Once again, we begin to wind up into the national frenzy of politics, the cheapest and most demeaning form of entertainment available. Personally, while I go headlong Hunter S. into it all with the savage frenzy of the gambling addict, I see that the time has come to actually face the facts and the true situation. I make no suggestion to the Federal Government, nor to any of the potential candidates for President or any other office up for sale, but choose here to focus on the state in which I reside: Indiana.
If need be, the following would be my platform, should I be drafted to run, or drafted into the office of Governor via write-in vote.
1) Make the Indiana State Police the single most well-equipped, well-staffed and highest paid police force in the history of Earth, third planet from the sun. The reason? The police force of this state is sadly none of the above. No officer of the law should ever, for any reason, be paid so poorly as to cause them to rely on outside aid for their family. Being in a position of constant stress, any officer that has to be concerned with the next meal their family may or may not be able to have tends to make them (or any human) rather grumpy, and seriously, do we need armed, uniformed peace officers to be grumpy? No. We give them a badge, and a gun, so why not put them in a more calm state of mind.
2) Any illegal immigrant found within the borders of this state will be given the following options: become legal or leave. If they choose to stay, they must become citizens by following all of the normal means. Any assistance needed for this, i.e., education, will be paid for by the state of Indiana (50%) and their current employer (the remaining 50%). Once a month, they will be shown on television, being sworn in as legal citizens of this state, and of the United States Of America. Those who chose to not become legal citizens will be shot. Along with their employers. Just to make a point.
3) Eliminate the welfare system as currently known by increasing employment by 100% within the borders of the state. The means by this is to work with the Habitat For Humanity group, all of the service groups currently in place for the homeless and indigent. If someone is on welfare and is capable of service or work in some manner, their pay, complete with benefits, will be based on the work done. Those who simply refuse to participate and are capable of work will be shot. Along with their families. Just to make a point.
4) The sanctity of marriage must be defended at all costs. Marriage is the common bond that holds all of society together, and the single greatest threat posed to the institution of marriage is divorce. Thus, ending divorce as it is now is the single greatest means of protecting the institution. While eliminating divorce in its entirety would be best, it must be understood that under the saddest and most extreme cases the health of the populace if not their lives are in jeopardy. So, to defend it further, then, those trapped in a marriage of violence and abuse will be given the authority to report such matters to the police, and the offending party or parties will then be shot. Any person accusing someone of violence and/or abuse that drops the charges more than three times will be shot. Any person shown to use an accusation that is unfounded will be shot.
5) To further protect the sanctity of marriage, effective immediately, all married persons in the state of Indiana will pay no taxes whatsoever on the first $150,000 made per year. That being said then the most obvious next step would allow anyone who wishes to become married, regardless of the gender of those wishing to become married, can do so within the state of Indiana. All parties must agree to live within the state for no less than five years to use the tax break. Those who become married within the state of Indiana and do not remain within the state for that length of time will be shot, regardless of the gender of the parties involved.
6) Any corporate entity currently existing within the borders of the state of Indiana, or wishing to do so, must agree to stay in the borders for no less a time period of ten years. During that time, there will be no taxes whatsoever levied against any corporate entity. If the corporate entity wants to leave prior to that ten years, or leaves without assuring that their existing staff has some form of gainful employ will be charged a back tax of 100% of the corporate gross effective immediately, will lose the land ownership rights of the properties involved and all means of production left within the state borders. All parties within management of these corporate entities, regardless of their location anywhere on Earth, third planet from the sun, will be brought before a televised panel to explain why the actions were taken, giving them a chance to explain the causes and reasons. They will then be shot. Along with their families. Just to make a point.
7) Reducing a state deficit being mandatory, as well as living within the budget, each member of Congress, both representatives and senators, will be held accountable for their performance. The entire state must be considered, not merely a portion of it. To ensure the clarity of mind of each elected official, the following changes must be made effective immediately:
A) Representatives will be paid the average wage of the district from which they came.
B) Senators will be paid the median wage of the district from which they came.
C) The Governor will be paid the average wage of the entire state.
D) The Supreme Court will be paid the mean wage of the entire state.
E) No elected official may remain in office more than three terms.
F) All members of Congress will be required to use the largest medical care provider from the district from which they came, the Governor and Supreme Court will be required to use the largest medical care provider from the state. All will be required to pay for their own medical care coverage out of pocket.
G) Any elected official that does not live by the above standard will be shot. As well as their families. Just to prove a point.
8) Raising income and reducing costs at the same time would be the best of all possible worlds, so effective immediately, marijuana will be legal in the state of Indiana. Not for medical purposes, not decriminalized but legal, produced and marketed solely by the state of Indiana. The product will then be controlled tightly. All revenues from the sales of the product are to be used to fund the Indiana State Police, the schools of the state, the state highways and the improvement of border control. The use of any motorized vehicle while under the influence of marijuana will be treated as if the offender was under the influence of alcohol, which traditionally in the state of Indiana is called a felony but is treated more like a misdemeanor. To increase public awareness of the seriousness of this matter, anyone found operating any form of motorized vehicle while under the influence of marijuana or alcohol in the state of Indiana will be given the option of assistance in returning to their home. If refused, or if damage of any manner to property or injury to anyone, the offender will be shot.
