circling to chloe's

Ricky is So Fine

2008-08-18T23:16:00.001-05:00

I do not think politicians should debate in political forums like we saw on Saturday evening with Rick Warren at Saddleback Church.Rick Warren's questions seemed like "soft ball" questions with a conservative agenda. When I heard Warren ask questions born from a core belief such as “when do you believe life begins?” or “How do you define marriage?” or “Does evil exist?” I found myself cringing from my seat and I was not even in Warren’s mega church. I do not think the questions were unimportant, but I do believe they followed a strong conservative party ethos.It would be interesting to see if, statistically, the questions were designed to favor a candidate like John McCain and the Christian value vote.

McCain is said to have sounded "better" and more confident than Obama. Obama is said to have sounded long winded. The questions did not lend themselves to short, straight ahead answers. McCain stated at one point that "our country was founded on Christian principles." This is true for the white Christians who landed here. But what about the Native Americanswho first inhabited the land and were destroyed in the name of Christianity. Does McCain’s answer define the beginning of our country while ignoring those who inhabited the land before us? This is a fact. General Pratt, the Secretary of the Interior in the 1860s, led a campaign to "kill the savage and save the man." To convert the Native American into a more western, Christian way of life. How does this bode with McCain's simple and straight ahead answer.

Rick Warren is the leader of the Evangelical movement and Evangelicals are frontrunners in promoting core values against abortion, stem-cell research, and gay marriage, to influence their voting cohort. It is said that Rick Warren’s “purpose driven church” has a network of more than 130,000 plus pastors. I know the Evangelicals are a powerful and large group, but when did America allow Christianity to become a political tool? I think the forum for candidates needs to be free from any bias that might infect the debate.Christianity is one such bias that is not needed in any political debate. What if the same questions were asked of a Jewish, Muslim, or god forbid, agnostic candidate.

Arm Box

2007-02-05T12:06:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I want to rip my arms off. I'm serious. If some guy in a cloak came to me in the middle of the night and offered to take my arms off, I would probably let him. I usually like my arms, but at night, sometimes, I want to be armless and round...like a marble.

Most days my arms are cool. They are mine and I've had them for 30 years. They usually do what I say. My arms are awesome actually. They get me things like coffee, twinkies, pieces of paper, etc, and they work pretty well. But sometimes around the 2am hour when I am trying to sleep they just get in the way. It's like I am noticing my arms for the first time. And at this point they aren't friendly anymore. The arms who used to get me stuff. They are all over the place and it is like sleeping with two logs attached to my shoulders. Evil twin logs who want nothing more than to ruin my life. I want to rip them off and stuff them under the bed. Or at least be able to detach them and put them in a box or something…for the morning. And my wife never seems to have this problem. It's always just me, the cat, and like 2 or 3am on the O' clock.

So the other night I was trying to sleep on my side but my one arm was not working with me. It was so irritating. I ended up getting out of bed and eating cereal. At this point I found I just have to wait out the arms. If I don't then I end up crying out of frustration. Fucking arms.

And I try to sleep in the most ridiculous positions: I put both arms above my head. Doesn't work. I try stuffing one arm under a pillow. Doesn't work. I try to put both arms in front. Doesn't work. Next move: exit bed, eat cereal, cry, and think about ripping my arms off. To sleep a delicious slumber as a stump.

Fucking arms.
Arms are stupid. Even the name "Arm" is dumb.

I wish I had detacheable arms and could put them in a box under the bed.

SOTU 2007

2007-01-29T08:30:00.000-06:00

I am a little late getting this out, but nobody reads this anyway.
I have spoken to several about last week's SOTU and this is my favorite line:

"Our success in this war is often measured by the things that did not happen."

I find this to be genius rhetoric and brilliant speech writing. To measure a war's success by things that have not happened. Imagine that! The possibilities are endless.

Now we wait and wait to see if 25,000 more troops will be sent in an effort to clear, hold, and re-build Baghdad. This is the administration's last attempt to stop civil war and sectarian violence. The Iraq Study Group declared that as Baghdad falls, so falls Iraq. If the troop surge is approved, all focus will be on the capital city and this last rush of military force. If the troops surge is denied, the war's calamity and failure will be pinned on the Democratic congress who veto it. The responsibility will shift in the coming months. It has already happened. The Bush Administration has created a smokey rhetoric which has put all responsibility on the Iraq people and "military" to take control of the situation that we have started; To take responsibility to show us that they are deserving of our presence.

Iran is also moving in on Baghdad, against warnings from Washington. The NY Times (Jan. 28) describes the efforts: "The ambassador, Hassan Kazemi Qumi, said Iran was prepared to offer Iraq government forces training, equipment and advisers for what he called 'the security fight.' In the economic area, Mr. Qumi said, Iran was ready to assume major responsibility for Iraq reconstruction, an area of failure on the part of the United States since American-led forces overthrew Saddam Hussein nearly four years ago.

'We have experience of reconstruction after war,' Mr. Qumi said, referring to the Iran-Iraq war in the 1980s. 'We are ready to transfer this experience in terms of reconstruction to the Iraqis.' This does not sit well with the Bush Administration.

Needless to say, this is not going to get any better anytime soon.
I think it's just getting started.

Rock the Casbah

2007-01-15T13:36:00.000-06:00

Spent the snowy day watching the Criterion Collection's edition of Gillo Pontecorvo's The Battle of Algiers. The film has been described as the most important political movie of our time; Criterion calls it One of the most influential political films in history, and as I watched it (over coffee on Sunday morning) I was taken back by how relevant the film is to us, in 2007. And how yes! This film is quite possibly the most urgent thing I have seen in a long, long time. I guess Resistance is the same no matter what time or place. And Imperial Power will always be a Vampire...

The film is about the Algerian Revolution Movement which led to the end of 130 years of French occupation. The Struggle culminated in bombs, violence, and a justified rebellion against all things French. The Revolution's flag was later adopted for the Algerian Flag.

Criterion has created a 3 DVD set, which, among other things, includes Edward Said narrating a 37 minute documentary on the film and the situation in Algiers. Said, at one point asks, "can an Imperial power ever be defeated?" And I think that is an appropriate question considering today's struggle in Iraq. The situation in Algiers was much different than what we face with our colonization of Iraq, but the struggle and chaos of French force fighting non-linear, guerilla tactics of the Algerians is impossible to ignore. In the end the Algerian people organized, went on strike, and defeated the French Army through their conviction of resistance.

Pontecorvo eventually made commercials, and that is wierd considering how important this film is/was. The critics on the additional Discs are almost angry with Pontecorvo's lack of work after The Battle of Algiers. Doesn't matter. The film exists, and it presents a very relevant story of a collective and social movement against a Colonial force unwanted and over fed on itself and its power.

5 Things Redux! Or, How I became a Cyber Geek like Uber Fast

2007-01-08T13:29:00.000-06:00

Per Dan's requestI will describe 5 (ish) things you do not know about me...these are listed in no particular order. They completely define who I am.

1. One time in grade school I pooped my pants. This is how it happened. It was after school and I was playing soccer with the team. I played soccer for only one year. I forget the team's name. One day at practice we were running drills and I accidentally let a load off. I immediately knew what happened and got really embarrassed. I did the only thing I knew to do, and that was grab the seat of my sagging pants and run away holding The Load and the whole time pointing with the other hand at my butt while I said, "look, a bag of candy!" I fooled them into thinking I was leaving soccer practice in the middle of drills with a bag of candy in my pants. I said it like I was excited about it, too. But I was a bit excited, really. Poop in the pants of your soccer shorts does that.
Unfortunately My neighbor was just finishing his practice and him and his dad offered me a ride. Being very young I wasn’t skilled at getting out of situation, so I accepted. Because I had a bag of candy in tow, I opted to not sit on the seat, but took up residence on the floor space and propped myself up by using my elbows on the seat. The only thing I remember about the ride was my friend saying, "Dad, I think the dog shit in here." I knew it wasn't the dog.
They dropped me off at home. My mom met me at the door and I honestly remember saying "mom, I pooped my pants." And then I cried.

2. My first crush was Olivia Newton John. I loved her really bad. I used to sit under the dining room table and lay my head on the cassette player (the kind that was flat, had a handle, an orange record button, and the cassette door flipped up and open when you pushed eject.) I would lay underneath the dining room table with my ear to the cassette player and listen to Olivia Newton John tapes for hours. (A) My parents took me to a Barbara Mandrel concert at the Fair. I didn’t know her and it made me mad to know they were trying to persuade me with this imposter. I hated it, but everyone else around seemed to like it. (B) I used to watch "Two of a Kind" and "Grease" all the time during my infatuation period. It lasted for one year.

3. One time I took break dancing lessons at the Wilkie House. I was young. It was me and all these break dancing black dudes. "Breakin" was huge and I loved that guy Turbo. I had parachute pants because when you are like 7 in 1983 those pants were where it was at. So I went to this house in my parachute pants. It was a youth shelter for after school programs. A place to keep the kids off the street. Don't know if it is still there but it used to be over by the Homes of Oakridge. I learned how to do the Worm, the Flare, and the Moonwalk. None of it was like Turbo. For a lesson in Break dancing, and to understand my past, check out http://www.uic.edu/orgs/kbc/hiphop/break.htm. It will explain the hip hop life.

4. I used to hide in bushes and throw rocks at cars. My friend DJ and my brother were huge enthusiast of this activity. We hid in the bushes and hit the cars as they drove by. It all ended when a woman got hit twice (to and from the store), and she parked her car at the top of the street and came down to where we were “hiding.” DJ and I ran and my brother got caught. We watched from our perch of hiding as he got hauled to our house. He was balling and I knew I was fucked. I was. We got busted and that ended our rock throwing days.

5. I used to spend hours in my room playing air guitar to Quiet Riot albums. I would imagine that I was in the band and have mini concerts in my room. The fans always adored me as I played the long guitar solos. I liked Metal Health, but Condition Critical was good too.

6. My good brother pointed out Water Babies and I totally forgot about them. They need mentioning. My sister came home from school one day and she called me into her room. She told me about this idea she had. She said, "Chugs, i have a pack of balloons that i want to fill up with water. I want to make them different sizes, and then when we have all 30 or 40 filled, i want us to keep them in our rooms, closets, and even the bathtub! I want to take care of them like little children. I want to call them water babies." i looked at her stunned. to my 6 year old mind it was completely genius. I agreed immediately and began to fill balloons like a motherfucker. We started with about 36 babies.

It started out great! I had some, she had some. Don't remember my brother taking care of any, but he probably did. A family that plays together stays together. And we filled up our rooms with these babies. And the bathtub was taken over. The babies were happy. We would carry them around. Talk to them. Look at them. They didn't do much but sit there. Lazy babies, really. But then they started to snap. They exploded, sometimes. And after a week or two of taking care of the babies, an explosion was met with giant sadness. It ruined us. Made us cry. I really got attached. I had one that was blue. I called it Erik. He exploded. I lost my mind. That all ended when my Mom got pissed at all the balloons and water. We had to give them up.

