Readers: This is the third sketch of four, of a "novel" I've been dreaming up, as a response to the life and death of Aaron Swartz, the idea of freedom of information - and the various and many other sundry going's on, of course. You can read one and two, if you haven't seen them. If you're in New Hampshire today, -85F, stay warm. Here grandmother has just joined her grandchild in the hokum hole. :)
"Hello, grandmother!"
"Hello, grandchild. Thank you for staying close."
"But what does it matter, grandmother, if I stay close or not? It is our hokum hole. It is safe here, isn't it? You can travel anywhere in it, however you want to, right?"
"Yes, it is, very secure, and I can travel from here to anywhere in the hokum, in the instant; but then if you had gone far, I would have had to walk you back, since you cannot yet travel as you like, yet. The twilight is different also, notice. It seems to dim the interface between the hokum and the stream - the closer to the core you remain then, the safer you are. Otherwise, you know how we have told you conditions change depending on the moon; and the hokum is like energy streaming out, weakest at the very edge, just like the sun and the heliosphere, keeping inter-solar space out; just like the sphere the galaxy makes, that keeps inter-galactic space from harming us. Which if you walk toward that edge of our hokum, eventually you'll find a vast wasteland. To keep the little ones from venturing so far as to put themselves in danger; and to keep danger out."
"Tell me more about the Hokum, Grandmother!"
"The Hokum is the thing emanating out from the room you and I are sitting in now, that we become like one with, that projects our consciousness into this space, into asima. The hokum is a dual construction of mine, and your grandfather's, like both our character, and combined understanding, of both the waking world and asima. You and I know we are sitting in the hokum room, in the waking world; though we are here talking now, on this seeming living-plant platform, where we have studied so much together; the creek, the woods, the insects, the wind, the smell of flowers, are like a combined projection of our Hokum, and a union with asima, and all that asima contains. It is how we seem to know things here, everything about the thing, whatever it is, merely by looking at it, exploring each thing more deeply by touching it; which even as we seem to know everything about that tree there, or this stone, or that fish jumping out of the water, even that insect that lands on your skin, you learn about it to the degree that you are open to it, the degree that you are capable of understanding. You will find that there is no limit to understanding, which is to say, there is far more than we can know, by infinitudes. Though what we know now is more than what they knew then, by infinitudes, in the old Aeons of Imperial rule.
Do you notice how different the Hokum hole is, when I am here with you, or you with grandfather, or all of us together?"
"It is more like waking life, grandmother. More like a mirror, when it is only you and I together. Grandfather makes it...weird."
"(laughing) That is something to call it, surely. Trickster, is another way to say it."
"It's always warm though. I like it best when we're all together."
"That it is; and me too. Anyway, the Hokum you and I are standing in is one of the most mysterious of constructions anywhere on this earth, which is how your grandfather and I like it; which makes it one of the safest of Hokum holes anywhere, perhaps the safest. A destination for many Knowing. This place, Bella Forge, where we live was one of the first, in fact, going back many, many generations. But such is the paradox of existence, nothing in this world or that or any world, is not in flux - which is a way of saying it without scaring you, about what's out there. Just don't wander into the wasteland, is all you need to be concerned about now. Someday, though, you will cross that wasteland, alone.
There are all kinds of hokum holes, of every character imaginable, some safe, some not, some designed as schools, others as spiritual sanctuaries, others as dens of various addictions. Hokums like labyrinths not for getting lost in. Others have never been seen from the inside, but by their builders. Each projected into asima, many accessible from the stream, if you are skilled enough to travel. Which means I can go and talk like this with anyone, in just about any hokum, anywhere in the world. Other Hokums are not accessible, some not so easy to see at all, when travelling through asima, as if they do not exist; like this one - others, because things go on there the builders do not want the world to see. Which is some of what your grandfather and I do, keeping an eye on Hokum holes.
Not so many people are capable of travelling, actually. Some never leave the world of hokum holes, fully into asima, others never know any hokum, but maybe one, others never enter one hokum their entire life; some live mostly as humans always have, going WAY back. The buffalo roam again, you know, and people hunt them with bows and arrows, from horses, following the herd - you could choose to live like that, if you wan't to; many who do, live like that always, just like they used to. Others have been asima travelers, or hokum holers, but have given it up for reasons of their own. Most people, it is safe to say, use it as an entertainment."
"Entertainment, grandmother?"
"Almost everything conceivable, is accessible through asima. At some point long ago, the connections had grown so strong in the network, so intertwined, so energetic, that Gaia began to speak through that signal, to people. After that, construction of the thing expanded, such that the consciousness of Gaia is now available to anyone who wishes to know it. In fact, even to enter a Hokum hole, is to be influenced by it, even if you aren't aware of it, I think. Consciousness is such now that it envelopes the earth. Even the Sun now, even the moon, and all the planets, each with their own consciousness, their own resonance, are somehow connected. Even, as I said earlier, the Galaxy; but all these take courage to face, and expertise and strength besides, and sufficient access; and there is a force in this world that would separate us from that, which access together your grandfather and I and the honor/bound and most of the people of the world now endeavor to protect. Because the thing we know indisputably, is like a thing that used to be said by an old religion about the fruit of the Tree of Life, that we are immortal. And this life is like a way station, truly a garden, and freedom is unlimited, if we have the courage to cultivate and maintain it. Lacking courage, we risk enslavement.
Which you asked about entertainment. Most people prefer simple enjoyments. Most people prefer preoccupation with the daily affairs and dramas of waking life, than to take time to understand deeper realities, about waking life or asima, that is my judgement. People are easily distracted, and forget the world of daily life needs the work of caring, dedicated hands.
During the Aeons of empire, they had things they called machines which "made" food and "made" clothes, which did the work of people. Many were idle, gorged of entertainments; mischief abounded and the world was brought to the brink of devastation - business as usual, is what that was called. We of course could make such machines now, but people don't, mostly, because most people know now, people need something to do, and there is dignity in making things well, by hand, growing food - following buffalo. So now most things are made by people, with simple hand tools. What machines exist are small, simple; or small and complex, necessary for maintenance to the hardware of the network, mostly. There's technology enough that no one goes without. Everyone who wants access has it. Besides, if someone were building something Gaia didn't want, the honor/bound would know it, I expect.
The network now is like a living thing almost, powering itself mostly, even fixing itself, we're not sure how. She is a wise one, quite mysterious and not all-revealing. No human soul could comprehend All any planet knows, by definition. What plan She has not even the honor/bound know. Or perhaps they do which is why they are so...focused."
"I feel like I can do anything here in the hokum hole!"
"You think so? Come here, stand beside me. That's right, hold my hand."
"Grandmother!"
"Stay still! Hold to the wall; the Hokum now is far below. There is this stone ledge, our teaching platform far, far below - see it! - nothing but sky and rock wall above, the furious wind and the biting cold! It is twilight!"
"Grandmother! I'm cold! What is happening. This mountain was not here before!"
"Look at me now. That's right, look me in the eyes. Do you feel the wind? Do you feel that it is warm."
"It is grandmother! It is warm now, but the wind is strong and it's a long way down!"
"See now, how I am kneeling, how I hold this stone wall with one hand, how I lean out away from the ledge; now I'm changing hands and turning. Can you climb on my back?"
"Grandmother, I'm afraid!"
"Child, climb on my back now. This is not waking consciousness. I will catch you if you fall. Climb on to my back now. That's right. You are very strong. Now hold on tight...but don't strangle me. Now we're standing up together, leaning out,"
"Grandmother no!"
"Does this feel like gravity child, that we are falling!"
"Grandmother!"
"What do you feel child!"
"Grandmother!"
What do you feel child! The trees grow closer! Look how fast the rock wall passes by, our hair pointing to the sky, we have to yell to hear each other!"
"Fly Grandmother! Fly!"
"What does that feel like now child!"
"We're Flying grandmother! We're flying. The river, look!"
"Can you feel it, child!"
"What, grandmother?!"
"Can you feel all of this! Can you fly?"
"I can't, grandmother!"
"That's ok, child. Remember it. I think now we will perch right there, in that tree on that big limb, at the river's edge, there by the confluence.
Wait, here we are again, on our teaching platform."
"Grandmother, that was awesome! Can we do it again!"
"Not tonight, child. It's late and it's time for bed."
"Grandmother!"
"Hush child. Bother your grandfather about it tomorrow."
"Are you crazy! If you can do that, no way am I doing that with grandfather! He'll fly me through some crazy place I've never seen before and freak me out! Show me a PLANET or something!"
"Well, my guess is, child, if he wants to teach you that Way, he will, whatever you think about it. Just remember, when he does, because he'll do it when you least expect it, remember he will not put you in any harm; and you are your own consciousness, your own prime actor. You decide how you respond, ok. Be strong. Now, off to bed."
"Grandmother..."(They go together)
"Good night, child."
"Good night, grandmother. And thanks, that was awesome!"
"Good night, grandchild." (he said)
"Good night, grandfather! We flew tonight! Grandmother and I flew together!"
"Yes, I can smell it on your grandmother!"
"What do you mean, grandfather?"
"She stinks!"
"Grandfather!"
"Grandfather, (she said). Good night again, grandchild.
"Goodnight! Wait, grandmother? How come you said you would have to walk me back from wherever I was, if I had gone too far, in the hokum before you got there - if we can fly like that together?"
"That's right child. Now you are beginning to understand. Goodnight. Try dreaming like that."
(On the patio, surrounded by summer flowers, a calm, warm evening of many stars)
"You went flying, woman."
"I did, man. Make sure sometime you surprise the child, when it's time, btw, and fly through a landscape appropriate to "freak" the child out."
"OK. Meanwhile."
"My glass is nearly empty." (smile)
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
asima II
Note to readers: This post and the last are like sketches of a novel that came to me, contemplating the life and death of Aaron Swartz. Taking place at some distant point in the future, Information is for the most part free, and the online world is something like stepping into a dream, of seeming infinite variety and intensity, as real as this waking life but in a very different way, where even the spirit of the planets maintain a presence. Anyway, I've got a stack of blog posts backed up, all raging at the world about this or that, but it's January -12F, and I'm content to take imaginary flight. It you have any feedback, I'd love to hear it; if you don't care that's fine too. I was contemplating two more sketches, to fill out the vision more clearly, but if no one cares, I'll get back to railing against TPTB soon enough I'm sure, LOL. Grandfather is returning here, from some time spent online. Blessings...
"Grandfather!"
"Hey, kid."
"Where'd you go, grandfather!"
"How are you doing, indeed. I'm fine, feeling great. Did you make me dinner? Hello grandmother."
"Hello grandfather."
"We have a big dinner for you, Grandfather! Where did you go!"
"It looks wonderful, the food. I think I'll take a seat right here.
Yum. Where did I go, the child want's to know. I found some young men engaged in no-good, I did. In a little hokum hole not far from here. Surrounded that whole hole in such a trembling roar as not a one of them had ever heard before. Manifested to them like none-such god as any one of them had ever contemplated, but managing to become a man again before they soiled them selves..."
"Grandfather!"
"Grandfather indeed" (she says)
"What did you do today, kid?"
"I helped grandmother in the garden!"
"He played with worms."
"Right, he did, the little helper."
"Worms! What if those young men you found had been engaged in war, grandfather?"
"Well that is not my province so much, to take on so many at once. That is when I call the honor/bound, who generally do not require my help. Fearsome ones, those."
"Fearsome how, grandfather?"
"They have a relationship with asima - Gaia - no human can begin to offer, for whom they will do whatever is required to keep the world safe, that they will continue to know Her as they do; which is a little like a bondage too. Wandering ones, most of them, never comfortable anywhere for long; well taken care of, wherever they tread, wanting for little, for what they are bound to do to protect the people. The Gaian mind embuing them with a mystery and power physical, not even I can comprehend; nor necessarily want to, the violence of it.
If they require me at all it is typically, for my theatrics."
"Do tell the grandchild, grandfather"
"Yes grandfather, tell"
"Stalk Jupiter some time in that world, kid. What swirling fog, such fearsome subterfuge, power but a glimpse of which could turn the brain to goo; but what mysteries due lent, having faced it, no human alone could be capable of rendering.
Roooooaaaaaar!"
"Grandfather! Tell the child of those works.
"Yes grandfather, what works!"
"Has your grandmother been telling you of Trinity's, thrice consciousness, again? She likes to say that, that way, because she is a woman. We men are more like blockheads, thinking in fours - at least this one - with waking imagination of such importance, to getting much of anything done, and remembering. In that other world, of asima, whatever any man or woman can imagine can be built before them, in an instant, by them, with a feeling for every single aspect. Such hokum holes as any adept might construct, are magnificent by orders beyond anything possible here in waking space.
Six dimensions, by the way, if you count waking space as three, in the traditional sense. Or seven, if you count Time, though hardly any one does anymore but the ones watching the stars, remembering the cycles.
Whatever, such magnificent creations in asima, less enthusiasms here among the living for grand visions of epic proportions, ego driven. More peaceful now, by orders of magnitude, beyond the empire building Aeons. But trouble's out there, ever and always, and one must be vigilant, beyond the safer bounds of home, of course. Protected well, here, you are child."
(said the kid)"But what did you say, grandfather, about fearsomness among the honor/bound ones, to protect us all from the up-to-no-good ones, at war? What do they do to make them stop?"
"Lot's of things go on in this world kid, lot's of people think is no-good. The honor/bound leave a wide latitude; whatever goes, for the most part. But such malevolence bent on death and destruction, to spread, is another thing, not left to fester.