Thank you for your attention, and remember: vote early, and vote often.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Friday, July 29, 2011
Emotional meltdowns and malfunctioning relationships
Oh, what a wonderful world it is. To be free and alive and happy, friends and family; to love and be loved in return; to look at another human being and rejoice in their uniqueness and be as accepted for who and what I am, warts and all...
I wonder what that is like. Recent events have suggested that I am indeed about one bad hamburger away from going full on Joker.
I often wonder why we cannot hear the delicate fragile tethers that connect us together as a social animal begin to tear and rend.
To be true, I am not as social as I had fantasized. Truth be told, I have a deep ingrained hatred of myself, and a near complete lack of self-respect that is reflected onto everyone else. I know myself and my weaknesses, I see my dark side and am aware of what goodness exists within, and when confronted with a slight I have given, I become heartbroken: when will I cross that line that allows me to Love Others fully, which then would allow a form of Loving Myself.
Well, again, to be true: some go out of their way to just frankly piss me off. I try to go along to get along, and then someone says or does something rude or condescending. Having a limited amount of self-respect, I can take a joke. God help you if you cannot, because once I have had enough, I am done, caution to the wind, raise the red flag of rage and gird your loins. Once started I must finish else the residue builds into the assault level of anger and blind unreason that will eventually collapse into suicidal depression.
Worst thing I know about my life is this: Sadly, my "friends and family" just cannot wrap their sad, meager (lack of) intellect around one single fact of reality....
Occasionally, like it or not, I am right and worse, I know what I am talking about.
That should be acceptable, but no. I find that it is not so.
A sense of self-deprecating humor is mistaken for error in every judgement.
I have lost friends in the past, and may be doing so again. So be it, selah. There isn't enough of "me" left to focus on anything other than mere survival. The ground beneath me is unstable, the simplest of pleasures are denied for the best of reasons, but they are the things that make life worth living, and make fighting the good fight acceptable... with the little happy things gone, all that is left is toil...
Fuck Sisyphus: the myth that explains my lot, and I think that of so many others, is Tantalus, placed in the Greek Hades with all pleasures forever just out of reach. This is the now: this is the commonplace. Our reach can no longer match that which we would grasp.
Snarling and growling, demanding not the bread and circus but pizza, beer and American Idol.
Demanding respect without ever matching it in delivery.
Demanding acceptance without accepting others...
I feel that kinship, that understanding: no more into the realm of what I could be but instead that lowest level of anarchy, that sense that the watching the world burn makes much more sense than bothering to help, or love...
Some men just want to watch the world burn. Some men just want to make a meal of the rest of us.
So be it. Selah.
Seeking redemption is pointless when it is not available. I will never apologize for those actions and words (are they not the same?) that are unforgivable.
Angels are flawless, and being flawless have no need of shame. If I have no shame, do I then become angelic?
My father and my mother never followed me to Dream Time... and I will not come back from that Dark Carnival of Unmentionable Delights.
Have a nice motherfucking and fatherfucking day!
I wonder what that is like. Recent events have suggested that I am indeed about one bad hamburger away from going full on Joker.
I often wonder why we cannot hear the delicate fragile tethers that connect us together as a social animal begin to tear and rend.
To be true, I am not as social as I had fantasized. Truth be told, I have a deep ingrained hatred of myself, and a near complete lack of self-respect that is reflected onto everyone else. I know myself and my weaknesses, I see my dark side and am aware of what goodness exists within, and when confronted with a slight I have given, I become heartbroken: when will I cross that line that allows me to Love Others fully, which then would allow a form of Loving Myself.
Well, again, to be true: some go out of their way to just frankly piss me off. I try to go along to get along, and then someone says or does something rude or condescending. Having a limited amount of self-respect, I can take a joke. God help you if you cannot, because once I have had enough, I am done, caution to the wind, raise the red flag of rage and gird your loins. Once started I must finish else the residue builds into the assault level of anger and blind unreason that will eventually collapse into suicidal depression.
Worst thing I know about my life is this: Sadly, my "friends and family" just cannot wrap their sad, meager (lack of) intellect around one single fact of reality....
Occasionally, like it or not, I am right and worse, I know what I am talking about.
That should be acceptable, but no. I find that it is not so.
A sense of self-deprecating humor is mistaken for error in every judgement.
I have lost friends in the past, and may be doing so again. So be it, selah. There isn't enough of "me" left to focus on anything other than mere survival. The ground beneath me is unstable, the simplest of pleasures are denied for the best of reasons, but they are the things that make life worth living, and make fighting the good fight acceptable... with the little happy things gone, all that is left is toil...
Fuck Sisyphus: the myth that explains my lot, and I think that of so many others, is Tantalus, placed in the Greek Hades with all pleasures forever just out of reach. This is the now: this is the commonplace. Our reach can no longer match that which we would grasp.
Snarling and growling, demanding not the bread and circus but pizza, beer and American Idol.
Demanding respect without ever matching it in delivery.
Demanding acceptance without accepting others...
I feel that kinship, that understanding: no more into the realm of what I could be but instead that lowest level of anarchy, that sense that the watching the world burn makes much more sense than bothering to help, or love...
Some men just want to watch the world burn. Some men just want to make a meal of the rest of us.
So be it. Selah.
Seeking redemption is pointless when it is not available. I will never apologize for those actions and words (are they not the same?) that are unforgivable.