7. The Water Babies also reminded me of the duck parts. One time my friend Stevie brought a dead duck to school. He brought it in a shoebox, and he showed me at recess. I thought it was the sweetest thing I had ever seen. I said, "Stevie, that is so sweet. Can I have some of it?" I always wanted what other kids had, and Stevie knew this so he gave me parts of the Duck. I got the head, the feet, and a wing, and that was it. I put them in my pocket and took them home. I was so happy on my way home that day.

I put them in the closet and made a shrine for them. It was cool. I would go to it like every 20 or 30 minutes and just look at them. Sometimes i would move them, or rearrange them. Mostly i just liked to touch the feet and stare at the nostrils on the beak. I loved my Duck Parts. But about 3 weeks in they started to smell really bad. So instead of giving them up i started to spray my dad's deoderant on them. I did this all the time cause the smell was getting really severe, really fast, all the time. About 1 more week of this and my mom got pissed again. She threw the Duck Parts away. I think I cried, again.

World Leader Pretend; Or, The Slow Burn of My Pudding Rage

2007-01-04T18:16:00.000-06:00

So I am walking around the apartment tonight mixing pudding in a bowl while my wife watches Russian television. I was hungry for Pudding, so I decided to make some. I like it, but like my wife says, "watch the puddin', you know what it does to your countenance!" and so she is right: I suffer from Pudding Madness after about the 3rd bowl. I didn't start eating pudding until I was 28, and it definately shows.

The Madness tonight is the same as always. I get pudding rage. The rage is uncontrollable, and it is always directed at the War in Iraq and the unlucky Dude at Kum and Go. The one who works the late shift. I used to rage at the Passing Moon and the olderish woman in the Express Lane at Fareway. Express it is not, and lady, my cat is none of your business. As for now, my wife has taken the remaining Pudding from my hands, so I want to serenade you all with a tale of American Heroics.

In an effort to bring good vibrations to the New Year, raise spirits, and induce a general Good Mood amongst my readers, I thought I would report on The Iraq Study Group Report. I find this little book to be terrifying. And this is what I thought I would share:

I think about the world a lot as I know most of you do. I find myself almost getting used to the insanity as we kick off a new year of American politics and muscle in regions we do not understand nor try to. And it is this complacency of living with War that I fight as soon as I am aware of it. It's an internal struggle that usually finds no outward release. I wonder what I can do to make a difference? This Middle East situation is difficult because although I do not agree with the way the Bush Administration lied to the American people to secure a military campaign in Iraq, I also understand that there is a need for some kind of change in those provinces. But what Bush has done has only been gasoline to a fire. Nothing less. There is a stalemate in the War on Terror, and this is where the Iraq Study Group positions itself. The report is fair, and it is very critical of US operations. The report is looking toward the future, but in doing so must challenge present leadership and the decisions from Washington.

The report's full title is The Iraq Study Group Report: The Way Forward--A New Approach. There are 79 recommendations from this committee for Bush and his mentors. The committee is bipartisan. These citizens are educated and well-served. The list of members:

James A. Baker, III-Co-chair: Baker has served in senior government positions under three United States presidents. Baker was the nation's 61st Secretary of State under President George H.W. Bush.

Lee H. Hamilton-Co-Chair: Served for 34 years as Congressman from Indiana. Since January 1999, Hamilton has been the Director of the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars.

Lawrence S. Eagleburger-Member: Was sworn in as the 62nd U.S. Secretary of State by President George H.W. Bush on December 8, 1992, and as Deputy Secretary of State on March 20, 1989.

Vernon E. Jordan, Jr.-Member: Senior Managing Director of Lazard Freres & Co, LLC in New York. Prior to joining Lazard, Jordan was senior Executive Partner with the law firm of Akin Gump Strauss Hauer & Feld, LLP, where he remains Senior Counsel. While there Jordan practiced general, corporate, legislative, and international law in Washington, D.C.

Edwin Meese III-Member: Holds the Ronald Reagan Chair in Public Policy at the Heritage Foundation, a Washington, D.C.-based public policy research and education institution. Meese also served as the 75th Attorney General of the United States from February 1985 to August 1988.

Sandra Day O'Connor-Member: Nominated by President Reagan as Associate Justice of the United States Supreme Court on July 7, 1981, and took oath of office on September 25.

Leon Panetta-Member: Currently co-directs the Leon & Sylvia Panetta Institute for Public Policy, a non-partisan study center for the advancement of public policy based at California State University, Monterey Bay.

William J. Perry-Member: Perry is the Michael and Barbara Berberian Professor at Stanford University, with a joint appointment at the Freeman Spogli Institute for International Studies and the School of Engineering.

Charles S. Robb-Member: Robb joined the faculty of George Mason University as a Distinguished Professor of Law and Public Policy in 2001.

Alan K. Simpson-Member: Served from 1979 to 1997 as a United States Senator from Wyoming. Following his term in the Senate, Simpson was elected by his peers to the position of the Assistant Majority Leader in 1984--and served in that capacity until 1994. He completed his final term on January 3, 1997.

The writing of the report is free from party rhetoric. They state the problems and the way out. They also admit US weakness and fallibility when appropriate. Although the report is under 100 pages, I will confine most of the discussion to the first 20. There is just too much important an urgent information in the report to treat here. My hope is that someone will access this report and read it and pass the info on to someone else. These reports put out by bipartisan committees are for us to read. They help us stay informed as Citizens. It is time to wake the fuck up and get us out of this mess which George W. Bush will have on his conscience forever. I hope he never sleeps well again. His lies have infected entire generations of Americans who have not even been born yet; and as the song goes, "[he] ain't worth the blood that runs in [his] veins." So while the pudding rages on I wish you allah Happy New Year!

The following are excerpts from the Study Group Report. I will add comments because I have to. The pudding makes me. REDRUM. I sit here drinking coffee, reading this Report and I cannot beleive what I read. It isn't that the information is new. It isn't. But it gives specifics to a very misunderstood War. It gives a new approach from level-headed people. And my cat ate the book's cover off. So I think Logan is a conservative. It's out. Logan is a right wing nut. I bet my cat hates gay people, too. (Disclaimer: my cat loves gay people. And as far as I know, he doesn't show any interest in politics).

The report begins:

"The situation in Iraq is grave and deteriorating. There is no path that can guarantee success, but the prospects can be improved. In this report, we make a number of recommendations for actions to be taken in Iraq, the United States, and the region. Our most important recommendations call for new and enhanced diplomatic and political efforts in Iraq and the region, and a change in the primary mission of U.S. forces in Iraq that will enable the United States to begin to move its combat forces out of Iraq responsibly" (xiii). The main idea in this report is to give the power to Iraqi forces and to withdraw US presence. But the reality of this is that the Iraqi forces are not ready, and even more interesting, are not willing to cooperate. This lack of cooperation is based on sectarian party lines: Primarily Shia and Sunni. To get American forces out of Iraq will consume the next administration, and it will be the removal of US force that will allow Americans to forget our involvement in the Middle East because we are so susceptible to forgetting the bad (with the television on…). But I am afraid the removal will not be based on Iraqi competency and leadership and rather on a necessity to get done whatever mission we started.

Much is written on the Sectarian problem. The general take is that "the United States cannot achieve its goals in the Middle East unless it deals directly with the Arab-Israeli conflict and regional instability. There must be a renewed and sustained commitment by the United States to a comprehensive Arab-Israeli peace on all fronts: Lebanon, Syria, and President Bush's June 2002 commitment to a two-state solution for Israel and Palestine. This commitment must include direct talks with, by, and between Israel, Lebanon, Palestinians (those who accept Israel's right to exist), and Syria" (xv).

The problem isn't the report of the Study Group, but rather the complexity of its information. Bush's campaign of "weapons of mass destruction," which proved very effective in duping the American people with Fear, allowed Bush to engage the US military in a war about protection. To protect the American people from attacks was the main goal so many years ago. Save for the Cynics in the crowd, The American people agreed to that. Who wouldn't? Now, imagine Bush bringing to the American people a well-studied strategy which included the above quotation. Imagine a strategy of such complex proportions. No Sane American would agree to go ahead on that for the fact that the reality of the situation, excuse me, the "War on Terror," is too intricate for any one country to achieve; especially through force. The above quotation demonstrates a divisive reality which, in some cases, is over 1,300 years old. No military will end that division.

Simply put, the sectarian viewpoints are too many and too complex to wage a war against. In order to be effective, the US and Iraqi forces will need to contend with the Shia (the majority of Iraq's population who have gained power for the first time in more than 1,300 years); Sunni Arabs (who feel "displaced because of their loss of traditional position of power in Iraq"); and Iraqi Kurds (who have presented "a united front of two main political blocs: the Kurdistan Democratic Party and the Patriotic Union Of Kurdistan"). The Study Group focuses on the fact that Iraq needs a national reconciliation if it is to rebuild itself. This national reconciliation begins but does not stop with "de-Baathification, which prevents many Sunni Arabs from participating in governance and society; providing amnesty for those who have fought against the government; sharing the country's oil revenues; demobilizing militias; amending the constitution; and settling the future of Kirkuk" (18). Good luck with that one. I would rather take on producing a solid K Fed (Fed Ex?)album. The tabloids have taken to calling the chap Fed Ex, but I think he gets a bad run from the public because he has a lot of tattoos and he smokes. Not to mention his ex-wife drops their baby all the time. The Fed Ex obviously has a lot on his mind, not the least of which is a dropping baby, and there is no way you can put out a good rap album under those conditions. Straight Outta Compton wasn't released with babies on the premises, and Fed Ex's work shouldn't be expected to either. Drop that baby, just leave the guy alone.

To complicate this already convoluted issue (which goes well beyond fighting terror and spreading Democracy and dropping babies!) the Study Group echoes the Bush administration in making Iraq prove its worth. The Report does it to illustrate the complexities involved in our Occupation of Iraq; Bush does it to sound strong and American. A Real Firm Guy. He stays the course. But as you have noticed he has tempered his rhetoric drastically since Christmas; he is now admitting that Iraq is not going as smoothly as he planned, and that changes are indeed forthcoming. I think the manifold program of war is finally catching up to Bush's lies and simple, straightforward speech. There is no longer anywhere to hide as the Death count gets higher.

To ask Iraq to prove its worth not only seems unfair considering Iraq never asked us to invade and occupy their country, but it also demonstrates the lack of support from the Iraqi forces in helping us with whatever we have started in the last several years. The report goes: "The United States should work closely with Iraq’s leaders to support the achievement of specific objectives—or milestones—on national reconciliation, security, and governance. Miracles cannot be expected, but the people of Iraq have the right to expect action and progress. The Iraqi government needs to show its own citizens—and the citizens of the United States and other countries—that it deserves continued support" (xvii). And again, this list is an incredible list. Our own country is still dealing with issues of governance, security, and national reconciliation. How can we pass it on? You gotta get your own house in order. But this whole situation reflects on our country. The report explains that, “because events in Iraq have been set in motion by American decisions and actions, the United States has both a national and a moral interest in doing what it can to give Iraqis an opportunity to avert anarchy” (2). The blood is on us.

In addition to the Sectarian violence in Iraq, the security of military and police force is sub-par. It is inadequate and not doing much to build itself as a reliable alternative to American force.

