Thursday, August 31, 2006

Keep Taking the Medication

A Bitter Pill?

Sometimes you can almost feel the world spinning beneath you; your head full of minutemen; weathermen; clouds; television images and revolutionary words that would transport you to the platform at euphoria where all is alive.

And the past has no other meaning but to inform.
And today’s bearing toward that melting iceberg causes the rivets in the rusted hull of progress to laugh in arrogant disdain.
And like prisoners-of-war in a war that is not a war these molecules will agitate with injustice.
We regret to inform you that your application was lost in the mail; your pension plan raided by corporate detail.

You digest your morning cereal along with the free gift, a plastic fabrication designed to addict.
And the demons in your bowl blow bubbles of joy, when you finally realise that it wasn’t just a toy, but a paranoid scanner that kicks in to observe the sad faced citizen in the state of medicated totalitarianism, blissfully unaware that his freedom is a myth concocted by the moneymen in order to enslave him without having to manufacture (at a loss) those ugly metal shackles that do not match any configuration of colours, fabrics or tastes.

And the serial that glares nightly from your lcd; plasma; widescreen machine, goes on to reinforce that freedom; that common sense; those beliefs held to be true by virtue of their ubiquitous repetition into the heads of teenagers and dim-witted adults.
And the pillow on which you rest your radioactive head, breathes isotopes of bitter sweet nothing into the darkness of your dreams, leaving the morning to return unthinking and obscene, the maze whose exits are clearly indicated with large green arrows by the department of health and safety and cotton wool candy for the sweet toothed humanity that oozes concern for the future of mankind and the coffers of insurance brokers in the bullring tonight.

On second thoughts (for those who prefer to have more than one) perhaps it is my head that is spinning beneath me, gravity being nothing more than a myth like the creationists chants from east and from west that echo in the black hole of the future and threaten to destroy the whole of the past.

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

The Wolf at the Door

Conscription; The Draft; For Queen & Country, A Patriot's Duty - here's a little history.

Buried deep somewhere in the constitution (written or unwritten) of any nation there is bound to be a line that reserves the right to conscript its citizens into the military, should the need arise.
And of course this will be based on the sensible principle that should the country come under attack from the outside, it is the duty of all citizens to protect the motherland.
I have one question.
When last was an army conscripted to fight in a justified war?
You may argue WW1 & WW2 even though the justifications are not as we are commonly led to believe. But okay let’s settle for those two.


Christian Boot Camp?
"The whole nation will rise," promised Saddam Hussein
  • Thousands of US citizens were conscripted to fight in Korea; Vietnam – to defend their country against communism.
  • Your guns can shoot but never hit the sky
  • The South African government conscripted me for two years in 1980 to fight for the vaderland against the evil and encroaching communist empire which was (we were led to believe) sweeping South through Africa in a black wave of godlessness. I'm afraid I was no use to them; we lost.
  • Some mothers' sons
  • Russia continues to conscript its young men.
  • crikey!
  • In Britain the 'Territorial Army' has already been conscripted, likewise in the US.
If the governments of Britain and the US were not certain of the bad PR and street protests conscription would bring they would not be trying so hard to scare the shit out of their citizens. The US is having to be satisfied with agressive recruiting in high schools and colleges; misleading sales pitches and extra-long tours of duty in Iraq. How long 'till the terrorist threat becomes so overpoweringly frightening and immenantly catastophic as to warrant some form of conscription. What will you do when your children are called to die for ‘The War on Terror’? For oil and commerce? To fight the holy war against radical Islam?
What will you do?


Perhaps words from the past will have some resonance:

“This is not the place to applaud or shout Hurrah for Emma Goldman. We have more serious things to talk about and some serious things to do. First of all I wish to say to you, all of you, workers, men and women from the East Side, that I regret deeply that I cannot speak to you in the language I have always spoken from this platform; that I cannot speak to you tonight in Yiddish. I shall speak English because I want those representing the State and Militarism and the Courts and Prisons to understand what I have to say. I don't want them to get it secondhand. No language is ever rendered well in translation and I want them to hear what I have to say in the only language they can speak, and speak it poorly.

