for arrest. And that principle has survived to this day. . . .
“. . . It is important, we think, that this requirement [of probable cause] be strictly enforced, for the standard set by the Constitution protects both the officer and the citizen. If the officer acts with probable cause, he is protected even though it turns out that the citizen is innocent. . . . And while a search without a warrant is, within limits, permissible if incident to a lawful arrest, if an arrest without a warrant is to support an incidental search, it must be made with probable cause. . . . This immunity of officers cannot fairly be enlarged without jeopardizing the privacy or security of the citizen.”
The infringement on personal liberty of any “seizure” of a person can only be “reasonable” under the Fourth Amendment if we require the police to possess “probable cause” before they seize him. Only that line draws a meaningful distinction between an officer’s mere inkling and the presence of facts within the officer’s personal knowledge which would convince a reasonable man that the person seized has committed, is committing, or is about to commit a particular crime. “In dealing with probable cause, . . . as the very name implies, we deal with probabilities. These are not technical; they are the factual and practical considerations of everyday life on which reasonable and prudent men, not legal technicians, act.”
To give the police greater power than a magistrate is to take a long step down the totalitarian path. Perhaps such a step is desirable to cope with modern forms of lawlessness. But if it is taken, it should be the deliberate choice of the people through a constitutional amendment. Until the Fourth Amendment, which is closely allied with the Fifth, is rewritten, the person and the effects of the individual are beyond the reach of all government agencies until there are reasonable grounds to believe (probable cause) that a criminal venture has been launched or is about to be launched.
There have been powerful hydraulic pressures throughout our history that bear heavily on the Court to water down constitutional guarantees and give the police the upper hand. That hydraulic pressure has probably never been greater than it is today.
Yet if the individual is no longer to be sovereign, if the police can pick him up whenever they do not like the cut of his jib, if they can “seize” and “search” him in their discretion, we enter a new regime. The decision to enter it should be made only after a full debate by the people of this country.
These people will push as far as we will let them. We have let them push farther than we have ever let anyone push before. We have certainly let them push farther than our revolutionary forebears allowed.
And so now, emboldened, they are after our warrants. We need to tell them this: no. We like warrants. We want warrants. We require warrants. Further, we require probable cause. Terry was a mistake. The standard, for any search or seizure, is probable cause, and probable cause only.
And any “Democrat,” who would run under that rubric, needs to vow that s/he will profess at least what the patriots who created this nation professed: that no search or seizure may be accomplished without a warrant, without probable cause. Lest that “Democrat” be deprived of our money, our support, our vote. Our being. Our existence.
There are many ways, that, now that “probable cause” is dead, one may obviate the reach of government into individual lives. One such way is displayed by the folks below. Simply upload into your body, and the bodies of your bandmates, what is more or less one-third of the cocaine exported in an average month from the nation of Bolivia. And then proceed to speak in what is, to those who do not know, gibberish. While you and yours, are sailing right away.
Americans feel entitled to happiness, or, once they manage to find it, they feel as if they own it. If they are deprived of it, they feel cheated. If they feel it has been taken away from them, they imagine they have done wrong. This guilt, I have felt it from everyone I’ve known. It’s a bit like a Dylan song: they have held the world in their hands and let it slip through their fingers.
—from Terrence Malick’s last interview, in 1979, for Le Monde
Memorial Day. Yeah, well, in this country, the US of A, that day’s all about lipsticking the cold blue frozen lifeless lips of people shot to shit, shot to shit unto death. Shot to shit unto death in numberless senseless wars.
For any war you can number, was is and always will be, senseless.
Long may they—dead in the grave—wave.
The dead, frozen like flies in plastic, realized—at the moment of death when of course they stopped—that humanity must grow to feeling, to empathy, or become extinct. But the dead cannot speak.
I was at Anzio. Glad I wasn’t the GI enjoying that final “no-wake-up-call” sleep on his blood-padded mud mattress.