Angels are flawless, and being flawless have no need of shame. If I have no shame, do I then become angelic?
My father and my mother never followed me to Dream Time... and I will not come back from that Dark Carnival of Unmentionable Delights.
Have a nice motherfucking and fatherfucking day!
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Keeping a cheery positive attitude
Having a positive attitude, so I am told, is of vital importance. One should smile, and face life with a brave countenance. On those unfortunate moments that are not the norm, as Life Is Beautiful, we are to make lemonade from lemons and remember that God does not give us more than we can handle.
Should you be one of these empty-headed morons that believe that worthless bullshit, here is a charming note for you: I am coming over to your home. I will bring a posse of the most unpleasant "human beings" I can find: unclean, diseased and quite mad.
We will then collectively gang rape you. Any opening on your body, we will stick something in it. Once done, we will then remove your eyes, and thus having created a new opening, we will gang rape you again. We will do this to you only after you have been forced to watch as we gang rape your family.
Parents, children, grandchildren, cousins... why, we will even torment the flesh of your best and closest friends.
Yes, this would include pets.
Now. Make lemonade out of them lemons. Remember: God thinks you can get through this with no problem, so long as you go through it with Him (or Her, or It, whatever).
I like to entertain myself with these vile, loathsome fantasies every time I hear some self-righteous pigheaded Praise Jesus Glory type go on and on and on about how Everything Happens For A Reason. Equally entertaining to me are the times that some arrogant pissant Positive Thoughts Change Everything goes on about how people with negative mindsets Bring Shit On Themselves... well, what until I show up with my full on Joker, knives and pliers, hammers and blowtorches. Get Positive on that, dipshit.
The best part about this blog: few read it. When the time comes and I ultimately go totally batshit insane, this I am sure will be entertaining.
Nothing like using a public forum... ah, and the blessed peace of ignorance...
Ignorance is not stupidity. Ignoring a thing makes all those words above so much more pleasant. Denial. It is standing on the deck of the Titanic and saying, What a lovely night! We should go for a swim.... nothing wrong here, right?
Spinning more and more wildly out of control, life is an amusement park, a Carnivale of dark pleasures and questionable practices. BUT if I only keep a happy face, all will be well...
Right? Right?
Ever see the photo from Viet Nam with the young naked girl running screaming towards the camera? She was in a village that had been napalmed out of existence and had torn her burning clothes off. Napalm, which sticks, continues to burn. So tell me: How much lemonade should she have made, then? Hmmm???
No. Fuck you. I am dead fucking serious. How much would her life have changed with an upbeat attitude?
Watching others in the course of my existence, I can see where some did indeed drive the car off the cliff, lifestyle choices made that ended all Thelma And Louise. These souls, like me, apparently are here for everyone else, for the collective amusement of the self-righteous. See, children? Don't act like Jim or you will get hurt! He didn't keep a Positive Attitude...
These are the people that I love to be near when everything falls apart. When cancer strikes, when the job is lost, when someone dies: Here, fuckhead, have some lemonade. I put cyanide in it.... Let's all head to Jonestown, shall we?
For the record: No. I am dead fucking serious. It is what I mean, what I think. People that honestly believe that just keeping a Happy Place is enough to get through the most difficult parts of their lives deserve the razor blades and gasoline that life has to offer them.
Should you be one of these empty-headed morons that believe that worthless bullshit, here is a charming note for you: I am coming over to your home. I will bring a posse of the most unpleasant "human beings" I can find: unclean, diseased and quite mad.
We will then collectively gang rape you. Any opening on your body, we will stick something in it. Once done, we will then remove your eyes, and thus having created a new opening, we will gang rape you again. We will do this to you only after you have been forced to watch as we gang rape your family.
Parents, children, grandchildren, cousins... why, we will even torment the flesh of your best and closest friends.
Yes, this would include pets.
Now. Make lemonade out of them lemons. Remember: God thinks you can get through this with no problem, so long as you go through it with Him (or Her, or It, whatever).
I like to entertain myself with these vile, loathsome fantasies every time I hear some self-righteous pigheaded Praise Jesus Glory type go on and on and on about how Everything Happens For A Reason. Equally entertaining to me are the times that some arrogant pissant Positive Thoughts Change Everything goes on about how people with negative mindsets Bring Shit On Themselves... well, what until I show up with my full on Joker, knives and pliers, hammers and blowtorches. Get Positive on that, dipshit.
The best part about this blog: few read it. When the time comes and I ultimately go totally batshit insane, this I am sure will be entertaining.
Nothing like using a public forum... ah, and the blessed peace of ignorance...
Ignorance is not stupidity. Ignoring a thing makes all those words above so much more pleasant. Denial. It is standing on the deck of the Titanic and saying, What a lovely night! We should go for a swim.... nothing wrong here, right?
Spinning more and more wildly out of control, life is an amusement park, a Carnivale of dark pleasures and questionable practices. BUT if I only keep a happy face, all will be well...
Right? Right?
Ever see the photo from Viet Nam with the young naked girl running screaming towards the camera? She was in a village that had been napalmed out of existence and had torn her burning clothes off. Napalm, which sticks, continues to burn. So tell me: How much lemonade should she have made, then? Hmmm???
No. Fuck you. I am dead fucking serious. How much would her life have changed with an upbeat attitude?