All you need to know about that now is, worms got to eat too."
"May I go there now, to our Hokum hole, grandfather?"
"Hokum is not how I would describe that construction kid. An enchanted garden, just beyond and yet corresponding to your wildest imagination, perhaps."
"May I go then, grandmother?"
"What about the sunset here?"
"I can feel it there. Will you come with me, grandmother?"
"I will follow soon. Stay close. The twilight you will remember is like a time between worlds, here and there. (the kid goes).
"Grandfather, you don't smell like what you found there in that hokum hole was no-good."
"What are sayin', grandmother?"
"You stink."
"You are extraordinarily beautiful and charming, as always. Yes, your intuition is right as it tends to be, that was not no-good I found there, but something more like unspeakable."
"What unspeakable thing can there be in this Aeon, where all information is free, the Way."
"Of the signature that would blot out the light. Of a violence and will to mayhem as the honor/bound are sure to monitor."
"But that roaring was not a lie, was it man?"
"It was as I said, woman, and louder. Did not have a chance to manifest though, as a man, to calm and perhaps befriend them; they disappeared so fast, the weakling cowards."
"Eat hearty then. There is drink; take out two glasses. And don't wash yet. I'm going to go see about the grandchild.
After he's to bed, I'll meet you.
We can shower after."
"Grandfather!"
"Hey, kid."
"Where'd you go, grandfather!"
"How are you doing, indeed. I'm fine, feeling great. Did you make me dinner? Hello grandmother."
"Hello grandfather."
"We have a big dinner for you, Grandfather! Where did you go!"
"It looks wonderful, the food. I think I'll take a seat right here.
Yum. Where did I go, the child want's to know. I found some young men engaged in no-good, I did. In a little hokum hole not far from here. Surrounded that whole hole in such a trembling roar as not a one of them had ever heard before. Manifested to them like none-such god as any one of them had ever contemplated, but managing to become a man again before they soiled them selves..."
"Grandfather!"
"Grandfather indeed" (she says)
"What did you do today, kid?"
"I helped grandmother in the garden!"
"He played with worms."
"Right, he did, the little helper."
"Worms! What if those young men you found had been engaged in war, grandfather?"
"Well that is not my province so much, to take on so many at once. That is when I call the honor/bound, who generally do not require my help. Fearsome ones, those."
"Fearsome how, grandfather?"
"They have a relationship with asima - Gaia - no human can begin to offer, for whom they will do whatever is required to keep the world safe, that they will continue to know Her as they do; which is a little like a bondage too. Wandering ones, most of them, never comfortable anywhere for long; well taken care of, wherever they tread, wanting for little, for what they are bound to do to protect the people. The Gaian mind embuing them with a mystery and power physical, not even I can comprehend; nor necessarily want to, the violence of it.
If they require me at all it is typically, for my theatrics."
"Do tell the grandchild, grandfather"
"Yes grandfather, tell"
"Stalk Jupiter some time in that world, kid. What swirling fog, such fearsome subterfuge, power but a glimpse of which could turn the brain to goo; but what mysteries due lent, having faced it, no human alone could be capable of rendering.
Roooooaaaaaar!"
"Grandfather! Tell the child of those works.
"Yes grandfather, what works!"
"Has your grandmother been telling you of Trinity's, thrice consciousness, again? She likes to say that, that way, because she is a woman. We men are more like blockheads, thinking in fours - at least this one - with waking imagination of such importance, to getting much of anything done, and remembering. In that other world, of asima, whatever any man or woman can imagine can be built before them, in an instant, by them, with a feeling for every single aspect. Such hokum holes as any adept might construct, are magnificent by orders beyond anything possible here in waking space.
Six dimensions, by the way, if you count waking space as three, in the traditional sense. Or seven, if you count Time, though hardly any one does anymore but the ones watching the stars, remembering the cycles.
Whatever, such magnificent creations in asima, less enthusiasms here among the living for grand visions of epic proportions, ego driven. More peaceful now, by orders of magnitude, beyond the empire building Aeons. But trouble's out there, ever and always, and one must be vigilant, beyond the safer bounds of home, of course. Protected well, here, you are child."
(said the kid)"But what did you say, grandfather, about fearsomness among the honor/bound ones, to protect us all from the up-to-no-good ones, at war? What do they do to make them stop?"
"Lot's of things go on in this world kid, lot's of people think is no-good. The honor/bound leave a wide latitude; whatever goes, for the most part. But such malevolence bent on death and destruction, to spread, is another thing, not left to fester.
All you need to know about that now is, worms got to eat too."
"May I go there now, to our Hokum hole, grandfather?"
"Hokum is not how I would describe that construction kid. An enchanted garden, just beyond and yet corresponding to your wildest imagination, perhaps."
"May I go then, grandmother?"
"What about the sunset here?"
"I can feel it there. Will you come with me, grandmother?"
"I will follow soon. Stay close. The twilight you will remember is like a time between worlds, here and there. (the kid goes).
"Grandfather, you don't smell like what you found there in that hokum hole was no-good."
"What are sayin', grandmother?"
"You stink."
"You are extraordinarily beautiful and charming, as always. Yes, your intuition is right as it tends to be, that was not no-good I found there, but something more like unspeakable."
"What unspeakable thing can there be in this Aeon, where all information is free, the Way."
"Of the signature that would blot out the light. Of a violence and will to mayhem as the honor/bound are sure to monitor."
"But that roaring was not a lie, was it man?"
"It was as I said, woman, and louder. Did not have a chance to manifest though, as a man, to calm and perhaps befriend them; they disappeared so fast, the weakling cowards."
"Eat hearty then. There is drink; take out two glasses. And don't wash yet. I'm going to go see about the grandchild.
After he's to bed, I'll meet you.
We can shower after."
Friday, January 18, 2013
asima
"Grandmother, tell me the story again."
"The one about asima?"
"asima!"
"There was a boy once, long ago. A young man, really. It was a time when it was said there was a great evil in the world. Some said humans were doomed, even that we might go extinct. There was uncertainty everywhere, and the whole world seemed ready to explode into war.
This young man was an adept, at what they called the Internet at that time, a crude form of technology. There were many empires then, with empire builders at their head, who built that technology, who controlled all of the technology of the time, who carved up various aspects of it, to control it, to funnel wealth to themselves, to exert power over others. This young man was different. He talked of freedom of information. He wanted all information to be free to everyone. He did nothing for personal gain, he simply did whatever he did freely.
This angered the empire builders. Information would not be free, it would be controlled, and they sent their warriors after him.
He died then. The story was that he killed himself. Many could not believe it. The empire builders shrugged their shoulders and moved onto the next conquest.
But the people did not forget. And they endevored to build a new kind of information system, one based on sharing. And people say something of the spirit of that boy filled them then; until all the worlds precious metals and gems comprised this new information hardware, that was open to everybody.
You know that room. Where we go, to access that other world?
That room is connected to the hardware that connects us to the entire world.
In the early days hardly anyone could believe it. They started calling it asima, but no one knows why anymore. Some say it was the name of the boy. Others say he was a girl. Everyone agrees now, asima is female; some call her Gaia; all we know for sure is, She is verrry old. You know how sometimes she feels like she is everywhere in that world, in a different way than when we are here? But then there is the sun also like a Father, and brooding Jupiter out there like Grandpa when he's cranky? How different at night too, when the moon is out, especially when she's full?
Which is why they talk of humans now as the trinity, thrice conscious. This world, where we grow the vegetables and fungi, and raise animals and hunt and fish, and breathe the air and drink the water; there is also that other world we have access to, what some call the gaian mind, where we have access to everything humans have ever created and are creating, where anything seems possible; and then the dreamworld when we sleep, where it gets even stranger than that!"
"Will there ever be war again like there was, grandmother?"
"There will always be war. There is an energy in this world, a kind of malevolence that desires to destroy it. But there is an agreement now too, and as long as there are those of us dedicated to protecting and sustaining the earth, and that connection to asima, to the free flow of information, there can never be war like that again, that would destroy the earth, or enslave it. We like to think that anyway. It is certainly harder now for the bad guys, now that we share our consciousness with asima. But we are all aware that there are many consciousnesses beyond the sun, and so nothing ever is certain.
For instance, you are not ready yet to be introduced to the consciousness of the Galaxy. That one requires fortitude and much experience."
"Can I go see if Grandfather is there, with asima?"
"This is not a time for him to be disturbed. You and I are here, protecting him. He is something like a wizard in that world, you know. He'll be alright."
"A wizard?"
"There is much that you do not know about that world yet. It is fantastic beyond imagining. But also very dangerous. Just like this one, if you stray too far from home before you're ready.
Meanwhile, before your next lesson there, with asima, it is time to tend to the plants. Dinner needs preparing. Your grandfather is likely to be hungry, when he gets back.
After dinner perhaps I will tell you a story about how dangerous it gets out there. But really your Grandfather is better at that."
"The one about asima?"
"asima!"
"There was a boy once, long ago. A young man, really. It was a time when it was said there was a great evil in the world. Some said humans were doomed, even that we might go extinct. There was uncertainty everywhere, and the whole world seemed ready to explode into war.
This young man was an adept, at what they called the Internet at that time, a crude form of technology. There were many empires then, with empire builders at their head, who built that technology, who controlled all of the technology of the time, who carved up various aspects of it, to control it, to funnel wealth to themselves, to exert power over others. This young man was different. He talked of freedom of information. He wanted all information to be free to everyone. He did nothing for personal gain, he simply did whatever he did freely.
This angered the empire builders. Information would not be free, it would be controlled, and they sent their warriors after him.
He died then. The story was that he killed himself. Many could not believe it. The empire builders shrugged their shoulders and moved onto the next conquest.
But the people did not forget. And they endevored to build a new kind of information system, one based on sharing. And people say something of the spirit of that boy filled them then; until all the worlds precious metals and gems comprised this new information hardware, that was open to everybody.
You know that room. Where we go, to access that other world?
That room is connected to the hardware that connects us to the entire world.
In the early days hardly anyone could believe it. They started calling it asima, but no one knows why anymore. Some say it was the name of the boy. Others say he was a girl. Everyone agrees now, asima is female; some call her Gaia; all we know for sure is, She is verrry old. You know how sometimes she feels like she is everywhere in that world, in a different way than when we are here? But then there is the sun also like a Father, and brooding Jupiter out there like Grandpa when he's cranky? How different at night too, when the moon is out, especially when she's full?
Which is why they talk of humans now as the trinity, thrice conscious. This world, where we grow the vegetables and fungi, and raise animals and hunt and fish, and breathe the air and drink the water; there is also that other world we have access to, what some call the gaian mind, where we have access to everything humans have ever created and are creating, where anything seems possible; and then the dreamworld when we sleep, where it gets even stranger than that!"
"Will there ever be war again like there was, grandmother?"
"There will always be war. There is an energy in this world, a kind of malevolence that desires to destroy it. But there is an agreement now too, and as long as there are those of us dedicated to protecting and sustaining the earth, and that connection to asima, to the free flow of information, there can never be war like that again, that would destroy the earth, or enslave it. We like to think that anyway. It is certainly harder now for the bad guys, now that we share our consciousness with asima. But we are all aware that there are many consciousnesses beyond the sun, and so nothing ever is certain.
For instance, you are not ready yet to be introduced to the consciousness of the Galaxy. That one requires fortitude and much experience."
"Can I go see if Grandfather is there, with asima?"
"This is not a time for him to be disturbed. You and I are here, protecting him. He is something like a wizard in that world, you know. He'll be alright."
"A wizard?"
"There is much that you do not know about that world yet. It is fantastic beyond imagining. But also very dangerous. Just like this one, if you stray too far from home before you're ready.
Meanwhile, before your next lesson there, with asima, it is time to tend to the plants. Dinner needs preparing. Your grandfather is likely to be hungry, when he gets back.
After dinner perhaps I will tell you a story about how dangerous it gets out there. But really your Grandfather is better at that."
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
RIP Aaron Swartz
The death of the techie "wizard" Aaron Swartz has affected me as much as, and really even more deeply, than the incident at Sandy Hook. I'm not comparing the two cases in any other way than to say that they affected me deeply; nor did I know any of the dead. It affected me though, not merely because of what happened, but also because of what I have learned about my country, by the response. On one extreme is the netherworld of the fringe of fringe media, claiming Sandy Hook was a covert government/Illuminati operation to lead to a national database on all guns and eventually their seizure and martial law and extermination of Americans; to the other extreme of MSM manipulation, and hopeless obfuscation, about damn near everything newsworthy, left and right, the Swartz case a prime example.
If you think the charges against Aaron Swartz levied by the Federal Government were about some science documents he attempted to liberate from MIT and JSTOR, then you don't know anything about power. I mean yeah, he was challenging their right to profit selling public-paid-for research (which the government accused the dead man of having wanted to do.) But really, Those charges were RETRIBUTION for SOPA, the Stop Online Piracy Act, 2011 Federal legislation that nearly everyone in Congress and the President were firmly behind, Left and Right, when it was first introduced. Which, after Google, Craigslist, much of the techie crowd and Aaron Swartz including a great many Americans across the spectrum, made it very clear that this bald-faced government attempt to take over the Internet was a problem, Congress and the President were united firmly against the bill.
So, when Aaron Swartz took those documents from MIT and JSTOR, despite it being clear that he was making a statement more than anything - that research paid for by public funding should be free to the public, which it was not - he opened the door for them to attempt to destroy him.
