Month: April 2003

  • Powered by audblogthusly prepositioned

    Shall I blog or jog or suck the frog or play like a Diamond Dog?


    I’ve been ‘seeing’ a lot of pretty women lately.  (Yes, ‘seeing’ is purposely ambiguous and capable of multiple, if not simultaneous, interpretations. )


    But none of them have turned me on. 


    *sucks on a ‘turn-on-able thermometer’—yes, I do register*


    Perhaps biovorous nanobots in an act of global ecophagy are consuming all the world’s store of sharable pheromones thus leaving me bereft of an impetus? 


    *shudders at our unpreparedness for nanorobotic terrorism*


    Whatever.  And an adjective to be named later.


    Right now, I’ll just embrace the cogently real.  
    Ignore ‘desire’ and steal
    a moment of eternity
    and make it mine.  All mine.
    But also thine
    or yours
    or his
    or hers,
    sharing this moment of serenity
    irradiating my entity…



    ...prepositioned for sunset on the banks of the Cuyahoga River, wireless blog from an earthbound adventurer

  • Too many words spoil the blog.

  • Even more amazing than the unprecedented military victory of American forces in Iraq may be the utter confusion, searing soul-searching, hand-wringing, and self-finger-pointing that many Arabs in Arab nations are now engaged in:


    April 9: Where are the Arabs heading to and from where? A few questions…(Part I)



    Bassam al Antari-Albawaba.com:



    Jordanian political analyst Uraib Rantawi:



    ...and it is my belief that such will continue unless/until America's esteem and stature is toppled or severely damaged. 


    How might the Arab David topple the American Goliath?  A combination of several of the scenarios below could quicksand the ground that we patrol mighty fast:


    1) Extensively impugn the morality of the troops and/or civilian contractors stationed in Iraq (and, by extension, American culture) with repeated reports of supposed (invented and/or real) rape, pandering, gambling, theft, recklessness, and, yes, even Christian evangelizing.  (the 'immorality' factor)


    2) Discredit the elections when they occur through disruptions and violence.  Possibly even car-bombing election locations or dispensing biological or chemical agents into such thus rendering the election process incomplete and unreliable.  (the 'Arab chad' factor)


    3) Insure (if necessary) that weapons of mass destruction are never found.  If they are 'never found' (and how long do we wait for 'never'?), how many will clamor that our presence is illegitimate in being based on 'false pretenses'?  (the 'gun never smoked' factor)


    4) A series of successful assassinations of 'leading democratic candidates' in Iraq supposedly to prove that America is failing to provide a safe milieu for 'its' vision of a blossoming democracy.  (the 'democracy is deadly' factor)


    5) Assassinating George Bush to prove that vengeance is Allah's.  (the 'I'm rubber, you're glue' factor)


    6) Blaming epidemic outbreaks of deadly contagious disease on Americans due to the deterioration of the hygienic infrastructure from war and/or to the supposed (invented and/or real) vector transmission from Americans to Iraqis of AIDS, SARS, or any other disease that hasn't yet massively befallen them, but may yet come to do so while Americans are still present in large numbers. (the 'your presence is toxic' factor)


    7) The construction of a McDonald's in downtown Baghdad (the 'omg Ronald isn't Muslim!' factor)


  • Lately, it seems, I am, at times and involuntarily, unable to articulate anything other than utterly simple sentences.


    Yesterday, while helping my friend Mike implement a DSL line troublesome and non-functional since January, I reverted to calling DSL technical assistance.  Of course, one of my professions is ‘tech support’, so the tech that I reached and I immediately established a good rapport ‘talking tech’ at fairly elevated levels.  At least, until I asked him: “Why must things be so complex?  Why can’t things just leave other things alone?”  He was dumbfounded and speechless.  I had regressed to absolute simplicity and broken the ‘tech-talk’ trust.  Mike, who had been solemnly listening to the conversation for half an hour, had to leave the room laughing when I tumbled into my ‘one hand clapping’ zen-ism.


    What can I say?  Minimalism is beckoning me.


  •  


    Live everyday as if it’s your last to live and your first to love.


     


    Ran 5 in the cemetery.


     


    Sunned on a hillside.


  • I'm feeling evil .


    But I'm only needy.


    Amazon Honor System Click Here to PayLearn More

  • In the very early days of Xanga, there were those, perhaps even some of you, who harbored suspicions that I was one of the powers that be behind Xanga.  Like the current "Mayor of Baghdad', I arrived on the scene and detected a personality vacuum at the top.  But unlike the current 'Mayor of Baghdad', I neither groped for nor declared myself anything.  I simply shared my acute insights into the underpinnings of this forum, Xanga, which was born of a conspiracy, organized like an underworld operation, but implemented like an act of mysterious spontaneous generation.


    There once was even a survey (I forget which xangan sponsored it) that asked Xangans who they thought was the 'real' Bianca Broussard (original xanga spam-mistress and recruiter extraordinaire) ...and I won !  hahaha.  Back then we all seemed to know a little better how to make fun.  Things were different then.  ("But aren't they different  now? "  "No, they're the same. ")


    So if I were to ask you today "Who is the President of Xanga?", how would you respond?


    John!!!   Right?


    Wrong!


    Jim O'Grady of Hewlett-Packard Financial says, "Mother Nature would say that leasing is the most environmentally friendly way to acquire IT equipment. At the end of a lease a customer has to just return the equipment to us, from there we know how to take that equipment back, refurbish it and revitalize that technology."