Watching others in the course of my existence, I can see where some did indeed drive the car off the cliff, lifestyle choices made that ended all Thelma And Louise. These souls, like me, apparently are here for everyone else, for the collective amusement of the self-righteous. See, children? Don't act like Jim or you will get hurt! He didn't keep a Positive Attitude...
These are the people that I love to be near when everything falls apart. When cancer strikes, when the job is lost, when someone dies: Here, fuckhead, have some lemonade. I put cyanide in it.... Let's all head to Jonestown, shall we?
For the record: No. I am dead fucking serious. It is what I mean, what I think. People that honestly believe that just keeping a Happy Place is enough to get through the most difficult parts of their lives deserve the razor blades and gasoline that life has to offer them.
Monday, July 4, 2011
The Control Process
Nothing which follows is original in form or content, but a mere reminder of that which has gone before.
Part 1: The greatest trick the Devil ever performed was convincing the world that he didn't exist.
All fiction, by its very nature, is a lie. Were it truth, it would be called non-fiction. Q.E.D. The problem, of course, is in the nature of truth itself. To use hyperbole to make an exaggerated point, then, imagine two separate volumes by two separate authors. The topic is the same: the history and impact of the musical genre referred to as rap and/or hip-hop.
Volume one is written in the form of a memoir, a life spent creating the music. Volume two is written by a white supremacist.
Both purport to be Truth, or at least non-fiction. Having suggested nothing more than describing the authors in the two volumes, one can see not only how the author would be using language in a manner that most powerfully supports their own pre-existing notions but, and here is the rub, also the notions of you, the reader.
Truth, when presented by a polemicist, is at best doubtful. Sadly, this but the tip of the iceberg that threatens us all.
From a course in basic sociology: The definition of a situation is that which is determined to be real with determine actions regardless of the veracity of the reality.
That concept (pretty much the basis of my first and as yet only novel) is the point, the actual crux of the matter. With the instant access to any and all data, those who wish to sell a reality and create a collective consensus need do no more than go trolling for those who seek a mental form of real estate that is already plotted out.
Bottom line, then, to refer back to #1: That which can be called a "conspiracy theory" becomes nothing more than a means of diverting the attention away from the Real Satan (if you will): there is no real political separation. The facts that do not conform to the theories are ignored.
Selling it is easy, and time tested, which leads us to...
Part 2: Shout It! Shout It! Shout It Out Loud! Over and over and over again!
The current viewpoint expressed here, so far, has used in the only example as hyperbole. Hyperbole has become so ingrained into our collective political discussions to do nothing more than make a point has become the standard means of debate.
You are wrong if you think the political right are fascists.
You are wrong if you think the political left are communists.
The two statements above will infuriate some to the point of blind unreason. However, the fact is that if you, the reader, chooses one label or the other for yourself, and you have been called one or the other long enough, you might be feeling that twinge of response: Oh, yeah???
The desire to communicate a difference of opinion is gone. It is no longer an acceptable means of communication, one must destroy them as do not agree, heaping abuse on abuse while wondering why that brings about a reaction equal to or greater than one's own.
Is it the labels? Or the fact that both statements begin with "You are wrong if you think..."
By doing that, I have created an intellectual environment in which the acceptance of either viewpoint, by my own definition, is wrong. It only appears rational, but in a sense, I am shouting at you. I have in those two sentences eliminated any form of debate by suggesting that any and all who would dare question me are... wrong.
If we are shouting at each other, then we are not listening. Shouting drowns out the words spoken.
The Control Process then has been to bury rational discussion and to live by labels. While it is self-inflicted, I have seen this in places one would not anticipate, like the community that calls itself Punk. The issue at hand is: what is Punk? Are you as Punk as I?
While that is a form of hyperbole, extend it out, and then the divisions suggested above become even more interesting. You are not as right wing (or left wing) as I... can you be trusted?
The Control Process to this point is at its most obvious and it can, and does, escalate to violence, both physical and emotional, words become weapons. The pen is mightier than the sword and can inflict the same damage.
That should not make one less mindful of the sword, as the damage done by words is often invisible, but the damage of the sword can be literally permanent.
Forcing and/or badgering others into accepting one's worldview is bad enough: concentration camps were used for more than mere murder (as if that weren't evil enough), they were also used as re-education camps. It was an actualization of the old joke: The beatings will continue until morale improves.
Using rage and violence is bad enough, but it is visible. One has but to stop, listen and watch. The issues are before us. The real horror and the greatest threat is Soft Control...
3: It's just Kool-Aid.
Soft control is insidious. It is the quiet, and genteel form of inflicting addictions, addiction to sugars and fats in the diet, addictions to body modifications, addictions to addiction.
It takes the handcuffs and puts them on the table. The lie is bold: it is not a pair of handcuffs, it is a fashion statement. We succumb to the Soft Control when we allow ourselves to pick them up and put them on.
Soft Control suggests, whispers. It is usually rather blatant, holding before us a heap of steaming feces, which we know is feces, but the Soft Control says, no, it is breakfast. We buy into it, and eat.
Disgusting image? Yep.
Consider something so obvious but so bold that it is impossible for me, personally, to not think of it as a deliberate attempt to undermine the populace of the United States.