It would be interesting to hear his comment if we could grab a handful of his hair, drag his head out of the dirt, and ask his opinion on the questions that are posed every decade, the contemporary shouts of: “How long are we going to put up with Cuba’s nonsense?” “Just how many insults can we take from Russia?”
I was at Salerno. I can take a lot of insults.
Hoorah! Hoorah! Hoorah!
Kick out the jams.
Hoorah! Hoorah! Hoorah!
Bloody old bastard over on Kill The Negro, he wants us all to kneel and fellate the granite graves of his forebears, who, ululating without surcease, went out, able addled and always, to kill and kill and kill and kill and kill.
For more than a thousand years. Proud is he, that for more than a thousand years, his people have killed and killed and killed.
Retrovert unto the eleventy-billionth degree, this nimrod.
Wanting us, here, now, to worship, ape upon ape, beating ape, unto death; agents of Thantaos, in ecstasy, tossing heavenward the bone.
Go, please, to hell. Where you and yours have consigned so many innocent others. Including your own sons.
As Herman Melville did say: “Only the man who says ‘no,’ is free.”
And, also said he, “I would prefer not to.”
And so, here, now, as always, leastways when I am, I think, mostly, at my best, I am he, of no; he, of prefer not to: I select, instead, to “might as well jump.”
And did you people stop killing each other?
No. You did not.
So the hell with it. Life’s too short. To keep banging my words onto your unyielding obdurate bloodseeping walls.
So, instead, for Memorial Day, because I remember you—all of you—I am going to recount remembrances of those who at least once encountered the key. In this case, in the earnest fumbling hands of that overweight Oklahoma shy astral extraterrestrial boy, director Terrence Malick.
we are but a moment’s sunlight
fading in the grass
All day I have been seeing these headlines about some racehorse and “nasal strips.”
No. I do not.
All I know is that yesterday I bought a pink plastic watering can in the shape of a pig; when you water, the water flows out the pig’s twin noseholes.
This, clearly, is the zenith of both the industrial age, and the information age.
As they say in scripture: “It is accomplished.”
Both ages: they are over.
Now, we can move on to something else.
As we can move on to something else from “riding” a horse in a “race.”
When you are with an animal, when an animal is with you, you are only, who you are, when it’s an island.
Just you two.
And you are an animal. All of you.
This place is $522 a month: 656 square feet, but with three bedrooms. Maybe a home for gnomes? There is a glass-topped table in the living room, convenient for snorting cocaine and/or other substances. There is a strange object on the counter, next to the sink, that may be from space.
Eventually I see the truck entering a tow-yard. I go to the little booth and tell the gnome in the booth that the truck must be released at once, because it belongs to Pete. He asks if I’m Pete, and I say no. He asks for Pete’s full name, and I say I don’t know his full name. The gnome is full of sneers, but at last he says if I pay the full tow and storage fee I can have the truck, no matter who I am. He quotes some price so outrageous my mind refuses to remember it. I pay it, and he lets me into the yard. Which is like a graveyard of elevated trucks, in various states of dismantlement, except they’re all orange. None of them are red. “Pete’s truck is red!” I cry. “Where did you put it?” Tow-orcs sneer that they only have orange trucks in that yard, as everyone knows, and if I couldn’t even get the right yard, that was my problem, not theirs.
The Bainbridge man is now in the new building. He has a small public booth upstairs, but most of his stuff is in a secret gnome room, upstairs behind a closed door, that he opens to humans only Wednesday through Saturday.
As I suspected, many people froth and foam that a fiddle should not be purchased online. However, there is a folk/bluegrass-outfit-only in Illinois, that offers fully guaranteed returnable vintage fiddles that are pre-”set up”: everybody says the instrument when purchased MUST then be “set up,” and this can only properly be done by some old gnome puttering around in the back of a violin shop.
Now that there are two gnomes, I have decided they are too scary to be in the house. I will get more, but then they have to live outside. Probably they should go in the fenced-in place, so they don’t get knocked over.