Friends, tomorrow morning I am sure that you will read the report that a meeting took place on the East Side attended by foreigners, by workmen, and illkempt, poorly washed people of the East Side--foreigners who are being jeered at the present time in this country, foreigners who are being ridiculed because they have an idea. Well, friends, if the Americans are to wait until Americans wake up the country they will have to resurrect the Indians who were killed in America and upon whose bodies this so-called democracy was established, because every other American, if you scratch him, you will find him to be an Englishman, Dutchman, Frenchman, Spaniard, a Jew and a German and a hundred and one other nationalities who sent their young men and their women to this country in the foolish belief that liberty was awaiting them at the American Harbor, Liberty holding a torch. That torch has been burning dimly in the United States for a very long time. It is because, the Goddess of Liberty is ashamed of the American people and what they have done in the name of liberty to liberty in the United States. And yet, friends, I am not sorry for the things that are happening in America today. I have come to the conclusion that every nation is like an individual, it must have its own experience and it does not accept the experience of other nations any more than you accept the experience of another individual, for if it were possible for a nation to learn by the bitter and tragic experiences of other nations America today could not be in war and America today could not have inaugurated a reign of terror which is sweeping across the country from one end to another. America had Europe before its face as an example, with all the murders and bloodshed and corpses and millions of lives lost. America had the trenches and the battlefields of the last, nearly, three years of Europe before her. America realized that this war is one of the bloodiest and most criminal wars that has ever been fought by civilized people. America had the lesson that the working people and the sons of working women are being sacrificed in the name of Kultur and they want democracy upon the battlefields of Europe, and if America had been a grown man instead of a child it would have learned the lesson that no matter how great the cause it is never great enough to sacrifice millions of people in the trenches and on the battlefield in the name of democracy or liberty.

Evidently, America has to learn a salutary lesson and it is going to pay a terrible price. It is going to shed oceans of blood, it is going to heap mountains of human sacrifices of men of this country who are able to create and produce, to whom the future belongs. They are to be slaughtered in blood and in sacrifice in the name of a thing which has never yet existed in the United States of America, in the name of democracy and liberty.

My friends, there are people who say and tell you that when they prophecy something the prophecy comes true. I am sorry to say that I am one such and I have to say the same. For thirty years we have pointed out to you that this democratic State which is a government supposedly of the people, by the people and for the people has now become one of the most Imperialistic that the world has ever laid its eyes upon. For twenty-five or thirty years we have told you that the United States of America is appropriating more power every day until the time will come when individual men or women will be nothing but cogs in a machine of this centralized, cruel, blood thirsty government known as the United States. We told you that, and you said, you are alarmists. You said, you are too extreme, that will never happen in the United States. And here you are, friends. It has happened in the United States. A Czar was imposed upon you without the consent of the people. The people were never asked whether they wanted war. Indeed, the people of America placed Mr. Wilson in the White House and in the Chair of the Presidency because he told the people that he would keep them out of war, and as one of his political advertisements billposters were posted all over the city with the picture of a working woman and her children saying, "He has kept us out of war." He promised you heaven, he promised you everything if you would only place him in power. What made you place him in power. You expected peace and not war. The moment you placed him in power, however, he forgot his promises and he is giving you hell. War was imposed upon the people without the people getting a chance to say whether they wanted war or not, and war was imposed upon them, I say, because the gentlemen of power and those who back power want war. And because war has been declared upon you we are told, we men and women of the United States who work and sweat and toil to sustain these gentlemen of power, we are told that there is a law and we must go to war. If war is necessary, only the people must decide whether they want war or not, and as long as the people have not given their consent I deny that the President of the United States has any right to declare it; I deny that the President or those who back the President have any right to tell the people that they shall take their sons and husbands and brothers and lovers and shall conscript them in order to ship them across the seas for the conquest of militarism and the support of wealth and power in the United States. You say that is a law. I deny your law. I don't believe in it.

The only law that I recognize is the law which ministers to the needs of humanity, which makes men and women finer and better and more humane, the kind of law which teaches children that human life is sacred, and that those who arm for the purpose of taking human life are going to be called before the bar of human justice and not before a wretched little court which is called your law of the United States. And so, friends, the people have not yet decided whether they want war and the people are going to say, ultimately, whether they want war or not.

It is not surprising that President Wilson cannot sense the pulse of time. He has been in colleges too long; he has been too long within closed doors; he has been too long at the historical books. He cannot sense the pulse of time. But I tell you, without wishing to be a prophet, that within the next six months--not years but within the next six months--President Wilson will regret deeply that he ever declared war in the United States.

Of course, friends, of course since the war was declared by a country in whose interest it is that the American boy shall be sacrificed it was not to the interest of that country to put the war to a test and therefore conscription had to be imposed upon you. Don't you know that during the Spanish-American War when the people believed in the war there was no need of asking the young men of the country, at the point of the bayonet and gun and club, to put on an American uniform? They flocked to the war beca use they believed in it. And whether they were American citizens or were residents of America the people of America were all willing to give their lives for something they considered right and just. But because the people of America do not believe in this war, because the people of America have not been asked whether there shall be war, that is why they do not flock to the colors and that is why you in America are doing as the Russians used to do, as the German Kaiser is doing, as all the Imperialistic tyrants are doing. That is why you are going to drag your manhood by force into the uniform. But you are forgetting one thing, gentlemen of the law, you are driving a horse to water but you cannot compel him to drink. You will put the young manhood of America in the uniform, you will drag them to the battlefield and into the trenches, but while they are there there is going to be a bond of anti-militarism among the people of the world .