Two televisions shows (television being indeed the Drug Of The Nation) offered two comedic views of life, on two separate networks. Consider them, and consider them well. The Cosby Show and Rosanne.
Which of these two families would you, the reader, consider to be middle class?
If you immediately thought The Cosby Show, then let us look at it. Cliff and Clair Huxtable live in New York with a small army of children. Cliff is an OB/Gyn, while Clair is an attorney. They have a two story home in the city, plus vehicles to take their small army of children to whatever event they wish. There is never a discussion of finances. While cutting in their humorous comments to one another, they are witty and urbane.
Rosanne, featuring the Connor family, has Rosanne and Dan Connor and their three children. This largely dysfunctional group of people is harsh to the point of brutality to one another and pretty much the world at large. Rosanne is a factory worker, loses that job, tries to start her own business, then becomes a waitress. Dan's employment history is shaky, and the two can barley keep the roof over their heads.
Which family is middle class?
A pair of college educated professionals? Really?
This is the evil of the Soft Control. The constant insinuation that There Is Something Wrong With You If You Don't Want To Be The Huxtables.
I have nothing against them, or those that want that level of comfort. Calling them middle class is wrong, just plain wrong. They are not. It is a matter of color, but it is the color of the money, not the skin. Do that many black Americans have access to those levels of affluence and education?
The new car we HAVE to have year after year, the gadget from iMoney, the latest trends and fashions...
How about a world where the emotional collapse of a Famous Person is presented as if it mattered to anyone other than that persons' immediate family? Is that not a form of control in itself?
What controls you?
Part 1: The greatest trick the Devil ever performed was convincing the world that he didn't exist.
All fiction, by its very nature, is a lie. Were it truth, it would be called non-fiction. Q.E.D. The problem, of course, is in the nature of truth itself. To use hyperbole to make an exaggerated point, then, imagine two separate volumes by two separate authors. The topic is the same: the history and impact of the musical genre referred to as rap and/or hip-hop.
Volume one is written in the form of a memoir, a life spent creating the music. Volume two is written by a white supremacist.
Both purport to be Truth, or at least non-fiction. Having suggested nothing more than describing the authors in the two volumes, one can see not only how the author would be using language in a manner that most powerfully supports their own pre-existing notions but, and here is the rub, also the notions of you, the reader.
Truth, when presented by a polemicist, is at best doubtful. Sadly, this but the tip of the iceberg that threatens us all.
From a course in basic sociology: The definition of a situation is that which is determined to be real with determine actions regardless of the veracity of the reality.
That concept (pretty much the basis of my first and as yet only novel) is the point, the actual crux of the matter. With the instant access to any and all data, those who wish to sell a reality and create a collective consensus need do no more than go trolling for those who seek a mental form of real estate that is already plotted out.
Bottom line, then, to refer back to #1: That which can be called a "conspiracy theory" becomes nothing more than a means of diverting the attention away from the Real Satan (if you will): there is no real political separation. The facts that do not conform to the theories are ignored.
Selling it is easy, and time tested, which leads us to...
Part 2: Shout It! Shout It! Shout It Out Loud! Over and over and over again!
The current viewpoint expressed here, so far, has used in the only example as hyperbole. Hyperbole has become so ingrained into our collective political discussions to do nothing more than make a point has become the standard means of debate.
You are wrong if you think the political right are fascists.
You are wrong if you think the political left are communists.
The two statements above will infuriate some to the point of blind unreason. However, the fact is that if you, the reader, chooses one label or the other for yourself, and you have been called one or the other long enough, you might be feeling that twinge of response: Oh, yeah???
The desire to communicate a difference of opinion is gone. It is no longer an acceptable means of communication, one must destroy them as do not agree, heaping abuse on abuse while wondering why that brings about a reaction equal to or greater than one's own.
Is it the labels? Or the fact that both statements begin with "You are wrong if you think..."
By doing that, I have created an intellectual environment in which the acceptance of either viewpoint, by my own definition, is wrong. It only appears rational, but in a sense, I am shouting at you. I have in those two sentences eliminated any form of debate by suggesting that any and all who would dare question me are... wrong.
If we are shouting at each other, then we are not listening. Shouting drowns out the words spoken.
The Control Process then has been to bury rational discussion and to live by labels. While it is self-inflicted, I have seen this in places one would not anticipate, like the community that calls itself Punk. The issue at hand is: what is Punk? Are you as Punk as I?
While that is a form of hyperbole, extend it out, and then the divisions suggested above become even more interesting. You are not as right wing (or left wing) as I... can you be trusted?
The Control Process to this point is at its most obvious and it can, and does, escalate to violence, both physical and emotional, words become weapons. The pen is mightier than the sword and can inflict the same damage.
That should not make one less mindful of the sword, as the damage done by words is often invisible, but the damage of the sword can be literally permanent.
Forcing and/or badgering others into accepting one's worldview is bad enough: concentration camps were used for more than mere murder (as if that weren't evil enough), they were also used as re-education camps. It was an actualization of the old joke: The beatings will continue until morale improves.
Using rage and violence is bad enough, but it is visible. One has but to stop, listen and watch. The issues are before us. The real horror and the greatest threat is Soft Control...
3: It's just Kool-Aid.
Soft control is insidious. It is the quiet, and genteel form of inflicting addictions, addiction to sugars and fats in the diet, addictions to body modifications, addictions to addiction.
