I returned to Monster Halloween and the old Hollywood Video building one last time (maybe), to hang a sign for the building's owners, and to meet with Stephan, a sixty year old black man who owns a business on the North Side. He wanted our front desk, the former Hollywood Video front desk. We weren't required to move it, but he wanted it, so I agreed to a meeting.
The desk is a colossal thing, pressed laminate, designed not to be taken apart without destroying it. Which meant a considerable amount of unnecessary strain in moving it. (What gives a man the right to design such a thing? The Market, of course.) Stephan showed up with an SUV, which meant three trips to his North Side shop. I thought to go with him the first trip, but I didn't. Instead, I stayed in the cold and empty building and thought about the move The Road, based on the Cormac McCarthy book, dancing around the open floor, working with a broomstick, thinking about Great Difficulties and how such times exaggerate the qualities of men, good and bad.
I wasn't in a very good mood by the time Stephan returned 90 minutes later. A friend had borrowed me her car, which I told her I would return at 5:00. It was almost six, and there were two more loads.
He offered to return another day, but I wasn't interested in that. I decided to help him unload, so I hopped in the SUV and we were off to the North Side.
Stephan is a good looking man, with a neatly trimmed white beard and a former body builders body. He has an equally beautiful wife, a blessed spirit who preaches the Word, and teaches leadership to prospective nursing assistants. Stephan is often heard saying, "Praise Jesus", "Praise the Lord." It is less proselytizing, more like an incantation to ward off evil spirits. His wife, being the gentle, trusting spirit she is, is often taken advantage of. Stephan is a former hustler, who knows one when he sees one. Half her congregation disappeared when he showed up.
We got to talking about the black community. He has two kids, good people with abundant talents but insatiable desires; nothing is ever enough. He sees it all the time at his wife's classes, at her church. People wanting without the capacity to give. "Never any money, always a story about this or that. Me, I'm grateful for everything I get. They ain't grateful for nothin'. Always trying to take advantage. I see it, I call it out. But I'm the bad guy. I don't mean to hurt anybody, I just call it what it is. Jesus says turn the other cheek, but he didn't mean let people do you like that. He didn't mean you just let yourself be taken advantage of." He is his wife's protector. And a good one, I think.
He counters. "I hear all this talk like the North Side's such a bad place," he says, laughing. "Let me tell you, the North Side ain't nothin' like a lot of cities I been to. All this talk too, like they know what's best, like they're gonna fix the place." He laughs again. "It's the same stuff I been hearin' since the fifties. The same stuff and not much of anything ever gets done."
"And it's not ever going to get done, either," I reply. "The only thing that can heal the black community is the black community."
"That's right, he says,"You go around with darkness in your heart, takin' advantage of people and expecting to have whatever you want whenever you want it, ain't nothin' gonna change for the better. People acting like they can do whatever they want, without any regard for their fellow man.
"The White Man," he laughs. "Everybody complainin' about the White Man. White Man, nothin'. We're all people. We're all human. White folk ain't got it any better than black. Were all servin' the Man. We're all hurtin'. White people are sufferin' too."
He robbed a bank when he was 24, spent some time in Lewiston, bounced around various hard-ass Federal facilities. "I was a stupid kid, didn't know what I was doing or what it meant. Never knew my dad and my mom died when I was 21, didn't really know her either.
"You want to keep people out of jail. Tell you what, it costs $70,000-$100,000 every year to keep a man incarcerated. Give a brother a job and $70,000 a year and I guarantee a lot of brothers are gonna think twice about gettin' into trouble."
"But that's not the point," I tell him. "Like my good friend Snake says, If you have a choice between building a hotel that's half full most of the year, or a jail that's full all year, every year, year after year, what are you going to build?" Stephan's an old hustler. He laughed long and deep about that one.
"Right, he says, thinking. "Prison guards, food vendors, clothing vendors, linens..."
"What do you think drugs are illegal for, anyway?" I say. "A very lucrative business, keepin' people in a cage. Your investors and vendors aren't going to be happy if the jail isn't full."
He asked if I was a Christian. I said no. "Well, what are you then?" I told him a story about giving my life up in service to the Goddess; that I didn't know what it would mean but my life changed irrevocably for the better after that. That every day I repeat "My Goddess, my Goddess, my Goddess, my name is William Hunter Duncan, and I am in service to you." I had been pondering what he might think. "That's a beautiful testimony," he said. "That helps me, hearing you say that. That's a blessing for me.
"Whatever you call it, it's the same thing." This is a Christian I can relate to, I thought.
At his shop after the final load he kept telling me what a blessing this was, "the opportunity of a lifetime," he called it. He wanted to give me more money than the $53 he paid for the desk, but I wouldn't take it. He sells shoes. "What size do you wear?" He dug through a box and gifted me with a glittering (literally) pair of bronze and gold Nike's. "What the hell am I going to do with these?" I said. "Wear them, of course," he replied.
It didn't occur to me until later, the significance. I've been very ugly to myself lately. I haven't felt very worthy. I'm thinking of the bronze statue of Nike in our Shrine to the Goddess, at Monster Halloween. As for the corporation, I can take it or leave it. I generally don't advertise. As for the Goddess, I am very thankful. It is an honor to serve.
I've been very dark lately. Yet somehow, I am blessed. The meeting with Stephan; a job offer the first morning I felt free of Monster Halloween; and my childhood playmate has mysteriously appeared, living not much further away than we were growing up, which is to say, within easy biking distance. She is the peace pirate Miss Chiff. She has hair like a magical woodland sprite and a big Newfoundland/Labrador/Shepherd named after a king. I'm not sure where the name Miss Chiff comes from, but I'm curious to find out.
Thank you, Stephan. Blessings. We are brothers, indeed.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Fire God
Biking through my neighborhood on a sunny morning. The sun feels good, though the air is very cold, about 10 degrees. I weave in and out the peaked shadows of houses, through shadowed webs of tree branches and telephone poles, contemplating mortality, the dragon, the fire god, and my species head long rush toward oblivion.
Any one man could bring down any one of the big banks from within, quite easily. Shut down all activity associated with the bank for days, maybe weeks, costing the economy tens, perhaps hundreds of billions of dollars. Of course, they would get the bank running again, and the hacker would spend the rest of his life in a cage while society debated the merits of his action, while the banks continued to centralize economic control. It would serve no purpose at all but statement. You aren't going to end the worship of the Market and the poisoning of the Earth by temporarily disabling a bank.
The sun, however, could wipe out banking worldwide, in a moment. We are heading into what is know as a solar maximum, the peak in the cyclical eleven year ebb and flow of sunspots. Sun spots are magnetic storms that periodically unleash Coronal Mass Ejections (CME), energetic solar wind which sometimes collides with the Earth. Our atmosphere generally channels this energy toward the poles, causing the northern lights, that energy then funneled into the Earth. Occasionally, the solar wind is so powerful it can disrupt communications, fry electrical stations, even knock satellites out of commission. We know the sun is capable of CME's that could wipe out satellites globally, even disable the electrical grid of whole continents. In the dark, in a moment, indefinitely.
It is also true the Earth has been hit by interstellar debris so large it initiated tectonic activity world-wide, dust and ash clouding the sky for years, causing mass specie extinction. The Earth alone is capable of such devastation - the Toba supervolcano eruption 75,000 years ago led to climate change so severe, some believe it was the near extinction of Homo sapien sapien. Yellowstone has that same potential.
The WikiLeaks dispersal of sensitive US diplomatic cables largely reveals that people act well, and people act badly, even among sky gods, and it is becoming increasingly difficult to navigate a political realm where increasing numbers of people are capable of initiating global, thermo-nuclear devastation. Thank you, Juilan Assange et al. I am so looking joyward to the release of sensitive Bank of America memos.
Sitting in my sun room, the sun on my face making vitamin D, my hair standing on end as I contemplate a nuclear Iran, with their Ayatollahs and their militant jihadist hatred of Israel and the West; Kim Jong-il and his prickly man/child successor son; rogue Islamist Talibanic nutjobs in the Pakistani military; end-times advocates in Israel. The world is increasingly volatile and the great global Market churns away blissfully oblivious to its affect, exacerbating the volatility - and I am so angry and so tired of being angry, the way we are courting this revenge of the fire god. The way we poison the Earth and ourselves and then wonder why the world is such a mess.
My friend Snake thinks we don't think enough about death. That's about right. If we think about death at all, we think about how to avoid it. Which may seem practical, but in fact it only exacerbates the probability of death on a grand, even epic scale. Seven billion Homo sapien sapien finding ever more creative ways to kill each other, in the name of staying alive, to take over the world. Or in the case of suicide bombers, giving up on the instinct to survive, entirely.
God and Goddess have nothing to do with it, except insofar as they are used, God in particular, to justify the use of violence, the act of destruction, the accumulation of vast resources and the power that is associated with such control.
Death? I am going to die. I have no desire to avoid it. But I can tell you, whether it be fire from the sky, fire from the sun, fire from the Earth, fire from Homo sapien sapien, I will endeavor to survive. I will help others survive. If I do not first destroy myself with my anger.