    Marc Ginsburg, president of Xanga, says, "At the end of the lease we don't have to worry about throwing old computers into a dumpster or having them pile up in our office. We can just let the experts take care of that."

    Plus, by leasing, Xanga gets the latest computer models after turning in their old ones. Because the refurbished computers aren't made from new parts, it brings computer prices way down. Xanga will save up to 90 percent of the original computer price.

    "With leasing, we've really been able to stretch our IT budgets and stay much more capital-efficient. There are no big down payments up front, we're able to preserve existing credit lines and we can add new equipment and technology during the term of the lease much more easily and affordably," Ginsburg says.


       -KRON 4


    So what the hell is John ?!  LOL


    But if you must know, Biz was the 'real' Bianca.  How do I know?  It required a genius (genie), didn't it?

  • I’m fucking tired of the ‘Laci Peterson Story’ already.  Oh, I feel deeply for her and her unborn son , but I can’t believe that the news media has re-embraced ‘Her Story’ (who's scrambling for the movie rights??) nearly 24x7 wholesale simply because the war in Iraq is winding down.  And believe me, that is precisely what has happened: ‘Laci Peterson’ is this week’s ‘War in Iraq’.  Fuck you news media whores and bitches.


     


    Moreover, I resent that an uncanny, tragic parallel of the ‘Laci Peterson Story’ has been almost entirely ignored (except for 1--uno--solo story I've found on the internet) by the vast, far-reaching American news media apparatus because they apparently judged that she wouldn’t sell ‘news’ due to the fact that she was 1) a Latino and not a Laci-Anglo-Saxon (racism), 2) single and having an affair instead of Laci-married (arrogant moralism), 3) poor instead of Laci-{family}-rich (haughty classism), and 4) an illegal alien instead of a Laci-homegrown (rampant nationalism). 


     


    Read, if unlike the news media you care, truly care, of the story of 24-year-old Evelyn Hernandez of San Francisco, who vanished last May 1st with her 5-year-old son, one week before she was to deliver a baby boy.  Her torso was found in the bay three months later and identified, while her 5-year-old yet remains missing:


     


    Case of another 'Laci' languishes in obscurity
    Torso of missing pregnant mom was found in S.F. Bay last year


     


    Kelly St. John, Chronicle Staff Writer   Monday, April 21, 2003  


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

    A vibrant young woman -- pregnant in her third trimester with a baby boy -- vanishes. Police suspect foul play. Doubts swirl around the man she loves, whom police don't rule out as a suspect.


     


    Finally, the grim discovery: A woman's remains are pulled from San Francisco Bay.


     


    The saga of Laci Peterson captivated America's attention. The 27-year-old Modesto mother-to-be was reported missing on Christmas Eve and became the subject of daily news reports capped by the arrest Friday of her husband, Scott Peterson.


     


    But it is also the story of 24-year-old Evelyn Hernandez of San Francisco, who vanished last May 1 with her 5-year-old son, a week before she was to deliver a baby boy. Her torso was found in the bay three months later and identified, while her son remains missing. No arrests have been made.


     


    Hernandez's case barely registered in the community and in Bay Area television news shows and newspapers, while the eyes of the nation seemed to be fixed on the search for Laci Peterson.


     


    There are many, sometimes subtle, reasons why some cases become major news stories -- while the vast majority languish in obscurity, according to law enforcement officials, relatives of the missing, journalists and citizens.


     


    Peterson seemed to be the all-American girl next door, the most innocent of victims. She also has a vocal family advocating on her behalf, and the financial and public relations help of a well-connected crime victims group in Modesto, the Sund/Carrington Memorial Reward Foundation, formed during the search for the Yosemite murder victims in 1999.


     


    "This girl (Laci), she's white, they have money, and there is a family behind her," said Twiggy Damy, a friend of Hernandez, a single mother who moved to San Francisco from El Salvador when she was 14. "Who cares about Evelyn?


     


    "The first time I heard Laci's case, I got flashbacks from Evelyn, because it is the same case," Damy said. "That's very hard to see, why one gets more attention than the other."



    VALUE OF PUBLICITY

    Families of crime victims say the media spotlight keeps pressure on police to work quickly to solve the case, while police say publicity helps them enlist the help of citizens whose tips might lead to the recovery of a body, an arrest, or the safe return of a missing person.


     


    "Our greatest hope would have been for someone to say, yes, I saw her here, with this person," said San Francisco police inspector Holly Pera, who took on Hernandez's case when it became a suspected homicide.


     


    Police at first thought Hernandez may have gone away to have her baby on her own, and didn't hold their first news conference until more than a month after she vanished, when the homicide unit took over the case.


     


    "It's hard to turn back the clock and get what we could have gotten if we had major publicity from the get-go," Pera said.


    It is rare for a pregnant woman to vanish. But Peterson's case likely received extra media attention from the start because she was from the same town as another well-known missing person and homicide victim -- Chandra Levy, the Washington, D.C., intern who had an affair with then-Rep. Gary Condit.


     


    Adding intrigue as the Laci Peterson story unfolded were revelations about Scott Peterson that seemed to come almost weekly -- from his admission to an extramarital affair, to revelations that he had purchased a life insurance policy on his wife, to his selling her car and attempting to sell the house, to his hesitancy to speak to the media.



    ENDEARING PERSONALITY

    In Modesto, regular folks say that what has made Laci's story tug on their heartstrings is Laci herself -- a beautiful, warm and likable young woman who seemed to have it all.


     


    "She was a happy-go-lucky lady. In a way, I feel like I wish I would have known her," said Lee Benites, a genial grandfather who cuts hair at his downtown salon, the Razor's Edge. "And a lot of it is because it was Christmas time, and she was going to have a baby."