No, friends, you cannot compel human beings to take human life, if you give them the chance to reason and to think, to investigate and to analyze. And that is precisely what the authorities of this country don't want. They don't want you to hear anything about conscription; they don't want you to hear anything about the State Military Census. Why don't they want you to hear anything? If their position were correct and logical, if the State Military Census rested upon the need of the people, if conscription rested upon the desire of the people, all the revolutionists and Emma Goldmans and Alexander Berkmans might talk their heads off and the people would not listen to them. But because the people know that conscription is a crime and oppression and an outrage upon reason, because the people know that the Military State Census was determined upon by one of the most reactionary men, we find Mr. Whitman who is on your backs, whom you supported, whom you gave the possibility to live. And the Military State Census, as you have been told, is going to turn every man of you here into a militiaman and into something who is fighting the Kaiser, because it is just as if the Kaiser wanted you to do a thing so that if you are a soldier and I tell you to shoot your mother and father and brother and sister you must obey orders. With the President is Mr. Whitman saying anything else? And then telling you that when you will become militiamen and you shall be ordered to shoot your brothers and fathers and sisters and mothers in the name of democracy that you are going to carry to the poor unfortunate people of Germany. And so, friends, we are here to tell you before you decide what you are going to do, think twice, and remember it is easy to make a mistake but it is very difficult to undo the mistake. You workmen of the East Side; you who have lived in Russia, you who remember the days when you could not meet unless you had detectives and soldiers and police, look about you. See what you have in the United States. See what you have in America.

If the framers of the Declaration of Independence if Jefferson or Henry or the others, if they could look down upon the country and see what their offspring has done to it, how they have outraged it, how they have robbed it, how they have polluted it--why, my friends, they would turn in their graves. They would rise again and they would cleanse this country from its internal enemies, and that is the ruling class of the United States. There is a lesson you are going to learn and terrible as it is for us we nevertheless are glad that you will have to learn that lesson.

And now we come down to the tragedy that was committed in the United States Court in the State of New York yesterday, when two boys were sentenced. It is not only a tragedy because they were sentenced. Such things happen every day, hundreds, thousands of innocent working men are sent to the prison and the penitentiary, thousands of unfortunates throughout the world as well as here in so-called free America and nobody ever hears anything about it. It is an ordinary, commonplace thing to do. But the tragedy of yesterday is in the fact that a Judge, supported as you have been told by your money, protected by public opinion, protected by the President, the tragedy of it is that that Judge had the impudence and audacity to insult Kramer and Becker after he gave them the sentence of such horrible dimensions. Think of a man like that who sits there in judgment on other human beings. Think what must be his character, what must be his mind, what must be his soul, if he can spit human beings in the face, only because he has got the power.

But evidently the Judge knows nothing of history, any more than the ruling class knows. Don't you know there was a time when Marie Antoinette, very much surprised that the people had no bread asked, "Why don't they eat cake"? Don't you know what happened to the fair lady of France, Marie Antoinette? Don't you know what happened to the landowning class of France who said that the people should eat straw? Don't you know what happened to them? The people gave them all the straw they could possibly eat. I consider the action of Judge Mayer an insult and an outrage and I warrant you that he is going to hear about it, not only all over the United States but even from Europe. It may have seemed very insignificant to send two poor workingmen to the penitentiary and to insult them, to send Becker and Kramer, who are both workingmen--that is their crime, they were both honest enough to say they were anarchists. To be condemned in an American Court it is enough that you are an anarchist. The Judge was horrified at the audacity of these people to say it to him, face to face. Don't you know, men, you who are free Americans, the moment you enter an American court you must say, like Dante said, "Ye who enter here leave all hope behind." That is what the American Courts are. And so today you are governed by the bayonet and the police can treat you like dogs. But I say to you, they who live by the sword shall perish by the sword. So I tell you, gentlemen, now is your time. Do whatever you please. But you are forgetting the story and you are forgetting the writing on the wall. You are making a mistake if you think that by sending Kramer and Becker to jail you are going to silence the human voice. You are making a mistake if you believe that by threatening and arresting people you are going to stop the agitation against war. The agitation is in the hearts of the people, the agitation is in the minds of the people, and it only requires the psychological moment to come along, as it did in Russia, and the Judges like Mayer and the other Judges will fly off the bench and into the gutters.