And why am I so angry? Because this Earth is a wonderful and blessed, beautiful garden, and my species is destroying it.
Any one man could bring down any one of the big banks from within, quite easily. Shut down all activity associated with the bank for days, maybe weeks, costing the economy tens, perhaps hundreds of billions of dollars. Of course, they would get the bank running again, and the hacker would spend the rest of his life in a cage while society debated the merits of his action, while the banks continued to centralize economic control. It would serve no purpose at all but statement. You aren't going to end the worship of the Market and the poisoning of the Earth by temporarily disabling a bank.
The sun, however, could wipe out banking worldwide, in a moment. We are heading into what is know as a solar maximum, the peak in the cyclical eleven year ebb and flow of sunspots. Sun spots are magnetic storms that periodically unleash Coronal Mass Ejections (CME), energetic solar wind which sometimes collides with the Earth. Our atmosphere generally channels this energy toward the poles, causing the northern lights, that energy then funneled into the Earth. Occasionally, the solar wind is so powerful it can disrupt communications, fry electrical stations, even knock satellites out of commission. We know the sun is capable of CME's that could wipe out satellites globally, even disable the electrical grid of whole continents. In the dark, in a moment, indefinitely.
It is also true the Earth has been hit by interstellar debris so large it initiated tectonic activity world-wide, dust and ash clouding the sky for years, causing mass specie extinction. The Earth alone is capable of such devastation - the Toba supervolcano eruption 75,000 years ago led to climate change so severe, some believe it was the near extinction of Homo sapien sapien. Yellowstone has that same potential.
The WikiLeaks dispersal of sensitive US diplomatic cables largely reveals that people act well, and people act badly, even among sky gods, and it is becoming increasingly difficult to navigate a political realm where increasing numbers of people are capable of initiating global, thermo-nuclear devastation. Thank you, Juilan Assange et al. I am so looking joyward to the release of sensitive Bank of America memos.
Sitting in my sun room, the sun on my face making vitamin D, my hair standing on end as I contemplate a nuclear Iran, with their Ayatollahs and their militant jihadist hatred of Israel and the West; Kim Jong-il and his prickly man/child successor son; rogue Islamist Talibanic nutjobs in the Pakistani military; end-times advocates in Israel. The world is increasingly volatile and the great global Market churns away blissfully oblivious to its affect, exacerbating the volatility - and I am so angry and so tired of being angry, the way we are courting this revenge of the fire god. The way we poison the Earth and ourselves and then wonder why the world is such a mess.
My friend Snake thinks we don't think enough about death. That's about right. If we think about death at all, we think about how to avoid it. Which may seem practical, but in fact it only exacerbates the probability of death on a grand, even epic scale. Seven billion Homo sapien sapien finding ever more creative ways to kill each other, in the name of staying alive, to take over the world. Or in the case of suicide bombers, giving up on the instinct to survive, entirely.
God and Goddess have nothing to do with it, except insofar as they are used, God in particular, to justify the use of violence, the act of destruction, the accumulation of vast resources and the power that is associated with such control.
Death? I am going to die. I have no desire to avoid it. But I can tell you, whether it be fire from the sky, fire from the sun, fire from the Earth, fire from Homo sapien sapien, I will endeavor to survive. I will help others survive. If I do not first destroy myself with my anger.
And why am I so angry? Because this Earth is a wonderful and blessed, beautiful garden, and my species is destroying it.
Sewer
I'm having breakfast with my friend Snake, tomorrow morning. My clothes are long overdue for a wash. I've been meaning to do it for a week or better, but the opportunity presented itself. Actually, I could have washed my clothes Thanksgiving night, at my sister's; but the truth is, I haven't really cared.
Snake won't mind if I show up smelly, but we'd both rather I smell strong, pleasantly. So, I thought I might try the laundry machine downstairs, though it hasn't run in more than two years. I think the drain is open enough.
A test run. No clothes, just detergent and water. And now there is an inch of water in places, on the floor. Fuck.
I send the sewer auger down the drain. I can feel it building, my anger, the farther the auger reaches toward the sewer. I'm cursing God again. Fuck you God. Fuck you, God. What did I ever do but try to be a good man, to protect the Earth, to treat people well? What the fuck, God?
And I know it's all childish and irrational because I know I've unplugged the sewer as far as this auger will reach and it's another thirty or forty feet to the sewer. I pull the auger out and curse, standing in water. Fuck you God. You know what? Fuck you too, Goddess. What the fuck? What the fuck do you got to say about it? Fuck you.
The whole world is a mess, increasingly ruled by despots, by men seeking to control, to control nations, to control the water, to control food. Fuck you, God. Fuck you, Goddess. What the fuck do you got to say about it? Nothing but silence. Almost nothing but what comes from men who rule, who support rulers.
I'm stomping through the house, cursing. I step outside into the cold, to the garage, to gather a rubber tub I used this summer to gather water under a downspout. I carry the tub downstairs, set it behind the washing machine and hang the washing machine drain from the edge. I fill the machine with clothes, turn it on and stomp upstairs. I sit down on the couch.
They are talking about adding 25,000 field staff at the FDA, pursuant the passing of s510, the Food Safety Modernization Act. I wouldn't mind 25,000 men and women of service, assuring Monsanto, Cargill, Archers/Daniels/Midland etc. don't succeed in taking over the food supply. That's what this bill really is, a response to the local foods movement. Sky gods are losing market share.
What we are likely to get instead is 25,000 attack dogs hounding farmers growing food responsibly and delivering it to their neighbors, eliminating the competition, ruining families. Both parties would squawk "how awful," as they let it happen. The continued centralization of power, the food supply potentially controlled by one man serving a few dozen corporate masters. If you call yourself a Republican and support that, you have lost your way. The Republic cannot stand, the more centralized power becomes, when people lose control of their food supply.
And that is water splashing on my basement floor. Fuck. I walk downstairs, laughing, water pouring over the side of the tub. I shut off the washing machine. Fuck you God. Fuck you Goddess! Waatch you got to say? What the fuck you have to say? And there I am, standing in a pool of water and the extension cord connected to the washing machine is in the water.
That's how Thomas Merton died. A faulty wire connected to a fan, on the floor, in a bathroom, in southeast Asia.
I don't give a fuck how Thomas Merton died! Fuck you, waatch you got? Fuck you! Fry Me! Fuck. Fuck you. Fuck!...you.
I sit down on the washing machine and think about it, my head bowed, my eyes wet, my face numb. You think I'm angry? Spend a week in the jungles of Congo or Columbia, a few days in Mogadishu, a tour in the Afghan/Pakistan borderlands, Hanukkah in the West Bank or Gaza. I'm a puppy dog by comparison.
I walk to the garage, gather another tub and a milk jug with part of the top cut out, return downstairs and transfer water from tub to tub, restart the wash and wait, thinking about those young men I wrote about recently, wondering about wearing my wooden swords and patrolling the park on Fudo Myo, my bike. I heard from a man who knows a man who was in the park that day, who came upon the assault just as it was ending. There were many people in the park that day, it turns out. Had any one of them followed those young men, would the other assaults have happened? I wonder if most Americans are like that, finding reasons not to help, not helping in any way they can if they think there is any kind of danger? For all our talk about freedom, I wonder if we will one day accept a full-on centralized tyranny if we think it will keep us safe?
The wash is done and I carry it upstairs, hang it from 12-2 electrical cord I've strung six ways from screws I tapped into the top of a window and the bathroom door. The irony is, I have pants in the closet I could have worn. I could have patched something together nicely, to make myself presentable, not having had to wash clothes and get water on the floor and add two more tubs of standing water including the bath sink and the rubber tub in the bathtub. But I'm glad to have the clean clothes.
No question, I need to unplug the sewer drain. I need to find an auger that will reach, and maybe make the full commitment and tear up the floor. I have an idea about sending pex water lines down the drain to the sewer, to see if I can generate some radiant heat to help heat the house. I met a man this summer who thinks it will work.
Just don't tell the city I'm trying it.
Snake won't mind if I show up smelly, but we'd both rather I smell strong, pleasantly. So, I thought I might try the laundry machine downstairs, though it hasn't run in more than two years. I think the drain is open enough.
A test run. No clothes, just detergent and water. And now there is an inch of water in places, on the floor. Fuck.
I send the sewer auger down the drain. I can feel it building, my anger, the farther the auger reaches toward the sewer. I'm cursing God again. Fuck you God. Fuck you, God. What did I ever do but try to be a good man, to protect the Earth, to treat people well? What the fuck, God?
And I know it's all childish and irrational because I know I've unplugged the sewer as far as this auger will reach and it's another thirty or forty feet to the sewer. I pull the auger out and curse, standing in water. Fuck you God. You know what? Fuck you too, Goddess. What the fuck? What the fuck do you got to say about it? Fuck you.
The whole world is a mess, increasingly ruled by despots, by men seeking to control, to control nations, to control the water, to control food. Fuck you, God. Fuck you, Goddess. What the fuck do you got to say about it? Nothing but silence. Almost nothing but what comes from men who rule, who support rulers.