     


    "It's heart-wrenching to think that somebody could do something like that to a woman who is expecting a baby, especially if it was (Scott Peterson)," said Mary Lou Hambrick of Louisville, Ky., as she played with her grandchildren at a park while visiting family in Modesto.


     


    Hambrick said she was riveted by Laci Peterson's case from the start. And that's not just because her 29-year-old daughter, Erin, lives in Modesto and looks a bit like Laci, she said.


     


    "She just looks like a warm, beautiful daughter," Hambrick said. "You see nothing but a big smile."


     


    But advocates for other missing adults say that while they don't begrudge the attention Laci Peterson has received, they are devastated by the disparity.


     


    About 200,000 adults are reported missing in the United States each year. The state attorney general's office reports that 35,142 adults were reported missing in California in 2001, some 4,346 of them under suspicious or unknown circumstances. Most have received scant attention.


     


    While Evelyn Hernandez's story eerily mirrors Peterson's case, the disparity in media coverage also has been striking.


    Even before the dramatic arrest of Scott Peterson on Friday, The Chronicle had written 32 stories since Laci Peterson was reported missing Dec. 24 -- four of them on the front page. It published four about Evelyn Hernandez, none on the front page.



    HERNANDEZ'S STORY

    Laci Peterson often topped the newscasts of national cable news channels during a four-month investigation, while Evelyn Hernandez received scant coverage from Bay Area television stations -- even on the day her remains were found.


    Described by friends as a devoted mother to her son Alex, Hernandez was a legal immigrant who had worked as a vocational nurse and in jobs at Costco and the Clift Hotel.

    She was reported missing by her baby's father, a 36-year-old married man named Herman Aguilera, Pera said.


    Authorities had already suspected that Hernandez and her son Alex met with foul play when her wallet was found in South San Francisco, two blocks from where Aguilera worked at a limousine company, Pera said. Then, in late July, a portion of her torso -- still clad in maternity clothes -- washed up on the Embarcadero.


    When her death was confirmed by DNA tests just after Labor Day, her small circle of friends and a sister who lives in the East Bay planned a memorial service in San Francisco that drew 100 people. It was the same small community that had circulated flyers when she disappeared.


    Damy said friends and family tried repeatedly to get Hernandez's case featured on "America's Most Wanted" but were rejected because no warrant had been issued for a suspect. But, Damy said, the show did a story on Laci Peterson although no suspects had been named in that case either.


    Hernandez's friends and family are convinced that subtle factors -- from Hernandez's status as a Salvadoran immigrant to the fact that she was involved with a married man -- figured in the news media giving little notice to her case.


    "It's embarrassing," said Pera, the San Francisco police inspector. "We've pushed and asked for and received as much as we possibly could. But we don't make the decision about what gets covered and what doesn't."

  • I hope everybody had a fruitful Weaster Eekend.  Certainly Easter is one of those holidays when a great deal of dormant religious sentiment inflates itself and church attendance spikes.  I actually believe that the spiking behavior in church attendance, as you’ll oft see at Easter and Christmas, is non-hypocritical and healthy: if you’re not going to have a ‘sell-out’ on church seating every week, you might as well have a huge, rumbling turnout on the highest holy days.


    But if religious sentiment can so inflate (and resultantly deflate thereafter), why not provide an Inflatable Church (deflatable also)to match?   Well, ask and you shall receive:




    The air-filled building — 47ft high from ground to steeple — is the brainchild of inventor Mike Gill.


    Inside it has blow-up organ, altar, pulpit, pews, candles and a gold cross. The 47ft long by 25ft wide church has plastic “stained glass” windows.


    And the door is even flanked by air-filled angels.



    I wonder how popular Christian Inflatable Churches would be if they started showing up now in countless abundance in Iraq to service our copious amounts of Christian troops?   hahaha  “Don’t worry,” we’d tell the Muslim clerics, “these are interim and fully deflatable.”


    The true utility of the Inflatable Church, however, may not become manifest until the Last Days.  Let’s say that the Last Days are upon us and either the majority of humanity is convinced of this through pure religious conversion or by incontrovertible scientific evidence (“Yes, the killer asteroid will without any doubt destroy the earth in 27 days!” kind-of-thing).  Of course, at the very, very end, a great outpouring would choose to pass the final moments of earthly existence in ‘God’s House’, if for no other reason than that it would be ‘good insurance’.  (Okay, I know, I’ll still find some of you peeps down at the corner bar )

    The only trouble would be that there wouldn’t be enough churches and spacing to accommodate everybody then.  Strange as it may seem, all the religions that project an upcoming gospel end of the world have not built for it!!!  Otherwise, current church ‘excess capacity’ would approximately accommodate the entire population—and it grossly falls short.  So right now, if the timing of the ‘Last Days’ undeniably set in, people would be rushing to get into churches, trampling each other for a space or a seat with a result of extreme overcrowding, religious stampedes, and potentially horrible catastrophes (fires and building collapse). 

    Of course, if the world is going to end anyway, maybe fires in overcrowded churches and churches collapsing from overabounding capacity would not be seen as really that horrible after all.  But wouldn’t it be nice to be around, stick around at least, for the Grand Finale?  And the solution, of course, is... the Inflatable Church! 