Crime is everywhere in all walks of life, and the criminals gain authority because they are the ones who are organized and effective. "Organized criminal rackets thrive, particularly in unstable areas like Anbar province. Some criminal gangs cooperate with, finance, or purport to be part of the Sunni insurgency or a Shiite militia in order to gain legitimacy. As one knowledgeable American official put it, ‘if there were foreign forces in New Jersey, Tony Soprano would be an insurgent leader.’"(6). The criminals are thriving and making the already unstable nature of the country even worse. "Approximately 141,000 US military forces are serving in Iraq” (6). These forces are not only draining our own military pool, but are no match for the non-linear war tactics of this region. The Iraqi forces are no match either. The Iraq Army is not much of an Army. The report explains that, "the Iraqi Army is confronted with several other significant challenges: Units lack leadership; Units lack equipment; Units lack personnel; Units lack logistics and support" (9). The report continues with the Iraqi police stating, "The state of the Iraqi police is substantially worse that that of the Iraqi Army…Iraqi police cannot control crime, and they routinely engage in sectarian violence, including the unnecessary detention, torture, and targeted execution of Sunni Arab civilians. The police are organized under the ministry of the Interior, which is confronted by corruption and militia infiltration and lacks control over police in the provinces" (10). These are the Forces our Government is putting faith in, to back us up, and to allow our troops to come home and to be done with this mess. These Iraqis probably don't even know that KFED is single.

No thought was given to this anarchy and lack of stability when the rhetoric of war ran high so many years ago. No mention of this weakness is mentioned by those who still believe we are "fighting terror and spreading Democracy" in a region that has no context for it. The occupation is like a foreign force coming into the United States in the 1950s and using force to make us embrace equal rights. And that situation was only about 200 years old.

As Baghdad Goes, so Goes Iraq

One of the most telling moments of the report is its treatment of Baghdad, and the belief that what happens in Baghdad demonstrates how the rest of the country will fall. A proving ground I which we are losing our footing everyday of our occupation. Apparently a major effort to quell violence in Iraq, American Forces joined with Iraqi Forces to establish security in a mission called "Operation Together Forward II," which began in August 2006. Under Operation Together Forward II, US Forces are working with Members of the Iraqi Army and police to "clear, hold, and build” in Baghdad, moving neighborhood by neighborhood. There are roughly 15,000 US troops in Baghdad" (11). The reason this City is revealing of the Iraq situation is that the capital city has more than 6 million people; "Baghdad contains some 25 percent of the country’s population. It is the largest Sunni and Shia city in Iraq. It has high concentrations of both Sunni insurgents and Shiite militias. Both Iraqi and American leaders told us that as Baghdad goes, so goes Iraq" (11).

The report continues: "the results of Operation Together Forward II are disheartening. Violence in Baghdad—already at high levels—jumped more than 43 percent between the summer and October 2006…Iraqi police have been unable or unwilling to stop infiltration and contin [ued] violence. The Iraqi Army has provided only two out of the six battalions that it promised in August would join American Forces in Baghdad…Security Forces will fail unless the Iraqis have both the capability to hold areas that have been cleared and the will to clear neighborhoods that are home to Shiite militias. US Forces can ‘clear’ any neighborhood, but there are neither enough US troops present nor enough support from Iraqi security forces to ‘hold’ neighborhoods so cleared... The same holds true for the rest of Iraq. Because none of the operations conducted by US and Iraqi military forces are fundamentally changing the conditions encouraging the sectarian violence, US Forces seem to be caught in a mission that has no foreseeable end" (12). This whole thing is like pulling a hand out of a bucket of water or sand. No hole is created, no reprieve from the perpetual rebuilding. This passage demonstrates the monomaniacal quest we are on in the region, and the reason why this war was always a mistake. You cannot fight "terror" because it's everywhere and it is nowhere. And once you root it out and destroy it, there is another generation ready to take its place.

I feel frightened by the information in this report for several reasons. One is that the issue in Iraq is so complicated, and yet the American politicians and their followers are not treating it as such. I still hear the same dumb rhetoric: "we are there to spread democracy and defeat the terrorists." That is so completely insane. Not to mention it isn't even true. Bush lied to you. He lied to me. So give it up and quit supporting him. His lies are killing men and women every day while he sits in his White House or relaxes on his ranch in Crawford. He will saunter away in 2008, at the end of his term, as so many politicians have done, and go to bed at night with a huge paycheck from the American people. We will be the ones to deal with what this Dude has done.

This war will slowly consume generations of Americans for some time to come. It isn't enough to simply put Saddam Hussein to death or root out and kill top al-Qaeda officials. As long as there are children burning pictures of American presidents and dancing in streets with AK-47s there will be no rest and no peace. There are generations not yet born who will grow into hatred for us and our War on Terror.

Against the Day

2006-11-27T08:45:00.000-06:00

Nearly a decade after Mason & Dixon, Thomas Pynchon returns with Against the Day. I have not read this beast yet, but I have spent the last hour drinking coffee and reading reviews. They are not favorable to Pynchon's new novel, and some are almost angry at the 1,120 page length, lack of coherence, and seemingly plotless construction. The Guardian made me laugh by concluding "And the book itself has no particular reason to end where it does, other than perhaps the adhesive limits of book-binding glue."

The Pynchon enthusiasts are excited about it though. I have read many a great review of the novel, so I am encouraged that the decade-long wait won't dissapoint. You know what you are in for when you pick up a Pynchon novel, and there is a bit of understanding and perhaps preperation on behalf of the reader. It's just that Pynchon's novels get so Fucked up, and as a reader it is really difficult to not lose your way...sometimes competely. It doesn't help when the author doesn't help. Pynchon is an exercise in critical reading strategies.

Pynchon is a mad scientist, and I don't think the apparent flaws are by accident. I have read enough of his work to know he is too smart to not calculate his work. He knows what he is doing. Releasing a book without a clear plot line or adequate ending seems a propos with the rest of his work. The Pynchon canon is anything but conventional, and almost impossible to critique or assess.

Nobody really knows anything of depth about Pynchon , other than he used to be an engineer and he used to work for Boeing. There are some technical articles which can be found, and Pynchon has also contributed his fair share of album/book notes for such artists as Spike Jones and George Orwell. There are a few photographs of the author, but they are old. Nobody really even knows where he lives beyond a house somewhere in New York and maybe a flat in London. I once read about a guy who visited Pynchon's apartment, and inside he said there was nothing but bookshelves and books about pigs. In an effort to complicate this biography a bit more, and to further his post-modern stature, Pynchon appeared on the Simpsons several years ago, appropriately wearing a paper bag over his head. Several online sites offer monomaniacal Pynchon critique and enthusiasm, such as Spermatikos Logos which features, among other things, the brilliant illustrations of Gravity's Rainbow .

Pynchon did, however, surface long enough to write this blurb about his newest offering:

"Spanning the period between the Chicago World’s Fair of 1893 and the years just after World War I, this novel moves from the labor troubles in Colorado to turn-of-the-century New York, to London and Gottingen, Venice and Vienna, the Balkans, Central Asia, Siberia at the time of the mysterious Tunguska Event, Mexico during the Revolution, postwar Paris, silent-era Hollywood, and one or two places not strictly speaking on the map at all.

With a worldwide disaster looming just a few years ahead, it is a time of unrestrained corporate greed, false religiosity, moronic fecklessness, and evil intent in high places. No reference to the present day is intended or should be inferred.

The sizable cast of characters includes anarchists, balloonists, gamblers, corporate tycoons, drug enthusiasts, innocents and decadents, mathematicians, mad scientists, shamans, psychics, and stage magicians, spies, detectives, adventuresses, and hired guns. There are cameo appearances by Nikola Tesla, Bela Lugosi, and Groucho Marx.
As an era of certainty comes crashing down around their ears and an unpredictable future commences, these folks are mostly just trying to pursue their lives. Sometimes they manage to catch up; sometimes it’s their lives that pursue them.
Meanwhile, the author is up to his usual business. Characters stop what they’re doing to sing what are for the most part stupid songs. Strange sexual practices take place. Obscure languages are spoken, not always idiomatically. Contrary-to-the-fact occurrences occur. If it is not the world, it is what the world might be with a minor adjustment or two. According to some, this is one of the main purposes of fiction.
Let the reader decide, let the reader beware. Good luck."

—Thomas Pynchon

And then he leaves the world with a 1,120 page monster to grapple with. And the reviews roll on and on. I generally only listen to critics when I trust their work (Menand, Denby, et al.), and even then it is only to complicate my own analysis. And when you wait nearly 10 years for a book, critics seem even smaller...
Luis Menand offers a very smart take on the new book, and in his own way is discouraged by the the publication:

From The New Yorker, Menand writes,
"Still, none of this is simple self-indulgence. From one point of view, perhaps a narrow one, there is an error of scale here. As we read, we are frustrated looking forward and forgetful looking backward—episodes open and fail satisfactorily to close, or, when they come back on line, we can no longer remember how they started. But compared with the hill in your back yard, Mt. Everest is an error of scale. The universe is an error of scale. Scale and form are functions of our capacity to perceive them. The preposterous length of the new book does include a vertiginous sensation, somewhat in the way of a "Where’s Waldo?" cartoon: the text exceeds our ability to keep everything in our heads, to take it all in at once. There is too much going on among too many characters in too many places. There are also too many tonal shifts, as though Pynchon set out to mimic all the styles of popular fiction—boys’ adventure stories, science fiction, Westerns, comic books, hardboiled crime fiction, spy novels, soft-core porn. There are echoes of L. Frank Baum, Louis L’Amour, Raymond Chandler, John le Carré, "Star Trek," and even Philip Pullman’s children’s trilogy "His Dark Materials." This was all surely part of the intention, a simulation of the disorienting overload of modern culture. As always, it’s an amazing feat. Pynchon must have set out to make his readers dizzy and, in the process, become a little dizzy himself."

The reviews are all over the place. The NYT book review was very kind, but most are unhappy with Pynchon's book. I don't think I really care, though. Critics are everywhere. But I do find myself trusting a few, so I do think I will wait for it to come out in QP. Besides, I still need to read V. and The Crying of Lot 49.

Grieving Shias

2006-11-18T11:49:00.000-06:00

Recently got Raza Ali Hasan's Grieving Shias, a collection of poems published through The Sheep Meadow Press in 2006. What a read. The review by Stanley Moss is accurate, and I agree that with these poems the "architecture is American fusion, Mughal, post-colonial, colonial, sometimes peasant, sometimes Syracuse motel."

The first poem from Grieving Shias:

"Mourning and Other Activities"

You take the Faith and a horse--
reasonably Arab looking one--feed him
rusgullas and milk for a year.
While you fatten him you terrorize him
with different Asiatic techniques
into mildness and meekness.

Then you take a procession or two
out in the month of June
with the horse leading
properly bedecked with buntings and ribbons.
You mourn and cry your heart out in the heat.
Those of us who have faith
then crawl under the belly of the horse
whenever it comes to a stop.

Between the four brown hooves
take refuge from the sun.