It takes the handcuffs and puts them on the table. The lie is bold: it is not a pair of handcuffs, it is a fashion statement. We succumb to the Soft Control when we allow ourselves to pick them up and put them on.
Soft Control suggests, whispers. It is usually rather blatant, holding before us a heap of steaming feces, which we know is feces, but the Soft Control says, no, it is breakfast. We buy into it, and eat.
Disgusting image? Yep.
Consider something so obvious but so bold that it is impossible for me, personally, to not think of it as a deliberate attempt to undermine the populace of the United States.
Two televisions shows (television being indeed the Drug Of The Nation) offered two comedic views of life, on two separate networks. Consider them, and consider them well. The Cosby Show and Rosanne.
Which of these two families would you, the reader, consider to be middle class?
If you immediately thought The Cosby Show, then let us look at it. Cliff and Clair Huxtable live in New York with a small army of children. Cliff is an OB/Gyn, while Clair is an attorney. They have a two story home in the city, plus vehicles to take their small army of children to whatever event they wish. There is never a discussion of finances. While cutting in their humorous comments to one another, they are witty and urbane.
Rosanne, featuring the Connor family, has Rosanne and Dan Connor and their three children. This largely dysfunctional group of people is harsh to the point of brutality to one another and pretty much the world at large. Rosanne is a factory worker, loses that job, tries to start her own business, then becomes a waitress. Dan's employment history is shaky, and the two can barley keep the roof over their heads.
Which family is middle class?
A pair of college educated professionals? Really?
This is the evil of the Soft Control. The constant insinuation that There Is Something Wrong With You If You Don't Want To Be The Huxtables.
I have nothing against them, or those that want that level of comfort. Calling them middle class is wrong, just plain wrong. They are not. It is a matter of color, but it is the color of the money, not the skin. Do that many black Americans have access to those levels of affluence and education?
The new car we HAVE to have year after year, the gadget from iMoney, the latest trends and fashions...
How about a world where the emotional collapse of a Famous Person is presented as if it mattered to anyone other than that persons' immediate family? Is that not a form of control in itself?
What controls you?
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Film Review - United 93 (2006)
Written and directed by Paul Greengrass.
Like many others, when this film was first released, I stayed away. Too soon, too soon.
Now, having taken the time to sit through the film, it may still be too soon.
Watching this movie, based loosely on the events within the fourth flight on 9/11 where the passengers attempted to stop the terrorists, all I could do was choke back the uncontrolled rage and horror. That day, for me as so many others, is a permanent imprint on my spirit and soul. Yes, like so many other events, we remember where we were and what we were doing when we first heard about it.
What I wasn't prepared for was that the film made me feel exactly as I did that day: confused, angry, frightened, sad...
And that, in and of itself, makes the film worth watching. So rare is it to be moved emotionally by a film, so remarkable, that I feel that on this 10th anniversary of those events, that the film should be re-examined.
There is no "plot" or "story," just a restaging of the events. The people on board United 93 are merely moving from one place to the next, and they start to slowly become aware of the two planes that struck the two towers, and the one that hit the Pentagon. As their understanding grows, they begin to react, not only to one another but to the situation and the terrorists that are bringing on their collective destruction.
The terrorists are not shown as hideous monsters or as stereotypes, more like (dare I say it? I dare) human beings wrapped up tightly in their own furor, and the phrase "We're on a mission from God" has never seemed so sad or so sickening. (Fortunately, no one actually speaks that particular line, but it did start to echo inside my head while watching the film.)
There is no spoiler here: the plane went down, ending the lives of everyone aboard it. Everyone dies, it is that simple. What is so disturbing about a film like this is that it is not Titanic, there is no love story, there is no sense of sweeping grandeur, just common folk caught up in a situation that no one could truly imagine themselves being thrust.
While the film is gripping, and tense, it is the last five or ten minutes that cap this dark ride into our recent past. Watching as human beings become more and more desperate, more and more angry and finally throwing themselves into harm's way is a deeply moving and disturbing experience.
Like many others, when this film was first released, I stayed away. Too soon, too soon.
Now, having taken the time to sit through the film, it may still be too soon.
Watching this movie, based loosely on the events within the fourth flight on 9/11 where the passengers attempted to stop the terrorists, all I could do was choke back the uncontrolled rage and horror. That day, for me as so many others, is a permanent imprint on my spirit and soul. Yes, like so many other events, we remember where we were and what we were doing when we first heard about it.
What I wasn't prepared for was that the film made me feel exactly as I did that day: confused, angry, frightened, sad...
And that, in and of itself, makes the film worth watching. So rare is it to be moved emotionally by a film, so remarkable, that I feel that on this 10th anniversary of those events, that the film should be re-examined.
There is no "plot" or "story," just a restaging of the events. The people on board United 93 are merely moving from one place to the next, and they start to slowly become aware of the two planes that struck the two towers, and the one that hit the Pentagon. As their understanding grows, they begin to react, not only to one another but to the situation and the terrorists that are bringing on their collective destruction.
The terrorists are not shown as hideous monsters or as stereotypes, more like (dare I say it? I dare) human beings wrapped up tightly in their own furor, and the phrase "We're on a mission from God" has never seemed so sad or so sickening. (Fortunately, no one actually speaks that particular line, but it did start to echo inside my head while watching the film.)