P.S. I think my gnome fear comes from the fact that the newest gnome is waving.
The little gnome spent the night outside. He is brave.
My latest thought is that the little gnomes might look bigger if I perch them on those disused white ant pipes. Not only will they look bigger, but they can change the energy. If I pursue this latest theory, I will have to count the pipes, and then maybe be forced to accumulate more gnomes accordingly.
So I put on shoes and socks and pants to go out and plant a pepper plant. And the “music” neighbor was playing a death metal song with a constant refrain of a man frothily shouting “son of a bitch! son of a bitch!”
So I went in the house and ate cheese on a bagel.
That music will make the little gnome get PTSD. And then maybe he’ll become a freeway shooter.
The nice lights have come on and there is a big moon in the sky.
There should be solar gnomes.
You need gnomes, because when K——- who can’t write has the meetings where she tries to boss the writers, she should be facing a window, and outside somebody will dance the gnomes, before the window, like in The Full Monty, and everyone else in the room will say they don’t see the gnomes, and then K——- will know she is having a breakdown, and will go into a Home, and then she won’t bother you any more, and then you can be the Ruler, as is supposed to happen.
When I was in Canned Food the other day I saw more mosaic lights and gnomes. I am going to buy them. The waving gnome is now on the railing of the front porch, cheerily greeting people who pass by. I’m thinking I should just give up and litter the place with gnomes. I also believe there can not be too many mosaic lights. Last night I strung 30 Kesey bells. I am going to go by Michaels and buy several hundred more. Probably soon it will be time for those large see-through metallic wire sculptures of flying dinosaurs. Cables can grow on them.
I know I can’t look at my banking on the intertubes for some days, because I know the shock would be too great. But I suppose if you go out shopping intending to buy all the gnomes and mosiac lights in the store, you have to assume a descent into madness.
I went to Mabel’s and got two mushrooms. I put them with two gnomes and two mosaic solar lights and two pine cones by the four pink clovers, now supplemented by four purple alyssum and four white alyssum.
The waving gnome remains on the railing. Together with the two clover gnomes, that makes three. That means I only have three gnomes left for the entire remainder of the property.
I SUFFER FROM AN APPALLING DEARTH OF GNOMES. ; (
There is a Neil Diamond song that goes “stones would play/inside my head.” In my head it’s playing as “gnomes would play/inside my head.”
All the gnomes are here. No rototiller damage to the circles of light.
I like to sit out and watch the solar lights come out. And I really like my gnome array. I watered it at sundown, so tomorrow when the hot sun comes out, they will not be afraid.
I’m supposed to meet with S— and G—- and the orchard-shooting client tomorrow in the late afternoon. Then on Saturday they want me to go out with them to talk to some witness.
Don’t they understand I’m a gnome farmer? : /
Last night I unwrapped the gnomes and placed them together on the counter. They did not look menacing or threatening or anything. They just looked absurd.
This morning, however, in the light, they’re kind of unsettling. They will need soon to fan out across the land.
Gnomes are fanning out into the countryside.
While weeding I discovered I might have a modest little portal to another realm under my little stump. I put a gnome there.
I put the shocked and sagging green bell peppers by the gnome, so he could help them.
I think once the Protected Area is all landscaped some solar lights might have to go in there. It is also possible that each lone gnome may need to have a solar light.
I placed three more gnomes yesterday. The one on the white ant pipe nearest the road seems kind of far away and forlorn. I’ll probably have to get him a mushroom. And some plants.
Only three gnomes remain in the house.
I am going to dump the catbox and then be a gnome farmer. I am going to plant the hyssops that are growing in the baby tray because they’ve stopped getting bigger and I’m going to put them between the chewed-down serranos because the tubes say deer have a great Hate for hyssop and will flee it whenever they see it. I am also watering the lonely gnome and when the ground is sufficiently water-worked I am going to plant around him the remaining alyssum and one or more of those dianthus. He’ll probably still need a mushroom. I have one of those plastic whirligig pinwheels down in the basement: maybe I’ll plant that next to him. I had to put one of the three remaining house gnomes out by the volunteer daffodil by the pear tree because in my blindness I kept stepping on it. He will prevent that.