I will not abandon my xoomei

2006-11-06T11:37:00.000-06:00

Huun-Huur-Tu, the Tuvan throat singers, were at Grinnell College last night. They played at Herrick Chapel which has a beautiful, wooden and stained glass space. Very intimate. The acoustics were perfect, and there must have been about 150 people in attendance. Huun-Huur-Tu were solid, and I only wish Masha could have been there.

Tuva is a remote country located in southern Siberia. A thinly populated region of grasslands, tundra forests, and mountains about 2,500 miles east of Moscow; I've been told at its capital there is an obelisk which marks the geographical center of Asia, north of Mongolia. Tuva is the center from which all of Asia expands. There is evidence, too, that Native Americans originated in the geographic center of Asia and slowly migrated along the continent until they reached North America. An interesting idea, considering the music I heard last night had much in common with Native American songs. In part the melody, but it was the animism and spirituality behind the music that brought the songs full circle. (Huun-Huur-Tu was actually commissioned to write a few songs for the film Geronimo).

This place which apparently has so much to do with American Indians is about a 4 hour plane ride from Moscow, and I hope to one day go there and see and hear the landscape for myself. The reports all say the land has shaped the music, and last night I fully understood that meaning.

The music of Huun-Huur-Tu is that of a nomadic people. In the traditional sense they are farmers, and herders of reindeer, ox, sheep, and cattle. The physical location is an isolated steppe, virtually unheard of 25 years ago. The physicist Richard Feynman was the first to become fascinated by its orientalism mystique. Feynman had a recording of xoomei that he sent to a friend, but had no real, solid idea of where the sound came from. Apparently Feynman had a stamp collection with "exotic" stamps from Tuva, and became very enthusiastic about finding this place. Although in the throes of cancer, Feynman’s search was on, but the maps didn’t represent the physical location of Tuva. It didn’t exist to anyone in America for sure, and to those in the West of Russia during the Soviet reign it was nothing more than myth. It did indeed exist; Feynman finally found it. But, after an exhaustive paper trail to secure a visa, Feynman unfortunately died just weeks before the Tuvan government granted the long awaited paperwork.

After his death, Ted Levin finished the trip in his friend’s memory. In the film Ghengis Blues there is a scene in which a Tuvan car has the bumper sticker "Feynman Lives!"

From Scientific American.com, Levin, et al. describe the xoomei sound: "For the semi nomadic herders who call Tuva home, the soundscape inspires a form of music that mingles with these ambient murmurings. Ringed by mountains, far from major trade routes and overwhelmingly rural, Tuva is like a musical Olduvai Gorge--a living record of a protomusical world, where natural and human-made sounds blend a remarkable singing technique in which a single vocalist produces two distinct tones simultaneously. One tone is a low, sustained fundamental pitch, similar to the drone of a bagpipe. The second is a series of flutelike harmonics, which resonate high above the drone and may be musically stylized to represent such sounds as the whistle of a bird, the syncopated rhythms of a mountain stream or the lilt of a cantering horse." This is a good description. The instruments were made from animal hydes; the strings were horse hair, and one instrument which resembled a maraca was made from a horse scrotum. One instrument, the byzaanchi, was played like a cello, but doubled as a hunting bow.

During an intermission I had the opportunity to meet Sayan Bapa, one of the founding members of Huun-Huur-Tu. We stepped outside and he bummed me a pungent, Camel filter. The kind that begs for a strong brandy or hot tea. We made small talk about Tuvan music, his music, and Russian music and influence. We talked briefly of Russian politics, and he was kinder to the imperial power than I would have imagined. He said there was a period in early 1990-91 when things got rough for Tuva and Russia. When Tuva felt the presence and weight of the Kremlin. But Sayan said it has been over 40 years of Russian domination, and it was "ok." I believed him when he said this. He had a genuine way of talking to me. And after pondering the downfall of so many Soviet republics after the fall of communism, I didn’t feel like pressing the point. There is a delicate balance between colonizer and colonized, and the two countries have apparently found it. Plus, there is an art to making conversation during the brief moment a cigarette affords; and if you time it properly you can just about solve the riddles of the world.

I told him about my trip to Russia and he asked why I went there. (They always ask why I went there: "what took you to Russia?") I told him about my wife and our travels from Moscow to Samara to St. Petersburg and all the villages in between. I told him about my current house in Ames being "full of Russians," and he laughed at that repeating the line, "house full of Russians." It always signifies chaos of some kind when Russians congregate. And those that know really know. I told him my mother-in-law was feeding me well, and he laughed again with admiration, adding, "If she loves you she will feed you well."

We talked of traditional music and he spoke to me of female vocalists in his region. He said there is a rising movement of female throat singers, and that their sound was really beautiful. We discussed how hard it is to find "good" traditional Russian music, and he said the current state of Russian pop was "bullshit." I would have to agree. He invited me to his manager’s van, where his stuff was, and he gave me a copy of a band from Northern Russia called Va-Ta-Ga (English phonetics). He said they are friends of his and their music sticks to a traditional progression. Seeing as the xomuz (mouth harp) is part of Huun-Huur-Tu’s repertoire, I went to my car and retrieved a copy of Daniel Higgs’s Magic Alphabet. An entire album of solo Jews harp experiments. Right now Higgs is off to Tuva, and I hope Sayan enjoys it. I know driving home south on IA-146, at 11:30 pm last night, I found Va-Ta-Ga to be one of the best things I’ve heard in a long time.

And so is Huun-Huur-Tu. I finally got around to asking Sayan if his band would play Orphan’s Lament. He smiled and said it was one of his favorite songs and they would. We crushed out our cigarettes on the brick wall behind us, and shook hands and went inside. The band took the stage and launched into the greatest jams I’ve ever heard on horse hair, and 3 songs in played Orphan’s Lament. I was glad they did so. The sound filled the wooden church room well.

The little places in the world are where some of the biggest weight comes from. Not only in rhythm, but in spirit and community. The band ended with a song called "Aa-Shuu Dekei-oo." The song, Sayan explained, is about the Tuvan way of life: "how we live, breathe, and believe." The song was strong and proud, and when it was over, without a doubt, the crowd knew where Tuva was.

Mairead Byrne

2006-10-30T12:29:00.000-06:00

It has come to my attention through The Square of the Hypotenuse that I must pay attention to the work of Mairead Byrne. Her work includes Nelson & The Huruburu Bird , a chapbook titled An Educated Heart, and the ebook China Dogs. From a not so thorough glean I notice she's funny. She's Saarcastic. She's traditional. She's avant garde. And she has a sense of truth in her writing that allows this reader to see that behind the wit there is an immense respect for what is sacred. Reading her work is entirely too enjoyable: like candy, or watching someone fall down on the ice.

Her blog is what I am currently looking at thanks to the suggestion of King Coffey and his ultimate and dynamic hair.

[From an interview we can see Mairead Byrne as a true visionary:

6) What is your favorite food?
Guinness.

7) Sports Team? or Activity?
Driving in Providence.

8) Vacation spot?
Galway.

9) Curse word?
Would you ever / Shut the fuck up. It’s not really a question.]

Being newly introduced to her work, I will give you my favorite poem so far. The blog I am using might not allow for the proper line breaks, so I apologize to the poet right now. The words are intact just the same:

When You Kiss The World

in a poem

you take its long throat

& fuck

so deep

you come

out

laughing

straight up

into

the bright face

of

God

© Mairead Byrne

bath tub blues

2006-10-30T08:23:00.000-06:00

About 8 years ago I was renting this apartment at the top of a very old Victorian home. The landlord was nuts, but the place was great. The only problem was that I had a bathtub, no shower. I don't get baths, really. I mean, I do if you are real small and agile, but if you are aren't, then you have to deal with water displacement which makes bathtub sitting really awkward. I have tried, too. But I have to be really still because the water goes right to the top. The brim! And if I move too much, or at all, then the water pours over the side. And I see commercials where ladies are sitting in their tubs, with candles and wine, reading books and stuff! What is that? I tried to read one time in the tub, but my book got wet, and I just got irritated. Not to mention the fact that my legs sort of float to the top and then my body naturally rolls to the side, so I have to constantly reposition myself. Not to mention the reality that when you sit in a tub you are really sitting in dirty water; and I think to cover up the dirty water is the real reason for bathtub soap. I don't think it is soap at all, actually. So fuck the tub. (Disclaimer: the honeymoon suite on my wedding night had the greatest tub in the world. And thus began the idea that I, too, can enjoy tubs like the ladies).

Anyway, I quickly figured out a system which included a daily, morning head dunk. I would wash my hair by dunking my head into a tub of water because taking a full bath in the morning is satanic at best. I am not too cool in the morning either. I usually can't talk very well, and I am mean and grumpy. I would probably fall asleep in the tub and drown anyway. So I dunked out of safety and convenience. But what happened was shocking. I started noticing large amounts of hair in the tub after the head wash. I was losing my fucking hair!

And the tub head dunk reminded me of this...everyday! It was a vicious reminder akin to Roskolnikov's punishment. Anyway, the hair thing went on for a while and then it sort of stopped, and now I have balding patterns to prove it. And my hair is thinning as well. I am fucked for ever having a full head of hair again. Damn you Hastlehoff, Coffey, or anyone else with a dynamic head of hair.

Over the weekend Boogah reminded of my thinning hair. Boogs was kind enough, but I couldn't help notice a subversive grin underneath it all. And in between Jolie Holland and confronting aggressive squirrels, the conversation's tone was this:

Boogah: "oh, I wouldn't cut your hair too short. Not yet anyway. I mean, you might as well enjoy it while you have it cause I am sure it won't last forever."
Me: "yeah, right. I know. I need to learn how to enjoy my hair."
(squirrel approaches and harangues us with nitty little noises comprised equally of disgust and vitriol.)
Me: "I think that squirrel wants to eat us; But look at all the hair that squirrel has!"
Boogah: "Yeah, but rodents have to endure winter and hunger."

And then everywhere I looked I saw squirrels, balding men, or men with full heads of hair. So I was encouraged and mocked, all day long.

And now I notice I make old man noises when I get out of my chair. And I am really bothered by the fact that I even have a chair. To all my neighbors and loved ones: when you see me purchase a rack for my chair: to hold the remote, magazines, and a drink, please put me down quickly. For there is no mercy in a drink holder, and a balding man with a drink holder is no man at all.

Hitchens Redux.

2006-10-17T18:56:00.000-05:00

First off, this entry is completely unorganized and boring. So read on at your own risk:

In recent weeks, between getting married and moving in the Russians, I have been reading some really interesting stuff.
It started with an interest in Richard Feynman and his travels to Tuva, and then I read a book about Einstein's brain that my brother gave me. This all culminated and withstood a resurgence of Russian history by way of Orlando Figes and The People's Tragedy, and has emerged in American Prometheus, a history of Robert Oppenheimer, written by Kai Bird and Martin Sherwin.