I'm stomping through the house, cursing. I step outside into the cold, to the garage, to gather a rubber tub I used this summer to gather water under a downspout. I carry the tub downstairs, set it behind the washing machine and hang the washing machine drain from the edge. I fill the machine with clothes, turn it on and stomp upstairs. I sit down on the couch.
They are talking about adding 25,000 field staff at the FDA, pursuant the passing of s510, the Food Safety Modernization Act. I wouldn't mind 25,000 men and women of service, assuring Monsanto, Cargill, Archers/Daniels/Midland etc. don't succeed in taking over the food supply. That's what this bill really is, a response to the local foods movement. Sky gods are losing market share.
What we are likely to get instead is 25,000 attack dogs hounding farmers growing food responsibly and delivering it to their neighbors, eliminating the competition, ruining families. Both parties would squawk "how awful," as they let it happen. The continued centralization of power, the food supply potentially controlled by one man serving a few dozen corporate masters. If you call yourself a Republican and support that, you have lost your way. The Republic cannot stand, the more centralized power becomes, when people lose control of their food supply.
And that is water splashing on my basement floor. Fuck. I walk downstairs, laughing, water pouring over the side of the tub. I shut off the washing machine. Fuck you God. Fuck you Goddess! Waatch you got to say? What the fuck you have to say? And there I am, standing in a pool of water and the extension cord connected to the washing machine is in the water.
That's how Thomas Merton died. A faulty wire connected to a fan, on the floor, in a bathroom, in southeast Asia.
I don't give a fuck how Thomas Merton died! Fuck you, waatch you got? Fuck you! Fry Me! Fuck. Fuck you. Fuck!...you.
I sit down on the washing machine and think about it, my head bowed, my eyes wet, my face numb. You think I'm angry? Spend a week in the jungles of Congo or Columbia, a few days in Mogadishu, a tour in the Afghan/Pakistan borderlands, Hanukkah in the West Bank or Gaza. I'm a puppy dog by comparison.
I walk to the garage, gather another tub and a milk jug with part of the top cut out, return downstairs and transfer water from tub to tub, restart the wash and wait, thinking about those young men I wrote about recently, wondering about wearing my wooden swords and patrolling the park on Fudo Myo, my bike. I heard from a man who knows a man who was in the park that day, who came upon the assault just as it was ending. There were many people in the park that day, it turns out. Had any one of them followed those young men, would the other assaults have happened? I wonder if most Americans are like that, finding reasons not to help, not helping in any way they can if they think there is any kind of danger? For all our talk about freedom, I wonder if we will one day accept a full-on centralized tyranny if we think it will keep us safe?
The wash is done and I carry it upstairs, hang it from 12-2 electrical cord I've strung six ways from screws I tapped into the top of a window and the bathroom door. The irony is, I have pants in the closet I could have worn. I could have patched something together nicely, to make myself presentable, not having had to wash clothes and get water on the floor and add two more tubs of standing water including the bath sink and the rubber tub in the bathtub. But I'm glad to have the clean clothes.
No question, I need to unplug the sewer drain. I need to find an auger that will reach, and maybe make the full commitment and tear up the floor. I have an idea about sending pex water lines down the drain to the sewer, to see if I can generate some radiant heat to help heat the house. I met a man this summer who thinks it will work.
Just don't tell the city I'm trying it.
Monday, November 29, 2010
For Chad
As I have been a bit serious in my posts of late, I thought I might add a bit of levity. I found the following words scrawled on a post-it note tacked to a telephone pole, as I was riding my bike through the plainest of Minneapolis neighborhoods. The handwriting was so curious very few could ever hope to read it without regular exposure. I think the guy must be lonely, and maybe downright nuts. Eccentric, for sure. Anyway, here it is, verbatim.
Exceptionally intelligent, talented, gifted, attractive, sexy, skilled, impecunious, perpetually under-employed, ever-effacing, athletic, nearsighted, bald but hairy SWM, seeking F, of similar qualities except the baldness and impecuniousness (then again, who am I to judge), near or farsightedness not being a problem, nor hairiness, necessarily. Must like dirt. Or, at least, be tolerant of. Accepting of odd and far-fetched perspectives hardly anyone has ever thought to entertain, or would, or will, or could. Must be open to big dreams with lots of do, even if some of those dreams are so big all the do there is won't make them happen. An automobile is acceptable, as is a functioning shower. Better yet, a claw foot tub. Because if we hook up I'll be bathing mostly at your house. You can borrow my garden tools if you share your vegetables. I'll show you my root cellar if you show me yours. A preference for dark beer over light is requisite, though not really if it comes down to that. I'll buy you either if I think I'm going to score. Though don't worry; any women who scores with me, I'm holding on to (unless of course she wants me to let go.) If interested, write your number on this post-it. I keep a constant eye on it with my binoculars, and as soon as you are out of sight I'm going to take it down and call. That is, if you are pretty, to me. If I don't think you are pretty, I might not call, but that doesn't mean I don't think you are beautiful.
I wrote the contents down in my notebook and left my telephone number. He called before I'd gone two blocks. He was disappointed to learn I was a guy, so clearly he doesn't have very high expectations. Anyway, ladies, I'd tell you which telephone pole he tacks the note to, but I don't think his neighbors would be open to a stampede, and I worry he might run out of post-its. I can only tell you I found the note not far from Lake Nokomis. Best of luck. He sounded nice, but I can't vouch for his hygiene, or his appearance.
Exceptionally intelligent, talented, gifted, attractive, sexy, skilled, impecunious, perpetually under-employed, ever-effacing, athletic, nearsighted, bald but hairy SWM, seeking F, of similar qualities except the baldness and impecuniousness (then again, who am I to judge), near or farsightedness not being a problem, nor hairiness, necessarily. Must like dirt. Or, at least, be tolerant of. Accepting of odd and far-fetched perspectives hardly anyone has ever thought to entertain, or would, or will, or could. Must be open to big dreams with lots of do, even if some of those dreams are so big all the do there is won't make them happen. An automobile is acceptable, as is a functioning shower. Better yet, a claw foot tub. Because if we hook up I'll be bathing mostly at your house. You can borrow my garden tools if you share your vegetables. I'll show you my root cellar if you show me yours. A preference for dark beer over light is requisite, though not really if it comes down to that. I'll buy you either if I think I'm going to score. Though don't worry; any women who scores with me, I'm holding on to (unless of course she wants me to let go.) If interested, write your number on this post-it. I keep a constant eye on it with my binoculars, and as soon as you are out of sight I'm going to take it down and call. That is, if you are pretty, to me. If I don't think you are pretty, I might not call, but that doesn't mean I don't think you are beautiful.
I wrote the contents down in my notebook and left my telephone number. He called before I'd gone two blocks. He was disappointed to learn I was a guy, so clearly he doesn't have very high expectations. Anyway, ladies, I'd tell you which telephone pole he tacks the note to, but I don't think his neighbors would be open to a stampede, and I worry he might run out of post-its. I can only tell you I found the note not far from Lake Nokomis. Best of luck. He sounded nice, but I can't vouch for his hygiene, or his appearance.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Where are the Men?
This weekend, four young men between the age of 13-16 were found after sexually assaulting several women in south Minneapolis. I will spare the details. Our impulse is to blame the parents. They share some of the blame. But I believe the fault reverberates throughout the culture of America. Where were the men in that park, in that alley, at any point in the life of these young men? It will be said these young men fell through the cracks. What good is that to the women who were raped? Clearly these young men had little if any interaction with men able to model the Sacred Masculine.
Why do I call them young men? Because a boy at thirteen goes through the physical transformation by which he becomes a man. But our culture does not recognise adulthood until one reaches the age of 18, and even then there are rights not extended to us. Historically, the men of the culture would take the boy going through that transformation and put him through a set of trials, after which he would be recognised by the whole community as a man among men. The older, wiser men would be there to guide the young man throughout his life. He would be encouraged to model Sacred Masculine.
In our culture, young men are left to figure it out for themselves. Most of us get lost, whether we know we are lost of not. If we are taught anything at all, it's mostly about how to get in line, how to bow down, how to rule. Manhood in America is most often associated with violence and ownership. The individualist creed so prominent in our culture says, "Every Man for Himself." It is the fundamental basis of modern economics, and there is nothing more sacred in this culture than the Market. Women are thought to be less than. Community is virtually dead, and so the presence of the watchful, protective eyes of strong, grounded adults is not a reality in most neighborhoods.
That thirteen year old got his initiation, from older men in his community. And for it several women and the children of one of those women will be haunted much of their lives. And we can all go back to our televisions and our jobs and forget, though in each of us is a vaguely unsettled feeling that something is not right with the world. How helpless we feel.
Cheers to the officers who are said to have interrupted the young men as their went about their awful work. Thank you. As for what to do about these young men, I admit I have had visions of killing them. I would be content to be allowed into a dim room, all four boys tied and bound. I will paint myself green, attach horns to my head, carry my deer horns and dance and roar. I promise I won't kill them. At most, I would demand from each how they hope to redeem themselves, and maybe puncture a thigh of each with a horn.