In the night a gnome was bowled over. I don’t know if it was the wind, or a marauder.
Here, the wind is not only ringing the fairy bells, it’s also bobbing the gnome heads.
I may be facing a gnome shortage. I have placed 14 so far, with only two left in the house.
it’s your day
(Reprinting this here because I’m still grumpy from making the mistake May 1 of descending into the pre-monolith political blogs, wherein knuckle-dragging screechers and screamers were, foam-flecked, furiously flinging feces at one another, as to whether anarchists, communists, or slow-moving centrist sloths, did first come up with “May Day.”
(All of them: wrong. So wrong. So completely wrong.
(For the day, outside this so desensualized industrial age, has never had anything whatsoever to do with anything so foul and filthy and sterile and impotent and neuter and non-productive and fleeting and impermanent and totally over as “labor,” as “work.”
(May Day: it’s a fuck festival. Always has been; always will be. Alpha and omega. Unto the end. Amen.)
Millennia before the political people got hold of it, May Day was for lovers.
Equidistant between the Vernal Equinox and the Summer Solstice, arrived that day when human beings participated in the seasonal renewal of life by themselves bursting into bloom—making love.
Or, sometimes, simply, easily, naturally: in “but” fucking.
Details varied. In some places, particularly in the Celtic realm, this day was known as Beltane. Sometimes a woman and man, recognized as particularly sympathetic to or skilled in the magic arts, would, representing the Goddess and God themselves, couple in a ritualized ceremony, either observed or alone, and most often in a freshly seeded field.
Very often, as it says here, “[y]oung couples were encouraged to test their fertility with Beltane trysts, and any babies born from Beltane were believed to be blessed by the Goddess herself.” Pretty magical, such witch children.
Too, “[t]rial unions, called hand-fastings (as the lovers’ clasped hands were bound by ribbon), were also popular at Beltane, committing the couple to each other for one year and a day in preparation for a marital commitment.” Such a ceremony is today popular among some contemporary neo-pagans.
Other places, on this day, there was a sort of relationship “time-out,” when the people of the tribe, in the interest of renewing the earth, could couple indiscriminately, and without consequence.
“I have this beetle here in one hand,” Aristotle proclaimed one day, “with a single oval shell and eight jointed legs, and I have here in my other hand this second beetle of lighter hue which has twelve legs and a shell that is longer and segmented. Can you explain the differences?”
“Yes,” said Plato. “There is no such thing as a beetle, in either of your hands. There is no such thing as your hand. What you think of as a beetle and a hand are merely reflections of your recognition of the idea of a beetle and a hand. There is only the idea, which existed before these specimens came into being. Otherwise, how could they come into being? And the form of the idea, of course, is always eternal and real, and never changes. What you are holding in what you think are your hands are shadows of that idea. Have you forgotten my illustration of the cave in my Republic? Read it once more. That the two beetles you have are different is clear enough proof that neither is real. It therefore follows that only the form or the idea of the form is susceptible to study, and it is something about which we will never be able to learn more than we already know. Ideas alone are worth contemplating. You are not real, my vain young Aristotle. I’m not real. Socrates himself was but an imitation of himself. All of us are merely inferior copies of the form that is us. I know you understand me.”
—Joseph Heller, Picture This
“Man,” said Mordel, “possessed a basically incomprehensible nature. I can illustrate it, though: he did not know measurement.”
“I did not say that he could not measure,” said Mordel, “but that he did not know measurement, which is a different thing altogether.”
Mordel drove a shaft of metal downward into the snow.
He retracted it, raised it, held up a piece of ice.