Never mind that he had been described as a "wizard of programming." Never mind that he was at least partially responsible for the RSS feed. Never mind, that he was responsible at least in part for Reddit. A prodigy. A genius. Deeply caring and peaceful.
Government now is circling the wagons. Various enquiries are being suggested, others initiated. MIT administration is taking a beating somewhat, for their betrayal of him. Laws are being discussed. The Wall Street Journal as early as Sunday night, doing it's elite service, quoted "a person familiar with the matter", that Aaron had been offered a 6 month plea deal, managing the discussion with unaccountable bullshit, trying to manage the blowback. It seems clear to me now they were fully intending to ruin him.
And why, really? Because he wasn't an empire builder.
What did the great Eric Shmidt of Google have to say about this case? How about the techie genius Larry Ellison at Oracle? Bill Gates? That Facebook guy? Craigslist merely notes generically that Aaron Swartz "is a person who has recently died." No call out to their friend, their fellow culture-warrior, protector of freedom, no goodbye header. WTF?
And gov? Darell Issa is at least going to investigate. Which, yeah, he's one of the few who was against SOPA, but that's mostly just because he's a pirate basically, and he despises that "cock-suck" Eric Holder, and he'd do anything to embarrass Holder's boss. Speaking of "cock sucks", Elijah Cummings, ranking DEM member of the House Oversight Committee, jumped to the defense of the government. Whatever. Bunch a god damn wet noodles in the face of the banks.
The whole god damn scenario basically confirms for me that Authority in this country is overrun with murderers, pedophiles, sadists and thieves. Counting on American obliviousness, basically. Expecting American obedience for sure.
I mean, jail time and financial ruination, one way or another, for the young man? For "stealing" public-paid-for research, that he gave back. Where the fuck is John Corzine? I mean, these guys can't even offer up one of their own as a sacrificial lamb! For stealing 2 billion dollars! HSBC gets caught laundering international drug money to the tune of many tens (hundreds) of billions, AND NOTHING HAPPENS.
And even with all that surreality, more than all that, it's like a betrayal of the promise of science and technology. Because it's clear to me now, it's not about what is good or best for people, it's only about power. Money and power; who controls what and whom.
So let it be known, America. You will play along. You may question the arrangement of things; but if you stand in our way, if you embarrass us with any success, we will destroy you.
RIP Aaron Swartz
Friday, January 11, 2013
Doom and the Spiritual Path
A reader contacted me last week, with this to say,
"By the way, You're awfully full of doom and gloom and woe-is-me and isn't-my-life-hard of late. It's not very becoming and I don't get how creating this narrative serves you--or the goddess for that matter. You are so not a victim in this life. So knock this shit off. And stop creating corners that you can then back yourself into. Infinite possibility, compassion, love, cosmic mystery--that's where your power is.
It's a new year, a new era, and (for me, at least) a brandly [sic] new decade. This year, I'm choosing surrender as my theme. Not raise the white flag surrender. More like jump in the river and let it take you surrender. We'll see where that takes me."
I was like, wha? Letting go of this house and dancing around the world, farm to farm, in an orange afro wig isn't surrender enough for you? LOL. As for not being very becoming, it's January in Minnesota, I don't have a job, and I've been spending most of my time on-line or on the computer, at least since I started at big bank in late August 2012, and anyone who knows me knows I have a high tolerance for chaos in my immediate surroundings; so no, not very becoming at all. lol :) But yes, goodness, kindness, compassion, love, cosmic mystery; and yes, the possibilities are indeed infinite, maybe - I'm not sure about that exact specific just yet ;)
She replied, "What was that again, about Cosmic Mystery?"
Hmmmm....
On the Doomstead Diner, there's a Nobody in the forum who wrote about being at the cusp of leaving this plane, this dimension, Dec 21, 2012. But she stayed, and speaking of Doom and Gloom she has two teenage sons, who can't imagine there is anything at all really wrong with the culture, blase' even to the point that Mom being followed in a wooded park by a disturbing stranger, is merely reason that she's just crazy basically, to want to go for a walk on a trail in the woods. She is like a lot of people who think about DOOM, or the meme basically that Industrial Civilization is coming apart around us, on it's way to almost total dissolution, who feel trapped in current circumstances, whose families are mostly about BAU, and/or they "own" city real estate/debt they can't discharge.
She seemed to resonate when I said this, in the Doomstead Diner Forum:
It is funny how easily the response to Ashvin* has overwhelmed any other discussion. It is I think, in a way, a dearth of answers about how to perceive the changing landscape. It is changing very fast; no wonder really Ashvin has lashed onto something he has perceives [sic] as fixed. I perceive instead, I think, that chaos is the new reality, and that is about opening up to an irrational, right-brain way of perceiving, learning to flow with the inherent flow of nature, which is like what is said about the Tao, which makes the whole concept of Doom something spiritual, a kind of search for balance between left/right ways of perceiving. IMHO LOL.
So I encourage Diners to speak in a spiritual way about how they perceive Doom. And I hope Ashvin is over having to use us to flagellate himself."
* Ashvin is a curious case, a former contributor to the website The Automatic Earth, whose work on economics and the abuse of power I have highlighted in this blog, who has abandoned the Doom meme entirely in favor of Christian Theology, to the point that if you do not accept the inherent logical and reasoned foundation of Christian exegesis, then you are according to Ashvin by definition incapable of reason or logic. He has been known to use the words reason and logic like incantations, like a bludgeon. He has also been accused (by me) as an exceptional, or at least profligate, name caller; Ashvin just as ready to claim he never said whatever, even at times contrary to evidence. I'm also convinced he is going to stand one day at the head of one of those televangelical mega-churches, assuming there are such things 10-15 years from now. The Doomstead Diner has been like a crucible on his path to Glory, I think. Unless he repents of course and grows himself a sense of humor. ;)LOL
I'm of the opinion, like I say, that he has lashed onto Christianity because he sees it as a thing fixed, as in, a firm foundation, lasting. Which is an understandable response, facing the dissolution of Industrial Civilization. No doubt Christianity appears a very sturdy dock. But any mariner will tell you, lashing to the dock, in rising, turbulent waters, you better hope the tethers hold; whereas it would be better generally to head for open water, seeing esp. as most of those docks extant, were not built for the reality of rising seas that is in progress.
Doom, is a spiritual exercise insofar as it is a coming to terms with the fact that almost everything we have been told about this existence, is false in some fundamental way. Doom is facing the reality that many of those stories that have held society together are shattering, in the face of sheer fundamental terrestrial realities, of 7+ billion people and climbing exponentially, about half of whom are wanting to and have been at least until lately, living like profligate consumers. It is the reality that neither Science nor Religion nor Government nor Banks nor Corporations are protecting us from disaster, they perpetuate it everywhere. Because they are sustained by ideas of control, which is about power. Seeking not to understand nature, or even the furthest implications of Science, but to control nature and people generally.
Which process began about the time we started growing food agriculturally, about 10,000 years ago. Which has come to it's logical conclusion, which is a nearly complete surveillance state, at the cusp of radically shifting climate extremes, systemic toxicity, global financial collapse...so on and so forth.
Which, when I consider the effect all this has had on my body, after nearly 40 years immersed in American consumer culture, I recognize that the left hemisphere of my brain quite literally has been over-developed, which has resulted in the right side of my body, full of pain, tightness, restriction, to the point that it has been warped out of alignment; while the left side of my body is comparatively free of such restriction. Such misalignment is probably inevitable, to the degree I have been immersed in and accepting of Western culture, to the degree I was unaware of the effect and not striving for alignment, physically and mentally. By alignment, I don't mean any kind of Pythagrean or Platonic ambidextrousness as ideal, but more just being aware that there are two hemispheres to your brain, which are connected to opposite (and complimentary) sides of your body, and they have different specialities, and to be radically over-reliant on either is to be out of alignment. Alignment meaning, it seems to me, as natural and easy a flow as is possible, of energy, through both sides of the brain and body? Which is to say, loosely, equal facility with order and chaos, logic and intuition, conscious and unconscious, culture and wilderness, etc.
And then add in things like quantum physics, that the ether, or empty space, is in fact denser energetically than matter by an order of magnitude running to infinity (vacuum catastrophe), making dense matter something more like an impossibly ethereal dream, compared to the energy permeating EVERYTHING; and then you begin to perceive that this universe and reality is mysterious by orders of magnitude greater than any of the various control freaks would have it; and most of the ideas extant are about keeping people ignorant, dependent and pliant, to keep them in line. Because control is about power, and power is very lucrative.
Which, it seems to me, those most honest about Doom, are at a kind of evolutionary advantage, compared to those who are assuming someone somewhere is assuring that some techno utopia is right around the proverbial corner, as example. Or that God will intervene as some Messiah. Or the many not thinking, and many not capable of thinking, the herd and media manipulated reactionary consumer, "driving" the economy devouring the earth.
Which, I guess all I'm really saying is, there are many ways to imagine a culture. Strong characters required. ;)
Friday, January 4, 2013
Realities, 2013
2013 begins for me, with about $1200 cash, a mortgage and bills, a house to maintain, without a working furnace, in the midst of a ten day stretch of below freezing weather with average temperatures around 10F (-12.22C), with no job, no income, and no real prospect of any. Two working, 1800W oil-filled radiators, and a working 40 gal water heater it turns out, are in no way sufficient to heat even this small 750 sq ft house, to anything even resembling what most Americans would consider a minimum threshold of comfort, in even half of this house, when it's this cold. Not least because this house was built in 1918 when the only idea I suspect was to burn as much wood as was needed, to maintain whatever they considered normal, which was probably austere by today's standards. The woodlot has since been swallowed up by urban sod, tar and concrete for forty miles in every direction at least. Most everything beyond that for a hundred miles+, by corn, sod and road. They build homes these days basically to burn as much natural gas as is necessary. Though you won't find any of that for 500 miles in any direction, with Minneapolis as your starting point.
If I'm completely honest about it, even the energy necessary to run these two modest heaters and the water heater, comes increasingly from fracked natural gas. The electricity is also generated by the burning of coal, and of nuclear fission, there being two nuclear facilities on either side of the Twin Cities Minneapolis/St Paul greater metro, thirty-five miles upriver and thirty-five miles downriver on the Mississippi. Some electricity is generated in the west and the south of the state, and in the Dakotas and Iowa by wind, but only a small fraction; and as Congress has been playing games with the Wind Tax Credit, in the faux-furor over the fiscal cliff, what turbines we have may be all we're going to have for awhile.
When I returned to this house in the spring of 2010, with $80, no income and no prospects, I had already as long as two years before that been dreaming of rebuilding this house, to take it off the grid, with as much scrap material as I could find, to show how it can be done, to be a model for what could be possible for the entire region. That vision has evolved, but I have failed miserably, in creating any of that vision for this house - but a few cosmetic effects, which do little to improve the livability of any insufficiently or unheated house, in a cold climate.
I've been much more successful with the land. There's not much land here, but I have 18 fruit trees, 14 grape vines, 2000-3000 sq ft of veggie gardens and another several thousand feet of wildflowers, perhaps 300 different species of plants year to year. The healthiest black-cap raspberry patch I've ever seen anywhere in the region, red raspberries, asparagus and strawberries. Half of the driveway now is antique paver, there's a paver patio next to the pond. The front walk is partially paver. I built stone garden beds along the driveway and the garage. I'm hoping to plant hops on the garage this spring.
All of which is cold comfort, in a cold house in winter. Much of which would likely be bulldozed and poisoned if it fell into the hands of the bank or a speculator. The house torn down, replaced by some hideous suburban Mcmansion style three story energy sink surrounded by sod, on this corner lot-and-a-half, south-east facing. Onward progress. I don't know that my neighbors would mind overly much. Though when those pavers went in this fall, more people came by and spoke to me in a friendly way than ever before, even esp. because of the White Pine in the driveway :)
(My neighbor across the street just walked out of the back of his house, and chucked his Christmas tree off the back porch) LOL
Perhaps I am not ready to build the house I imagine building here? I imagine travelling around the world, helping people build unusual houses, helping people build gardens, dancing across Europe, dancing in Africa, going down-under, building a boat, sailing that boat eventually to the Big Island, Hawaii, walking around that island, eventually sailing to an inlet of British Colombia; and from there, either crossing the divide on foot, then paddling home, or depending on the security situation, sailing all the way around the Americas, up the Great Lakes to dock in Duluth. Maybe then, I think, I would be prepared to build the house I imagine. Perhaps by that time, Minnesota will be prepared to rebuild. Perhaps this house and this garden will not be destroyed, and available.
That would make a nice novel, too. Wouldn't mind making this the home place, actually, a little writing loft above the greenhouse/garage. But oh right, one must finish a novel, to have something to sell, assuming someone is willing to buy; to help see this thing through. Which, novel writers need time, which I am in possession of for a short while at least. Dedication...Oh right.
Then I'm reminded of the security situation here in America. Not least increasing government surveillance, indefinite detention, expansion of the punitive penal, quasi-military state, but also pending food and energy problems. All hail the House of Saud. Natural gas is an investor inspired bubble, which threatens a vast investment bubble in natural gas infrastructure, that is sure to be useless when the fracking bubble pops. Never mind the polluting of aquifers, inevitable in punching so many holes deep into the earth, pumping vast amounts of chemical laden water at high pressures to fracture the underlying rock strata, leaking pipes etc. Aquifers not just necessary for drinking but for farming also. What if we had to rely on what falls from the sky, with an increasingly unstable climate? A lot of people die, that's what.