    So perhaps I can make my fortune by becoming a Last Days Pentecostal salesman ?!  Yes, I will canvass the prophetic leadership of Last Days religions and move them with the realization that they can accommodate the most rumbling church turnout of all time (in fact, the last and most glorious), and thus save even more souls , by stocking up on Inflatable (non-degrading, extremely long shelf-life— lest there's a miscalculation and the world doesn't end tomorrow) Churches today.  And, oh yes, I’ll also be selling Holy Air Compressors ™ to provide for infallible and quick ascension.


    Besides, even if the world doesn’t end anytime soon, can you think of a more fitting home than a Plastic Church for Plastic Jesus?


  • A critical food run has just been completed for the surviving animals in the Baghdad Zoo.  According to my way of thinking, those animals are much more valuable than the plundered and lost antiquities of the Baghdad Musuem.  What way of thinking is that?  The belief that life is more sacred than life's artifacts.  Of course, only the big cats, for the most part, were left untouched in the zoo.  Why was that?  Hrmmm.  *ponders*  What, nobody wanted to pet the starving tigers?



    Well, at least some of the antiquities are in good hands.  As you can see, one of my buddies is diligently guarding a priceless portrait of Saldin in the back of a covered pickup while shaking down a bottle of pills that he's about to wash down with that beer in his lap.



    So was guardianship of antiquities in the Baghdad Musuem mishandled?  All I can say is that I'm damned glad no Marines got killed defending dusty artifacts and I am equally glad that no Marine ended up shooting a 10-year old kid running away from the musuem with a necklace or a piece of pottery.  Believe me, the U.S. may take some heat for not factoring 'sufficient protection' for the antiquities. But if they had lost troops defending ancient urns, or, more likely, taken lives in the defense of the same, the outrage would have known no end. 

  • nfp went over the mountain,


    nfp went over the mountain,


    nfp went over the mountain


    to see what he could see.


     


    And all that he could see,


    And all that he could see was…


     


    Another face of reality,


    The other side of totality,


    The erotica of sensuality


     


    …was all that he could see,


    was all that he could see,


    was all that he could see…

  • Thomas Jefferson once asserted that for the flame of democracy to remain ablaze, that we would “need a revolution every twenty years.”  Why might that be?  Perhaps he understood that democracy requires a freshness of leadership that is born forever out of a baptism of fire.  Perhaps he foresaw that democracy necessitates a constant struggle for identity and consciousness, and a rejuvenation on the verge of post-adolescence in order to prevent a slide into an embrittling senescence.  


     


    Communists and other enemies of democracy have often used this quote of Jefferson’s to attempt to justify their seditious aspirations.  But did Jefferson really mean we would have to be prodigal with our domestic heritage merely in order to ‘reinvent the wheel’?   


     


    Since the establishment of the first modern electoral democracy in America, democracy has indeed spawned waves of revolution ‘every twenty years’ or so.  But these waves have surged forth mainly  from America upon oceans of global extent to wash principally and effectively and freely upon new shores:


    The history of democracy is not a slow steady advance, in the view of political scientist Samuel P. Huntington of Harvard University, but a succession of waves that have advanced, receded, then rolled in and crested again.


    Writing in the Journal of Democracy, Huntington identifies three historical or "long waves" of democracy. The first began in the early 19th century with the extension of the right to vote to a large proportion of the male population in the United States, and continued until the 1920s. During this period, some 29 democracies came into being. The ebb, or reversal, of the first wave began in 1922 with the accession of Mussolini to power in Italy and lasted until 1942, when the number of the world's democracies had been reduced to 12.


    A second wave began with the triumph of the Allies in World War II, cresting in 1962 when the number of democracies had risen to 36. The ebbing of the second wave between 1962 and the mid-1970s brought it back down to 30.


    When the third wave of global democratization began in 1974, there were 39 democracies, but the percentage of democracies in the world was about the same (27 percent). Yet by January 2000, Freedom House counted 120 democracies, the highest number and the greatest percentage (63) in the history of the world.


    What, of course, we are witnessing is the Globalization of Democracy.  A hegemony sweeping the world with Jeffersonian ‘revolution every twenty years’, not where it has already been established, but where it is yet to be established.


    Indeed, in its 1999 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices, the U.S. State Department went so far as to identify democracy and human rights as a third "universal language" (along with money and the Internet). That report envisions the emerging transnational network of human rights actors (both public and private) becoming an "international civil society . . . that will support democracy worldwide and promote the standards embodied in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights."


    An international civil society that will support democracy worldwide!  Yes, democracy seems to be ‘taking hold’ almost everywhere except … (I’ll yet you look at the chart below and decide)…


     



































































































    Democracy and Liberal Democracy by Region and Cultural Grouping, 1999–2000


    Region


    Number of Countries


    Number of Electoral [voting] Democracies (percent)


    Number of Liberal [lifestyle] Democracies (percent)


    Western Europe and Anglophone states


    28


    28


    (100%)


    28


    (100%)


    Latin America and Caribbean


    33


    29


    (88)


    16


    (48)


       South America


    12


    11


    (92)


    4


    (33)


    Eastern and Central Europe and Baltic states


    15


    14


    (93)


    9


    (60)


    Former Soviet Union (less Baltics)


    12


    5
    4*


    (42)
    (33*)


    0


     


    Asia (East, Southeast, South)


    26


    12


    (46)


    3


    (12)


    Pacific islands


    11


    10


    (91)


    9


    (82)


    Africa (sub-Saharan)


    48


    20
    16*


    (42)
    (33*)


    5


    (10)


    Middle East and North Africa


    19


    2


    (11)


    1


    (5)


    Total


    204


    131
    126*


    (64)
    (62*)


    75


    (37)


     


    Arab countries


    16


    0


     


    0


     


    Predominately Muslim countries


    41


    8
    5*


    (20)
    (12)


    0


     


    Source: 1999 Freedom House survey; Journal of Democracy 11, no. 1 (January 2000).