Anyway, in an effort to update this blog I will discuss some of this here. The book on Oppenheimer has challenged me to reassess the politics of today as we trudge through this war in Iraq, heading toward a new political season of elections, promises, and pundits. I am a political junky and look forward to the days approaching. I am also interested in our subversive government and the power of the Bush/Cheney junta. These are very interesting and terrifying times. Nobody can be trusted. The Bush regime has infected the American people with a scourge of political abuses and lies. An unfocused war with seemingly no end in sight. And yet Bush dressed up in flight garb on an aircraft carrier that day long ago, declaring victory and "mission accomplished." A bit premature? All of this has been said before, but I am constantly amazed how little the American public speaks up, out, or at all. Nothing but silence as we continue this war fueled by fear and lies; and against a phantasmagoria that has no face or central identity. Hatred is invisible. It exists everywhere and nowhere. We cannot fight it with linear tactics. The complexities of this age are astounding.

This brings me to three things: Robert Oppenheimer, Tom Paine, and Christopher Hitchens.

All are brilliant thinkers (even Hitch's article in Vanity Fair on the history of the blow job was really, really interesting...believe me!). And all live(d) in extraordinary times. Thus I dig what they do. I have used Tom Paine in the classroom in an effort to challenge student perceptions by presenting ideas regarding responsibility, citizenship, and democracy. After all, as Jill Lepore writes in this months New Yorker, Tom Paine's Common Sense would "convince the American people of what more than a decade of taxes and nearly a year of war had not: that it was nothing less than their destiny to declare independence from Britian." Not bad for a radical.

But behind the presence of Oppenheimer, Paine, and Hitchens, it is their ideas that explode like bombs. And it is their ideas which make them targets to a larger populace. I do not pretend to align Hitchens with Paine and Oppenheimer’s accomplishments and contributions, but I do align the originality of their thoughts.

This brings me to the question of Christopher Hitchens. Ever since my brother turned me onto Hitchens's Letters to a Young Contrarian I have been interested in his work and ideas as they drastically change and challenge those who read and know him. He was once a scrapper for the Left and now a strong supporter of the Bush regime and the war in Iraq. He is now one of the only right wing journalists I read and respect. He has clarity, intelligence, and a gift for writing arguments. What is challenging, for me, is tracing the shifting thoughts of Hitchens while understanding my own. It seems that Hitchens jumped ship in order to sell books. I know this is cynical, but even though I enjoy his work immensly, he seems to be an opportunist. Ian Parker nails it right when he writes, “did Hitchens maintain high principles while the left drifted from him, or did he lose himself in vanity and ambition?” I do not praise the right nor support it, but have moved further and further to a center, independent ground where there are no walls of identity to any party. Democrats are a pathetic party with no center. The only chance they have is in Obama and the fall from grace the Republicans have been facing in the last half year. But these are just idle musings. So how does one go about embracing such a monolithic GOP? To complicate the Hitchens’ question even further, and to show you what a cool writer he is, I will quote at length from Letters to a Young Contrarian:

"There is a saying from Roman antiquity: "Fiat justitia - ruat caelum"; "Do justice, and let the skies fall." In every epoch, there have been those to argue that "greater" goods, such as tribal solidarity or social cohesion, take precedence over justice. It is supposed to be an axiom of "western" civilization that the individual, or the truth, may not be sacrificed to hypothetical benefits such as "order". But such immolations have in fact been common. Zola could be the pattern for any serious and humanistic radical, because he not only asserted the inalienable rights of the individual, but generalized his assault to encompass the vile roles played by clericalism, racial hatred, militarism and the fetishisation of "the nation". His caustic and brilliant epistolary campaign of 1897-8 may be read as a curtain-raiser for most of the great contests that roiled the coming 20th century . . .
I think often of my late friend Ron Ridenhour, who became briefly famous when, as a service-man in Vietnam, he exposed the evidence of the hideous massacre of the villagers at My Lai in March 1968. One of the hardest things for anyone to face is the conclusion that his or her "own" side is in the wrong when engaged in a war. The pressure to keep silent and be a "team player" is reinforceable by the accusations of cowardice or treachery that will swiftly be made against dissenters. Sinister phrases of coercion, such as "stabbing in the back" or "giving ammunition to the enemy" have their origin in this dilemma and are always available to help compel unanimity.
I have had the privilege of meeting a number of brave dissidents in many and various societies. Frequently, they can trace their careers to an incident in early life where they felt obliged to take a stand. Sometimes, too, a precept is offered and takes root. Bertrand Russell records in his autobiography that his Puritan grandmother "gave me a Bible with her favourite texts written on the fly-leaf. Among these was 'Thou shalt not follow a multitude to do evil.' Her emphasis upon this text led me in later life to be not afraid of belonging to small minorities." It's affecting to find the future hammer of the Christians being "confirmed" in this way.
There is good reason to think that such reactions arise from something innate rather than something inculcated: Nickleby doesn't know until the moment of the crisis that he is going to stick up for poor Smike. Noam Chomsky recalls hearing of the obliteration of Hiroshima as a young man, and experiencing a need for solitude because there was nobody he felt he could talk to. It may be that you, my dear X, recognize something of yourself in these instances; a disposition to resistance, however slight, against arbitrary authority or witless mass opinion, or a thrill of recognition when you encounter some well-wrought phrase from a free intelligence.
Do bear in mind that the cynics have a point, of a sort, when they speak of the "professional nay-sayer". To be in opposition is not to be a nihilist. And there is no decent or charted way of making a living at it. It is something you are, and not something you do."

Falling to Earth

2006-10-02T14:21:00.000-05:00

This isn't going to be a lame entry about fate, love, or any of that other non-scientific stuff. No way! This is all about Madonna nearly getting the chance to go to the moon via Russian space craft. Seems the chance is still open, only she will have to wait a few years.

The headline from Russian News and Information Agency reads:

Madonna could be sent into space in 2009.

I can't have that. I can't have Madonna just leave us for space. She already left us for London, now she wants to orbit the earth? No way. I have been through some seriously tough times in my 30 years. I watched as she went from "lucky star" to "borderline" to the jarring "material girl" bit which only proved less jarring by the "papa dont preach" bit which was only proved a little less jarring by the video for "live to tell" from the 1986 epic picture "at close range" where I think she wore a Laura Ashley dress and it messed with my 10 year old sensibilities so badly. I forgot all about lucky star and shit.

Maybe she should go to the moon. I mean, after all, she is in great shape. And she could do a lot for the moon and its people. As of right now, we go to space a lot, and the Russians do too. They have to, I think. After all, they are constantly living in the shadow of space dogs like Dezik and Tsygan who are really awesome space dogs! They rock and they know it. Part of their problem became the ego, but that is for another story. These dogs are wicked cause they withstood some serious shit. I mean, space travel is not as easy as you think it is. For instance, wikipedia gives a pretty good example of how badass these dogs are. Check this out:

"Their training included standing still for long periods of time, wearing space suits, being placed in simulators that acted like a rocket during launch, riding in centrifuges that simulated the high acceleration of a rocket launch and being kept in progressively smaller cages to prepare them for the confines of the space capsules. Dogs that flew in orbit were fed a nutritious gel."

I bet that Gel they ate was the best! I wonder what color it was? I love these dogs. They eat gel and shit and stand for long periods of time. That's awesome!

But we go to space a lot too. We go up there all the time and fix stuff. We don't do much else up there but tinker around. Sometimes they go up there to fix the space station, and sometimes they just tinker around with the shuttle itself cause whenever that thing goes real fast things start to fall off of it. And so they patch it up and then when they are done they get online and send messages back to the CBS evening news. They wave a lot too, and it all looks like some serious space shit. They are really smart. And they pee in their pants! I love that. I wish I could do that. I can see why planets get changed and stuff. It gets really techincal in space.

I guess Madonna going up there wouldn't be the worst thing. I mean, she could come home and make a movie about it. And, her dude husband could make a really interesting movie about it too cause that is what he does, and maybe Brad Pitt could be in it? He could play Angelina Jolie's husband, and fly fish in a river or something. That would be really emotional and cool. Crying is cool when it involves movies and space. But I dont think they can cry in space cause there is no oxygen so there are no tears; and if you did cry in heaven they would float off your face anyway so it doesn't even matter about it.

At the end of the day I guess I am just jealous. I want to pee my pants in space and hang out with dogs and stuff. I want to be a hero like that. Space is cool as hell.

Deer diary...

2006-10-02T14:20:00.000-05:00

I hate Deer. I will never understand the phenomenon of people stopping and saying, "oh look, a deer!" Oh, look, nature. I mean there is a real hierarchy with animals, and I don't like it. Nobody talks about squirrels (except this nurse I once knew, and she saw some shit, 3rd shift). Nobody stops to look at raccoons. It is the same principle behind people stopping and looking at planes flying. Who cares? Planes quit being cool after Kitty Hawk or some shit, and even then they were only cool cause some dude was strapped in and running, and you knew he was going to crash; but dudes still stare when jets fly over, and you can feel the thinking: "oh yeah, back in 1977 I used to fly Corsairs. Damn good bird. She and I used to log hundreds of hours, and honestly, if I hadn't a lost my eyes while arm wrestling at the Fair (He did. 1983, my dad's eyes popped out of his head at the Fair. To this day we still don't go, not cause it is sad, but he can't really drive anymore either), that steel beauty coulda been my lover forever!" Or so the story goes that one fishing trip in 1991. But whatever, mom and dad's relationship doesn't change the fact that I'm going to kill a Deer. Has nothing to do with how I was raised or that I listened to Ozzy or D.R.I. as a child. What it has to do with is death promises.

So last night I found myself driving and I noticed it was getting dark. Then I noticed I was being held hostage in my car by Deer on the road. They were everywhere last night. I slowed to a crawl in an effort to not disturb the perfect balance and harmony I had achieved careening through nature in my Nissan, but then it occurred to me, somewhere around Eddyville, that the Deer don't even care about it. They don't care about balance. They only care about eating, mating, and jumping over fences. In a way, they remind me of myself on the weekend. Except jumping over fences is sometimes really difficult for me, especially in the winter time when the cold sets in on my pants, and Deer never seem to have this trouble; but maybe that is because they don't wear pants. If they did they would probably value their life more than they do.

So I was held hostage for 2 hours on highway 163. At one point this skinny Deer ran out in front of me and then jumped over a fence. I thought it was really inapropriate timing. I decided from that point that I would speed up in an effort to drive through them. To destroy them. I am an American. I don't run from nothing, and since you aren't a horse you aren't American and you deserve to die. So I sped up, holding on at ten and two.

I cried when I saw Bambi as a kid. But Bambi represents an older generation of Deer. A more sensible generation of Deer. They were the greatest generation; Bambi's generation. They knew who they were and what their lot was in life. If you look at pictures from antiquity you will notice that the Deer has not changed that much, so they were really ahead of their time in that. In fact, they used to be flame retardent until the 1980s rolled around. Then they got all freaked out about fire and stuff. This is the reason, some Deer people have suspected, for the changing attitude of Deer, especially when around fire. They just don't have any perspective anymore.

So here I am, was. Driving. Held hostage by Deer. The good thing is my car is red, so when I do kill them, the blood won't show. It will just mesh with the rest of the stuff I have run over. And believe me, I don't run over that much stuff, but sometimes I just find myself thinking about America and Columbus, and I don't care anymore. I just don't like things running out in front of me. I tend to think of myself as a lover of sorts, but I lose all that when you run in front of me. Even at the mall, on foot. I hate it. Let me summarize: even if, let's say, 347 retarded people (or Iraqis) ran in front of me, I would have a problem with it. My car is red, and this keeps me focused.