$8,000-$15,000 an acre for farm land is called investors fucking with food, btw. An investment bubble exactly like the Tech bubble, Housing bubble, and the natural gas/oil fracking bubble. That's going to be some dear corn after the investors take their cut, the interest paid, particularly during drought. Of course once the Ogallala is sufficiently empty, that'll be the end of the breadbasket of the world, so make your riches while you can, I guess. Of course, pumping all that fossil water couldn't save the crop this year. Nor the mass culling of the herd. Then there's all the guns. A hungry people increasingly insular, manipulated by the media, made hungrier by debt bondage, few of them ever taught how to think. Seems a strange strategy to run a civilization, but no doubt the major players have their own plans to GTFO if TSHTF.
So you see, it's no more crazy to stay here, than to go traipsing around the world in an orange afro wig. LOL
I applied for Unemployment bennies. That was easy. Twenty minutes online. My estimated benefit came to 0$, because there was no bubble to click in the section about why I am no longer employed, about a peaceful exit from a crooked enterprise. I didn't massage the how or the why about why I left big bank, came right out and said the job involved potentially unethical and borderline criminal work, so I put on an orange afro wig and danced at my cubicle/work station, knowing my job performance was too good to get me laid off, otherwise. If I just walked away I wouldn't qualify, and walking away, the Agency wouldn't place me again, anywhere. Apparently I'll get a letter in the mail, after the application is reviewed by a living human. The computer only recognizes that I got fired. There's an appeal process, should I be declined.
There's one job I might possibly be able to finagle my way into, but I'm going to have to be super charming about it, and I know it won't pay more than $11.25-$11.50/hr - goodbye, $200 left over for food, craft beer. LOL Good thing I've got that 6 gallons of 2011 Frontenac wine in the basement, which I cracked last night and you know what, it ain't all that, but it ain't half-bad either. Works as advertised! In three years I could be producing 200 bottles, between what I planted here, and the vines at my sisters. Maybe more.
Plenty of food staples in house to get me by, till the thaw. Theoretically, I shouldn't have to leave my house for the next two months, except for coffee. Oh right, Mortgage, bills, job...
Oh right, and my State of Minnesota tax return is going to get swallowed up by the State of Minnesota, because they say I owe them $300, because they say I made $12,000 in 2008, instead of the $9000 I apparently reported. Going back in time, to fleece the poor. That is the criminal racketeering enterprise American governance has become. Oh joy; big bank, big gov.
Oh and my Unemployment Benefit's should I receive any, generally said to be less than 50% of previous income, are taxed at a rate of 10% by the Feds and 5% by MN? Nutz. Bizarro.
Oh wait. Remember how the media supported the OWS movement, mostly? And then mocked them for their weakness, for not returning to the streets in 2012? Here is evidence that there was a vast nation-wide suppression of the OWS movement, lead by the FBI, at the behest of the big banks and big corps, with even planned assassinations by sniper of OWS leadership - and you have to go to the Guardian in the UK to find anyone in the major media reporting on it? Which makes the media of America what, whore to the expanding police surveillance state? Which begs the question then, can one remain good or moral or have real integrity, and work for big gov, big bank, big corp, big ag, big edu, big law enforcement, big military, big media, big monstrous global machine devouring people and the earth?
Not sayin you can't, just sayin the question needs askin'
If I'm completely honest about it, even the energy necessary to run these two modest heaters and the water heater, comes increasingly from fracked natural gas. The electricity is also generated by the burning of coal, and of nuclear fission, there being two nuclear facilities on either side of the Twin Cities Minneapolis/St Paul greater metro, thirty-five miles upriver and thirty-five miles downriver on the Mississippi. Some electricity is generated in the west and the south of the state, and in the Dakotas and Iowa by wind, but only a small fraction; and as Congress has been playing games with the Wind Tax Credit, in the faux-furor over the fiscal cliff, what turbines we have may be all we're going to have for awhile.
When I returned to this house in the spring of 2010, with $80, no income and no prospects, I had already as long as two years before that been dreaming of rebuilding this house, to take it off the grid, with as much scrap material as I could find, to show how it can be done, to be a model for what could be possible for the entire region. That vision has evolved, but I have failed miserably, in creating any of that vision for this house - but a few cosmetic effects, which do little to improve the livability of any insufficiently or unheated house, in a cold climate.
I've been much more successful with the land. There's not much land here, but I have 18 fruit trees, 14 grape vines, 2000-3000 sq ft of veggie gardens and another several thousand feet of wildflowers, perhaps 300 different species of plants year to year. The healthiest black-cap raspberry patch I've ever seen anywhere in the region, red raspberries, asparagus and strawberries. Half of the driveway now is antique paver, there's a paver patio next to the pond. The front walk is partially paver. I built stone garden beds along the driveway and the garage. I'm hoping to plant hops on the garage this spring.
Perhaps I am not ready to build the house I imagine building here? I imagine travelling around the world, helping people build unusual houses, helping people build gardens, dancing across Europe, dancing in Africa, going down-under, building a boat, sailing that boat eventually to the Big Island, Hawaii, walking around that island, eventually sailing to an inlet of British Colombia; and from there, either crossing the divide on foot, then paddling home, or depending on the security situation, sailing all the way around the Americas, up the Great Lakes to dock in Duluth. Maybe then, I think, I would be prepared to build the house I imagine. Perhaps by that time, Minnesota will be prepared to rebuild. Perhaps this house and this garden will not be destroyed, and available.
That would make a nice novel, too. Wouldn't mind making this the home place, actually, a little writing loft above the greenhouse/garage. But oh right, one must finish a novel, to have something to sell, assuming someone is willing to buy; to help see this thing through. Which, novel writers need time, which I am in possession of for a short while at least. Dedication...Oh right.
Then I'm reminded of the security situation here in America. Not least increasing government surveillance, indefinite detention, expansion of the punitive penal, quasi-military state, but also pending food and energy problems. All hail the House of Saud. Natural gas is an investor inspired bubble, which threatens a vast investment bubble in natural gas infrastructure, that is sure to be useless when the fracking bubble pops. Never mind the polluting of aquifers, inevitable in punching so many holes deep into the earth, pumping vast amounts of chemical laden water at high pressures to fracture the underlying rock strata, leaking pipes etc. Aquifers not just necessary for drinking but for farming also. What if we had to rely on what falls from the sky, with an increasingly unstable climate? A lot of people die, that's what.
$8,000-$15,000 an acre for farm land is called investors fucking with food, btw. An investment bubble exactly like the Tech bubble, Housing bubble, and the natural gas/oil fracking bubble. That's going to be some dear corn after the investors take their cut, the interest paid, particularly during drought. Of course once the Ogallala is sufficiently empty, that'll be the end of the breadbasket of the world, so make your riches while you can, I guess. Of course, pumping all that fossil water couldn't save the crop this year. Nor the mass culling of the herd. Then there's all the guns. A hungry people increasingly insular, manipulated by the media, made hungrier by debt bondage, few of them ever taught how to think. Seems a strange strategy to run a civilization, but no doubt the major players have their own plans to GTFO if TSHTF.
So you see, it's no more crazy to stay here, than to go traipsing around the world in an orange afro wig. LOL
I applied for Unemployment bennies. That was easy. Twenty minutes online. My estimated benefit came to 0$, because there was no bubble to click in the section about why I am no longer employed, about a peaceful exit from a crooked enterprise. I didn't massage the how or the why about why I left big bank, came right out and said the job involved potentially unethical and borderline criminal work, so I put on an orange afro wig and danced at my cubicle/work station, knowing my job performance was too good to get me laid off, otherwise. If I just walked away I wouldn't qualify, and walking away, the Agency wouldn't place me again, anywhere. Apparently I'll get a letter in the mail, after the application is reviewed by a living human. The computer only recognizes that I got fired. There's an appeal process, should I be declined.
There's one job I might possibly be able to finagle my way into, but I'm going to have to be super charming about it, and I know it won't pay more than $11.25-$11.50/hr - goodbye, $200 left over for food, craft beer. LOL Good thing I've got that 6 gallons of 2011 Frontenac wine in the basement, which I cracked last night and you know what, it ain't all that, but it ain't half-bad either. Works as advertised! In three years I could be producing 200 bottles, between what I planted here, and the vines at my sisters. Maybe more.
Plenty of food staples in house to get me by, till the thaw. Theoretically, I shouldn't have to leave my house for the next two months, except for coffee. Oh right, Mortgage, bills, job...
Oh right, and my State of Minnesota tax return is going to get swallowed up by the State of Minnesota, because they say I owe them $300, because they say I made $12,000 in 2008, instead of the $9000 I apparently reported. Going back in time, to fleece the poor. That is the criminal racketeering enterprise American governance has become. Oh joy; big bank, big gov.
Oh and my Unemployment Benefit's should I receive any, generally said to be less than 50% of previous income, are taxed at a rate of 10% by the Feds and 5% by MN? Nutz. Bizarro.
Oh wait. Remember how the media supported the OWS movement, mostly? And then mocked them for their weakness, for not returning to the streets in 2012? Here is evidence that there was a vast nation-wide suppression of the OWS movement, lead by the FBI, at the behest of the big banks and big corps, with even planned assassinations by sniper of OWS leadership - and you have to go to the Guardian in the UK to find anyone in the major media reporting on it? Which makes the media of America what, whore to the expanding police surveillance state? Which begs the question then, can one remain good or moral or have real integrity, and work for big gov, big bank, big corp, big ag, big edu, big law enforcement, big military, big media, big monstrous global machine devouring people and the earth?
Not sayin you can't, just sayin the question needs askin'
Friday, December 28, 2012
Dreaming
Last week, on the Solstice, I wrote about how I'd been fired from big bank for dancing in an orange afro wig at my cubicle/work station. Word came later, which I mentioned in the comments of that post, that a few people had rushed out of the building terrified, one woman was afraid to walk to her car alone after work, and at least one called in sick the next day, saying she was too afraid to come to work. Big bank couldn't not fire me, and that the police were nearly called, led directly to me cleaning my house top to bottom, which had got kind of grubby, LOL - anticipating as I was a potential visit by the FBI, for having caused such a disturbance at big bank. I haven't seen them. :)
Never mind big bank seemed to me to be engaged in massaging loan documents, to pawn off the loan on Fannie and Freddie, i.e. gov. Not altering documents, that I know of, but certainly not including certain documents in the package sent to gov, to make the loan look less distressed. Not necessarily illegal, but then, what is illegal, when you are gov, big bank, corp or fed? Right, freak out about the guy in the orange wig. Suffice to say I am tired of working for shysters and hucksters, no matter how shiny legit they appear parading across the television.
Which, big bank, as I said, has not seen fit to forgive the mortgage on this house, in firing me. Suffice to say too, I was not particularly happy with the $200 each month left over, after I paid the various tributes to exist here (and I don't own a car), to do their dirty work (a "butt-in-seat, in the morgue/meatlocker/chop shop.")
Not sure what I'm going to do now, there being so many shysters and hucksters. I was thinking of "bleeding the beast" and applying for unemployment benefits, but for all I know I'm still "employed" by the temp agency I was working for, at the Behemoth in 2008. I never have applied for gov bennies since I accepted a few small, ill-chosen loans in the early nineties, for college. Might apply just to report on what happens - a little cushion would be nice too, though I'm dubious, all around. Meanwhile, I'll look for a job. Never have made more than $27,000 in any year of my adult life, and the average since I was 22 is probably more like $15,000, or maybe $10,000. I feel like maybe I deserve a good paying job doing something enjoyable and meaningful, not least that I am a hard worker when it means something, not least because of what I would likely do with the money, taking this house off the grid, growing as much food here as possible - but then, if such a job is available to me, I'm not aware of it. (When I was a kid, there was often talk from the media and the schools, that someday soon, technology would eliminate work. Now, it's all 'work harder longer for less,' with no social guarantee eventually. Presumably the uber-rich will be allowed to continue as they are, even until they print their first trillionaire. LOL)
The house itself is in stasis, mostly. The furnace doesn't work, and it doesn't appear like temperatures will be above freezing anytime the next ten days. I live mostly in the kitchen and my bedroom, two oil filled electric radiators maintaining a temp somewhere between 50-60F, the kitchen warmer on sunny days. The basement hovers around 38F, because of the water heater. The rest of the house stays around freezing. It's a pleasant enough place for me; I've lived in tents for months at a time. Not very livable though, certainly not for entertaining. LOL
I'd like to continue the work I started here. I imagine an attached greenhouse, fish ponds, hydroponic veggies, cisterns, solar radiant heating, even going underground and growing avacado and citrus. The tribute is high, however, and the resources I'd require, I've never had anything like, even though I could do it comparatively moderately, cost-wise. Making this a kind of focal point to help transform the region.
Of course, it's all madness. Considering this lot, in the midst of the squarest neighborhood in Minneapolis, in the midst of a 3-million metro food desert. I can imagine roving gangs of Somali, Latino, Black, White, Hmong, cop and Christian Fundies, zombie hoards, a vast military machine unleashed in the interior. Two nuclear facilities on the Mississippi, upriver and downriver 35 miles each way, melting down.
I get to thinking like that every time I spend more than a few hours watching teevee, like I did at my parent's this Christmas. I can't tell the difference anymore between CNN and FOX, the pandering, the conditioning for war in the Middle East, in Syria and Iran. Americans have seemed to mostly disregard the calls for armed commandos in every school, coming to the conclusion basically that it would be too expensive. I swear, American's are fatter every time I expose myself to the tube. And meaner, more invested in the status-quo, BAU, extract, acquire, consume.