My friends, if we thought for one single minute that the entire agitation is dependent only upon a handful of people we would never bother and endanger your lives, but we know the agitation is in your hearts and souls, we know that the people from the East and West and South and North are opposed to the war, are opposed to conscription, opposed to the Military State Census, and the people will be heard from, I can tell you that. And so, to threaten anyone's life, to say that she will not come back from a meeting alive--how stupid. What is life unless you can live it in freedom and in beauty, and unless you can express yourself, unless you can be true to yourself what is life? I would rather than live the life of a dog to be compelled to sneak about and slink about, to worry that somebody is looking for you ready to take your life--Rather than that I would die the death of a lion any day. Why, what consequence is it if you tell people, we are going to arrest you, Miss Goldman. Just as if arresting Emma Goldman solves all the problems in the world. Prisons have never solved any problems. Guns and bayonets have never solved any problems. Bloodshed has never solved a problem. Never on earth, men and women, have such methods of violence, concentrated and organized violence, ever solved a single problem. Nothing but the human mind, nothing but human emotions, nothing but an intense passion for a great ideal, nothing but perseverance and devotion and strength of character--nothing else ever solved any problem.

And so, men and women, workmen and workwomen, you of the East Side, you who are sweated and bled to create the wealth of this country, you who are being sneered at because you are foreigners--very well, then, if you are good enough to create the wealth of America, if America had to go to Europe for her Art, if America had to go to Europe for her Literature, if America had to go to Europe for her Music and her ideals, by God you will have to go to the foreigners for liberty.

I wish to say here, and I don't say it with any authority and I don't say it as a prophet, I merely tell you--I merely tell you the more people you lock up, the more will be the idealists who will take their place; the more of the human voice you suppress, the greater and louder and the profounder will be the human voice. At present it is a mere rumbling, but that rumbling is increasing in volume, it is growing in depth, it is spreading all over the country until it will be raised into a thunder and people of America will rise and say, we want to be a democracy, to be sure, but we want the kind of democracy which means liberty and opportunity to every man and woman in America”

Speech Against Conscription and War
by Emma Goldman
[Delivered at Forward Hall, New York City, June 14, 1917]

Sunday, August 27, 2006

I May Have Lost a Thread


Oscar Chichoni

This viral market eats its host
Father sunshine wholy toast
Time it steals from the wound inflicted
Open sores with sugar injected
What next will the vendor deliver
What banal lecture what moral sliver
Lightly sautéed and barely cooked
Half digested and overlooked

And here beneath the blue sky falling
The seller’s bluff the buyer’s calling
No more the sap who’ll buy the garbage
And be thankful for the holy privilege
Now we want a worldly warrantee
No trees destroyed no animal cruelty
No warpig gunships in cereal box offers
No oilfuck landfill for illegal coffers
No dusted corpses under dark agenda
No spineless newsmen relaying propaganda

Give us back that thin illusion
Of freedom won without collusion
At least then we can begin to cope
our hearts kept beating by a thread of hope

Friday, August 25, 2006

Have Complaints, Will Travel


I came across this map thingy via Karmyn R who comments on Spooks' blog and couldn't resist using it. One of those pointless excercises that are designed purely for idle amusement. You click on the countries you have visited, copy the generated code onto your post/template et voila... erm...

I fear I must make a few qualifications here since:

  • the only place I've been to in the U.S. is Galveston (eeuww!)
  • I have not been to the North Pole but it seems to be allocated as part of Norway
  • my travels in Namibia (South West Africa at the time), Angola and remote and shitty parts of South Africa were at the enforced behest of my dear friends at the South African Defence Force under P.W Botha and the Aparteid Regime.
Otherwise I have either worked, lived or holidayed in all of these countries.

I find it interesting to observe that what makes a country feel like somewhere foreign is not necessarily its natural landscape. For example, driving through New Zealand’s North Island has very strong similarities to rural Central Scotland.
To me, what makes a country feel foreign is the visual representation of the national personality in the chaos of it’s cities.
For example the character of the French is visible in the way they build their roads, their buildings and street markings, and the way they negotiate traffic (scary but entertaining).
Conversely there is an element of the physical landscape reflected in the national character –Norway’s climate is manifest in the stolid outlook of its people and their generally psychotic drinking habits. (This doesn't make them bad people I hasten to add.)
All of this can only be a sweeping generalisation of course, since larger countries, like India; USA; China and Brazil may contain a myriad of landscapes and cultural variations. I worked in Galveston for a while and upon hearing where I am from, a young Texan asked: “So where exactly is South Africa then?”
What can you say to that? Amusing, yes, but I do not believe that this sort of ignorance is necessarily representative of someone from New York or California. Nevertheless, enter any US city and you would not be able to mistake it for anywhere else.