So fuck you, Deer. If there are any Deer reading this, remember: get out of nature what you put into it. Don't be so dumb to think that your father's father was flame resistant for nothing. So the next time you are engulfed in flames think about the logical progression and hierarchy of the horse, the zebra, and yourself. I didn't make it up, and everyone else knows this.

The Art of Remembering

2006-09-13T09:32:00.000-05:00

I feel sorry for those who have never had a memory shape their present reality. In this life we carry but one soul through one existence (at least in this cycle), and all we have ever known and experienced is what takes us through the years shaping our interactions, relationships, and awareness. The role we play has somewhat been assigned, but it is in the search to distinguish and decipher our moments of living which makes everything valuable. If we are lucky we will let this mind go beyond the shroud of civilization, transcending notions of who we are and what we ought to be.
There is no sense in sticking to archetypes. If they merely help us make sense of our surroundings then our surroundings are not truth at all. Instead, they are an agreement of a people to keep an order and system well oiled and constantly working toward death. There is no life in a system of agreements.

Huxley writes, "We live together, we act on, and react to, one another; but always and in all circumstances we are by ourselves. The martyrs go hand in hand into the arena; they are crucified alone." This is to say that to break from the agreement may mean certain death for those who sneak outside.

It is in this spirit that Edmund White writes, "I have remembered everything." And it is in this endeavor, to set down on paper "everything," which makes his work a graceful ascent into truth and fiction.

Last night I began reading White's A Boy's Own Storypartly out of recommendation from a brother, and partly out of hypnosis from the cover. The front cover of the Modern Library's 20th century edition features a young White, maybe 6 or 7, getting into a car, but before he does poses for a picture in which he has not opened the door yet, and is looking over his shoulder at the camera, operated, I assume, by a family member. (Perhaps his father?) The cover has been staring at me since its arrival in our library some weeks ago. (On the heel of our school's librarian asking me for suggestions regarding graphic novels, I asked her to also order several books, one of which was White's novel). So when it arrived and was placed on the "new arrival" pedestal, it peaked my interest. Why had I asked her to order this? Because I have felt the power of literature to connect us to distant times and places, I believe there is an energy which accompanies sharing stories. So it was that I hoped this novel, which I had never read, would someday speak to a deserving reader. But still...

And the cover greeted me every morning I stumbled into work, and let me pass every night at quitting time. The boy on the cover is apprehensive to get into the car. Yet he is not afraid. Unlike the narrative White presents of himself as a child: weak, timid, a "sissy" whose "hands were always in the air," and "afraid of everything," the picture on the cover is not weak. The boy is staring straight down the lens of the camera and is almost defying the moment which will live forever on film as he gets into the car for a new destination. One has to assume that this picture was taken in Kodak's shining moment. When cameras were status symbols and families used them to preserve not only themselves in antiquity, but their images and posturing to the world.

The boy's casual and innocent posture is introspective and strong. He is taking in this moment before moving on. Perhaps the pause is to fully grasp what he is leaving. Unlike the mountain stance in hatha yoga, the boy is not planting his feet firmly on the ground (he still has his youthful awkward clumsiness about him: one pant leg rolled up, over size shoes), but has rather put his strength into his awareness of his body and his surroundings. His stare into the camera is old and wise, and his face is either halfway to a grin, or due to the sun, is shutting the eyes mindful of its protective darkness. The face is that of a man who understands there is a long haul in front of him.

White's intimacy with the reader is what makes this such a haunting read. He seems to remember EVERYTHING. Though quite possibly a trick of the memoir trade, I don't really care. One beautiful episode comes through when a young White finds himself in need of communication with his father, who is mostly a distant, workaholic, alpha-male: everything White jr. is not. White describes the nightly meetings they had, when his father switched from his habitual cigar to a pipe; the hour white described as "the pipe hour was the time to approach him for a favor or just a few pleasant words; I'd sit on the loveseat beside his blond mahogany desk and watch him work. Hour after hour he wrote with an onyx fountain pen in lowercase block letters that had the angle and lean elegance of Art Deco design; his smoke drifted up through the rosy light cast by the matching red shades on floor stands that flanked the desk." This is where he "fell in love" with his father. Where he recognized his need for him and his world of nightly music, smoke, and work. The smoke provided a protective shield from which he could rely upon for protection as he let his mind wonder with the sounds coming from the "Meissen phonograph." Sweet sounds indeed.

The communication through music is a memorable passage, and needs to be recounted here:

"His real love was the late Brahms, the piano Intermezzi and especially the two clarinet sonatas. These pieces, as unpredictable as thought and as human as conversation, filled the house night after night. He could not have liked them as background music to work to, since their abrupt changes of volume and dynamics must have made them too arresting to dismiss. I never showered with my dad, I never saw him naked, not once, but we did immerse ourselves, side by side, in those passionate streams every night. As he worked at his desk and I sat on his couch, reading or daydreaming, we bathed in music. Did he feel the same things I felt? Perhaps I ask this because now that he is dead I fear we shared nothing and my long captivity in his house represented to him only a slight inconvenience, a major expense, a fair to middling disappointment, but I like to think that music spoke to us in similar ways and acted as the source and transcript of a shared rapture. I feel sorry for a man who never wanted to go to bed with his father; when the father dies, how can his ghost get warm except in a posthumous embrace? For that matter, how does the survivor get warm?"

And that is only page 22.

The Cranes are Flying

2006-08-01T13:56:00.000-05:00

Mikhail Kalatozov's The Cranes are Flying (1957) is a brilliant film not only for its story and cinemetography, but for the social conditions in which it was created.

During Stalin's reign art was reduced to quiet films bordering on propaganda for the Soviet machine, and not much else existed above ground. This isn't to say art was dead. Art will never die, even under the worst conditions. There are many great works to be discovered from this period. But there is a heaviness in their conception and design. I watch knowing there is a silence at work: not only in what the art doesn't dare say, but also in the lack of attitude in the composition. The art of the Soviet Union is not sexy, and does not sway or stagger with the genius of youthful celebration. There is no abandonment; every thought and action needed to be accounted for; and this is where the silence gets heavy. The silence is exactly where you will find the genius of Soviet art. It is a controlled rage. Grigori Chukrai's Ballad of a Soldier (1959) and Sergei Bondarchuk's Destiny of a Man(1959) also brilliantly use subtlety and silence to their advantage as well. By 1957, The method, it seems, was to make a simple gesture, such as the lowering of a head, the weakened shoulders of a man, creases on a face, or the hollow, sunken eyes of a character represent a final vestige of emotion. The pain and terror of the Soviet Union had taken away human sensibility, and the broken souls found in Soviet art are giving their last cries of humanity.

Because speaking out against atrocities would get you killed, Soviet artists studied their possibilities and created a new language. Silence was the new communication from which their voices would rise.

By 1957 artists were encouraged by Stalin's death, but perhaps still a bit hesitant. There seems to be an exploration of boundaries: an exercise in how far they could really go. Kalatozov's film works with the wreckage of 20th century Russian history, and sets a light inside the darkness of Soviet terror. A sudden burst of light under such conditions is not always advisable. Illumination of truth is often painful, and seeing things once veiled shakes the foundation of everything which tries to save.

Kalatozov's film is an emotional experience, but that is the point. Transition never comes easy. The Cranes are Flying allows its audience to grieve. As did Bondarchuk and Chukrai's work. Chris Fujiwara writes, "In film, the benefits of the thaw were especially far-reaching, as filmmakers abandoned the monotonous cliches and rote optimism of the Stalin era and opened the private lives of ordinary people to a cinematic scrutiny that embraced ambivalence and uncertainty." Kalatozov's work unleashes an emotional narrative, simply because it was time.

Post-Stalin art was rising. A voice was beginning to emerge, but it was slow and quiet. Not entirely unsure of itself, but calculated. Calculated not only out of fear, but to make sure it honored the dead souls which were in the room.

The movie ends when German occupation is over, and the trains return home. As the soldiers meet their loved ones on the platform a loudspeaker announces, "We shall live not to destroy, but to build a new life!" As Veronica hands her flowers to the surrounding soldiers she becomes lost in a sea of people, celebrating reunion, celebrating family, and celebrating life. And at the center of this is the idea of love, challenging even the darkest of human emotions.

A Letter From Chomsky and Others on the Recent Events in the Middle East

2006-07-26T10:48:00.000-05:00

Sometimes the world of blogs and blog connections make it worth the searching and reading; sometimes, a mere mention of a blog proves a genuine find. So it is that wood s lot came to my attention through the square of the hypotenuse blog. Both are terrific ways to waste an afternoon.

Letter from wood s lot

Wednesday 19 July 2006

The latest chapter of the conflict between Israel and Palestine began when Israeli forces abducted two civilians, a doctor and his brother, from Gaza. An incident scarcely reported anywhere, except in the Turkish press. The following day the Palestinians took an Israeli soldier prisoner - and proposed a negotiated exchange against prisoners taken by the Israelis - there are approximately 10,000 in Israeli jails.
That this "kidnapping" was considered an outrage, whereas the illegal military occupation of the West Bank and the systematic appropriation of its natural resources - most particularly that of water - by the Israeli Defence (!) Forces is considered a regrettable but realistic fact of life, is typical of the double standards repeatedly employed by the West in face of what has befallen the Palestinians, on the land alloted to them by international agreements, during the last seventy years.

Today outrage follows outrage; makeshift missiles cross sophisticated ones. The latter usually find their target situated where the disinherited and crowded poor live, waiting for what was once called Justice. Both categories of missile rip bodies apart horribly - who but field commanders can forget this for a moment?

Each provocation and counter-provocation is contested and preached over. But the subsequent arguments, accusations and vows, all serve as a distraction in order to divert world attention from a long-term military, economic and geographic practice whose political aim is nothing less than the liquidation of the Palestinian nation.

This has to be said loud and clear for the practice, only half declared and often covert, is advancing fast these days, and, in our opinion, it must be unceasingly and eternally recognised for what it is and resisted.

Tariq Ali
John Berger
Noam Chomsky
Eduardo Galeano
Naomi Klein
Harold Pinter
Arundhati Roy
Jose Saramago
Giuliana Sgrena
Howard Zinn

Throat Singers of Tuva

2006-07-26T08:16:00.000-05:00

I found this group from the website Harmony in My Head, a radio program out of LA on Indie 103.1. Listeners outside the area can listen to it online. Henry Rollins is the DJ with an impressive music selection from his own collection, so I highly recommend this broadcast.

I have been listening to gypsy and folk music of the Balkans, particularly Taraf de Haïdouks, who hail from Romania. The music from Tuva is much different; The Gypsy sounds from Romania are gone, and what is left from a recording of Huun-Huur-Tu is a sound that has risen near the Mongolian steppe from shepherds living among reindeer and sheep. The sounds are full of life and sorrow.
Huun-Huur-Tu is a group who transports the listener. The music transcends anything you have going on in your day. I can only say you need to hear them.
Scroll down on Amazon and you will be given samples from the album The Orphan's Lament.