What? Do you suppose the "Justice" system can do better? Regardless, they will be treated as adults now. By the courts. Thrown in with the rest of the rapists and murderers. While the culture, which is us, goes about creating more and more young men without the ability to feel. More young men who laugh at the pain of others.
So, men, what are you doing to restore the sense of Sacred Masculine in yourselves? How are you modeling that for the boys and young men in your life? Good men, rise up. You are models, whatever you do. It can't be helped. Look deep inside and find healing. The world is in desperate need of good men, protectors. It can't be left to the police alone.
Why do I call them young men? Because a boy at thirteen goes through the physical transformation by which he becomes a man. But our culture does not recognise adulthood until one reaches the age of 18, and even then there are rights not extended to us. Historically, the men of the culture would take the boy going through that transformation and put him through a set of trials, after which he would be recognised by the whole community as a man among men. The older, wiser men would be there to guide the young man throughout his life. He would be encouraged to model Sacred Masculine.
In our culture, young men are left to figure it out for themselves. Most of us get lost, whether we know we are lost of not. If we are taught anything at all, it's mostly about how to get in line, how to bow down, how to rule. Manhood in America is most often associated with violence and ownership. The individualist creed so prominent in our culture says, "Every Man for Himself." It is the fundamental basis of modern economics, and there is nothing more sacred in this culture than the Market. Women are thought to be less than. Community is virtually dead, and so the presence of the watchful, protective eyes of strong, grounded adults is not a reality in most neighborhoods.
That thirteen year old got his initiation, from older men in his community. And for it several women and the children of one of those women will be haunted much of their lives. And we can all go back to our televisions and our jobs and forget, though in each of us is a vaguely unsettled feeling that something is not right with the world. How helpless we feel.
Cheers to the officers who are said to have interrupted the young men as their went about their awful work. Thank you. As for what to do about these young men, I admit I have had visions of killing them. I would be content to be allowed into a dim room, all four boys tied and bound. I will paint myself green, attach horns to my head, carry my deer horns and dance and roar. I promise I won't kill them. At most, I would demand from each how they hope to redeem themselves, and maybe puncture a thigh of each with a horn.
What? Do you suppose the "Justice" system can do better? Regardless, they will be treated as adults now. By the courts. Thrown in with the rest of the rapists and murderers. While the culture, which is us, goes about creating more and more young men without the ability to feel. More young men who laugh at the pain of others.
So, men, what are you doing to restore the sense of Sacred Masculine in yourselves? How are you modeling that for the boys and young men in your life? Good men, rise up. You are models, whatever you do. It can't be helped. Look deep inside and find healing. The world is in desperate need of good men, protectors. It can't be left to the police alone.
Friday, November 26, 2010
A Turkey: Senate Bill s510
This Thanksgiving holiday, which is more than any other American holiday, about food, consider briefly the s510 Food Safety Modernization Act. Sponsored by Senator Durbin of Illinois, it is ostensibly an attempt by Congress to prevent food-borne illnesses, which, due to the industrialization of the food supply, have become a nationwide problem. It has become increasingly common, the recall of greens or meat contaminated with e-coli, salmonella, etc, recalls more often than not encompassing ten or twenty or thirty states.
The bill would empower the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) with far greater oversight of food production. This, if passed and funded, would result in the hiring of hundreds of thousands, to fill new FDA positions. In a time of 17-18 percent unemployment, that would seem like a win-win situation. Better oversight of food production, more jobs.
Of course, you can bet, the bulk of that oversight will be felt by small producers providing to a local community. Invasive and unnecessary inspections of smaller farms and distributors, and not of the massive facilities controlled by and affiliated with the likes of Cargill, Archers-Daniels-Midland and General Mills. These companies and others like them, which also happen to be the greatest beneficiaries of farm-bill subsidies, will get a free pass, by virtue of well placed political contributions.
This is the kind of well meaning obtuseness offered by the Democratic party these days. "The business sector is not creating jobs. Here, let us do it." A whole new cadre of government bureaucrats enforcing rules, regulations and code, blind to the health of the economy, the Earth or people. Oh, the joy.
Here's an idea. As there is no money to create these Government jobs anyway, and we have a trillion dollar deficit and a 15 trillion dollar debt, end all farm subsidies. It is a curious and unfortunate reality that Government policy and the industrialization of the food supply has made the least healthy food-product the cheapest and most readily available. For those of us who would like to be honest about it, this contributes to the ill-health of the populace, which is very, very lucrative for the Health Care Industry, which is 20% of the overall economy.
End all subsidies for the industrial production of Corn, Soybeans, Wheat, Pork, Beef and Poultry. This will immediately result in farm foreclosures everywhere. Which is fine, frankly, because these will be the farms and farmers most beholden to the industrial way of things, which is unhealthy for the land and people. The land will return to the banks. Here is the tricky part. Banks have ceased to have any concern for the state of the Union, except insofar as things remain stable enough for banks and bankers to continue the process of controlling a greater and greater percentage of the economy - a change from about 10-15% to 30-35% in the last three decades - out of pure self-aggrandizement.
Americans, take the land from the banks. Use a portion of the subsidies we once paid to Industrial producers, and find young families who will grow food, in a healthy way, for X number of people. Use a portion of the fossil fuels we would otherwise burn producing industrial product, to deliver the healthy product provided by these rural families to the city.
Plant the city with gardens and fruit and nut trees, everywhere possible. Let everyone know where their food comes from, so there is a relationship between the grower and the consumer. This will lessen the likelihood of food-borne illnesses considerably. People eating healthier food will be healthier. Health Care costs will go down radically, which will make basic health care more available for more people.
Now, sky gods and the defenders of ill-health will say such a project will result in food shortages. It might, particularly if we rush into it. We are not likely to rush into it. More likely, if we consider it at all, we will deliberate indefinitely, and nothing will happen except the maintaining of the status quo.
We forget, I think, that we are Americans. A nation by, for, and of the people. We have been abdicating our responsibility a long time, handing our power to the sky gods of Institutions, saying, here, take this responsibility, we don't want it. Well, at some point, we take back that responsibility, or we cease to be a Republic and the dream that was America is dead.
Of course, the greatest barrier to our taking responsibility for our food supply and making people and the land and the Union healthier than it is, is not sky gods, or institutions, it's our addiction to High Fructose Corn Syrup and the like. It's the unhealthy way in which we eat, the unhealthy way in which we live, and our demand that we should have whatever Health Care we need whenever we need it. There it is. All change begins with oneself.
Whatever happens, Senate Bill s510 is everything that is wrong with Government. Spending money we don't have to complicate peoples lives while trying to attack a symptom and failing, when saving money with a different approach would eliminate the fundamental problem.
I had Thanksgiving with my sister and her family. We had fun. After dinner my niece pulled out all her scarves and a technicolor wig, and made me look like a glam Jimi Hendrix, (who, by the way, was more a patriot than most sky gods.) I had offered to buy the turkey, but my sister went ahead and bought one anyway. One of those industrial birds that never once in his life saw natural light, a bird bred for bulk and abject stupidity, fed a mixture of processed corn, chemicals, and probably, animal by-product, and copious amounts of antibiotics to keep him from keeling over dead, which he no doubt would have otherwise, before he reached a girth necessary to meet Wall Street expectations. Which bird, due to Federal subsidies, was $0.48/lb, as opposed to the bird I would have purchased, at $2.39 - $7.99 a pound, a locally raised bird that had something resembling a bird's life, provided by a local family I could go and visit, if I were so inclined. Would I be allowed to visit a Jennie-O or Tyson facility?
My sister cooked the bird until it collapsed. She didn't over-cook it, it simply collapsed, at about the same time it was ready to eat. Which may be why the production company didn't bother to include one of those cheap pop-up thermometers; it maybe wasn't just a cost-cutting means to maintain investor confidence. She asked me why I thought it collapsed and I started to talk about the life of the bird but she cut me off. She's got a baby on the way and a seven year old and there isn't much money coming in. She didn't want to hear about the miserable life of the bird she was about to eat. I'm not insensitive; all I was going to say was, the bird had a weak bone structure, for obvious reasons.
I didn't much like the idea of making my flesh of the flesh of a bird whose bone structure was so categorically weak, but I gorged. I think I ate about 3 or 4 lbs. Because it was there, it was offered to me by my sister, and I abhor self-righteousness. If I wanted a better bird I could have ridden my bike the ten miles to the Seward Co-op and back, like I told myself I would. But it has been eff-in cold this week and I've been content to ride my bike no further than the closest coffee shop, to write vehement exhortations on the state of our food supply and the ill-health of this blessed, over-indulgent America.
The bill would empower the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) with far greater oversight of food production. This, if passed and funded, would result in the hiring of hundreds of thousands, to fill new FDA positions. In a time of 17-18 percent unemployment, that would seem like a win-win situation. Better oversight of food production, more jobs.
Of course, you can bet, the bulk of that oversight will be felt by small producers providing to a local community. Invasive and unnecessary inspections of smaller farms and distributors, and not of the massive facilities controlled by and affiliated with the likes of Cargill, Archers-Daniels-Midland and General Mills. These companies and others like them, which also happen to be the greatest beneficiaries of farm-bill subsidies, will get a free pass, by virtue of well placed political contributions.