It's like everything happens in the corner of your eye. When you visit another country, you focus on it all; the differences; the similarities - it's all there in front of you - but seeping in via the edges comes the personality of the people who live there.
National Character is a reality; we are different! It is only the gone-too-far concept of political correctness that demands that we make no comparison for fear of being branded 'racist'* (A crappy fear anyway, since we are not different because the tone of our skins is different; we are different because of our National Character).
At the end of the day we are all descendant from tribes - what we should not forget that every tribe must have started out as a handful of misfits breaking away from the herd and striking out on their own.
- And before anybody starts off telling me about the ol' pioneer spirit; just don't -
The problem with tribes is that they get pissed off when some stranger comes along talking about how shit their tribe is; how back in the other tribe they got much faster internet and their wummins is much more purdy aw shucks. Next thing you know tribe A's kicking the shit outta tribe B; raping their wummins and stealing their jobs. Dirty foreigners.

From The Far Queue dictionary of home-grown bullshit:
  • National Character: tribal traits - we've all got 'em I guess.
  • Nationalism: National Character perverted for political (and usually violent) ends.
All this aside, the irony is that I'm not one who ever wanted to travel - all I wanted was to get away from the country in which I was born.

But that's another story.


Thursday, August 24, 2006

Colony

Baa baa
This is the day when you piss in the fountain
Laugh at the town at the base of the mountain
This is the dust from teeth gritting frustration
Use it to build your future’s foundation
Shout it out loud from the pit of your gut
Pounding your fists on the doors that are shut
Doors that proclaim to be clean green non-racist
Energy efficient wild-life conservationist
barring entrance to rooms full of ill-gotten revenue
authoritarian dictatorship disguise as a virtue
Calvinist pursed lips pucker anus disdain
For those who would question the farmers’ refrain
“We’re simple folk here; good hearted and wise”
Oh for fuck’s sake wake up, clear the wool from your eyes

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

A Gothic Observatory


I’m not sure if the eyes in the back of my head are instruments of hindsight or paranoia.
I don’t know if I’m overtly sensitive or mentally fragile.
I don’t know if I’m right being left or conservatively sceptical.
You can shuffle the labels all you like; they all add up to nothing more than words.
But there are no words of wisdom that best describe, the four letter words so hopelessly overused by the world:

Life
In the dark shadows below furrowed brows lie the eyes of people in the street – unknown and unknowing; microcosmic world of accumulated memories and assorted fabrications, held together by the fear of death.

Love
Only you can set me free; no shadows beneath your brows so perfectly arch; you can make me see beyond the clouds of coming Christmas and the flights of migrating birds; your laughter at and with me, frees the caged birds of ominous portent that flutter in my gut.

Hate
Malignant cataract in the mind’s eye; excluding all else to consume and conspire.

Time
The docking bay where connections are made between one mind and another; a place where I am made valuable by the significance of you.

Yes, to look too closely at anything is to wander off into fields of ever-softer ground and there to be bogged down by analysis of soil too fine to comprehend – sub-atomic particles have little impact on my particular understanding of the world.
Yet to not look at all is to live a life devoid of meaning and awareness – to be unaware is to believe in something that does not exist [a heaven waiting in vain for the impossible saint; the chosen; the anointed few] - is to ignore the now in which we exist, the moment that is wholly owned and lost in perpetuity; the cusp of the wave dealt us by time and those little electric connections we call consciousness.

Not to look is to deny our own existence.


Saturday, August 19, 2006

View From The Treetops (20 Aug '06)

Where the vulture glides descending
on an asphalt highway bending

Goin' Down


through libraries

Love many, Trust a few, But always paddle, Ur own canoe


and museums




galaxies and stars




Lines from Neil Young's "Thrasher" 1979
Photos from a Saturday afternoon walk 2006.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

The Path


The Shining Path © Pisces Iscariot 2006

Our heads are populated with sound – with voices and music; industry and destruction; memory and delusion.
Ahead the sky is obscured with the clouds and dust of tomorrow’s dawning.
The plateau over which the path now travels is littered with objectives and objections; trip hazards of ethical barbs; moral metaphysics and material madness; political subroutines; corruption’s codes of practice and the smell of decaying flesh.

This litter may or may not become problematic - tomorrow or even later today.
We can step around it or over it so long as we have some other goal; some source of fulfilment to lean on.

Perhaps tomorrow the path may rise above the plateau; follow the treacherous edge of some outcrop; some volcanic blade of euphoric dimension; giving forth a view so exquisite and illuminating as to quicken the beat of the mind’s ritual dance.