There is no spoiler here: the plane went down, ending the lives of everyone aboard it. Everyone dies, it is that simple. What is so disturbing about a film like this is that it is not Titanic, there is no love story, there is no sense of sweeping grandeur, just common folk caught up in a situation that no one could truly imagine themselves being thrust.
While the film is gripping, and tense, it is the last five or ten minutes that cap this dark ride into our recent past. Watching as human beings become more and more desperate, more and more angry and finally throwing themselves into harm's way is a deeply moving and disturbing experience.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
An Open Letter To Mr. Brian Wilson & Mr. Todd Rundgren
Gentlemen:
I hope you are well.
Something has occurred to me that I feel is a matter of the most grave and urgent of circumstance.
The world about us, as I am sure you are both aware, is being red-label express sent to Hell. All manner of madness abounds and dialog between differing opinions has become nothing more than one diatribe against another: no one is listening.
Having said that, contrary to Mr. Rundgren's comments in An Elpee's Worth Of Toons, I feel that a serious and beautiful work of art may be just the ticket towards, if not lasting peace then hopefully, a peace of mind to all that encounter it.
I am writing this in the vain and/or mad hope that somehow, someway it gets to one or both of you and you contact one another, and to give serious consideration of this notion. My price? I want nothing more than to be there when it happens, at my own expense if need be, and, of course, a signed copy for myself.
Mr. Rundgren has made a permanent mark upon my attitudes in re: music and how songs are produced with the release of A Capella. Mr. Wilson, whose indelible impact cannot be ignored, did the same with the single Heroes And Villains. To my last count, I have heard at least four differing versions of Heroes And Villains, depending on which album or 45 I have heard.
This song, gentlemen, is IMHO as yet unfinished, and correcting it One More Time should put it to rest, and with the two of you in control of it, the sound of the two of you may just set some of this world's pain to the side.
I had but one complaint about the Beach Boys, and that is mostly due to the fact that I am a baritone. This lacking on my part was set aside when first I heard Heroes And Villains, and I would often (as I do now) gleefully molest the song with my added doo-do-dee-doo's.
This morning, 5/7/11, I was listening to the three separate versions of the song that I have, one of which I no longer recall how it came to my possession. Two are with the Beach Boys, clocking in at 2:55 and 3:41, and, of course, Mr. Wilson's version from Smile, which runs 4:53.
I was at the same time reading about the woes and foibles that destroyed the first Smile, and something began to trouble me. Here, then, gentlemen, is my point.
The song is too short.
Heroes And Villains, in and of itself, should be no less than 10 minutes in length. As I am sure you both recall, there was a time when a self-indulgent rock star would come out with some form of aural masturbation that ran that long, or longer. Whatever: sometimes, as you both know well, it can be done with great style and beauty.
My request, then, is as follows: Arrange the song, one more time, as a barbershop quartet piece. Once completed, and sung A Capella, arrange it as a fugue, building and building, piece upon piece, until it becomes a rapturous joyous cry.... and instead of simply using the studio for frippery, conduct it using one of the many barbershop quartet gatherings... using all available voices.... and maybe use some sweet Adeline girl sound as well.
Bring us the sound of many voices, building and building for nothing more than the sheer joy of song. Bring us the sound of unrelenting beauty, and unleash it onto a world so weary of itself that it seems to be shaking itself apart. Bring us hope. Bring us joy.
What the hell.... why not? What's the worst that could happen? People Smile again?
Thank you for your attention.
Sincerely,
James R. Allard, Jr (aka Mr. Mirage)
PS: I have had the great joy of seeing both of you perform live. Hope to do so again. Soon.
I hope you are well.
Something has occurred to me that I feel is a matter of the most grave and urgent of circumstance.
The world about us, as I am sure you are both aware, is being red-label express sent to Hell. All manner of madness abounds and dialog between differing opinions has become nothing more than one diatribe against another: no one is listening.
Having said that, contrary to Mr. Rundgren's comments in An Elpee's Worth Of Toons, I feel that a serious and beautiful work of art may be just the ticket towards, if not lasting peace then hopefully, a peace of mind to all that encounter it.
I am writing this in the vain and/or mad hope that somehow, someway it gets to one or both of you and you contact one another, and to give serious consideration of this notion. My price? I want nothing more than to be there when it happens, at my own expense if need be, and, of course, a signed copy for myself.
Mr. Rundgren has made a permanent mark upon my attitudes in re: music and how songs are produced with the release of A Capella. Mr. Wilson, whose indelible impact cannot be ignored, did the same with the single Heroes And Villains. To my last count, I have heard at least four differing versions of Heroes And Villains, depending on which album or 45 I have heard.
This song, gentlemen, is IMHO as yet unfinished, and correcting it One More Time should put it to rest, and with the two of you in control of it, the sound of the two of you may just set some of this world's pain to the side.
I had but one complaint about the Beach Boys, and that is mostly due to the fact that I am a baritone. This lacking on my part was set aside when first I heard Heroes And Villains, and I would often (as I do now) gleefully molest the song with my added doo-do-dee-doo's.
This morning, 5/7/11, I was listening to the three separate versions of the song that I have, one of which I no longer recall how it came to my possession. Two are with the Beach Boys, clocking in at 2:55 and 3:41, and, of course, Mr. Wilson's version from Smile, which runs 4:53.