This is the kind of well meaning obtuseness offered by the Democratic party these days. "The business sector is not creating jobs. Here, let us do it." A whole new cadre of government bureaucrats enforcing rules, regulations and code, blind to the health of the economy, the Earth or people. Oh, the joy.
Here's an idea. As there is no money to create these Government jobs anyway, and we have a trillion dollar deficit and a 15 trillion dollar debt, end all farm subsidies. It is a curious and unfortunate reality that Government policy and the industrialization of the food supply has made the least healthy food-product the cheapest and most readily available. For those of us who would like to be honest about it, this contributes to the ill-health of the populace, which is very, very lucrative for the Health Care Industry, which is 20% of the overall economy.
End all subsidies for the industrial production of Corn, Soybeans, Wheat, Pork, Beef and Poultry. This will immediately result in farm foreclosures everywhere. Which is fine, frankly, because these will be the farms and farmers most beholden to the industrial way of things, which is unhealthy for the land and people. The land will return to the banks. Here is the tricky part. Banks have ceased to have any concern for the state of the Union, except insofar as things remain stable enough for banks and bankers to continue the process of controlling a greater and greater percentage of the economy - a change from about 10-15% to 30-35% in the last three decades - out of pure self-aggrandizement.
Americans, take the land from the banks. Use a portion of the subsidies we once paid to Industrial producers, and find young families who will grow food, in a healthy way, for X number of people. Use a portion of the fossil fuels we would otherwise burn producing industrial product, to deliver the healthy product provided by these rural families to the city.
Plant the city with gardens and fruit and nut trees, everywhere possible. Let everyone know where their food comes from, so there is a relationship between the grower and the consumer. This will lessen the likelihood of food-borne illnesses considerably. People eating healthier food will be healthier. Health Care costs will go down radically, which will make basic health care more available for more people.
Now, sky gods and the defenders of ill-health will say such a project will result in food shortages. It might, particularly if we rush into it. We are not likely to rush into it. More likely, if we consider it at all, we will deliberate indefinitely, and nothing will happen except the maintaining of the status quo.
We forget, I think, that we are Americans. A nation by, for, and of the people. We have been abdicating our responsibility a long time, handing our power to the sky gods of Institutions, saying, here, take this responsibility, we don't want it. Well, at some point, we take back that responsibility, or we cease to be a Republic and the dream that was America is dead.
Of course, the greatest barrier to our taking responsibility for our food supply and making people and the land and the Union healthier than it is, is not sky gods, or institutions, it's our addiction to High Fructose Corn Syrup and the like. It's the unhealthy way in which we eat, the unhealthy way in which we live, and our demand that we should have whatever Health Care we need whenever we need it. There it is. All change begins with oneself.
Whatever happens, Senate Bill s510 is everything that is wrong with Government. Spending money we don't have to complicate peoples lives while trying to attack a symptom and failing, when saving money with a different approach would eliminate the fundamental problem.
I had Thanksgiving with my sister and her family. We had fun. After dinner my niece pulled out all her scarves and a technicolor wig, and made me look like a glam Jimi Hendrix, (who, by the way, was more a patriot than most sky gods.) I had offered to buy the turkey, but my sister went ahead and bought one anyway. One of those industrial birds that never once in his life saw natural light, a bird bred for bulk and abject stupidity, fed a mixture of processed corn, chemicals, and probably, animal by-product, and copious amounts of antibiotics to keep him from keeling over dead, which he no doubt would have otherwise, before he reached a girth necessary to meet Wall Street expectations. Which bird, due to Federal subsidies, was $0.48/lb, as opposed to the bird I would have purchased, at $2.39 - $7.99 a pound, a locally raised bird that had something resembling a bird's life, provided by a local family I could go and visit, if I were so inclined. Would I be allowed to visit a Jennie-O or Tyson facility?
My sister cooked the bird until it collapsed. She didn't over-cook it, it simply collapsed, at about the same time it was ready to eat. Which may be why the production company didn't bother to include one of those cheap pop-up thermometers; it maybe wasn't just a cost-cutting means to maintain investor confidence. She asked me why I thought it collapsed and I started to talk about the life of the bird but she cut me off. She's got a baby on the way and a seven year old and there isn't much money coming in. She didn't want to hear about the miserable life of the bird she was about to eat. I'm not insensitive; all I was going to say was, the bird had a weak bone structure, for obvious reasons.
I didn't much like the idea of making my flesh of the flesh of a bird whose bone structure was so categorically weak, but I gorged. I think I ate about 3 or 4 lbs. Because it was there, it was offered to me by my sister, and I abhor self-righteousness. If I wanted a better bird I could have ridden my bike the ten miles to the Seward Co-op and back, like I told myself I would. But it has been eff-in cold this week and I've been content to ride my bike no further than the closest coffee shop, to write vehement exhortations on the state of our food supply and the ill-health of this blessed, over-indulgent America.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Thanksgiving - Good Men
Recently, I posted a "jobs" add on Craigslist titled Good Men. I encouraged men with children to apply, though the only true requisites were a good attitude, a solid work ethic and an ability to lift a heavy load. I was looking for one man to help me transfer the contents of Monster Halloween to the rented storage facility. A one day job, $10/hr, a meal and maybe beer afterwards. Not much, but something.
Fifty-seven good men applied, in the four hours the add was open. Many of them with children, almost all out of work, many from the trades, many out of work for a long time. Had I had the work I would have hired most of them. I didn't have much time to consider. It came down to two men, Mark R who is out of work and has a wife and three girls, and Kenny T, a new father. I chose Kenny, because he was reasonably articulate in his reply, because another man I had already hired is about to be a new father, and - this was the clincher - his son shares my birthday, the 4th of July.
Kenny did great. He's Texan, here because his father is. He doesn't much like the winter, though I wouldn't expect him to. I gave him $100 though he didn't work a full ten hours. But then, he worked more than ten, if you consider the bus ride and the waiting, between Uptown Minneapolis and Columbia Heights.
The Government says about 9% unemployment, but that's bullshit. It's more like 17-18%, and more than that if you consider the under-employed. The nation's economy grew about 2.5% last quarter, GDP has recovered to pre-2008 recession levels, but where are the jobs? I was under the impression that the Market is infallible. So we have been told, repeatedly.
Do we have any kind of plan for these good men, or are we simply going to leave it up to sky gods to figure it out? They are howling for tax cuts, you know, those sky gods. But eliminate sky god taxes entirely and it won't mean jack if they have no sense of civic, social responsibility. This is a Republic, yes? Or have we become a Plutocracy, in which case, the only real concern is the maintaining of order, that sky gods may become more powerful, more rich?
The trades aren't likely to improve, anytime soon. So what is going to happen to these men? the re-training argument is mostly pandering to the Higher-Education Industry, putting off the problem, a high-cost we can't afford. And what exactly are we going to retrain them to do?
I can think of a few things, like getting a handle on invasive species like Buckthorn, planting native habitats and growing healthy food. How about sustainable, passive-solar design? Problem is, if we rely on Government to set this up, are we going to get healthier landscapes and healthier food, more energy efficient homes, or just a big fat bureaucracy reinforcing itself, feeding on the populace, accomplishing little?
Blessings to all good men and their families, this Thanksgiving, this Holiday season. Rejoice in your family, friends and community. Rejoice in the Earth. Remember to smile. Play, especially if you have children. And to those who applied to my add, I'm sorry I couldn't hire you. Best of luck. And like you, I am now unemployed. One of those our Government does not count, because, as a contractor, I can't apply for unemployment benefits. Don't really want such benefits anyway. I don't have a family of my own to provide for. And as far as our Government is concerned, I don't believe it has any sense of what is best for the nation. In fact, I believe it is reinforcing both the ill-health of the Earth and people. Because we, as Americans, don't really know what we want. And if we think we do, we don't really know what it will cost. We have lost our way, and so, our Government has gone wayward, and we are all on a path that can not be sustained.
Fifty-seven good men applied, in the four hours the add was open. Many of them with children, almost all out of work, many from the trades, many out of work for a long time. Had I had the work I would have hired most of them. I didn't have much time to consider. It came down to two men, Mark R who is out of work and has a wife and three girls, and Kenny T, a new father. I chose Kenny, because he was reasonably articulate in his reply, because another man I had already hired is about to be a new father, and - this was the clincher - his son shares my birthday, the 4th of July.
Kenny did great. He's Texan, here because his father is. He doesn't much like the winter, though I wouldn't expect him to. I gave him $100 though he didn't work a full ten hours. But then, he worked more than ten, if you consider the bus ride and the waiting, between Uptown Minneapolis and Columbia Heights.
The Government says about 9% unemployment, but that's bullshit. It's more like 17-18%, and more than that if you consider the under-employed. The nation's economy grew about 2.5% last quarter, GDP has recovered to pre-2008 recession levels, but where are the jobs? I was under the impression that the Market is infallible. So we have been told, repeatedly.