    * Indicates a regime classification that differs from that of Freedom House. Freedom House rates Djibouti, the Kyrgyz Republic, Liberia, Niger, and Sierra Leone as electoral democracies. I consider all five to have levels of coercion and fraud that make the electoral process less than free and fair. Other countries rated as electoral democracies have only dubiously democratic elections, including Russia, Nigeria, and Indonesia.


    Goose eggs for the Muslim world.  Until now, for the democratization of Iraq will change that.


    We are not fighting a ‘War against  Terrorism’ . Rather, terrorism, and its twin, tyrrany, are the forces resisting the historical burgeoning of globally irrepressible democracy.  And losing.


    Sources...


     * Democracy's Third Wave


     


    ** A Report Card on Democracy

  • Such a day as it was.


    Much foresight into yet what shall become.


    While yet celebrating a good part of that which has been.


    I beheld a nugget of golden foresight, which I have clenched tight into my fist,  and which I shall enunciate upon hereafter.  But I need a few moments to bring my full intellect to encourage my fingers to relax so as to subsequently expound resourcefully upon that which was palmed.


    Just let me share this for now: 'The War on Terrorism' as we know it is an entire misnomer.  This war is actually entirely on behalf of democracy:  a 'War for Democracy'.  Democracy must either become an ubiquitously worldwide contagion or suffer a dismal, retracting vanishment.


    At such a pivot point, I scream 'Yay'.  For there is no survival in turning back.

  • It appears that fooble's chatterbox thinks that Xanga is bigtime.  They've created several customizations specific to only xanga.


    How hot are Xangans?  Meet HOT or NOT's that identify themselves with the keyword 'xanga' here. (re-clicking on the title hypertext 'xanga' will cycle ya around)


    Has the once notorious Bianca Broussard (the Mother of all Xanga) found a new technique?  See how some strangers to xanga are obliquely discovering us these days. 


    Is this  (http://pack.soksok.jp/y/.xjk3/ ) a Japanese mirror of xanga?

  • It’s true.  I don’t know much about pleasure.  Not dining pleasures.  Or sexual pleasures. The rich ‘night-on-the-town’ pleasures.  Even simple aural pleasures, taking in a happy tune, seem hard to come by anymore.


    That such is the case is as much a personal mystery to me as that the origin of the universe remains a cosmological mystery to physical scientists.  They, like I, speculate about, but have never truly experienced,  the Big Bang.  Well, that’s not exactly true.   Some of you out there I’ve come to know, to meet, to love, and cherish—if not always in the now, at least for one ‘big-now’ or two, and, at least by such happenstance, forever in the re-ever-birth. 


    And I’ve know the Joy of Blogging, too.  Yes, for one, brief, shining moment, it seems, I held Xanga entirely my hands.  Like Ulysses gripping the Golden Fleece.  Like a medieval alchemist examining the Philospher's Stone.  Xanga was then but an infant, and I had become, by peer acclamation (though never unanimity), the alpha-male hereupon entrusted with the depths of knowing.  I was supposed to know.  And I did know.  I surely did.  But what?   It would be sophistically clever of me to say that ‘I knew that I knew nothing.’  But that would be pure bullcrap.   I did know.  But the Sirens of forgetfulness have so surgically assuaged my scant acuity that I now find myself in utterly almost unknowing disbelief. 


    But I did know.  Truly.  Fully.  And I still treasure, in trust, your love.

  • I had two small hard-boiled eggs and a cup of coffee for breakfast.


    I ran 3 miles in the cemetery for lunch.


    Now, in mid-afternoon, the hunger I suppressed is vanishing of itself.


    Sometimes, in past summertimes, Ive discovered the clock ticking nigh to 10 PM before I've even pondered sampling a first morsel of nourishment.  At such times, I've found that


    Life, for eternal us, is now; and now is much too busy being a little more than everything to seem anything, catastrophic included.

      -e.e. cummings
     


    Too busy, it would seem, to even consider eating.  Ha.


    I've simulated asceticism for a day, and sometimes days, and sometimes weeks, and sometimes months, and sometimes years in my life.


    Yet, I remain forewarned of reifying such into some fashionable sort of virtue by Katie's ever-present signature in her emails:


    The Monk shaved his head as a symbol of renunciation, But now he goes nowhere without his little cap.


    Nope. Ascetism, like love, should be its own reward.  And if it isn't, avoid the shears.

  • I ran 7 more cemetery miles today.  Actually just  *now* .  Felt *left out all alone*.  Like an Iraqi fugitive transported to the land of the foreign dead.  Busted my psychic gut for the last lap, I did.  Yes, that was a vintage gesture on behalf of all that’s universally intrepid.


    I’m sunning now between gravestones and sipping 'something' from a can to replenish my sacred bodily fluids.   Zazen.


    I helped a chick name Sue this morning retrieve her personal belongings from the premises of an estranged lover.  No, I wasn’t alone, but attended by a motley band of rascals.  Though her ex- didn’t want to let us in, the shock and awe of a horde of scoundrels appearing at his door on Sunday morning forced his hand.  But get this: she said ‘just two dressers’ and it turned out that she had a full half-household to move.  So after spending three hours when we expected to spend only one, my buddy Mike and myself re-prioritized and just shuffled along. 