“Regard this piece of ice, mighty Frost. You can tell me its composition, dimensions, weight, temperature. A man could not look at it and do that. A man could make tools which would tell him these things, but he still would not know measurement as you know it. What he would know of it, though, is a thing that you cannot know.”
“What is that?”
“That it is cold,” said Mordel, and tossed it away.
—Roger Zelazny, “For A Breath I Tarry”
Last night there was to be a double execution—YEEHAW!—in Oklahoma.
A by-god two-fer!
Guaranteed to get them old shriveled wrinkled flaccid done-long-gone-retired white-boy little-itty-bitty rods, a-rectin’! Like they ain’t been since them good ol’ days when any old good ol’ boy could just go out and rope, castrate, and hang hisself a Negro.
Oklahoma is the fetid stinking infected butthole of the United States.
Wherever you are, in this country, if you are not in Oklahoma: you are better off.
Oklahoma is such an irredeemable Hellpit that once, there in the early 19th Century, the white people grasped firmly hold of the eastern sections of the country, they shipped the non-dead-from-smallpox-blankets Indians there, to Oklahoma, along the Trail Of Tears.
The place considered such a dead-end station, such a trash heap, that only the remnants of Indians, were fit to live there.
Later in the 19th Century, of course, the white people ran utterly wild, and commanded that their seed spread across all the lands of the North American continent—in places all and every.
And so the Indians were butt-kicked out of Oklahoma, so that paleface cornholing banjo-playing incest-ravenous droolers who had never touched the monolith could settle there in their stead.
I have been to Oklahoma. And there I learned, first-hand, that the state is most notable for two things. Sand. And fucking your sister. Or, failing that, your mother.
A Manhattan court stenographer was fired after reportedly typing: “I hate my job, I hate my job” instead of recording criminal trial dialogue. Daniel Kochanski’s actions apparently also included simply hitting random keys . . . .
“I would prefer not to.”
—”Bartleby, The Scrivener,” Herman Melville
Horp jeem klob torm ahai vortyuoip. Klimoid shui shishl kleet.
“Orglieop norg ardog bannub,” kleuio frad af og klerd. “Dor agk fordelyk agoyu tert-ter.”
“Heamblow ferkmard glorb ahio iou sipl-sipl,” kord og af gleeb tortmla. “Chingalo naturlick roaden marchen bonen.”
Agoober dern-a-ler-den-dern, squeelinlikeapiggin panathema grandeochunder!
Hork! Hork! Gort lork ahiou whoiu hcduwe[yfiq[YIYFIO plert.
Pleebyuoir. Ghjkuiop. Frigih!
An Actual Really Truly Live “Good Friday” Would Mean A Naked Stoned Hippie Woman Sirened Jesus Onto A Plane, Bound For The Great Ride Open, Flying Him Forever And Away From The CrossPublished April 17, 2014 Animal Matters , Capital Crime , Eros , Eternal Recurrence , First Peoples , Into The Light , Israel/Palestine , Johnny Law , La Musica , Oddbins , Outer Limits , Sunday Services , Variations In B-Flat , What's Good Leave a Comment
‘Cause otherwise, he’s going to have to go through this.
He is so much better off. With the naked stoned hippie woman. In the great ride open.
Maundy Thursday is the Christian feast, or holy day, falling on the Thursday before Easter. It commemorates the Maundy and Last Supper of Jesus . . . Most scholars agree that the English word Maundy in that name for the day is derived through Middle English and Old French mandé, from the Latin mandatum, the first word of the phrase “Mandatum novum do vobis ut diligatis invicem sicut dilexi vos.” (“A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another.”)
I won’t leave the attic
and with apologies to Apollinaire I can smoke
while working. I’m doing it
I’m going to it. The jerks are working
empty handed and then they pick up
twigs. Now they want to smoke me
out, but I’m too bat-like!
too happy with my stash and rock and
roll. Unlike the souffle below
who intends to burst. Deep breath, funny air.