Alternately the path may enter some crevasse whose sides will exclude the view; a crevasse perhaps so deep that only the stars may be visible when looking up, a view of vast proportion and sobering weight.

But through all possibilities the background noise will abstract and distract:

The wolf at the door will keep telling us about the wolf at the door.
In the house of straw the walls will be decorated with celebrity enhanced gloss and shouting advertisements to placate the mind - a process that smells of piglet piss and puerile posturing. A bargain at half the price.
Huddled inside, Hansel & Gretel will drop aphorism from slack-minded mouths; confetti at the wedding of greed and control; lyrics from the hymn sheet of deception. The nuptial cake’s figurines will be etched in sugar-coated cliché to flatter history’s lies and to arm the righteous with nest-feathered futures and fragile soap pedestals with which to line the path; a façade behind which atrocities thrive.

Pandora left one thing in the box yet trapped.

The ignorant; the enlightened; ghosts of former selves; visionary engineers and futurist savants; idiots and idiosyncratic advocates of sunshine; daughters of darkness; card sharks and carpet salesmen; mystics, wife-beaters and rapist of all denominations; faith healers and gurus; witches and psychic palm readers; paedophiles and saints; the meek, the mild, the incurably romantic; the entangled; those with faces raised in blind faith; those with backs turned in abject despair; those with feet of clay or heads in the clouds; you, me, the Taliban, the free – all will tread this path, all wearing shoes fashioned of hope.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

The Artist Fills His Days with Black Ink


Flames of fervent faith lick at the heels of rawhide shoes as they flee the news of corporate crime on a global scale; green scars etched with economic nail.
Tassels of inertia on cowboy sleeves, shrunken heads of state adorn the body’s bloated greed.
And of the faces of those spectators who line the path, some will look, many will act, but most will avert their eyes, questions unasked for fear of reprise.
And beside the path grow paper trees, cut from pages of glossy magazines whose pornographic motivator is to titillate and tease.
But whose carbon copy edit adds fuel to fire’s feed.
While from windows bare of curtain care glow candle flames and alarms from laptop battery low.
His black ink squid scrawls truth and lies, slipping paranoid beneath the radar spies.
What human values lie in blasted limbs and dusted children dead; in border lines of racial genocide; in warfare declared by capital and real estate gain; in disagreements solved not with dialogue comma colon question mark - but with ballistic full-stop underlined?
To the earth are returned the dead too soon; fruitless and unfulfilled; martyrs to nothing; newspaper clippings whose names are not known or shouted on street corners.
Nor will their lives make a difference to those living dead, who see no value in life but who would kill for land; sterile land thorn tree spread.
And soon the heels of shoes will be lost to feet bare; calloused by neglect they will move on from here; the path will fork and the story disappear - behind trees of complacency and in the face of greater lies.
For Mazen Kerbaj

Sunday, August 13, 2006

One Hundred

In an effort to allay the indigestion caused by over-self-indulgent navel gazing
I thought that this centennial post should serve The Far Queue with a few antacids of wisdom.

------------------------------------------------------

Oh Mabel, I could have sworn he called me a strumpet!
‘Listen a hundred times; ponder a thousand times; speak once.’
- Turkish Proverb
------------------------------------------------------

You've fucked it up this time Noah - lemme see those plans again!
'Ten soldiers wisely led will beat a hundred without a head.'
- Euripides
------------------------------------------------------

yap! yap! yip! yap! ruff! woof! bark! woof! bark! bark! ruff! ruff! yip! woof! yap! woof! ruff! yip!yip! yap! woof! yap! woof! yip! yap! woof! bark! bark! ruff! ruff! yip! woof! bark! bark! ruff! ruff! yip! woof! yap! woof! ruff! yip!yap! woof! ruff! yip! yap! yap! yap! yip! yap! ruff! woof! bark! woof! yip! yap! woof! yap! woof! yip! yap! woof! bark! bark! ruff! ruff! yip! bark! bark! ruff! ruff! yip! woof! yap! woof! ruff! yip!woof! yap! woof! ruff! yip! yip! yap! ruff! woof! bark! woof! yip! yap! woof! bark! bark! ruff! ruff! yip! woof! yap! woof! ruff! yip!Woof! Woof! Yap! Yip!

‘One dog barks at something and a hundred bark at his sound’
- Chinese Proverb
------------------------------------------------------

So this one says to the other one, I told you a hundred times I ain't doin' it without a condom Bwahahahahaha!What Planet are you from Sonny?