    He shuffled home to rake leaves.  I shuffled here to bask in the sun.  Satori.

  • It seems that Xangans, by evidence of the sparsity of comments, have been recently 'melting away' as quickly as the Saddam regime.  omg, I hope that most of my now-missing readers were not part of that Saddam regime.

  • Energy abounds in the world.  Pure energy.  No one can absorb it all less they burst forth as bright as a sun.  And no one can swallow the sun.


     


    ‘Sensory data’ is mediated energy.  Energy is thus interpreted and stripped down to functional essentials.  Our senses empower us by gathering a few filaments of energy here and there.  Thus assembled, the consensual gravity of the ‘known world’ bears down upon each of us to make sense of our interpretations in the ‘given’ context of what’s deemed a joint reality.


     


    Though there are slight variations in the conscious senses, (e.g., some see better than others, some taste salt more acutely, some hear tones that others miss, etc.), there is a great and overriding genetic uniformity throughout all of humanity in what filaments of energy the senses gather and how they are assembled into meaningfulness.


     


    But why do we insist that mediating energy through the consensually-acclaimed senses is the only way to apprehend it?  What happens when the point of assemblage is shifted , as in dreams, as through the use of energy-shifting drugs, or even by means of acquired volition?


     


    While many might claim that dreams and ‘altered states’ of consciousness lose touch with a consensual ‘reality’, might it not be the case that our collection points for energy assemblage shift with these other states of consciousness and that different and unusual, yet equally real , filaments of energy are thus tapped, assembled, and interpreted?   


     


    I’ve pressed here above to the limits of my knowledge and experience.  And I now stand at a door which others have described below:


     


    When human beings are perceived as conglomerates of energy fields, a point of intense luminosity can be perceived at the height of the shoulder blades an arm's length away from them, on the back. The seers of ancient times who discovered this point of luminosity called it the assemblage point, because they concluded that it is there that perception is assembled. They noticed, aided by their seeing, that on that spot of luminosity, the location of which is homogeneous for mankind, converge zillions of energy fields in the form of luminous filaments which constitute the universe at large. Upon converging there, they become sensory data, which is utilizable by human beings as organisms. This utilization of energy turned into sensory data was regarded by those shamans as an act of pure magic: energy at large transformed by the assemblage point into a veritable, all-inclusive world in which human beings as organisms can live and die. The act of transforming the inflow of pure energy into the perceivable world was attributed by those shamans to a system of interpretation. Their shattering conclusion, shattering to them, of course, and perhaps to some of us who have the energy to be attentive, was that the assemblage point was not only the spot where perception was assembled by turning the inflow of pure energy into sensory data, but the spot where the interpretation of sensory data took place.


     


    Their next shattering observation was that the assemblage point is displaced in a very natural and unobtrusive way out of its habitual position during sleep. They found out that the greater the displacement, the more bizarre the dreams that accompany it. From these seeing observations, those shamans jumped to the pragmatic action of the volitional displacement of the assemblage point. And they called their concluding results the art of dreaming.


     


    This art was defined by those shamans as the pragmatic utilization of ordinary dreams to create an entrance into other worlds by the act of displacing the assemblage point at will and maintaining that new position, also at will. The observations of those shamans upon practicing the art of dreaming were a mixture of reason and seeing energy directly as it flows in the universe. They realized that at its habitual position, the assemblage point is the spot where converges a given, minuscule portion of the energy filaments that make up the universe, but if the assemblage point changes location, within the luminous egg, a different minuscule portion of energy fields converges on it, giving as a result a new inflow of sensory data: energy fields different from the habitual ones are turned into sensory data, and those different energy fields are interpreted as a different world.


     


       - Magical Passes, Carlos Castaneda

  • They buried an American soldier who died in Iraq in the cemetery where I run today.   Quite coincidentally, the entire ceremony, including a 21-gun salute, transpired during the course of my 5 lap, 7 mile run. 


    After being born on this earth, isn’t it strange what becomes of each and every one of us?  I mean, when I joined the military, it was with the most fervent intent to fight in a war of liberation.  And quite possibly die.  I was almost certain of the assignment—and that was my rational for joining.  But then the Iran-Contra affair and Col. Ollie North blew a hole in the looming conflict. And the battle that I joined to enjoin was averted.  And the non-aftermath flattened my conscription out into a few tours of peaceful duty. 


    In a slightly altered universe, the Iran-Contra deal falls through, Col. Olllie North’s jeep  goes off an embankment in what’s questionably considered an accident, and I take the place of the soldier laid to rest today some flurry of springs earlier.


    Then who’d be running the 7 mile stint today?  And leaning against an obelisk thereafter having a beer, writing a strange tribute, and wirelessly casting it into the blogosphere? 


    Perhaps, the soldier buried today.


    So, by proxy, this beer and this blog’s for him, if not by him.  And , by proxy, I yet live to fight another day. 


    And he?  Well, he’s given it all.  So tell me, sky pilot, how high can you fly?

  • The World...


     


    The Iraqi populace reminds me of a wolf in spring that may exceedingly drepedate exploitable game but only after a prolonged winter of excruciating starvation.  Wolves, under normal conditions of sustenance, never take more game than they need.  But following a period of extensive deprivation, they will, in almost compensatory madness, engage in temporary over-predation.


     


    Like a pendulum swinging from one extreme (fascist lockdown) to another (unbridled liberty), the Iraqi populace now is looting their land.  Who can blame them?  Most of these people feel they are only taking back what has so long been taken and withheld from them.  If the Iraqi culture is basically amoral and corrupt, we can expect such looting to continue without self-regulation.  However, if the culture, like a wolf, is essentially a moral entity exaggeratingly shaking off the stranglehold of near mortal oppression, we can expect a rapid peak of aberrant behavior, followed by a restoral of norms and civil sensibilities. 