Meanwhile of course, law enforcement top-to-bottom in this country is becoming little more than a pipeline for a vast penal system public and private, unlike anything the world has ever seen, deeply engrained now in our economy, from cops on the beat to prosecutors to drug testers to the many vendors supplying the many prisons, more military/commando authoritarian in it's methods every day. We even have public/private internment camps for "alien" Latinos, while middle class liberals consume earnest media retrospectives on internment camps for Japanese, during WWII; local law enforcement flooded with the "decommissioned" weaponry of our un-paid-for adventures in Iran and Afghanistan. Two things we haven't heard a peep from the media, in the so-called debate about violence following the shooting at Sandy Hook, are: What pharmaceutical anti-psychotic regimen was that young man on; and, this country has been at war for 12 years, our President is a known killer of children by drone, our military and CIA are in perhaps every country of the world, "protecting our interests", stirring up all kinds of blowback, that we 5% of humans might consume 35% of the worlds resources.
Last week I said too, all I really want to do is dance around the world in the orange afro. Remember that book, Catcher in the Rye? It's kind of like that. What economic situation we have is akin to coercion, ruled by hard asses, mean bastards and hypocrites. Holden Caulfield was merely an honest one, if he didn't really know what to do with that. All he wanted was to be a protector of the innocent, a life of purpose not built on lies, on things that cannot be said, on things that cannot be true. I figure I could dance like a dervish in the orange wig, with a tip jar out, making enough money to exist. I also happen to know people all over the world who are planning to build or are building interesting houses and big gardens. I also happen to be a former building contractor, and I have nurtured here a kind of Edenic oasis. That would be about the most honest living I have ever made, bouncing from place to place, helping however I can.
Ideally, I would keep this place too, until I finish the work I imagine here. How ANY of this happens though, I can't imagine. It seems like dreaming TOO big, based on the life I have lived to this point, considering too the increasing chaos in the world, and the fact that I'll be out of money again soon. So I guess all I can do is call it out, and let the Goddess sort it out ;). Otherwise, I don't see at this point how even to keep the house I seem to be renting from big bank, and a garden I am effectively leasing from the county, at a cost I seem incapable of paying. Not esp. if I would have to otherwise spend a fourth winter in this cold house.
I turn 40 this summer. I'd like to go see my friend Luciddreams, meet his family and help them around the homestead. I'd like to go to Cornwall to help Jason Heppenstall and his family with their homestead. A kind of pilgrimage too, to that Island, from which I presume I have ancestors going way back. I know of another curious project in Tasmania. As long as I'm dreaming, I wouldn't mind dancing along the Champs-Elysees, and maybe in Africa and Mali particularly, or maybe the Congo, to dance something like this (speaking of ancestors going way back)
To make any of this happen, what I imagine, I'm going to need some help. To that end, I've added an email option to the blog, in the right-side column. If you have any ideas, I'd love to hear them.
Never mind big bank seemed to me to be engaged in massaging loan documents, to pawn off the loan on Fannie and Freddie, i.e. gov. Not altering documents, that I know of, but certainly not including certain documents in the package sent to gov, to make the loan look less distressed. Not necessarily illegal, but then, what is illegal, when you are gov, big bank, corp or fed? Right, freak out about the guy in the orange wig. Suffice to say I am tired of working for shysters and hucksters, no matter how shiny legit they appear parading across the television.
Which, big bank, as I said, has not seen fit to forgive the mortgage on this house, in firing me. Suffice to say too, I was not particularly happy with the $200 each month left over, after I paid the various tributes to exist here (and I don't own a car), to do their dirty work (a "butt-in-seat, in the morgue/meatlocker/chop shop.")
Not sure what I'm going to do now, there being so many shysters and hucksters. I was thinking of "bleeding the beast" and applying for unemployment benefits, but for all I know I'm still "employed" by the temp agency I was working for, at the Behemoth in 2008. I never have applied for gov bennies since I accepted a few small, ill-chosen loans in the early nineties, for college. Might apply just to report on what happens - a little cushion would be nice too, though I'm dubious, all around. Meanwhile, I'll look for a job. Never have made more than $27,000 in any year of my adult life, and the average since I was 22 is probably more like $15,000, or maybe $10,000. I feel like maybe I deserve a good paying job doing something enjoyable and meaningful, not least that I am a hard worker when it means something, not least because of what I would likely do with the money, taking this house off the grid, growing as much food here as possible - but then, if such a job is available to me, I'm not aware of it. (When I was a kid, there was often talk from the media and the schools, that someday soon, technology would eliminate work. Now, it's all 'work harder longer for less,' with no social guarantee eventually. Presumably the uber-rich will be allowed to continue as they are, even until they print their first trillionaire. LOL)
The house itself is in stasis, mostly. The furnace doesn't work, and it doesn't appear like temperatures will be above freezing anytime the next ten days. I live mostly in the kitchen and my bedroom, two oil filled electric radiators maintaining a temp somewhere between 50-60F, the kitchen warmer on sunny days. The basement hovers around 38F, because of the water heater. The rest of the house stays around freezing. It's a pleasant enough place for me; I've lived in tents for months at a time. Not very livable though, certainly not for entertaining. LOL
I'd like to continue the work I started here. I imagine an attached greenhouse, fish ponds, hydroponic veggies, cisterns, solar radiant heating, even going underground and growing avacado and citrus. The tribute is high, however, and the resources I'd require, I've never had anything like, even though I could do it comparatively moderately, cost-wise. Making this a kind of focal point to help transform the region.
Of course, it's all madness. Considering this lot, in the midst of the squarest neighborhood in Minneapolis, in the midst of a 3-million metro food desert. I can imagine roving gangs of Somali, Latino, Black, White, Hmong, cop and Christian Fundies, zombie hoards, a vast military machine unleashed in the interior. Two nuclear facilities on the Mississippi, upriver and downriver 35 miles each way, melting down.
I get to thinking like that every time I spend more than a few hours watching teevee, like I did at my parent's this Christmas. I can't tell the difference anymore between CNN and FOX, the pandering, the conditioning for war in the Middle East, in Syria and Iran. Americans have seemed to mostly disregard the calls for armed commandos in every school, coming to the conclusion basically that it would be too expensive. I swear, American's are fatter every time I expose myself to the tube. And meaner, more invested in the status-quo, BAU, extract, acquire, consume.
Meanwhile of course, law enforcement top-to-bottom in this country is becoming little more than a pipeline for a vast penal system public and private, unlike anything the world has ever seen, deeply engrained now in our economy, from cops on the beat to prosecutors to drug testers to the many vendors supplying the many prisons, more military/commando authoritarian in it's methods every day. We even have public/private internment camps for "alien" Latinos, while middle class liberals consume earnest media retrospectives on internment camps for Japanese, during WWII; local law enforcement flooded with the "decommissioned" weaponry of our un-paid-for adventures in Iran and Afghanistan. Two things we haven't heard a peep from the media, in the so-called debate about violence following the shooting at Sandy Hook, are: What pharmaceutical anti-psychotic regimen was that young man on; and, this country has been at war for 12 years, our President is a known killer of children by drone, our military and CIA are in perhaps every country of the world, "protecting our interests", stirring up all kinds of blowback, that we 5% of humans might consume 35% of the worlds resources.
Last week I said too, all I really want to do is dance around the world in the orange afro. Remember that book, Catcher in the Rye? It's kind of like that. What economic situation we have is akin to coercion, ruled by hard asses, mean bastards and hypocrites. Holden Caulfield was merely an honest one, if he didn't really know what to do with that. All he wanted was to be a protector of the innocent, a life of purpose not built on lies, on things that cannot be said, on things that cannot be true. I figure I could dance like a dervish in the orange wig, with a tip jar out, making enough money to exist. I also happen to know people all over the world who are planning to build or are building interesting houses and big gardens. I also happen to be a former building contractor, and I have nurtured here a kind of Edenic oasis. That would be about the most honest living I have ever made, bouncing from place to place, helping however I can.
Ideally, I would keep this place too, until I finish the work I imagine here. How ANY of this happens though, I can't imagine. It seems like dreaming TOO big, based on the life I have lived to this point, considering too the increasing chaos in the world, and the fact that I'll be out of money again soon. So I guess all I can do is call it out, and let the Goddess sort it out ;). Otherwise, I don't see at this point how even to keep the house I seem to be renting from big bank, and a garden I am effectively leasing from the county, at a cost I seem incapable of paying. Not esp. if I would have to otherwise spend a fourth winter in this cold house.
I turn 40 this summer. I'd like to go see my friend Luciddreams, meet his family and help them around the homestead. I'd like to go to Cornwall to help Jason Heppenstall and his family with their homestead. A kind of pilgrimage too, to that Island, from which I presume I have ancestors going way back. I know of another curious project in Tasmania. As long as I'm dreaming, I wouldn't mind dancing along the Champs-Elysees, and maybe in Africa and Mali particularly, or maybe the Congo, to dance something like this (speaking of ancestors going way back)
To make any of this happen, what I imagine, I'm going to need some help. To that end, I've added an email option to the blog, in the right-side column. If you have any ideas, I'd love to hear them.
Friday, December 21, 2012
Fired
I got fired from big bank Thursday, Dec 20, 2012.
Fired, for dancing, in my orange wig, on my break, an hour before the end of day at big bank, before a five-day holiday break.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It basically went down like this:
Sometime about Monday, an idea about dancing at my cramped cave-like work station, took hold in my imagination. Like all great ideas, it felt exactly right, until I had a day to think about it, flooded with all the reasons why not to, there being many. Wednesday night though, the vision took hold again, and I pulled out my dusty glitter dancing shoes, the wacky jacket and the wig, the Bose sound system, the iPod and the necessary cords. Thursday morning I packed them up, and off to the bus I went.
On the bus I wavered. Then, listening to my mp3s, I heard the two songs I would dance to and then I knew. Arriving at big bank per-usual twenty minutes early, I walked into the back break room and started preparing. I put on the shoes, the jacket and the wig; when I turned around, ready to dance to my station, there was Bob, the head manager in the department, looking at me, smiling. "Hi Bob!" I said, and he smiled again and walked out of the break room, uninterpretable, but not seeming to mind. I followed him down the aisle about six paces behind, between regular big bank employee cubicles, bouncing around like I do, to the very song that inspired the costume (which only I could hear), which had looped to that point serendipitously. Heads were turning, mouths agape or turned upward with a light in the eye, I sauntered to my station, danced awhile, while I punched in online, talking to a woman seated near me, people laughing and giggling. Then I took the gear off and went to work.
My original intention had been not to pull out the gear again, until the last five minutes of the day. But there was little work to do, people were clearing out early to go home, so I kicked up the timeline to the afternoon break.
In the meantime, I struggled against a cold sweat. Dancing in my chair to stay warm. Serendipitously too, I found this article on the website Zero Hedge, as to whether or not one can remain moral, and continue to work for a big bank. I don't necessarily agree with the conclusion - I don't know what a moral is, it sounds to me like a dead fish - but I do consider myself a man of integrity. Then, minutes before I started to prepare for dancing, a guy behind me was reading a loan and he said, "Look at this, this guy is a Pastor of an evangelical church and school, making $20,000 a month. His wife is a teacher at the school and makes $1000. Saving the poor and disfortunate, I guess."
I put the jacket and the wig on (I wore the funky shoes all day), and at exactly two o'clock, I turned on the music.
The first song, Junek Bug Joe, only 2:18 long, djembe drum and mandolin based without vocals, by my friend Joe Credit, out of Missouri, or wherever he is now. (This link is to Joe's song about coffee, the only one I could find. Blogspot doesn't have an audio upload. You'll get the idea.) LOL. Up tempo, up beat. Nearly every head I could see was facing me, perhaps 70 people, and most of them were smiling.
Before minute one passed, Jeffery, one of the work directors, who has a very genuine heart, leaned over the cubicle wall, and told me I needed to turn it off and take it to the break room. I asked him if I was going to get fired, and he said he didn't know, and I told him I was going to take that chance. He tried to convince me otherwise, but there seemed in his surprise, a hint of admiration. Work Director Mark, told me to turn it down, which I did, but then I turned it up again, and then Manager Jim told me to turn it down, and I told him I couldn't, lamely that it was my "dream" - trying to dance all this time. I turned it down, and then back up, and he stomped away angrily, "You're not going to turn it down then, that's just great!"
Mind you, it was never anything like so loud, that we couldn't speak easily to each other from a distance. Some time last week, when I was sitting at a computer out in the middle of the department for a day, all three of these guys had stood around me in my chair, while we discussed, puzzled over and tried to solve a mystery about a loan I was working on. Four adult men putting their heads together to solve a problem - it was quite enjoyable actually, and the first time I felt like I connected with these guys in a very real way. Now, it was all command and control. I heard Jim saying to someone piercingly, "You aren't taking pictures, are you?"
The first song ended, and there was a spontaneous uproar of cheering, clapping and laughter, MUCH louder than the Bose had ever been. I leaned back, cupped my hands around my mouth and projected out, smiling, "if the apocalypse is indeed upon us...I recommend...Dancing!" and there was another round of laughter.