Do we have any kind of plan for these good men, or are we simply going to leave it up to sky gods to figure it out? They are howling for tax cuts, you know, those sky gods. But eliminate sky god taxes entirely and it won't mean jack if they have no sense of civic, social responsibility. This is a Republic, yes? Or have we become a Plutocracy, in which case, the only real concern is the maintaining of order, that sky gods may become more powerful, more rich?
The trades aren't likely to improve, anytime soon. So what is going to happen to these men? the re-training argument is mostly pandering to the Higher-Education Industry, putting off the problem, a high-cost we can't afford. And what exactly are we going to retrain them to do?
I can think of a few things, like getting a handle on invasive species like Buckthorn, planting native habitats and growing healthy food. How about sustainable, passive-solar design? Problem is, if we rely on Government to set this up, are we going to get healthier landscapes and healthier food, more energy efficient homes, or just a big fat bureaucracy reinforcing itself, feeding on the populace, accomplishing little?
Blessings to all good men and their families, this Thanksgiving, this Holiday season. Rejoice in your family, friends and community. Rejoice in the Earth. Remember to smile. Play, especially if you have children. And to those who applied to my add, I'm sorry I couldn't hire you. Best of luck. And like you, I am now unemployed. One of those our Government does not count, because, as a contractor, I can't apply for unemployment benefits. Don't really want such benefits anyway. I don't have a family of my own to provide for. And as far as our Government is concerned, I don't believe it has any sense of what is best for the nation. In fact, I believe it is reinforcing both the ill-health of the Earth and people. Because we, as Americans, don't really know what we want. And if we think we do, we don't really know what it will cost. We have lost our way, and so, our Government has gone wayward, and we are all on a path that can not be sustained.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Economic Systems and my Anger
A dear friend of mine, Mark Helpsmeet, just returned from Cuba. He is a Quaker, and an enthusiastic folk dancer. A good man, too, on a mission of peace. I asked him how it went. "We were treated like rock stars. Imagine that!" he said, as he laughed heartily. He and his companions were, at some performances, mobbed. This is not a behavior they are accustomed to, as a response to the presentation of their traditional dances, in America. As fun and joyous as those presentations may be.
On one such occasion, in Cuba, a government official gave an address, as is evidently a common occurrence, there being so many government officials. At the end of this, the party official, after a long denotation of the evil Empire America, acknowledging the peaceful mission of Mark and his acquaintances, shouted, "Viva los estados unidos." Long live the United States. Which no one had ever heard from any party official anywhere in Cuba, in fifty years. But then, the Embargo is the only thing keeping that party in power.
I asked how the food was. I imagine Hispaniola to be a potential Eden, where just about anything might grow. Mark repiled that he had enough to eat. It may be a potential Eden, but the Cuban people have ration cards, which entitles them to less than a person needs to survive - at the time, 3lbs of rice, 1lb of beans and 5 eggs, per person, per month. Whatever more they need, they grow themselves, or buy on the black market. Which, evidently, doesn't amount to much more than just about enough.
I told Mark the rock star treatment probably means he's on an FBI watch list, that our phone conversation was probably being recorded. After agreeing that the US trade embargo is nothing more than the maintaining of a boogey man, we were sure to remind those government officials listening in, of the complete inviability of the Communist system. As for the making of boogey men, aren't Mexican drug cartels, militant homicidal Islamic Jihadists, bottle-eyed North Korean nuclear ambitionists, and Chinese Communist/Capitalist/Imperialists enough? I was under the impression we are supposed to be a beacon of light for the world? Would anyone like to explain why we are not shining that light on Cuba, without offering some tired nonsense about preventing the spread of Communism?
The Transportation Safety Administration officials who met Mark on his return acted as if he had visited the jungles of Congo or Colombia: "You are lucky to be alive, it's so dangerous there." It's not, but somehow our Government thinks it important that we think Cuba is violent, a threat to the United States. If we ended the embargo the Communist government would collapse with the first real wiff of Consumerism the Cuban people got. But then our Government would have one less boogey man to make us afraid with.
The Communist system is without any doubt inviable. It is even more destructive than Capitalism, the inviability of which hasn't quite played out yet.
Leaving for this trip to Cuba, Mark and his wife Sandra arrived at the Eau Claire airport about 25 minutes before the flight. This is a small airport, more like a small office on the tarmac. They were not allowed to board. There was a later flight, but the United Airlines tickets went from $800 to $2800. Then, on their return, United Airlines had no ticket for them, from Toronto to Minneapolis, unless they wanted to buy a new ticket. They drove instead.
Mark is, like me, after balance, wholeness and healing. Earlier this year, Mark had to pay $2500 for the right to build a garage, in Eau Claire County Wisconsin, USA. The county said the lot line ran through his bedroom. That, and a variance might be required to build a new garage on the site of the old garage, because it was about fifty feet from the road and not the required 60ft. The lot line did not run through his bedroom, and the garage wasn't a threat to the road or the drivers on it, but it cost he and his wife Sandra $2500 to get the county to acknowledge it.
This week I received my latest property tax statement from Hennepin County. Taxes increased 16.2%, about $400. That's not as bad as previous years, one year at 19%, another at 23%, if I recall correctly. In addition, my father recently noticed the county has the house listed under a non-homestead status. As I recall, both my father and I were adamant about homestead status, when we purchased the house. I looked at the mortgage. Sure enough, section 24, "buyer waves all right of homestead exemption in the property," our initials an inch and a half away at the bottom of the page.
A non-homestead status means we can be taxed at a higher rate, liens can be placed against the property, and it's easier for the bank to foreclose. In other words, that is motive for malfeasance, for banks, the financial industry and Government. An opportunity for predation. An invitation to rapaciousness.
I can't recall if I agreed to this or not. If I did, I certainly didn't understand the ramifications of it, and the banker wasn't educating me. It would not have been difficult for this to be manipulated in the Bank's favor. That would be Wells Fargo, by the way, the bank that holds my mortgage. I have friends who work for Wells Fargo. Dear friends. Good people. I want not to have to accuse the bank they work for of malfeasance and rapaciousness.
But then, I hear the banks are cutting small business credit lines in half. Two years after Banks were handing out credit as if it were high fructose corn syrup, you can't get credit unless you've got the assets to back the loan in full. Clearly, the sky gods who control these banks are idiots, that they should set the means for the implosion of the economy, and then tighten up like assholes in a blizzard when it's really spring and time for growth.
There was a time when credit was extended in part according to the character of the man asking for it. But it takes character to be a judge of it, and even if you have character and you can recognize it in others, in this age of International Lending Institutions, a branch banker isn't empowered to loan money based on character. The branch banker is empowered to loan money to any man without character, even if that man is a monster, if that monster happens also to be exceptional at making money.
I've been very angry, the past few days. The other day, as I was attending to the most unpleasant task of unclogging my sewer drain, I shouted twice, "Fuck you, God." Where did that come from? It's not God who rules this world, but men who pursue wealth and power at the expense of everything but themselves. Though God provides a great excuse.
I picked up the Koran last night. I almost put it down after the first page. I would expect the Word of God to start with something about joy, beauty and wonder, not a speech about the terrible chastisements awaiting unbelievers. Such a tone as this could only be set by a man in pursuit of control and domination, which may be expected in a world where murder, rape and plunder are a constant threat. Having grown up in a culture where these are not an immediate threat, I don't want to hear about control and domination and the awful Other. I want to hear about Joy, Beauty, Wonder, Balance, Wholeness, Healing. I want that message to be open to and embracing of the great multiplicity that is the Homo sapien sapien experience.
Here in America, we've tried a balance between Business and Government. We have emphasized both without emphasizing character. Consequently, we've got a Government and and Economic elite almost wholly unaccountable, unresponsive and elevated to an untouchable state. But we the citizenry have more power than we think. Democracy is dependent on a populace with character. It will be dependant upon the character of Americans whether or not we have a system that is accountable, responsive and within reach.
What is my recommendation? I recommend a year long holiday. Not from work, but from taxes and credit. That would assuredly implode both America's and the World's economy. It would take a vibrant and healthy local economy to ride out that storm. At the end of which, I would hope, sky gods would be considerably humbled, and existential threats will have diminished considerably.
Meanwhile, I'm paying my dues to banks, corporations and Government. I will continue, even as I use what they provide less and less. And I will cease to pay when my fellow Americans are fed up with this rapacious, predatory, and disempowering system that is leading us toward a terrible crash and burn, and willing to do something meaningful about it.
On one such occasion, in Cuba, a government official gave an address, as is evidently a common occurrence, there being so many government officials. At the end of this, the party official, after a long denotation of the evil Empire America, acknowledging the peaceful mission of Mark and his acquaintances, shouted, "Viva los estados unidos." Long live the United States. Which no one had ever heard from any party official anywhere in Cuba, in fifty years. But then, the Embargo is the only thing keeping that party in power.
I asked how the food was. I imagine Hispaniola to be a potential Eden, where just about anything might grow. Mark repiled that he had enough to eat. It may be a potential Eden, but the Cuban people have ration cards, which entitles them to less than a person needs to survive - at the time, 3lbs of rice, 1lb of beans and 5 eggs, per person, per month. Whatever more they need, they grow themselves, or buy on the black market. Which, evidently, doesn't amount to much more than just about enough.