     


    Wolves are noble animals liable to seeming temporary destructive insanity only upon rebound from the starkest of circumstances.  I believe that we’ll find that the Iraqi people, too, are a noble people and that the immediate lawlessness there witnessed  will melt away with a freely-evolving vision of rebuilding upon a new day.


     


    The Blog...


     


    Forced to Xanga? Constrained to Blog?


     


    ...from a Univ. of Fla. writing course description:


     


    1. Online Journal (ongoing)
    You will be expected to update your online journal (on the website
    http://www.xanga.com) 2-3 times each week as assigned (with a total of 15 journals by the end of the semester), and each entry should be approximately 200-250 words. The journals should serve as good practice in making your writing accessible. While I will be providing specific topics of discussion or will be assuming that your journal entries will serve as an extension of class discussion and reading, please remember that your journal entries will be accessible to anyone subscribed to the Xanga website. Writing your journals with this consideration-unintentional readers who seek to understand and connect with your writing-will serve as good practice in making your writing reader-friendly, cohesive, coherent, clear, and approachable.

    Though these journal entries will be printed in a broadly public (non-university-sponsored) forum, please remember that I will not tolerate any language in your journals that goes against the University of Florida's harassment policies. You are expected to treat your discussions of course material and class proceedings with dignity and respect. Any journals that revolve around anything outside of assigned topics or assigned readings will not be considered for credit under any circumstances. Any journals written under a "screen-name" aside from what I have designated in the first class will not, under any circumstances, count for any class credit.


     


    The Mind...


     


    Another version would have us acknowledge, in an era when reality TV shows are all the rage, that for many of us the ultra-reality of war is nigh-irresistibly fascinating.



    It's a scary impulse, but one that our media moguls surely recognize. As they compete to satisfy it we're immersed in what's lately been described as "militainment" — news coverage, particularly on the tube, that seems almost to revel in the suspense and excitement, and inevitably the violence and suffering, of combat.

    —Steve Ford, "So terrible we can't get enough," News Observer (Raleigh, NC), March 23, 2003


    Is it 'militainment' or 'milightenment' for you?

  • Do you consume entheogens and thus ‘Generate the God Within’ ?


      


    If you crave chocolate, then you most certainly do...


     


    Chocolate is a psychoactive food with over 300 different constituent compounds.  Those of the greatest interest include:


     


    Anandamide: The Natural Cannabinoid (THC from marijuana being the non-endogenous cannabinoid)


     


    Chocolate contains small quantities of anandamide, an endogenous cannabinoid found in the brain. Sceptics claim one would need to consume several pounds of chocolate to gain any very noticeable effects; and eat a lot more to get fully stoned. (Emperor Montezuma allegedly drank 50 goblets of cocoa a day.)  Yet it's worth noting that N-oleolethanolamine and N-linoleoylethanolamine, two structural cousins of anandamide present in chocolate, both inhibit the metabolism of anandamide. (In other words, they keep it ‘around’.)  It has been speculated that they promote and prolong the feeling of well-being that anandamide can induce.


     


    Phenylethylamine:



    Perhaps chocolate's key ingredient is its phenylethylamine "love-chemical". (The celebrated Italian libertine Giacomo Casanova (1725-1798) took chocolate before bedding his conquests. This was on account of chocolate's reputation as a subtle aphrodisiac.) Yet the role of the "chocolate amphetamine" is disputed. Most if not all chocolate-derived phenylethylamine is metabolised before it reaches the CNS (Central Nervous System) . Some people may be sensitive to its effects in very small quantities.



    Phenylethylamine is itself a naturally occurring trace amine in the brain. It releases mesolimbic dopamine in the pleasure-centres. It peaks during orgasm. Taken in unnaturally high doses, phenylethylamine can produce stereotyped behaviour more prominently even than amphetamine. Phenylethylamine has distinct binding sites but no specific neurons. It helps mediate feelings of attraction, excitement, giddiness, apprehension and euphoria. One of its metabolites is unusually high in subjects with paranoid schizophrenia.


    -chocolate.org  


     


    Birth Of A Candy Bar



    One payday, Mr. Goodbar wanted a bit o' honey. So he took Miss Hershey behind the powerhouse on the corner of Clark and Fifth Avenue. He began to feel her mounds. That was pure almond joy. It made her tootsie roll. He let out a snicker as his butterfinger went up her kit kat and caused a milky way. She screamed "Oh Henry" as she squeezed his peter paul and zagnuts. Miss Hershey said, "You are even better than the three muskateers."



    Soon she was a bit chunky and nine months later, Miss Hershey had a baby ruth.

  • 'I wish I were an Oscar Xanga weiner'


    And...oh yes...'Xanga' and a real Xangan finally got a hit on the Google News service: Weblogs Proliferate on Columbians' Computers

  • The Iraqi Freedom War--a look back


    When did it start: Mar 20th 1:30 PM
    When I predicted it would: Mar 20th 12 PM


    How long it lasted until regime destruction: 21 days
    How long I predicted: 17 days


    How many friendly troops died: 120 or so (coalition)
    How many I predicted: 217


    So much for arm-chair General-ing.


    *now turns to pondering imminent asteroid impacts*

  • My sister, Jude, is out of the hospital and faring independently with her newly-diagnosed diabetic condition.  Thanks to all for your heartfelt concern.