'You can live to be a hundred if you give up all the things that make you want to live to be a hundred.'
- Woody Allen
------------------------------------------------------

twinkle twinkle
100 BL Lac Galaxies

'Let a hundred flowers bloom, let a hundred schools of thought contend.'
- Mao Tse-Tung
------------------------------------------------------

Fuckin' crowded in here innit mate?100 Buddhas

‘It is better to spend one day contemplating the birth and death of all things than a hundred years never contemplating beginnings and endings.’
- Hindu Prince Gautama Siddhartha, the founder of Buddhism, 563-483 B.C.

Friday, August 11, 2006

The Man Who Bought My Skin

in hoc signo vinces: In this sign thou shalt conquer. (The motto is said to have been adopted by Constantine after his vision of a cross in the heavens just before his decisive battle with Maxentius, A.D. 312.) Zdzislaw Beksinski (1972)

Watching from the room behind your eyes
Yellow teeth flash in a friendly face
Wishing you didn’t have to over-analyse
Wishing you could join the human race

With blissful ignorance of all action taken
Blind faith in gods created from cut-out
Anaesthetised dealing in hearts bruised and shaken
Surgeon’s cold hand in cavities of doubt

Lost in the halls of organised culture
Where pictures hang high over upturned faces
in the pit of his gut breeds a Darwinian ulcer
Born in the nefarious conflict of races

Continents in blood bathed children cry
Bullets and bombs and empire’s advance
Lumber forward to the lip of blue sky
Occluded by clouds of profiteering vengeance

Onward to Mars in the plunderer’s delusion
The language of hope for the body’s demise
Nobody sees us, it’s all an illusion
Reaping rewards while the temperatures rise

Trees made of glue and plastic and oil
Heads full of murder and hands full of blood
run for the edge where the seas swirl and boil
or wait at the levee for the next killer flood

the sun bursts through the cold cloud at his shoulder
his glass eye gleams with a deep buried humour
You smile in return a thousand years older
dead to the world, just another consumer.

Thursday, August 10, 2006

The Heart is a Mythical Organ

Mask of Death

much as i appear to be a creature of intellect there are elements of the entity in which i reside that defy the mind’s analysis.
my inability to analyse my emotions
the ache of the past’s demise
emotions that well beneath my perceived skin, threatening to burst forth in tears that may never stop
the ache of present isolation
the futility of this interface - a wisp of smoke in the fog.
the familiar lines of her face, etched from that memory onto the wall of my space.
the ache that it brings
the tug of synaptic connections that lack an organ to manipulate.
the faces of my fatherless children seen in profile as they were led away from my hospital bed.
the faces of brown children with flies in their eyes.
napalmed villages revenge riddled.
the reptilian faces of world leaders in conference
the bombers and the bombed
the blood
am i man or am i machine?
the interface gives an answer of:

inadequate data input.

i bang at the sides of my space, careful to avoid her face.
my efforts make little sound.
i bang harder and yell
my left fist crumples at the knuckle of my little finger.
it causes me no pain.

a new menu has appeared on the interface; a menu not devised by me.
it reads “knowledge is its own reward”
i enter
it leads me to this:

1. immortals
2. mortals

i am afraid to enter.

EXCERPT FROM 'Markov Chain'

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

View From The Treetops (9 Aug 06)

Real News From Beirut


Mazen Kerbaj Reporting on Kerblog

-------------------------------


Christian Fundamentalist Army?



David Byrne worries about the indoctrination of children into the right-wing army of Jesus. He equates certain 'Jesus Camps' to the Madrassas (Islamic religious instructional schools)

-------------------------------



Banksy

Chase Me
You may have seen pictures of Banksy's work on the Israeli wall. His work takes grafitti to a new level, cheeky, political and subversive.
Visit Banksy's website for loads of artwork both on and off the walls.

Flowerchucker

Sunday, August 06, 2006

Shooting at Shadows


I don’t know anything
I don’t know nothing
I don’t know which way the wind blows or which way is up
I don’t know what I don’t know
I don’t know who’ll stop the rain or what’s in a name
I don’t know the score; the word on the street or what’s goin’ down
I don’t know what I’m gonna do when they come for me…

Don’t know whether I’m Arthur or Martha
Don’t know the way to Amarillo or San Jose
Don’t know the way to go home
Don’t know where you go to my lovely (when you’re alone in your bed)
Don’t know what’s happenin’ brother or who your daddy is

I cant give you directions on the roadmap to peace
I can’t tell you the angle of the axis of evil
I can’t direct you to the maternity ward where democracy is being born, or the operating theatre where they’re creating a better future
I can’t see through the windows of opportunity; can’t find the bottom line – dotted or otherwise – to sign on
I can’t see by the dawn’s early light, or by the light of the moon; can’t hear the drums Fernando