I told Mark the rock star treatment probably means he's on an FBI watch list, that our phone conversation was probably being recorded. After agreeing that the US trade embargo is nothing more than the maintaining of a boogey man, we were sure to remind those government officials listening in, of the complete inviability of the Communist system. As for the making of boogey men, aren't Mexican drug cartels, militant homicidal Islamic Jihadists, bottle-eyed North Korean nuclear ambitionists, and Chinese Communist/Capitalist/Imperialists enough? I was under the impression we are supposed to be a beacon of light for the world? Would anyone like to explain why we are not shining that light on Cuba, without offering some tired nonsense about preventing the spread of Communism?
The Transportation Safety Administration officials who met Mark on his return acted as if he had visited the jungles of Congo or Colombia: "You are lucky to be alive, it's so dangerous there." It's not, but somehow our Government thinks it important that we think Cuba is violent, a threat to the United States. If we ended the embargo the Communist government would collapse with the first real wiff of Consumerism the Cuban people got. But then our Government would have one less boogey man to make us afraid with.
The Communist system is without any doubt inviable. It is even more destructive than Capitalism, the inviability of which hasn't quite played out yet.
Leaving for this trip to Cuba, Mark and his wife Sandra arrived at the Eau Claire airport about 25 minutes before the flight. This is a small airport, more like a small office on the tarmac. They were not allowed to board. There was a later flight, but the United Airlines tickets went from $800 to $2800. Then, on their return, United Airlines had no ticket for them, from Toronto to Minneapolis, unless they wanted to buy a new ticket. They drove instead.
Mark is, like me, after balance, wholeness and healing. Earlier this year, Mark had to pay $2500 for the right to build a garage, in Eau Claire County Wisconsin, USA. The county said the lot line ran through his bedroom. That, and a variance might be required to build a new garage on the site of the old garage, because it was about fifty feet from the road and not the required 60ft. The lot line did not run through his bedroom, and the garage wasn't a threat to the road or the drivers on it, but it cost he and his wife Sandra $2500 to get the county to acknowledge it.
This week I received my latest property tax statement from Hennepin County. Taxes increased 16.2%, about $400. That's not as bad as previous years, one year at 19%, another at 23%, if I recall correctly. In addition, my father recently noticed the county has the house listed under a non-homestead status. As I recall, both my father and I were adamant about homestead status, when we purchased the house. I looked at the mortgage. Sure enough, section 24, "buyer waves all right of homestead exemption in the property," our initials an inch and a half away at the bottom of the page.
A non-homestead status means we can be taxed at a higher rate, liens can be placed against the property, and it's easier for the bank to foreclose. In other words, that is motive for malfeasance, for banks, the financial industry and Government. An opportunity for predation. An invitation to rapaciousness.
I can't recall if I agreed to this or not. If I did, I certainly didn't understand the ramifications of it, and the banker wasn't educating me. It would not have been difficult for this to be manipulated in the Bank's favor. That would be Wells Fargo, by the way, the bank that holds my mortgage. I have friends who work for Wells Fargo. Dear friends. Good people. I want not to have to accuse the bank they work for of malfeasance and rapaciousness.
But then, I hear the banks are cutting small business credit lines in half. Two years after Banks were handing out credit as if it were high fructose corn syrup, you can't get credit unless you've got the assets to back the loan in full. Clearly, the sky gods who control these banks are idiots, that they should set the means for the implosion of the economy, and then tighten up like assholes in a blizzard when it's really spring and time for growth.
There was a time when credit was extended in part according to the character of the man asking for it. But it takes character to be a judge of it, and even if you have character and you can recognize it in others, in this age of International Lending Institutions, a branch banker isn't empowered to loan money based on character. The branch banker is empowered to loan money to any man without character, even if that man is a monster, if that monster happens also to be exceptional at making money.
I've been very angry, the past few days. The other day, as I was attending to the most unpleasant task of unclogging my sewer drain, I shouted twice, "Fuck you, God." Where did that come from? It's not God who rules this world, but men who pursue wealth and power at the expense of everything but themselves. Though God provides a great excuse.
I picked up the Koran last night. I almost put it down after the first page. I would expect the Word of God to start with something about joy, beauty and wonder, not a speech about the terrible chastisements awaiting unbelievers. Such a tone as this could only be set by a man in pursuit of control and domination, which may be expected in a world where murder, rape and plunder are a constant threat. Having grown up in a culture where these are not an immediate threat, I don't want to hear about control and domination and the awful Other. I want to hear about Joy, Beauty, Wonder, Balance, Wholeness, Healing. I want that message to be open to and embracing of the great multiplicity that is the Homo sapien sapien experience.
Here in America, we've tried a balance between Business and Government. We have emphasized both without emphasizing character. Consequently, we've got a Government and and Economic elite almost wholly unaccountable, unresponsive and elevated to an untouchable state. But we the citizenry have more power than we think. Democracy is dependent on a populace with character. It will be dependant upon the character of Americans whether or not we have a system that is accountable, responsive and within reach.
What is my recommendation? I recommend a year long holiday. Not from work, but from taxes and credit. That would assuredly implode both America's and the World's economy. It would take a vibrant and healthy local economy to ride out that storm. At the end of which, I would hope, sky gods would be considerably humbled, and existential threats will have diminished considerably.
Meanwhile, I'm paying my dues to banks, corporations and Government. I will continue, even as I use what they provide less and less. And I will cease to pay when my fellow Americans are fed up with this rapacious, predatory, and disempowering system that is leading us toward a terrible crash and burn, and willing to do something meaningful about it.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
IAMMPLS
I rode Fudo Myo (my bike) down to the Fine Line Music Cafe this evening, on invitation from Brant Kingman, the sculptor who loaned us his statue of Nike the goddess for our Ladies Boodoir. The occasion was the first I AM MPLS celebration, a toast to local cultural stars, of fashion, music, retail, etc. Brant was performing with his lady friend, Sylvia.
When I got there, there was a line, and the people in it were local hipsters who were exceptionally rude. I was bumped from the line about three times before I decided I was next. I didn't hold it against them as many were dressed as if it were June - until the blond in the red coat, standing upwind puffing on her cigarette tried to push me aside as she exhaled two lungs of smoke directly into my face. I stopped talking to security and looked at her. She backed off.
I had forgotten my ID at my house. To enter I had to agree to be marked: a black permanent marker X on the back of each hand. Don't serve that man. I didn't really need to be reminded I do not belong. Very few people in MPLS know who I am.
First introductions, then a very fun comic, Amber Preston (that's Aamber Preston, if you have her number in your contacts and are prone to drunk dialing.) Then came a parade of all those cultural folks featured, all but one Gen Xers. Ms Angie Arner and Ms Liz Nelson of CounterCouture were modeling clothes designed by a member of my staff, Katrina Elliot. Brant closed it out with a curious dance and light show. It was a kind of barbarian warrior, priestess show down, with a full battery of lasers and flashing LED's. A man of many talents, Brant. And Sylvia. Well, she is simply gorgeous. Very beautiful people, all.
A band called Estate followed the ceremony. I liked them very much. They called for dancers on the runway three times before I decided to accept the challenge. I danced for a full song, stalking that runway with as much joy as I could muster. It seemed to go over well. A lady a generation older told me I dance very well. Two beautiful black women gave me their raffle tickets before leaving. Two more ladies approached me, one asking if she could take her picture with me. She didn't realize I wasn't a scheduled part of the show. They wanted me to dance more, but I wasn't really dressed for it (three layers; though they suggested I remove most of them) and by that time there was a new band, the Red Pens, local faves with a very strong sound, but not really a beat I can dance to.
I could have followed Brant and Estate over to the Varsity Theater, but they didn't ask and I wasn't biking there. Really, I only wanted to go home (to the remains of Monster Halloween) and have a scotch. Just one, before bed. Maybe two.
Brant took away his sculpture this morning. There is no more shrine to the Goddess, here. Another two days and that will be the end of Monster Halloween, 2010. Then I retire to my house for the winter.
When I got there, there was a line, and the people in it were local hipsters who were exceptionally rude. I was bumped from the line about three times before I decided I was next. I didn't hold it against them as many were dressed as if it were June - until the blond in the red coat, standing upwind puffing on her cigarette tried to push me aside as she exhaled two lungs of smoke directly into my face. I stopped talking to security and looked at her. She backed off.
I had forgotten my ID at my house. To enter I had to agree to be marked: a black permanent marker X on the back of each hand. Don't serve that man. I didn't really need to be reminded I do not belong. Very few people in MPLS know who I am.
First introductions, then a very fun comic, Amber Preston (that's Aamber Preston, if you have her number in your contacts and are prone to drunk dialing.) Then came a parade of all those cultural folks featured, all but one Gen Xers. Ms Angie Arner and Ms Liz Nelson of CounterCouture were modeling clothes designed by a member of my staff, Katrina Elliot. Brant closed it out with a curious dance and light show. It was a kind of barbarian warrior, priestess show down, with a full battery of lasers and flashing LED's. A man of many talents, Brant. And Sylvia. Well, she is simply gorgeous. Very beautiful people, all.