I was at the same time reading about the woes and foibles that destroyed the first Smile, and something began to trouble me. Here, then, gentlemen, is my point.
The song is too short.
Heroes And Villains, in and of itself, should be no less than 10 minutes in length. As I am sure you both recall, there was a time when a self-indulgent rock star would come out with some form of aural masturbation that ran that long, or longer. Whatever: sometimes, as you both know well, it can be done with great style and beauty.
My request, then, is as follows: Arrange the song, one more time, as a barbershop quartet piece. Once completed, and sung A Capella, arrange it as a fugue, building and building, piece upon piece, until it becomes a rapturous joyous cry.... and instead of simply using the studio for frippery, conduct it using one of the many barbershop quartet gatherings... using all available voices.... and maybe use some sweet Adeline girl sound as well.
Bring us the sound of many voices, building and building for nothing more than the sheer joy of song. Bring us the sound of unrelenting beauty, and unleash it onto a world so weary of itself that it seems to be shaking itself apart. Bring us hope. Bring us joy.
What the hell.... why not? What's the worst that could happen? People Smile again?
Thank you for your attention.
Sincerely,
James R. Allard, Jr (aka Mr. Mirage)
PS: I have had the great joy of seeing both of you perform live. Hope to do so again. Soon.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Ten Years On
Osama Bin Laden is dead. Nothing has changed.
The alleged mastermind behind the 9/11 attacks is gone, and yet, the war shall continue. I do not condemn here the ones that followed their duty, and exacted a rough justice: I also do not rejoice in the death of this man.
As Ronald Reagan once remarked, one man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter.
Be that as it may: Osama Bin Laden is dead. Nothing has changed.
Had he been captured by his own people and drug through the streets like Mussolini, his dead body struck and kicked and spat upon, nothing would have changed.
Had he been a monster, found eating the raw flesh of children and gunned down in that act, nothing would have changed.
He was not the boogeyman, he was not Satan. He was a man, to our American thinking delusional but to far too many he was a martyr in the waiting, a hero, and that is the reason that nothing has, or will, change.
As a nation, we were drug into the ugly reality of the last half of the 20th century at the beginning of the 21st: every nation on earth has had to deal with terrorist attacks on their own soil as perpetrated by human beings that were not citizens of their attacked state.
With Timothy McVeigh, we here in the US of A had a home grown terrorist. Those we were used to, and have had many throughout our history... terrorists or freedom fighters, depending on one's viewpoint. The raid on Harper's Ferry by John Brown can be considered a terrorist attack: there was nothing new with McVeigh.
After 9/11, this nation had to come to grips with the fact that the policies enacted on foreign soil, with or without the knowledge or consent of the American people, have long term effects on us as a nation. No longer can we pretend mere ignorance will be enough for us as a nation: our fellow citizens died on 9/11.
The citizens of this nation should have been outraged and distraught, which we were, but not merely at the sight of two falling towers but at the government that put us, as a nation, in harm's way.
No more, we should be saying: no more. The greatest value of the internet is the means by which we can speak to all nations, all humans with access to the machines, and we can say without the need of our government "We are not that different, you and I. Come, and let us make peace."
Having said that: To the Muslim world, I say, come, let us make peace. We share the same enemy. To the world at large, I say: Come, let us make peace. We share the same enemy.
The alleged mastermind behind the 9/11 attacks is gone, and yet, the war shall continue. I do not condemn here the ones that followed their duty, and exacted a rough justice: I also do not rejoice in the death of this man.
As Ronald Reagan once remarked, one man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter.
Be that as it may: Osama Bin Laden is dead. Nothing has changed.
Had he been captured by his own people and drug through the streets like Mussolini, his dead body struck and kicked and spat upon, nothing would have changed.
Had he been a monster, found eating the raw flesh of children and gunned down in that act, nothing would have changed.
He was not the boogeyman, he was not Satan. He was a man, to our American thinking delusional but to far too many he was a martyr in the waiting, a hero, and that is the reason that nothing has, or will, change.
As a nation, we were drug into the ugly reality of the last half of the 20th century at the beginning of the 21st: every nation on earth has had to deal with terrorist attacks on their own soil as perpetrated by human beings that were not citizens of their attacked state.
With Timothy McVeigh, we here in the US of A had a home grown terrorist. Those we were used to, and have had many throughout our history... terrorists or freedom fighters, depending on one's viewpoint. The raid on Harper's Ferry by John Brown can be considered a terrorist attack: there was nothing new with McVeigh.
After 9/11, this nation had to come to grips with the fact that the policies enacted on foreign soil, with or without the knowledge or consent of the American people, have long term effects on us as a nation. No longer can we pretend mere ignorance will be enough for us as a nation: our fellow citizens died on 9/11.
The citizens of this nation should have been outraged and distraught, which we were, but not merely at the sight of two falling towers but at the government that put us, as a nation, in harm's way.
No more, we should be saying: no more. The greatest value of the internet is the means by which we can speak to all nations, all humans with access to the machines, and we can say without the need of our government "We are not that different, you and I. Come, and let us make peace."
Having said that: To the Muslim world, I say, come, let us make peace. We share the same enemy. To the world at large, I say: Come, let us make peace. We share the same enemy.
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