    Somewhere, someone wants me to feel like I just got out of hell.  Isn’t that strange?  I don’t know who this someone is, but I sense their concern for my ‘liberation’.  How do I sense this concern?  Call it: synchronous receptivity or ‘psychic intuition’. 


    But more to the point: Have I really been in hell?  Metaphorically, always.  Literally, never.  Hence, my true ‘liberation’ lies in the destruction of all metaphors for thereby would the rendering of all ‘hell’ be abolished.


    But I’m not inclined to destroy or uproot metaphors.  In fact, I take great pleasure in their effusive propagation.  Metaphors can always be found jumping out of my mouth.  They are but strange baby bunnies that squeeze through my lips and scurry with hell-bent rapidity to dive down the rabbit’s hole in Alice’s backyard to join the Mad Hatter for a tea-party.


    But what is hell, indeed?  My sis, Jude, once had a high-school religion teacher, a Catholic nun of apparently heretical inclinations, who shared this secret about Hell with her all-girl religion class:  “Satan’s in the Hell.  But he’s the only one.  And that is why it is Hell.” 


    Of course!  Misery loves company.  And what place of greater misery is there but Hell?  Yet if there were to be company in Hell, there would be  that ‘love’ that misery has for company, also.  Yet, what Hell would be worthy of ultimistic inferno consideration that harbors any artifact, no matter how shattered or defective, of Love?  Hence, Hell, by necessity, is a loveless solitude, a non-relational monism.  Satan is a monoverse, impossible as a co-existent. 


    Yes???   Or is Love but a metaphor, too?  Johnny loves Barbie.  Misery loves company.  I love to blog…  I live for love, in a hellrush of love, I love to live for Life!  Ah, Life, indeed, what is it but a flower? …
     
     
    OH see how thick the goldcup flowers 
      Are lying in field and lane, 
    With dandelions to tell the hours 
      That never are told again. 
    Oh may I squire you round the meads        
      And pick you posies gay? 
    —’Twill do no harm to take my arm. 
      ’You may, young man, you may.’ 
     
    Ah, spring was sent for lass and lad, 
      ’Tis now the blood runs gold,         
    And man and maid had best be glad 
      Before the world is old. 
    What flowers to-day may flower to-morrow, 
      But never as good as new. 
    —Suppose I wound my arm right round—         
      ‘’Tis true, young man, ’tis true.’ 
     
    Some lads there are, ’tis shame to say, 
      That only court to thieve, 
    And once they bear the bloom away 
      ’Tis little enough they leave.         
    Then keep your heart for men like me 
      And safe from trustless chaps. 
    My love is true and all for you. 
      ‘Perhaps, young man, perhaps.’ 
     
    Oh, look in my eyes then, can you doubt?         
      —Why, ’tis a mile from town. 
    How green the grass is all about! 
      We might as well sit down. 
    —Ah, life, what is it but a flower? 
      Why must true lovers sigh?         
    Be kind, have pity, my own, my pretty,— 
      ‘Good-bye, young man, good-bye.’ 


    A. E. Housman (1859–1936).  A Shropshire Lad.  1896.

  • It’s a quiet morning here in the coffee shop.  I swore if I walked in and found an irresistible lovely that I’d swoon like a youth being drawn into a state of all-encompassing entrancement.  So fucking silly.  That.


    I received news yesterday that my sister, Jude, is under hospital care.  Without advance warning or previous diagnosis, she dove into diabetic coma.  She barely got to the hospital in time to survive but is in stable condition and under observation now.  I believe that they now need to diagnose the type of diabetes, establish a treatment dosage, and insure that she is otherwise non-symptomatic before pondering her release to self-care.


    I was in a corner bar with a buddy last night when the lights first browned out, then flickered, then went black entirely for an expanse of about 20 seconds, only to be fully-restored thereafter.  My buddy immediately noticed something strange about a remote corner window of the bar and went to investigate.  Seems that it had blown out during the black-out.  Not only that, but it was thick glassblock-type glass that was strewn evenly along a narrowly straight line for 40 feet in front of the joint and into the corner intersection.  My buddy came back declaring that we had probably been struck by lightning.  Yet there was no storm in the area and there definitely was no report of thunder.  I know of no lightning that strikes without accompanying thunder and  I’ve never heard of ‘silent thunder’ .  I’m at a loss to explain what I witnessed as a result of any known natural phenomenon. 


    I’ve been a bit strung-out in the blogosphere lately like a destinationless AM radio wave bouncing back and forth between the lithosphere and the stratosphere. 

    *looks back*   Damn.  You know you’re deep into the Matrix when you resort to using a technological metaphor to attempt to excise yourself from an even more complex technological conundrum.

  • It stalks me so finely


    This adventure benignly


    Transcribed to my impulse aggression.


     


    In the shadow it waits…


    Step forth?  Hesitate?


    I am vexed by its dissenting dimensions.


     


    Is it romance? No way…


    Though it taunts my whole day


    With an erotically-infused glimpse of passion.


     


    Yet soon I shall take it


    Head on and thus make it


    The true whore of enduring non-illusion.

  • Have you ever just wanted to say: "Fuck blogging."


    ...And meant it?


  • Freedom !!!


    That's right you motherfucking terrorist Iraqi Saddam-sucking scum.  This is the face of newly won Freedom (Pfc. Jessica Lynch, rescued POW)... the face of Freedom that's about to seal your doom.


    Jessica's just become our poster girl of Americans' care and love, on the battlefield, for each other.

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