The second song, G.B.A, by Xavier Rudd, out of Australia, began more ominously, though it basically being about making the world a better place for kids. He cusses twice, but we're all adults here, yes? Manager Jim had fire just about blasting out from his ears, and work director Mark stalked around giving me a look, ready to pounce. As I danced, periodically berated to turn it down, turning it down, turning it back up, I could feel the vibe darkening, and watched as people disappeared back into their atomized space, fewer and fewer looking at me. Jim finally gave up and stomped back to his desk. I continued to dance, trying to maintain my own joyous vibe, letting go as I could (I could see at least one wild haired woman intent on what I was doing, the very same "true princess") and when the song ended, there was a depressing, cold silence.
I sat down, took off the wig, jacket and shoes, packed up the gear, and punched out for the day. I saw both Jeffery and Mark standing around Jim's desk, so I walked there to talk to them.
"What do you need?" said Mark, hostile, ready for a fight.
"I just wanted to let you guys know, It wasn't my intention to try to show you guys up, at all. I didn't mean any disrespect. I realize this could get me fired, but even then, no hard feelings. I punched out for the day."
"You're leaving for the day?" said Mark, his hostility quite suddenly vanished.
"I think that's best. And if I don't hear anything tonight or tomorrow, I'll just show up next week." Jeffrey seemed to think that was reasonable. Meanwhile, Jim was seated at his desk on the phone, scowling at me. He got off the phone, I reiterated what I had said, for his benefit, but he scowled some more and got back on the phone without saying a word.
I walked back to the break room, sat down somewhat stunned, and then prepared as if I might have to walk home, as the bus would not arrive for another 90 minutes. Mostly packed, I picked up my long underwear pants, and began walking to the bathroom.
As soon as I walked out of the break room, I saw both work directors walking down the main aisle toward me. Mark said, "hold on right there," and I stopped, standing there with my long underwear in my hand. They rounded the corner, a woman with them, who I immediately saw by her badge, was none other than the vaunted Sheila, head dept-manager Bob's boss, the same dragon lady who I have criticized in this blog, who I never have met, who I have been told, "never look her in the eye."
Looking her in the eye, smiling, all three people before me prepared for a fight, she says to me, quite calmly but with the slightest edge, "Ok, what you did, you disturbed the other staff. Are you waiting for the bus?"
"I was; thinking about walking home maybe too."
"Well we can escort you out, or I can call security."
I laughed softly and shook my head and smiled. "That won't be necessary; but, um, would it be ok if I slip into the bathroom for a second, and put on my long underwear?" which I was holding out in front of me in my hand, and I'm pretty sure all three of them, even dragon lady, giggled.
When I came back, dragon lady was gone, replaced by Lanni, my contact at the temp agency. She got there quick. "Hi Lanni!" I said. "So this is it, my last day at big bank?" Mark pointed at my badge, and I said, "I still need to be able to get out of the building," and made a gesture smiling, as if to keep it, and it got awkward for a second, though not in any harsh way, Mark almost apologizing at that point. "I tried to do a good job while I was here," I said, and Jeffery and Lanni esp. seemed to agree that I had. "I just have a very real antipathy toward big bank," and then I wished them a happy holidays and Dec 21, Solstice, and they walked me to the door. On the way out through the revolving gate, Mark's goodbye was loudest, out of all proportion.
Outside the gate in the stairwell, Lanni told me she had received a phone call and raced from downtown to protect her employee.
I hypothesized out loud, laughing, faux serious, "There is a lunatic dancing in an orange wig, and he's yours. Come retrieve him." She hadn't heard the actual story, so I explained, briefly.
"Well that's relieving," she said. "Usually when people leave like this there is a lot of acrimony, shouting. You just made me laugh. After a pause, "Are you Ok?" She seemed genuinely concerned.
"I'm doing great," and then I lied a little bit, saying that this work is "not what I am here to do."
"When you think about it, all I was doing was dancing." I explained the costume and how I danced outside the Halloween stores I managed. She asked about the songs. She said some people here at big bank are on edge, in lock-down mode, understandably, that she's noticed that, everywhere she manages temp employees. She said if she hadn't been able to come down to get me, they were going to call the police. I said thanks for showin up (though that would have been interesting. Hi Guys!), and then we said goodbye.
"Hey, it's almost the Apocalypse, right?" I said, by way of alluding to the weirdness of it all.
She had a faraway look then, "Oh right, when is that?"
"Tomorrow." As I started toward the door.
She turned away, but turned back. "You don't really think the world is going to end, do you."
"Nope," I said, smiling, and walked out the door, seven miles home, on the heels of a Midwestern snow storm.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Looking back, my only regret is that I wasn't singing softly on my way out of the department, the first verse from the Blind Melon song "No Rain":
All I can say is that my life is pretty plain,
I like watchin' the puddles gather rain.
And all I can do, is just pour some tea for two
And speak my point of view, cause it's not sa-aane
It's not sa-aa-aaa-aane...
That, and I guess, when Sheila walked up, I didn't say, "Hi Sheila! We finally meet!"
There was video. My sweet friend Shelly, who I have also defended in this blog, like a true champ, pulled up a chair, right up front and got comfortable, with her phone. They chased her back to her seat, by the end of the first song, and I'm not really sure, but she may have been the one Jim interrogated about taking pictures. I called twice and she checked in by email, I asked if it would be ok with her if I posted the video here. She didn't reply until 3:42 this morning, saying that she learned it was security policy at big bank, no pictures or video, so she deleted it. I'm kind of crushed about that. But it's ok I guess, and there were a lot of smart phones in that space so perhaps there is a video floating around the internet somewhere. Perhaps I could petition the NSA for a copy. LOL.
Which is funny too, when I first conceived of this idea, about an announcement, it certainly wasn't then about getting "term'd" by big bank. It was more personal, about how all I really want to do is dance around the world in an orange afro. There's a lot more to it than that, but no room now to go into it, in this post. I will say, it feels confirmed for me now; not least as I sit here in the sun, drinking coffee, listening to the great advocate of Liberty, Wayne Lapierre of the NRA, like a a true capitalist/militant/fascist gun lobbyist, advocating for moral lock-down, a government database for the "mentally Ill," and a full frontal, visibly military State even in the schools.
I didn't anticipate the command and control response I got, in the specifics. I figured there was a strong chance they would fire me. I thought though, they'd just let me do my thing and then fire me. Oh well, I disarmed them, at every turn, except Jim, who is new to the job, neither of his superiors were there, and he's got two kids, a house and a wife. The "other staff" who were the ones "disturbed," were the regular big bank employees who could not have seen me dancing unless they came to investigate. That a djembe beat from a pot-loving starry eyed mandolin genius, a digerridoo based song about making the world a better place for kids, and a guy dancing in an orange afro wig, on a day when there had not been any work for most of us to do for several hours, would be mistaken for any of the various horsepersons of the apocalypse, shows IMHO how far gone these folks are. Though I'm sure any of them might see the error in their ways, if they would just lighten up.
To my knowledge, though, big bank has not in firing me, forgiven the mortgage payments I owe it.
So anyway, that's what I did, at the end of the Mayan Long Count.
Fired, for dancing, in my orange wig, on my break, an hour before the end of day at big bank, before a five-day holiday break.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It basically went down like this:
Sometime about Monday, an idea about dancing at my cramped cave-like work station, took hold in my imagination. Like all great ideas, it felt exactly right, until I had a day to think about it, flooded with all the reasons why not to, there being many. Wednesday night though, the vision took hold again, and I pulled out my dusty glitter dancing shoes, the wacky jacket and the wig, the Bose sound system, the iPod and the necessary cords. Thursday morning I packed them up, and off to the bus I went.
On the bus I wavered. Then, listening to my mp3s, I heard the two songs I would dance to and then I knew. Arriving at big bank per-usual twenty minutes early, I walked into the back break room and started preparing. I put on the shoes, the jacket and the wig; when I turned around, ready to dance to my station, there was Bob, the head manager in the department, looking at me, smiling. "Hi Bob!" I said, and he smiled again and walked out of the break room, uninterpretable, but not seeming to mind. I followed him down the aisle about six paces behind, between regular big bank employee cubicles, bouncing around like I do, to the very song that inspired the costume (which only I could hear), which had looped to that point serendipitously. Heads were turning, mouths agape or turned upward with a light in the eye, I sauntered to my station, danced awhile, while I punched in online, talking to a woman seated near me, people laughing and giggling. Then I took the gear off and went to work.
My original intention had been not to pull out the gear again, until the last five minutes of the day. But there was little work to do, people were clearing out early to go home, so I kicked up the timeline to the afternoon break.
In the meantime, I struggled against a cold sweat. Dancing in my chair to stay warm. Serendipitously too, I found this article on the website Zero Hedge, as to whether or not one can remain moral, and continue to work for a big bank. I don't necessarily agree with the conclusion - I don't know what a moral is, it sounds to me like a dead fish - but I do consider myself a man of integrity. Then, minutes before I started to prepare for dancing, a guy behind me was reading a loan and he said, "Look at this, this guy is a Pastor of an evangelical church and school, making $20,000 a month. His wife is a teacher at the school and makes $1000. Saving the poor and disfortunate, I guess."
I put the jacket and the wig on (I wore the funky shoes all day), and at exactly two o'clock, I turned on the music.
The first song, Junek Bug Joe, only 2:18 long, djembe drum and mandolin based without vocals, by my friend Joe Credit, out of Missouri, or wherever he is now. (This link is to Joe's song about coffee, the only one I could find. Blogspot doesn't have an audio upload. You'll get the idea.) LOL. Up tempo, up beat. Nearly every head I could see was facing me, perhaps 70 people, and most of them were smiling.
Before minute one passed, Jeffery, one of the work directors, who has a very genuine heart, leaned over the cubicle wall, and told me I needed to turn it off and take it to the break room. I asked him if I was going to get fired, and he said he didn't know, and I told him I was going to take that chance. He tried to convince me otherwise, but there seemed in his surprise, a hint of admiration. Work Director Mark, told me to turn it down, which I did, but then I turned it up again, and then Manager Jim told me to turn it down, and I told him I couldn't, lamely that it was my "dream" - trying to dance all this time. I turned it down, and then back up, and he stomped away angrily, "You're not going to turn it down then, that's just great!"
Mind you, it was never anything like so loud, that we couldn't speak easily to each other from a distance. Some time last week, when I was sitting at a computer out in the middle of the department for a day, all three of these guys had stood around me in my chair, while we discussed, puzzled over and tried to solve a mystery about a loan I was working on. Four adult men putting their heads together to solve a problem - it was quite enjoyable actually, and the first time I felt like I connected with these guys in a very real way. Now, it was all command and control. I heard Jim saying to someone piercingly, "You aren't taking pictures, are you?"
The first song ended, and there was a spontaneous uproar of cheering, clapping and laughter, MUCH louder than the Bose had ever been. I leaned back, cupped my hands around my mouth and projected out, smiling, "if the apocalypse is indeed upon us...I recommend...Dancing!" and there was another round of laughter.
The second song, G.B.A, by Xavier Rudd, out of Australia, began more ominously, though it basically being about making the world a better place for kids. He cusses twice, but we're all adults here, yes? Manager Jim had fire just about blasting out from his ears, and work director Mark stalked around giving me a look, ready to pounce. As I danced, periodically berated to turn it down, turning it down, turning it back up, I could feel the vibe darkening, and watched as people disappeared back into their atomized space, fewer and fewer looking at me. Jim finally gave up and stomped back to his desk. I continued to dance, trying to maintain my own joyous vibe, letting go as I could (I could see at least one wild haired woman intent on what I was doing, the very same "true princess") and when the song ended, there was a depressing, cold silence.
I sat down, took off the wig, jacket and shoes, packed up the gear, and punched out for the day. I saw both Jeffery and Mark standing around Jim's desk, so I walked there to talk to them.
"What do you need?" said Mark, hostile, ready for a fight.
"I just wanted to let you guys know, It wasn't my intention to try to show you guys up, at all. I didn't mean any disrespect. I realize this could get me fired, but even then, no hard feelings. I punched out for the day."
"You're leaving for the day?" said Mark, his hostility quite suddenly vanished.
"I think that's best. And if I don't hear anything tonight or tomorrow, I'll just show up next week." Jeffrey seemed to think that was reasonable. Meanwhile, Jim was seated at his desk on the phone, scowling at me. He got off the phone, I reiterated what I had said, for his benefit, but he scowled some more and got back on the phone without saying a word.
I walked back to the break room, sat down somewhat stunned, and then prepared as if I might have to walk home, as the bus would not arrive for another 90 minutes. Mostly packed, I picked up my long underwear pants, and began walking to the bathroom.
As soon as I walked out of the break room, I saw both work directors walking down the main aisle toward me. Mark said, "hold on right there," and I stopped, standing there with my long underwear in my hand. They rounded the corner, a woman with them, who I immediately saw by her badge, was none other than the vaunted Sheila, head dept-manager Bob's boss, the same dragon lady who I have criticized in this blog, who I never have met, who I have been told, "never look her in the eye."
Looking her in the eye, smiling, all three people before me prepared for a fight, she says to me, quite calmly but with the slightest edge, "Ok, what you did, you disturbed the other staff. Are you waiting for the bus?"
"I was; thinking about walking home maybe too."
"Well we can escort you out, or I can call security."
I laughed softly and shook my head and smiled. "That won't be necessary; but, um, would it be ok if I slip into the bathroom for a second, and put on my long underwear?" which I was holding out in front of me in my hand, and I'm pretty sure all three of them, even dragon lady, giggled.