Amazing sounds huh? Here is a bit of biography I found on the internet:

Ted Levin, an American ethnomusicologist who has been working in partnership with the musicians, talks about his introduction to Tuvan overtone singing in the early 80's:

"I first found out about the Tuvans when the physicist Richard Feynman sent us a tape from an old record he had, from Russia, (with a note) that said, 'Thought you guys might be interested in this.' When I heard it, I was blown away. I decided then and there I had to meet the people who were making those sounds."

Richard Feynman, once a participant in the Los Alamos project, was fighting cancer, and his lifetime dream was to visit the mysterious land of Tannu Tuva, the origin of the exotic stamp collection he had acquired as a youth, and to get acquainted with its musical tradition of throat singing.
His heroic attempt to overcome the seemingly unending obstacles in obtaining a visa to Tuva is chronicled by his friend and drumming partner Ralph Leighton in the book 'Tuva or Bust!'. Feynman passed away early 1988, just a few weeks before the Soviet authorities agreed to issue the visa. Leighton and friends undertook the journey in honor of Richard.

In 1987, Ted Levin became the first American to do ethnographic fieldwork in what was then the Soviet Autonomous Republic of Tuva, a sparsely settled region of grasslands, boreal forests, and mountain ridges that lies some 2,500 miles east of Moscow, and is situated at the geographical centre of Asia, north of Mongolia. Sponsored by the National Geographic Society and the USSR Union of Composers, Levin's American-Russian-Tuvan expedition surveyed the traditional expressive culture of Tuva's sheep and reindeer herders, focusing on the musical technique of "xöömei" or throat-singing, in which a single vocalist simultaneously produces two distinct pitches: a fundamental note and, high above it, a series of articulated harmonics that are sequenced into melodies and manipulated with extreme virtuosity in several canonical styles. These field recordings became a CD released in 1990 by Smithsonian Folkways called Tuva: Voices from the Center of Asia.

Traditionally, Tuvan overtone singing had been performed by soloists, each specializing in a particular style of xöömei. In 1992 Kaigal-ool Khovalyg, Alexander Bapa, his brother Sayan Bapa, and Albert Kuvezin founded the quartet Kungurtuk, as a means of concentrating on the presentation of traditional songs of their homeland. While they devoted themselves to the preservation of these songs, their concerts have always demonstrated the significance of combining tradition and innovation. The musicians later decided to rename the ensemble "Huun-Huur-Tu".

Children of the Fire

2006-07-20T11:29:00.000-05:00

From the 7.20.06 NY Times: "Shamil Basayev, was killed in what Chechen rebel groups say was an accidental explosion but the director of Russia's security service is calling a "special operation." Basayev was a leading figure in the Chechen resistance, which has waged a relentless war against Moscow since declaring its independence from Russia in 1991. He was the mastermind of some of the region's bloodiest attacks, including the September 2004 Beslan school siege. Andrei Babitsky of Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty is one of the few journalists to have personally met and interviewed Basayev."

But first...

In retaliation to Hezbollah terrorism, Israel is invading Lebanon in an effort to destroy a Hezbollah nucleus, but by doing so is killing innocent civilians...
The United States supports the effort to root out Hezbollah factions, despite the fact that the Israeli initiative is effecting the fledgling democratic government in Lebanon. The United States has urged Israel to be cautious while rooting out Hezbollah, and not weaken the government in Lebanon. Nonetheless, the bombing raids by Israel are being called war crimes by detracters, while others support the effort. It depends on which side you stand. But really, GW is the Decider...

He will decide what constitutes terrorism, war crimes, and threats to democracy.
The war in Lebanon (though it is not being called a war just yet), is slowly weakening any shred of democracy...Heraclitus wrote that "war is the father of all things", and here, it should be noted, war is determining how the state of Lebanon will fall to complete chaos as death tolls rise, Hezbollah gets stronger, and innocent lives are lost. Israel, with the support of the Decider, is weakening the progress (a term I reluctantly use) in the Middle East. Although, as the Decider has said before: when we talk about war we are really talking about peace.

But how do you justify a war in Iraq, presumably about spreading democracy, and undermine the death rate there by supporting a war which is weakening Lebanon's democracy as quickly as I write this? My logic tells me that if we are willing to go to war to spread democracy, then we should be as vigilant to protect it. Without having democracy in location A, can there be democracy in location B? The Decider's rhetoric confuses this. The Decider fooled the American people into believing the war in Iraq was about defending freedom and introducing democracy (of course, this was only declared after the initial reason to wage war to rid Iraq of WMD had proven an absolute lie), and the Decider's rhetoric has reached such political heights that it has fooled the American people to believe that democracy can only exist if evil doers such as terrorists and bad Muslims are taken out of the equation...remember the days of "you're either with us or you're against us?"

What does this have to do with Chechnya and Russia?
Two things here: First, Chechnya has been waging civil war with Russia since its 1991 independence. Some of the worst atrocities, in recent years, against humanity have been committed here. As reported by the BBC, the Beslan school siege of 2004 "left 331 people dead, including 186 children...[and] more than 700 people were injured." Yet The Decider, Condoleeza, Rumsfeld et al. have all condemned Russia for its actions of retaliation against Chechen terrorists. We must not forget that Russia is a democracy (some of my Russian friends would smile at this concept), and as far as I understand, Russia's weight on a world stage, not to mention the sheer size of its country and population demands attention. But there is no helping hand from the Decider for Vladimir Putin as he confronts terrorism from Chechen guerrillas. 10 out of the 35 terrorists who murdered women and children at the Beslan school were Arab...they were not fighting for Chechen independence.
Yet, as the Washington Post reported, "the United States officially maintains that Russia should find a political solution to end the Chechen war, but does not push hard for that goal. European governments have been more vocal in promoting talks as the only way to end the war" (September 8, 2004; Page A01).

Never mind the 186 children that were burned to death by terrorists in southern Russia. The Decider has decided that Moscow's best course of action is to exercise diplomacy, by talking with the Chechens to see what they want...a suggestion for which Putin responded, "Why don't you meet Osama bin Laden, invite him to Brussels or to the White House, engage in talks, ask him what he wants and give it to him so he leaves you in peace?" Putin said to a group of Western academics and journalists. "You find it possible to set some limits in your dealings with these bastards, so why should we talk to people who are child killers?" (Washington Post, Wednesday, September 8, 2004; Page A01)

So where does diplomacy fit into the Israeli/Lebanon debacle? The fighting in Lebanon simply undermines the quest for democracy in other locations. As if we hadn't stirred the pot enough in Afghanistan and Iraq, we are now supporting the use of force by the Israeli military against another rogue terrorist group operating in yet another fragile political system. Hopefully Lebanon can withstand the impact of this war, but if it cannot, then what we have set out to do in Iraq will be all in vain due to the destruction of an almost stable government in an area very badly in need of stability. But...where the Decider makes a decision, chaos is sure to follow. Confusion, violence, and sadness are part of the Decider's diplomacy.

The reason I have revisited the Beslan school massacre and set it alongside the Israeli/Lebanon war is simple: there are too many inconsistencies, contradictions, and hypocrisies to the Decider's diplomacy of spreading freedom and democracy.
The point for the Decider to understand is best put by Andrei Babitsky: "it's possible to kill all those who are resisting, but you can't kill the idea of resistance" (NY Times, 7.20.06). I have been saying this from very nearly the day war broke out in Afghanistan many years ago: as long as I continue to see children parading in streets with AK-47s holding pictures of American presidents with the words "death to America" written on them, and as long as I continue to see mobs of people burning American flags and dancing around effigies of American presidents, there will be no peace. You cannot fight a war against a feeling of hatred, against a ghost. The children will ensure that.

I remember Oranges; I have tasted Lemons, I think?

2006-07-19T11:53:00.000-05:00

it has been so long...
i have been on vacation for 6 weeks which means i have been reading and watching movies for six weeks. i have not left my little town, but instead, opted for a specific laziness prompted by the thick, iowa heat...so no blog mind you.

for now, let me run down some tasty quotes from Orwell's 1984. i am re-reading this because it has been since middle school when i last looked at it. i remember the story, but i have forgotten the amazing prose...and, of course, Orwell is a prophet. I think of Dick Cheney's fat face when i read the line "if there is hope, it lies in the proles."

here are some great lines i have been reading over the past few days:

"I hate purity, I hate goodness. I don't want any virtue to exist anywhere. I want everyone to be corrupt to the bones."

"In the old days, [Winston] thought, a man looked at a girl's body and saw that it was desireable, and that was the end of the story. But you could not have pure love or pure lust nowadays. No emotion was pure, because everything was mixed up with fear and hatred. Their embrace had been a battle, the climax a victory. It was a blow struck against the Party. It was a political act."

[Julie]: "Tell me, what did you think of me before that day I gave you the note?"
[Winston] did not feel any temptation to tell lies to her. It was even a sort of love offering to start off by telling the worst.
"I hated the sight of you, he said. "I wanted to rape you and then murder you afterwards. Two weeks ago I thought seriously of smashing your head in with a cobblestone. If you really want to know, I imagined that you had something to do with the Thought Police."

"Life, if you looked about you, bore no resemblance not only to the lies that streamed out of the telescreens, but even to the ideals that the Party was trying to achieve. Great areas of it, even for a Party member, were neutral and nonpolitical, a matter of slogging through dreary jobs, fighting for a place on the Tube, darning a worn-out sock, cadging a saccharine tablet, saving a cigarette end. The ideal set up by the party was something huge, terrible, and glittering--a world of steel and concrete, of monstrous machines and terrifying weapons--a nation of warriors and fanatics, marching forward in perfect unity, all thinking the same thoughts and shouting the same slogans, perpetually working, fighting, triumphing, persecuting--three hundred million people all with the same face."

"In a way, the world-view of the Party imposed itself most successfully on people incapable of understanding it.They could be made to accept the most flagrant violations of reality, because they never fully grasped the enormity of what was demanded of them, and were not sufficiently interested in public events to notice what was happening. By lack of understanding they remained sane. They simply swallowed everything, and what they swallowed did them no harm, because it left no residue behind, just as a grain of corn will pass undigested through the body of a bird."

"Until they become conscious they will never rebel, and until after they have rebelled they cannot become conscious."

if only Cheney could meet the proles...

angels with dirty faces

2006-06-04T01:09:00.000-05:00

Vodka Lemon is Hiner Saleem's 2004 film depicting a small Armenian village sometime after Soviet occupation. The film is quiet and subdued, but sticks closely to an Eastern European film aesthetic; mainly, to depict the lone individual as s/he suffers and celebrates against all forces of a life. Vodka Lemon does not stray from this tradition. This is a film that challenges the viewer to understand what is needed and what is not in a life...to understand what the essential necessities of existence are.

The film is unclear about how much time has passed since the Soviet occupation, but it is long enough to know that communism has fled, and capitalism has failed. In this scenario nobody has escaped the poverty which ensues. Hamo, the 60 year old protagonist, travels almost daily to visit his wife's grave where he meditates, not so quietly, with her picture inlaid in the stone. Some of the most telling moments come when Hamo gingerly cleans off the snow from her gravestone...he cleans it off with his bare hands, always his hands. Over swills from his flask he talks kindly to her inlaid image about his miserable pension, and the hope that his son, who now lives in Paris, will someday send him money.