A band called Estate followed the ceremony. I liked them very much. They called for dancers on the runway three times before I decided to accept the challenge. I danced for a full song, stalking that runway with as much joy as I could muster. It seemed to go over well. A lady a generation older told me I dance very well. Two beautiful black women gave me their raffle tickets before leaving. Two more ladies approached me, one asking if she could take her picture with me. She didn't realize I wasn't a scheduled part of the show. They wanted me to dance more, but I wasn't really dressed for it (three layers; though they suggested I remove most of them) and by that time there was a new band, the Red Pens, local faves with a very strong sound, but not really a beat I can dance to.
I could have followed Brant and Estate over to the Varsity Theater, but they didn't ask and I wasn't biking there. Really, I only wanted to go home (to the remains of Monster Halloween) and have a scotch. Just one, before bed. Maybe two.
Brant took away his sculpture this morning. There is no more shrine to the Goddess, here. Another two days and that will be the end of Monster Halloween, 2010. Then I retire to my house for the winter.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Bills and Bicycles
As I have no credit card to pay my bills with, I hopped on my bike and headed down Franklin Ave, to The Money Exchange, one of those tiny bomb-shelter, bullet-proof glass boxes. My sister called while I was inside paying Xcel Energy $350 to keep my electricity on; all I could hear was my words repeated back to me. I teased the ladies behind the glass because they work in a cash box but they needed a calculator to make change, $47.75 ($2.25 electronic exchange fee), for the four Franklin's I gave them.
I biked ten more blocks east on Franklin, to the Unbank, another bomb shelter but with only one lady (with a great voice) working in it, to pay $300 to CenterPoint Energy to have my gas turned back on. From there I traveled north, downtown, to the Hennepin County Government Center, to renew my drivers license (I didn't plan well. I look like a total dork in the picture.) I had lunch in the basement cafeteria with about 200 bureaucrats, which, both cafeterias and bureaucracism, I am fond of critiquing. These bureaucrats were, of course, regular people, like most others: eating, talking business and gossiping.
Judging by the size of the building, much of Hennepin County works for Hennepin County.
Then I was off to the Minneapolis Utility Billing office, where I made my first $350 payment for the right to use municipal water in 2010-11. I inquired with the staff about whether or not I was being charged twice, whether or not I had been reimbursed for the "Estimated Use" charges which were proven false by the frozen water meter. The staff consulted the "Adjuster", who denied my claim to have these charges refunded, on the grounds that, because the water meter was frozen she can't be sure whether I was using that water or not. The "Estimated Use" charges started in late May 2010.
As the Adjuster would not speak with me, I inquired as to whether or not the Adjuster actually lives in Minnesota. I wondered, without saying, if perhaps this Adjuster lives all day, every day, in a windowless, climate controlled office, for at least as long as it has taken her to forget that water meters do not freeze and explode in late spring/early summer, at this latitude. At least not this past May.
I told the staff that the water department should reconsider its policy, as it doesn't make any sense. I considered telling them that this sort of obtuse, insensibility is the exact sort of thing that makes citizens despise Government; but I didn't. Each of the staff members encouraged me to write a complaint about all my grievances. They seemed to find some joy in the idea of me, explaining my situation before a magistrate. As do I, the more I think about it.
I rode my bike back to Monster Halloween, picked up my computer, and started in the direction of my house. I had arranged for an appointment to have my gas turned back on. CenterPoint Energy would give me no time frame other than, "between now and 8pm." Sure enough, the guy called: he was ten minutes out, I was at least 30 minutes out. I tried to get him to wait but it took me 34 minutes to get there, there being snow on the path and an abundance of traffic. He's got a schedule to keep, and he doesn't get paid more for waiting. I would have dropped a twenty-spot, but I didn't mention it when he called and he didn't call before he left my house.
A neighbor I haven't talked to in many months was scraping ice on his sidewalk. He seemed a bit unhinged. A drywall specialist, he hasn't worked much the past three years. He's paying the bills with his retirement money. He borrowed $4600 to one of his six brothers, eighteen months ago, so that brother wouldn't lose the house on Lake Waconia. The brother hasn't payed a dollar back, but regularly loads pictures on Facebook of times with the family at the cabin up north. I suggested people will do just about anything to maintain whatever standard of living they have grown accustomed to, and offered that he should engage his other four brothers, gang tackle the guy and pull his underwear out of his pants. I don't expect he will, but I did get him to smile.
Dug my carrots. An heirloom, St Valery, a fat stumpy carrot not much good for chewing on raw but good for cooking, as in soup. The ground wasn't frozen yet, in part because the snow acted as an insulator. I was reminded what good soil I have, not having any difficulty pulling them out. Gathered the last of the kohl rabi and cabbage, a few fat storage beans that might not keep for getting damp.
I expect to eat a lot of soup this winter. Hole up in my house with my soup, bread from the church down the street, my books, notebooks and pens, tools and music. I'm anxious to get started. The heat's back on. After waiting at the coffee shop awhile, I got a cal from another CenterPoint Energy tech. After opening the lines and clearing out the air the furnace started and the hot water heater too. Hot water? The house is coming alive; it's time I start healing it.
The drain is plugged, someplace beyond the foundation. Which means I can't put anything down any drain, least of all the water I'm paying $350 a month for. Not looking joyward to that project. But there's no avoiding it, or putting it off.
I biked ten more blocks east on Franklin, to the Unbank, another bomb shelter but with only one lady (with a great voice) working in it, to pay $300 to CenterPoint Energy to have my gas turned back on. From there I traveled north, downtown, to the Hennepin County Government Center, to renew my drivers license (I didn't plan well. I look like a total dork in the picture.) I had lunch in the basement cafeteria with about 200 bureaucrats, which, both cafeterias and bureaucracism, I am fond of critiquing. These bureaucrats were, of course, regular people, like most others: eating, talking business and gossiping.
Judging by the size of the building, much of Hennepin County works for Hennepin County.
Then I was off to the Minneapolis Utility Billing office, where I made my first $350 payment for the right to use municipal water in 2010-11. I inquired with the staff about whether or not I was being charged twice, whether or not I had been reimbursed for the "Estimated Use" charges which were proven false by the frozen water meter. The staff consulted the "Adjuster", who denied my claim to have these charges refunded, on the grounds that, because the water meter was frozen she can't be sure whether I was using that water or not. The "Estimated Use" charges started in late May 2010.
As the Adjuster would not speak with me, I inquired as to whether or not the Adjuster actually lives in Minnesota. I wondered, without saying, if perhaps this Adjuster lives all day, every day, in a windowless, climate controlled office, for at least as long as it has taken her to forget that water meters do not freeze and explode in late spring/early summer, at this latitude. At least not this past May.
I told the staff that the water department should reconsider its policy, as it doesn't make any sense. I considered telling them that this sort of obtuse, insensibility is the exact sort of thing that makes citizens despise Government; but I didn't. Each of the staff members encouraged me to write a complaint about all my grievances. They seemed to find some joy in the idea of me, explaining my situation before a magistrate. As do I, the more I think about it.
I rode my bike back to Monster Halloween, picked up my computer, and started in the direction of my house. I had arranged for an appointment to have my gas turned back on. CenterPoint Energy would give me no time frame other than, "between now and 8pm." Sure enough, the guy called: he was ten minutes out, I was at least 30 minutes out. I tried to get him to wait but it took me 34 minutes to get there, there being snow on the path and an abundance of traffic. He's got a schedule to keep, and he doesn't get paid more for waiting. I would have dropped a twenty-spot, but I didn't mention it when he called and he didn't call before he left my house.
A neighbor I haven't talked to in many months was scraping ice on his sidewalk. He seemed a bit unhinged. A drywall specialist, he hasn't worked much the past three years. He's paying the bills with his retirement money. He borrowed $4600 to one of his six brothers, eighteen months ago, so that brother wouldn't lose the house on Lake Waconia. The brother hasn't payed a dollar back, but regularly loads pictures on Facebook of times with the family at the cabin up north. I suggested people will do just about anything to maintain whatever standard of living they have grown accustomed to, and offered that he should engage his other four brothers, gang tackle the guy and pull his underwear out of his pants. I don't expect he will, but I did get him to smile.
Dug my carrots. An heirloom, St Valery, a fat stumpy carrot not much good for chewing on raw but good for cooking, as in soup. The ground wasn't frozen yet, in part because the snow acted as an insulator. I was reminded what good soil I have, not having any difficulty pulling them out. Gathered the last of the kohl rabi and cabbage, a few fat storage beans that might not keep for getting damp.
I expect to eat a lot of soup this winter. Hole up in my house with my soup, bread from the church down the street, my books, notebooks and pens, tools and music. I'm anxious to get started. The heat's back on. After waiting at the coffee shop awhile, I got a cal from another CenterPoint Energy tech. After opening the lines and clearing out the air the furnace started and the hot water heater too. Hot water? The house is coming alive; it's time I start healing it.
The drain is plugged, someplace beyond the foundation. Which means I can't put anything down any drain, least of all the water I'm paying $350 a month for. Not looking joyward to that project. But there's no avoiding it, or putting it off.
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