When I came back, dragon lady was gone, replaced by Lanni, my contact at the temp agency. She got there quick. "Hi Lanni!" I said. "So this is it, my last day at big bank?" Mark pointed at my badge, and I said, "I still need to be able to get out of the building," and made a gesture smiling, as if to keep it, and it got awkward for a second, though not in any harsh way, Mark almost apologizing at that point. "I tried to do a good job while I was here," I said, and Jeffery and Lanni esp. seemed to agree that I had. "I just have a very real antipathy toward big bank," and then I wished them a happy holidays and Dec 21, Solstice, and they walked me to the door. On the way out through the revolving gate, Mark's goodbye was loudest, out of all proportion.
Outside the gate in the stairwell, Lanni told me she had received a phone call and raced from downtown to protect her employee.
I hypothesized out loud, laughing, faux serious, "There is a lunatic dancing in an orange wig, and he's yours. Come retrieve him." She hadn't heard the actual story, so I explained, briefly.
"Well that's relieving," she said. "Usually when people leave like this there is a lot of acrimony, shouting. You just made me laugh. After a pause, "Are you Ok?" She seemed genuinely concerned.
"I'm doing great," and then I lied a little bit, saying that this work is "not what I am here to do."
"When you think about it, all I was doing was dancing." I explained the costume and how I danced outside the Halloween stores I managed. She asked about the songs. She said some people here at big bank are on edge, in lock-down mode, understandably, that she's noticed that, everywhere she manages temp employees. She said if she hadn't been able to come down to get me, they were going to call the police. I said thanks for showin up (though that would have been interesting. Hi Guys!), and then we said goodbye.
"Hey, it's almost the Apocalypse, right?" I said, by way of alluding to the weirdness of it all.
She had a faraway look then, "Oh right, when is that?"
"Tomorrow." As I started toward the door.
She turned away, but turned back. "You don't really think the world is going to end, do you."
"Nope," I said, smiling, and walked out the door, seven miles home, on the heels of a Midwestern snow storm.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Looking back, my only regret is that I wasn't singing softly on my way out of the department, the first verse from the Blind Melon song "No Rain":
All I can say is that my life is pretty plain,
I like watchin' the puddles gather rain.
And all I can do, is just pour some tea for two
And speak my point of view, cause it's not sa-aane
It's not sa-aa-aaa-aane...
That, and I guess, when Sheila walked up, I didn't say, "Hi Sheila! We finally meet!"
There was video. My sweet friend Shelly, who I have also defended in this blog, like a true champ, pulled up a chair, right up front and got comfortable, with her phone. They chased her back to her seat, by the end of the first song, and I'm not really sure, but she may have been the one Jim interrogated about taking pictures. I called twice and she checked in by email, I asked if it would be ok with her if I posted the video here. She didn't reply until 3:42 this morning, saying that she learned it was security policy at big bank, no pictures or video, so she deleted it. I'm kind of crushed about that. But it's ok I guess, and there were a lot of smart phones in that space so perhaps there is a video floating around the internet somewhere. Perhaps I could petition the NSA for a copy. LOL.
Which is funny too, when I first conceived of this idea, about an announcement, it certainly wasn't then about getting "term'd" by big bank. It was more personal, about how all I really want to do is dance around the world in an orange afro. There's a lot more to it than that, but no room now to go into it, in this post. I will say, it feels confirmed for me now; not least as I sit here in the sun, drinking coffee, listening to the great advocate of Liberty, Wayne Lapierre of the NRA, like a a true capitalist/militant/fascist gun lobbyist, advocating for moral lock-down, a government database for the "mentally Ill," and a full frontal, visibly military State even in the schools.
I didn't anticipate the command and control response I got, in the specifics. I figured there was a strong chance they would fire me. I thought though, they'd just let me do my thing and then fire me. Oh well, I disarmed them, at every turn, except Jim, who is new to the job, neither of his superiors were there, and he's got two kids, a house and a wife. The "other staff" who were the ones "disturbed," were the regular big bank employees who could not have seen me dancing unless they came to investigate. That a djembe beat from a pot-loving starry eyed mandolin genius, a digerridoo based song about making the world a better place for kids, and a guy dancing in an orange afro wig, on a day when there had not been any work for most of us to do for several hours, would be mistaken for any of the various horsepersons of the apocalypse, shows IMHO how far gone these folks are. Though I'm sure any of them might see the error in their ways, if they would just lighten up.
To my knowledge, though, big bank has not in firing me, forgiven the mortgage payments I owe it.
So anyway, that's what I did, at the end of the Mayan Long Count.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Here we are!
Here we are. The cusp of the long anticipated Dec 21, 2012.
I've been thinking about this a long time. Watching, wondering. What would become of the culture? To give credit where credit is due, the Maya prophesied this time, focusing us on this time. By way of the mystics Terence Mckenna and Jose Arguelles, with help from John Major Jenkins, dozens of other writers, lecturers etc, the denizens of the esotere, and Hollywood!!!.
The Mayan long count of 5,126 years ends Dec 21, 2012. Astounding, as the Mayans existed as a rising empire and civilization, from year 250-900 appx. How they would came by the detailed maps of the the stars and cyclical Time they did, in such a short period of time, without having invented the wheel, is a profound conundrum leading to befuddlement and severe condescension, among the cognoscenti of the West.
Terence Mckenna would have said, and I expect he did, that the reason was, mushrooms, containing psylocibin, particularly of the species Strophoria cubensis. His Timewave Zero was a significant advancement, in thrusting the Dec 21, 2012 date into the consciousness of the West, and indeed now globally. He was very fond of mushrooms too, through them he claimed, compiling from a pattern in the King Wen sequence of the I Ching, a fractal representation of Time that no one to my awareness has offered a satisfactory argument against.
What would happen! - this Friday! - he wavered. Without turning this in to a full exposition on Terence Mckenna, a portion of the West has distilled in part from his argument, and many others, that this is a time of profound transformation, some kind of hyper-dimensional, Time ending, evolutionary leap in consciousness. What that would really mean, no one can properly explain, by definition. And not least because mushrooms are among the most heinous social offences the government will allow it's law enforcement near free will over, in treatment of the partaker, lengthy incarceration and asset forfeiture being a very real threat - ruination - though Terence being a notable exception, by the power of his voice.
What is most extra-ordinary here, is the silence there seems to be about it, in the West, after the hullabaloo hey-day period of the boom-time 2000-2009, the Peak of 2012-phrenia in the West, another of its consumer gratification conspiracies for the economic consumer establishment. Mostly what is heard from Mainstream media about 2012 these days, is assertions by NASA etc Expert, that Dec 21 is NOT the end of the world. Thanks for that again, the apocalypse meme, mostly to the Media Hollywood acculturation empire, Monotheist particularly Christian apocalyptic exegesis, Governmental inexorable attempt to initiate World War, Corporate/Capitalist/Institutional adulteration of natural biology - that any living Mayan, or Terence or Joe wad ever said the world would end. Even the web community Reality Sandwich, a kind of epicenter of Terence Mckenna-like care and concern, is largely silent on the phenomenon (and the founder Daniel Pinchbeck wrote a prophecy of the return of Quetzalcoatal!) Really, there is very little frenzy, specific to any rigid Dec 21 meme. It thought it might be crazy! But wait!
It is a bit crazy, don't you think? Christians and Muslims and Jews, seem destined (in their mind) to create one great final conflagration. Never mind, that humanity appears in every way at a time of Peak water, fuel, food, debt, toxification, garbage, evidenced not least by mainstream promises of cornucopian abundance, assured to exacerbate the reckoning. The gun banners are a bit late to the party; the world is awash in weaponry, of every sort, enough to kill every last human, and every other species but the single celled besides. Technology is at a cusp of awakening us, or enslaving us, and every government esp. now America's, aspires to use it to surveill upon All.
I've never shied away from my esteem for the Mayan calculation, in this blog. Fact is, and I've said it many times and it bears repeating, 5,126 years ago, humanity had collected to a degree that we invented the written word, which is a big enough deal that it transformed the left hemisphere of the brain, to a negative degree on the right, which physical transformation corresponds precisely with hierarchy, patriarchy, and the rise of institutions. The death of the Goddess and the rise of the Monotheistic God. Militancy, religious amputation and poisoning of feeling for the earth, and then a scientific amputation of the spirit. Here we are.
10, 252 years ago, two Mayan Long Count cycles, corresponds approximately with the end of the flood, after the last ice age, after a rise and perhaps sudden rise for any established seashore civilization (?), a 400 feet rise over a period of 2-3 thousand years, perhaps much of it all at once.
Agriculture, in the aftermath. We started planting seeds. Monumental in the transformation of human consciousness.
Terrence Mckenna proposed that we spent much of the 100,000 years prior to the flood, in a mushroom/assorted hallucinogen, inspired transformation out of apehood into Logos, language, ambling sex fest around the planet. Though we had long since descended from the trees, with agriculture we were confined to a geography increasingly small.
Every 5,126 year Mayan Long count also happens to be 1/5 of the precession of the equinox. A curious phenomena of the planet's celestial passage, by which the poles ascribe a circle in the sky, 26,000 years in the making, round and round. 26,000 years ago being the approximate end of the species Neanderthal, corresponding to an approximate expansion in language, the Logos, among Homo sapien, perhaps beginning ten thousand years before the flood?
Thus, it appears to be without much question IMHO, that whatever tranformation is upon us, it is profound beyond conception. How much of that transformation I will see in my lifetime, assuming I live to anything like a ripe old age by modern Western standards (30-40 years more), I expect to see plenty, dwarfing what we have seen the last 40 years. Something very like the dissolution of the industrial nation state, which would be a very perilous, and potentially creative time for humanity, with the date of 12/21/2012 seen by many as a kind of bifurcation point, a shift of epochal proportions, unto a new Aeon.
(Which, being near about that 40th Milestone for me, inspired in part by two bloggers I admire, Jason Heppenstall and Aaron McCarty,*** I'll have one more post about what this date means to me personally, a kind of autobiographical thing, with an announcement of sorts (Thanks Jason ;) this Friday.)
As for anything happening this Friday, Solstice, Dec 21, 2012, if we had to bet on any one prophecy, I'd bet on Daniel Pinchbeck's return of Quetzalcoatl; but not like some bird headed serpent god descending out of the sky, but a series of 40+ x-class solar flare direct hits, wiping out the global communications/electrical grid.
But I'm not betting, because I don't expect anything esp. surreal to happen (if things aren't already surreal enough for you), but continued, accelerating chaos instead. Which, if you know from physics or astute observation of nature, that the "game" is really all about chaos, and Western and now global culture is all about control, well, you're in about as good a place as anyone can be, facing the Apocalypse. And if I recommend anything, I recommend you greet the Mayan end/beginning with dance and song. Blessings,
***When I published this post, I spelled Aaron McCarty, Justin McCarty. I was mistaking him with the Artist Justin Wade. I think I did so because I needed a reminder not to take myself too seriously, to get in touch with Justin about his sight, and that I might have mistaken Justin for Aaron, as I find them both similarly profound characters.
I also managed to spell Jason Heppenstall's name Jason Heppenstahl. I think that is because he is living in Denmark, though he is an Englishman by origin. I think maybe I was a little jealous too, myself such a lame homebody by comparison. If you read his last several posts, I think you will agree, he has lived a most serendipitous life.
I've been thinking about this a long time. Watching, wondering. What would become of the culture? To give credit where credit is due, the Maya prophesied this time, focusing us on this time. By way of the mystics Terence Mckenna and Jose Arguelles, with help from John Major Jenkins, dozens of other writers, lecturers etc, the denizens of the esotere, and Hollywood!!!.
The Mayan long count of 5,126 years ends Dec 21, 2012. Astounding, as the Mayans existed as a rising empire and civilization, from year 250-900 appx. How they would came by the detailed maps of the the stars and cyclical Time they did, in such a short period of time, without having invented the wheel, is a profound conundrum leading to befuddlement and severe condescension, among the cognoscenti of the West.
Terence Mckenna would have said, and I expect he did, that the reason was, mushrooms, containing psylocibin, particularly of the species Strophoria cubensis. His Timewave Zero was a significant advancement, in thrusting the Dec 21, 2012 date into the consciousness of the West, and indeed now globally. He was very fond of mushrooms too, through them he claimed, compiling from a pattern in the King Wen sequence of the I Ching, a fractal representation of Time that no one to my awareness has offered a satisfactory argument against.
What would happen! - this Friday! - he wavered. Without turning this in to a full exposition on Terence Mckenna, a portion of the West has distilled in part from his argument, and many others, that this is a time of profound transformation, some kind of hyper-dimensional, Time ending, evolutionary leap in consciousness. What that would really mean, no one can properly explain, by definition. And not least because mushrooms are among the most heinous social offences the government will allow it's law enforcement near free will over, in treatment of the partaker, lengthy incarceration and asset forfeiture being a very real threat - ruination - though Terence being a notable exception, by the power of his voice.
What is most extra-ordinary here, is the silence there seems to be about it, in the West, after the hullabaloo hey-day period of the boom-time 2000-2009, the Peak of 2012-phrenia in the West, another of its consumer gratification conspiracies for the economic consumer establishment. Mostly what is heard from Mainstream media about 2012 these days, is assertions by NASA etc Expert, that Dec 21 is NOT the end of the world. Thanks for that again, the apocalypse meme, mostly to the Media Hollywood acculturation empire, Monotheist particularly Christian apocalyptic exegesis, Governmental inexorable attempt to initiate World War, Corporate/Capitalist/Institutional adulteration of natural biology - that any living Mayan, or Terence or Joe wad ever said the world would end. Even the web community Reality Sandwich, a kind of epicenter of Terence Mckenna-like care and concern, is largely silent on the phenomenon (and the founder Daniel Pinchbeck wrote a prophecy of the return of Quetzalcoatal!) Really, there is very little frenzy, specific to any rigid Dec 21 meme. It thought it might be crazy! But wait!