In the meantime, Hamo continues to sell what little he has left of his home and life: his wife's wardrobe, his military uniform: commodities that have no real value, yet the memory they evoke make the commerce a painful transaction. Offers at the local market come in way under what Hamo suggests, and with each sale Hamo leaves the market with a little less of his former life than he had when he came. Although Hamo is stoic, anyone who has ever had to sell anything to pay the bills will understand the sadness that comes with departing from the things that make up our lives...the items that become artifacts to explain our existence.

The thing I like most about this film is that it is quiet, save for a brilliant soundtrack and score of Armenian folk tunes; The village is subdued by winter. The village is subdued by remoteness. With Hiner Saleem's shots of snowy highways and cold, snow-beaten huts, the cinematography mimics the silence of the people as they struggle to not only make sense of what their life has become, but also to survive it: if the poverty and cold do not kill, then certainly the memories will. Some say desperation needs no sound.

Unlike Fellini or Bergman, Saleem's camera work does not overly dramatize the face of the actors. Instead, the faces of Vodka Lemon stand to explain everything by merely existing in the film. The shot of Hamo and his son sharing bread and vodka depicts two faces I will not soon forget. There is something in the face of the Eastern European that is foreign to contemporary western sensibility, yet is understood by our sense of ethos. It is the face of 1930s America...when our grandparents worried about where their food was coming from. When they watched what sustained them seemingly blow away into the wind. When they didn't know what the future would bring. For me, Steinbeck captures the humanity of this face best when he writes,

"The people came out of their houses and smelled the hot stinging air and covered their noses from it. And the children came out of the houses, but they did not run or shout as they would have done after a rain. Men stood by their fences and looked at the ruined corn, drying fast now, only a little green showing through the film of dust. The men were silent and they did not move often. And the women came out of the houses to stand beside their men--to feel whether this time the men would break. The women studied the men's faces secretly, for the corn could go, as long as something else remained. The children stood near by, drawing figures in the dust with bare toes, and the children sent exploring senses out to see whether men and women would break. The children peaked at the faces of the men and women, and then drew careful lines in the dust with their toes. Horses came to the watering troughs and nuzzled the water to clear the surface dust. After a while the faces of the watching men lost their bemused perplexity and became hard and angry and resistant. Then the women knew that they were safe and that there was no break. Then they asked, what'll we do? And the men replied, I don't know. But it was alright. The women knew it was alright, and the watching children knew it was alright. Women and children knew deep in themselves that no misfortune was too great to bear if their men were whole. The women went into the houses to their work, and the children began to play, but cautiously at first. As the day went forward the sun became less red. It flared down on the dust-blanketed land. The men sat in the doorways of their houses; their hands were busy with sticks and little rocks. The men sat still--thinking--figuring."

The face is one of suffering and quiet madness, yet it is softened by a humanity somehow not lost in the poverty of existence. Despite the severe poverty, Hamo's face is beautiful and kind, if not a bit weathered and tired. Hamo will not break because he continually believes in humanity, and we see this by how he interacts with others: he does not let human contact go by lightly. His thoughts are heavy with burden, yet he dances, laughs, sings; although he is quiet, his spirit fights to stay alive. Hamo's life, no matter how worn down, is his own life...there is only one...so he takes the tragedy and sadness in stride, always remembering that it is there, and to leave it behind for a while is only a gift not to be ignored. There are those among us who have the gift of removing sadness for a while and replacing it with peace...there is a space that separates the two worlds, and if we look just right we can find it and perform in it. When Hamo sings or plays the piano, when he makes someone smile, I think he is keeping his soul from dying.

As I watched the film I wondered if Hamo thought back to his childhood, and if he did, what did he see? There are many scenes in which Hamo is simply caught deep in thought. I liked to think he was thinking of his youth. I somehow think it was the source of his strength.

spirits in the high church

2006-05-19T23:24:00.000-05:00

Been listening to Albert Ayler's "Love Cry" tonight. What amazing work. Recorded in 1968, Ayler comes second to nobody. Of course there is Coltrane, Pharoah, and Coleman to contend with. But Ayler is in a class unto himself because it is the sound of a student playing with the weight, violence, and joy of a youthful spirit giving back that which was given to him.

From an interview with Ayler the day of Coltrane's funeral, Ayler explains, "I would say when I was in the army, in 1960 and '61, when I spent two years training, when I first started playing, I had a thing that was free at that time, you know? But when (Coltrane) started playing, I had to listen...just to his tone you understand? To listen...to him play was just like he was talking to me, saying, 'brother, get yourself together spiritually.' Just one sound--that's how profound this man was."

There are quite a few Ayler recordings, and I find them all great. Play them loud. Fury sounds better when it is loud. Check out this bio

weddings and barbed wire

2006-05-01T09:48:00.000-05:00

In my hunt for the perfect wedding poem, i stumbled across this work about a guy who has been fixing barbed wire fences his whole life. It's out of the collection "Gutter Flowers" by Don Welch. This poem has nothing to do with weddings, but i thought it sounded real nice anyway.

"At the Edge of Town"

Hard to know which is more gnarled,
the posts he hammers staples into
or the blue hummocks that run across his hands like molehills.

Work has reduced his wrists
to bones, cut out of him
the easy flesh and brought him
down to this, the crowbar's teeth

Caught just behind a barb.
Again this morning
the crowbar's neck will make
its blue slip into wood,

there will be that moment
when too much strength
will cause the wire to break.
But even at 70, he says,

he has to have it right,
and more than right.
This morning, in the pewter light,
he has the scars to prove it.

will the circle be unbroken?

2006-04-11T14:42:00.000-05:00

After much hullabaloo over its authenticity--a debate that will never be fully complete, accepted, or denied, and will probably burn out of the public''s awareness to make room for popular sentiment, belief, and comfort level--, a cocktail of radiocarbon dating, ink analysis, multispecteral imaging, and studies of the script and linguistic style has been mixed to date this document known to be 1,700 years old. This is the Gospel of Judas.

Most religious affiliation posits the qualities and bravado inherent during the Superbowl, World Cup, and World Series. Religion is a source of identity and provides a sense of community. It is a product of geography. If i were born in Tibet i am sure i would be a Buddhist; If i were born in Utah, had 15 moms, i might be a Mormon; Were i to be born in New Delhi, i might be a Sikh or a Muslim. But being born in Iowa, i identify with a Christian narrative more than the others simply becasue i have been around it more. I have come to understand the names and the principles found in the Bible. To me the Bible is a big book of principle. I do not believe it is literal truth, though some do. Fine with me. Believe in something, i say! What i do get though is the universal truth found in all spiritual movements. Their foundation is love; In most cases the movement is pure; it is the people who are not. The followers mess it up. Religion in the best of hands is a wonderful source of power, hope, redemption; in the worst of hands it is a devastating and ugly mess. So, the bravado of belonging to this camp or that camp is for the birds; it is trite and unneccesary. Though i probably live in a fictional reality, no religion is right and no religion is wrong. It is what you identify with as a human that gives faith strength. It is the belief that allows the faith to exist...like currency: worth nothing on its own, but when you put the people's faith in it and everyone allows it to circulate, it means something.

Christian narrative is a great story. Even if you can't believe in its miracles, at least concede that the story is solid. Judas' innocence makes the Gospels come full circle.

Somebody had to do it. Somebody had to betray Jesus in order for this religion to survive. If Christ never gave his life there would be no sacrifice.

Jesus trusted Judas the most, asked him for a favor, and when the hour came Judas obeyed because he loved Jesus and believed in his divinity. Judas sacrificed his own name for nearly 2,000 years; believers of the faith hold Judas as the betrayer of Christ; imagine being the one who betrayed Jesus.

Noah gets the flood. Job gets the physical maladies. Abraham was to sacrifice his only child. Judas now joins the crowd, and perhaps gives the ultimate sacrifice. Kind of puts giving up chocolate or T.V. for Lent in a new light, huh?

night swimming

2006-03-07T11:21:00.000-06:00

Last night I stayed awake to enjoy the silence and read from War and Peace. I took a break from reading, around 1:30am, and listented to some old records on the shelf. I put on Aki Tsuyuko's album "Ongakushitsu", and was reminded what a beautifully sparce and simple album it is. Recorded in Kyoto, Japan in 1998-1999, Tsyuko is a student of sorts of Nobukazu Takemura, who came to fame through the Thrill Jockey label. Tsuyuko's music is much more playful than Nobukazu's, and draws from distinct musical genres, such as circus music (cranking monkey machines: the kind that makes you think of Ray Bradbury's "Something Wicked This Way Comes" and the dream sequences reminiscent of Bakhtin's carnival or Walter Benjamin's Paris arcades); ambient pipe organs, and cryptic, jagged echoes--all remain mostly atmospheric and gentle. There is, however, a bit of warning and caution involved: As if underneath the lull there is an evil beauty. A great companion at 2am.

War and Peace is a slow meditation. I am also reading, as a sort of accompaniment, Harold Bloom's "Genius: A Mosaic of One Hundered Exemplarary Creative Minds" (Time Warner Books, 2002). Regardless of your opinions of Bloom, his book is marginally interesting, if only for the sheer scope of his endeavor: his disclaimer is that these people are not the greatest writers, but rather, these are the writers Bloom wanted to write about. He does offer a a chronology, and the list is based on importance in terms of contributions. So the justification is sound. Bloom offers this insight: "The question we must put to any writer must be: does she or he augment our consciousness, and how is it done? I find this a rough but effectual test: however I have been entertained, has my awareness been intensified, my consciousness widened and clarified? If not, then I have encountered talent, not genius. What is best and oldest in myself has not been activated" (12). I am encouraged by these words as I read through Tolstoy's War and Peace.

Tolstoy was a writer with a profound sense of himself, not only as a human, orthodox, and a russian, but as a solitary figure. A spirit. Bloom quotes from Maxim Gorky,"With God he has very suspicious relations; they sometimes remind me of the realtion of 'two bears in one den.'" Bloom adds: "God could not have been comfortable with Count Leo Tolstoy."

I will not attempt an analysis of War and Peace here. What I will do is offer a tasty quotation, regarding the arrival of the Tsar, for the review of the Austrian and Russian troops. Here Tolstoy is at his finest, working as he does, to secure a sense of the human condition. Tolstoy writes,

In the deathlike silence only the sound of hoofbeats was heard. This was the emperors' suites...Standing in the foremost ranks of Kutuzov's army, which was the first the Tsar approached, Rostov experienced the same feeling as every other man in the army: a feeling of self-oblivion, a proud consciousness of might, and a passionate devotion to him who was the cause of that triumphant occasion. One word from that man, he felt, and his huge mass (including the insignificant grain that was himself) would go through fire and water, commit crimes, die, or perform deeds of the greatest heroism, and he could not but tremble, and his heart stood still, at the imminency of that word" (Trans. Ann Dunnigan).