Can’t find the teacher who will mark my papers politically correct

I find it difficult to watch my step; my peas and far queues

I don’t give a damn about the markets; inflation or the nation’s GDP
I don’t care how fast you can get from nought to sixty
I don’t want to read your recipes for happiness
I don’t care who wins the league or the cup or the gold medal
I don’t want to hear about the top ten anything
I don’t want to hear about your god

I do know that there is a deeper truth than what is presented as fact
I do know that to define yourself by faith, race, career, gender or nationality is to limit your potential
I do know that just as freedoms are taken away by increments so too can the system be incrementally changed; one voice is not necessarily powerless
I do know that I can be proven wrong
I do know that the deeper truth can be harder to swallow than a shallow lie

Rise



Friday, August 04, 2006

A Message to the Free


You speak so loud that nothing can travel toward you (except anger).
And what you speak is second-hand advertising for a product long past its sell-by date.
Your shoes are on fire but you can’t move ‘cos your insurance don’t cover hot-footing it to higher ground and other acts of god.
Your jobs, gas, children and partners are all fair game for the lowest bidder.
Your borders are constructed from hollow invective, your homes of genetically modified straw, your tabernacles empty of morality.
Go on, order up another gut-buster steak (if you can finish it you get it free) with a side order of flies and sugar-free Covert-Cola.
‘Buy America’ Apache helicopters and Freedom Missiles, you selflessly arm the oppressed people of Israel, finance democratic leaders in Iraq, Afghanistan, East Timor, Sudan, Colombia.
All hail new democratic leaders in brown suits that they will invariable exchange for flashy uniforms and classy admiralty hats.
Blood rites.
Blood brothers.
This is my body this is my blood.
Bloodbath.
You incite religious fanatics to become strong and buy more bombs and maybe later a burger and a Pepsi to finance the covert ops that brought them to power.
Your Spooks in mufti kill followers of A in the name of B, followers of B in the name of A; divide and destroy.
But you needn’t worry about all that; it’s all being done to protect you and your future from the axis of evil™ - what you don’t know is being done in your name can’t hurt you.
Tuck yourself in with a bowl (extra large) of designer ice-cream and check out the talent on American Idol. Don’t worry about the world (where the hell is the East Timor anyway?)
And when the rapture comes (praise the lurid) your reward points will await you in heaven, DNA, retinal checks and cavity searches at the Pearly gates.
Cash in those Reward Points (Pension plan C) that you earned by being a god-fearing gun-toting sonofabitchin' pro-life Republocrat consumer.
God bless America (Home of the slave)

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

End of the World Sale


Come and get it folks!

a million dollars worth of chocolate covered steak knife
share options, tax havens, seventy years of Botox half-life
Supplementary income, a second job to match the first
another nail in the soul more salt for your thirst
iPod Eye Toy eye-for-an-eye tooth and claw
electronic enhancement for not doing what you never did before
Petrol head chainsaw Sunday morning environmental fornication
trees have to go they’re blocking our view
dead children in Africa; the eve of destruction
charity begins at home so does construction
good guys vs bad guys entertaining the nation
live action big screen reality teenage titillation
the meaning of life in five easy flavours
blackcurrant napalm and neutron
orange agent, shark fin in synthetic solution
war on terra firma drugs caffeine Colombia
capital gains and weight loss painting by numbers
new age new gods the kingdom of heathen
a free ticket to Hollywood, a stairway to Steven
Spielberg morality Mel Gibson Messiah
Scorsese fascism and Brando desire
the fountain of youth in the hall just for show
celebrity breasts and teeth white as snow

Everything Must Go! Get in now before we blow!

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Dreams of Flight

The Fall of Icarus - Pieter Breugel


Icarus fell from clear sky blue eyes streaming
Tears of joy confirmed his unfulfilled dreaming
Daedalus watched from his mediocre flight path
Torn between sorrow and uncontrollable wrath

The road that he’d fashioned from rags of his hope
From cynicism, cold ethics and moral isotope
With a half-life of nothing and a head full of smoke
Was a wing and a prayer, a trick made of rope

A trick of the light perhaps a mental mirage
Allowed him to see from the eyes of the fallen
Permitted his viewpoint to include the visage
Of the moth as he hit the flame of his calling

The trajectory of the fall does not define the life
In any terms other than the cold line of time
Whose calculated construct cold as a knife
Leads us on with promise of diamonds in the mine

Bookshop

Buy this book on Lulu. Kindle Version
Kindle Version
© Garth Erickson. Powered by Blogger.

Followers

Page Ranking Tool
Creative Commons License