It is a bit crazy, don't you think? Christians and Muslims and Jews, seem destined (in their mind) to create one great final conflagration. Never mind, that humanity appears in every way at a time of Peak water, fuel, food, debt, toxification, garbage, evidenced not least by mainstream promises of cornucopian abundance, assured to exacerbate the reckoning. The gun banners are a bit late to the party; the world is awash in weaponry, of every sort, enough to kill every last human, and every other species but the single celled besides. Technology is at a cusp of awakening us, or enslaving us, and every government esp. now America's, aspires to use it to surveill upon All.
I've never shied away from my esteem for the Mayan calculation, in this blog. Fact is, and I've said it many times and it bears repeating, 5,126 years ago, humanity had collected to a degree that we invented the written word, which is a big enough deal that it transformed the left hemisphere of the brain, to a negative degree on the right, which physical transformation corresponds precisely with hierarchy, patriarchy, and the rise of institutions. The death of the Goddess and the rise of the Monotheistic God. Militancy, religious amputation and poisoning of feeling for the earth, and then a scientific amputation of the spirit. Here we are.
Agriculture, in the aftermath. We started planting seeds. Monumental in the transformation of human consciousness.
Terrence Mckenna proposed that we spent much of the 100,000 years prior to the flood, in a mushroom/assorted hallucinogen, inspired transformation out of apehood into Logos, language, ambling sex fest around the planet. Though we had long since descended from the trees, with agriculture we were confined to a geography increasingly small.
Every 5,126 year Mayan Long count also happens to be 1/5 of the precession of the equinox. A curious phenomena of the planet's celestial passage, by which the poles ascribe a circle in the sky, 26,000 years in the making, round and round. 26,000 years ago being the approximate end of the species Neanderthal, corresponding to an approximate expansion in language, the Logos, among Homo sapien, perhaps beginning ten thousand years before the flood?
Thus, it appears to be without much question IMHO, that whatever tranformation is upon us, it is profound beyond conception. How much of that transformation I will see in my lifetime, assuming I live to anything like a ripe old age by modern Western standards (30-40 years more), I expect to see plenty, dwarfing what we have seen the last 40 years. Something very like the dissolution of the industrial nation state, which would be a very perilous, and potentially creative time for humanity, with the date of 12/21/2012 seen by many as a kind of bifurcation point, a shift of epochal proportions, unto a new Aeon.
(Which, being near about that 40th Milestone for me, inspired in part by two bloggers I admire, Jason Heppenstall and Aaron McCarty,*** I'll have one more post about what this date means to me personally, a kind of autobiographical thing, with an announcement of sorts (Thanks Jason ;) this Friday.)
As for anything happening this Friday, Solstice, Dec 21, 2012, if we had to bet on any one prophecy, I'd bet on Daniel Pinchbeck's return of Quetzalcoatl; but not like some bird headed serpent god descending out of the sky, but a series of 40+ x-class solar flare direct hits, wiping out the global communications/electrical grid.
But I'm not betting, because I don't expect anything esp. surreal to happen (if things aren't already surreal enough for you), but continued, accelerating chaos instead. Which, if you know from physics or astute observation of nature, that the "game" is really all about chaos, and Western and now global culture is all about control, well, you're in about as good a place as anyone can be, facing the Apocalypse. And if I recommend anything, I recommend you greet the Mayan end/beginning with dance and song. Blessings,
***When I published this post, I spelled Aaron McCarty, Justin McCarty. I was mistaking him with the Artist Justin Wade. I think I did so because I needed a reminder not to take myself too seriously, to get in touch with Justin about his sight, and that I might have mistaken Justin for Aaron, as I find them both similarly profound characters.
I also managed to spell Jason Heppenstall's name Jason Heppenstahl. I think that is because he is living in Denmark, though he is an Englishman by origin. I think maybe I was a little jealous too, myself such a lame homebody by comparison. If you read his last several posts, I think you will agree, he has lived a most serendipitous life.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Adam
Friday morning I forgot my earbuds at home, and despaired for a moment, that I would have to spend the day foreclosing on houses, without music. The guy next to me borrowed me his. I wandered around youtube awhile, and found Fatoumata Diawara. After a bleak week, I was enchanted, in love and dancing, like I haven't danced in awhile.
Then came a break, and I opened a new intranet window to this story
Sandy Hook. That was about as bleak as I felt all week.
After work I biked to my sister's, and hung out with my 9-year-old niece before she went to her dad's, and chased my 2-year-old (tomorrow!) nephew around the kitchen, and let him chase me, and I let him throw me around ;) for 45 minutes, and put him to bed, holding him a long time and singing, while his dad took a long nap.
If aliens were to stumble upon America, knowing nothing of it, but able to understand the language, in the aftermath of the Massacre at Sandy Hook, what would they make of MSM (Mainstream Media) coverage of the Massacre, with the intermittent breaks for car commercials, et al? Had those Aliens been playing with me and my nephew, they would have witnessed too, a bald shark declare that the meaning of life is MONEY, while visibly, physically repulsed by the living.
There is a thing in mathematics called a fractal, loosely described as the scale of the universe reflected in every part. Think how the structure of the atom with the electrons spinning around the proton, reflects the solar system, and how the solar system reflects the galaxy.
"Fractal is a word invented by Mandelbrot to bring together under one heading a large class of objects that have [played] ... an historical role ... in the development of pure mathematics. A great revolution of ideas separates the classical mathematics of the 19th century from the modern mathematics of the 20th... the revolution was forced by the discovery of mathematical structures that did not fit the patterns of Euclid and Newton. These new structures were regarded ... as 'pathological,' ... as a 'gallery of monsters,' ... The mathematicians who created the monsters regarded them as important in showing that the world of pure mathematics contains a richness of possibilities going far beyond the simple structures that they saw in Nature. Twentieth-century mathematics flowered in the belief that it had transcended completely the limitations imposed by its natural origins.
Now, as Mandelbrot points out, ... Nature has played a joke on the mathematicians. The 19th-century mathematicians may have been lacking in imagination, but Nature was not..." - Freeman Dyson
It is easier undrstood in representation
Maybe you don't know (sorry for you), how we humans tend to deny certain realities, trauma especially, and how denied those things tend to fester inside, and come out uncontrolled in unfortunate ways, "side ways," warping us in the long term, harming others irrevocably. If the one is reflected in the many, and likewise, then Sandy Hook might be described as a culturally "side ways" event, caused by a release of energy we as a culture have repressed and denied, turned toxic.
Now it is the law of the land, here in America, that the Government can take any American, detain him or her, anywhere in the world, and never tell anyone where you are, or even that you have been taken, as long as you live, and forever after. Our President can offer a tear for the children in Connecticut, but not for the Children who die by his order in other countries. His Brennan gets to kill children and not kill himself, declared instead the pillar of care and concern, the administration's "conscious". Nary an American has ever shed a tear for the children killed by our Military Machine, in consort with industrial corporations, withdrawing resources from poor, weak countries and people globally, destabilizing those countries and their people - necessary to maintain school districts like Sandy Hook, to maintain every aspect of what America has become. Notice how we fight to maintain the tax cuts seeded to us by the Bush, who fanned the flames of endless empirical war, low now more than a decade ago.
Religion and the Word separated us from the earth, and Science cut us off from Spirit, and here we are, separate and separated, mourning. Another Sandy said it far more eruditely than I can, about what letting go into the earth and spirit means. A different Sandy ravaged recently the delusions of modernity, East Coast style.
Sandy Hook. I did see on CNN a young woman who knew Adam, whose name was Israel. She said she remembered him from school, like he was a genius, "higher than us," she said. What is it about America, that we turn our geniuses into evil killers?
Among the mostly clueless things that have been said about Adam Lanza, I didn't hear anyone tonight say he heard voices. I had a fugitive thought, while I was playing with my nephew, watching the news, that perhaps Adam heard voices, that told him to do what he did, and that is why those children were here, to show us what denial looks like, and that they are well taken care of where they are now, better than any parent could ever hope to. That the parent's grief is about their loss, not the child's. And I don't doubt, wherever the child is, whatever it is now, it feels deeply the grief of the mother, the grief of the father, brother sister family and friend.
We've closed off and denied the voices. Geniuses throughout time have spoken of it, including Socrates "The favor of the gods has given me a marvelous gift, which has never left me since my childhood. It is a voice which, when it makes itself heard, deters me from what I am about to do and never urges me on." Descartes, the godfather of scientific materialism, was visited by a daemon (or an angel) who told him the conquest of nature would come by number and measure. Perhaps it's time we cherished those who hear voices, and listened to what they have to say, instead of demonizing the messengers, drugging them into silence, caging them institutionally, etc? Perhaps had Adam been free to speak of what was speaking to him, this would not have happened?
Then came a break, and I opened a new intranet window to this story
'EVIL VISITED THIS COMMUNITY'
Sandy Hook. That was about as bleak as I felt all week.
After work I biked to my sister's, and hung out with my 9-year-old niece before she went to her dad's, and chased my 2-year-old (tomorrow!) nephew around the kitchen, and let him chase me, and I let him throw me around ;) for 45 minutes, and put him to bed, holding him a long time and singing, while his dad took a long nap.
If aliens were to stumble upon America, knowing nothing of it, but able to understand the language, in the aftermath of the Massacre at Sandy Hook, what would they make of MSM (Mainstream Media) coverage of the Massacre, with the intermittent breaks for car commercials, et al? Had those Aliens been playing with me and my nephew, they would have witnessed too, a bald shark declare that the meaning of life is MONEY, while visibly, physically repulsed by the living.
There is a thing in mathematics called a fractal, loosely described as the scale of the universe reflected in every part. Think how the structure of the atom with the electrons spinning around the proton, reflects the solar system, and how the solar system reflects the galaxy.
"Fractal is a word invented by Mandelbrot to bring together under one heading a large class of objects that have [played] ... an historical role ... in the development of pure mathematics. A great revolution of ideas separates the classical mathematics of the 19th century from the modern mathematics of the 20th... the revolution was forced by the discovery of mathematical structures that did not fit the patterns of Euclid and Newton. These new structures were regarded ... as 'pathological,' ... as a 'gallery of monsters,' ... The mathematicians who created the monsters regarded them as important in showing that the world of pure mathematics contains a richness of possibilities going far beyond the simple structures that they saw in Nature. Twentieth-century mathematics flowered in the belief that it had transcended completely the limitations imposed by its natural origins.
Now, as Mandelbrot points out, ... Nature has played a joke on the mathematicians. The 19th-century mathematicians may have been lacking in imagination, but Nature was not..." - Freeman Dyson
It is easier undrstood in representation
Maybe you don't know (sorry for you), how we humans tend to deny certain realities, trauma especially, and how denied those things tend to fester inside, and come out uncontrolled in unfortunate ways, "side ways," warping us in the long term, harming others irrevocably. If the one is reflected in the many, and likewise, then Sandy Hook might be described as a culturally "side ways" event, caused by a release of energy we as a culture have repressed and denied, turned toxic.
Now it is the law of the land, here in America, that the Government can take any American, detain him or her, anywhere in the world, and never tell anyone where you are, or even that you have been taken, as long as you live, and forever after. Our President can offer a tear for the children in Connecticut, but not for the Children who die by his order in other countries. His Brennan gets to kill children and not kill himself, declared instead the pillar of care and concern, the administration's "conscious". Nary an American has ever shed a tear for the children killed by our Military Machine, in consort with industrial corporations, withdrawing resources from poor, weak countries and people globally, destabilizing those countries and their people - necessary to maintain school districts like Sandy Hook, to maintain every aspect of what America has become. Notice how we fight to maintain the tax cuts seeded to us by the Bush, who fanned the flames of endless empirical war, low now more than a decade ago.
Religion and the Word separated us from the earth, and Science cut us off from Spirit, and here we are, separate and separated, mourning. Another Sandy said it far more eruditely than I can, about what letting go into the earth and spirit means. A different Sandy ravaged recently the delusions of modernity, East Coast style.
Sandy Hook. I did see on CNN a young woman who knew Adam, whose name was Israel. She said she remembered him from school, like he was a genius, "higher than us," she said. What is it about America, that we turn our geniuses into evil killers?
Among the mostly clueless things that have been said about Adam Lanza, I didn't hear anyone tonight say he heard voices. I had a fugitive thought, while I was playing with my nephew, watching the news, that perhaps Adam heard voices, that told him to do what he did, and that is why those children were here, to show us what denial looks like, and that they are well taken care of where they are now, better than any parent could ever hope to. That the parent's grief is about their loss, not the child's. And I don't doubt, wherever the child is, whatever it is now, it feels deeply the grief of the mother, the grief of the father, brother sister family and friend.
We've closed off and denied the voices. Geniuses throughout time have spoken of it, including Socrates "The favor of the gods has given me a marvelous gift, which has never left me since my childhood. It is a voice which, when it makes itself heard, deters me from what I am about to do and never urges me on." Descartes, the godfather of scientific materialism, was visited by a daemon (or an angel) who told him the conquest of nature would come by number and measure. Perhaps it's time we cherished those who hear voices, and listened to what they have to say, instead of demonizing the messengers, drugging them into silence, caging them institutionally, etc? Perhaps had Adam been free to speak of what was speaking to him, this would not have happened?
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