October 22, 2008

Shattered broken species
Shivering on the edge of the great abyss
Afraid, Aware, confused
Senseless in the stream
Of Barbarian advertisements
Bombarded by the unshakable force of what it is
Reality
Utopia of mass consumption
Corporate mania
Under the carpet
The destruction of life

Get a JOB MAN
You lazy slob
What are you doing?

Find a wife
Have some kids

The bull shit lies there quietly in the grass
Staring up
The uncaring bastard

Son!
Be a success.
Get paid to afford to get old

Believe in the resurrection
Eternal life awaits as the rainforest burns

Walk to the bar sonny boy
Swallow another claw and go back to sleep

I watched my Grandfather riding a tricycle around in circles in the bright sun
In Khaki shorts with pale, fragile legs.

He had a phone number once
But that's all over now
As he smiles and rides along
Laughing in the humor of the cosmic tide

I was in my spaceship, all safe and encapsulated in a sea of beautiful illusion. I was asleep inside, busy chasing demons without and trying to control the Great Is. I sucked tolerance from chemicals and enjoyed unconsciousness and the temporary blessings of blind wisdom, an ego fed righteousness thrashing around the ether. I buried myself. I bury myself. You put your right foot in and you shake it all about. Shake it all about. Shake it all about. Shake it all about.

Drugs

That mindstem
Ripped off and broken in the midst of some
Disappearing line
Falling all the way down into the repetition of fake bliss
Figuring it out
Over and over and over
Again
IT'S PERFECT!!!
Then gone,
As the illusions wear off and the little addictions start poking us again
Offering their small giddy smiles
While the asphalt carves holes in our souls and rips us sideways
Throwing us back on the train
Going round and round in circles
As it makes its rounds
Hugging the edges
At the base of the great mountain.

OK Fuck it. It could be time to just write and let it be. All the stupidity. Why not just play this game of unedited drivel. Another post on the web, unseen impulsiveness, trickling into obscurity. Infinite work just passed passed on down the line. No crowns for perfection. Just blather and the frisk hot welts of filterlessness, and a right to destroy your lungs with cigarettes for just one day more. Oh foolishness. I don't remember what i was getting at.

Another step on the journey to nowhere.

Well, i'm finally tearing the store down, so now we'll have to catch the website up with the closing store, as opposed to clothing store. I have given everything to charity. The Basalt Thrift store is happy, and they will be putting all the proceeds from their venture into building permaculture and greenhouse capabilities for the valley. It was always supposed to be for something good. So yellow, in the end, did turn out to be green. How exactly getting out of the lease is going to work, I am not yet sure, but they say the cut-your-losses decision is the most difficult to make in business, so at least i've gotten that out of the way. Our little store is closed. Aloha, ciao, adios.

Soft Landing for Democracy

It’s a big night for the USA. America is on the verge of curing a deep cynicism which has coated me like an oily secretion since George W. Bush won a majority of our vote in 2004. At this moment, watching an old wooden television, I’m looking at an American flag with only 42 stars on it. It was my grandfathers. Maybe his grandfather gave it to him; and maybe I should buy a flat-screen TV because living with vintage memorabilia everywhere is starting to freak me out, and I’m starting to wonder whether modernity is really not so bad. I hear a voice, like a deep comforting voice, like a combination of the voices of James Earl Jones and Anderson Cooper. I hear a voice. “Barack Obama.” I hear more voices, drowning out the sarcasm and disbelief of Bill O’Reilly. “Barack Obama, Barack Obama.” I hear thousands voices, of people waiting to celebrate his election in Grant Park Chicago, “OBAMA. OBAMA. OBAMA.” I hear the victorious, passionate premonition of Reverend Jeremiah Wright when he roared: “Barack Hussein Obama!!” Have we had the premonition for years that we were moving in the wrong direction, that America was a force for pain and suffering around the world, with our culture of consumption, resource wasting extravagance, and aggressive exportation of a mindless, presumptive way of life. I have not been a proud American. But here we are, preparing to celebrate a new Age, preparing to view our fellow Americans in a new way, to feel a new connection to our Country. Tomorrow we will meet the citizens of the rest of the world with fresh eyes, without the defensive posture of the past, instantly ready to make them understand that we do not support the crimes of our government, the horrors on which our Nation were built: the slavery, the genocide, the patriarchy, and violence. Obama does represent change. Everything changes. Thomas Jefferson, one of the geniuses of American history, and of the world, is sitting up in Heaven (yes he was forgiven for being a slave owning liberal Christian who had to keep his copy of the Koran under his bed) looking down on us, and it has just suddenly dawned on him that we were not totally hopeless after all. He is looking down and imagining that our remarkable Constitution, which he did so much to create, may finally be bringing good tidings, and its gifts may be ready for long overdue delivery, as we, Americans, have taken the moment in our hands and elected the future. Barack Hussein Obama will be our President. I’m going to celebrate this moment with some fellow human beings, with a bunch of happy, future looking Americans. What a wonderful moment to be standing in a crowd of our countrymen, in Times Square, on Hollywood Boulevard, or on the sidewalk in Main Street USA. What a moment to be standing anywhere, even in the grass alone, in the midst of the great wide open. This is a moment when a man’s confidence in his species can be restored, a moment when we can say goodbye to the past, to the blame, the repetitive mistakes, the selfishness, the mindlessness, the destruction and presumption. Let’s take a moment to collectively wave at what is behind us as we look in the rearview mirror and say goodbye. Ooh, I see a little George Bush in the rearview mirror. Bye George.

An article by this Fella Jonathan....

My wife made me canvass for Obama; here's what I learned


By Jonathan Curley Jonathan Curley – Mon Nov 3, 3:00 am ET
More from Christian Science Monitor:


Charlotte, N.C. – There has been a lot of speculation that Barack Obama might win the election due to his better "ground game" and superior campaign organization.

I had the chance to view that organization up close this month when I canvassed for him. I'm not sure I learned much about his chances, but I learned a lot about myself and about this election.

Let me make it clear: I'm pretty conservative. I grew up in the suburbs. I voted for George H.W. Bush twice, and his son once. I was disappointed when Bill Clinton won, and disappointed he couldn't run again.

I encouraged my son to join the military. I was proud of him in Afghanistan, and happy when he came home, and angry when he was recalled because of the invasion of Iraq. I'm white, 55, I live in the South and I'm definitely going to get a bigger tax bill if Obama wins.

I am the dreaded swing voter.

So you can imagine my surprise when my wife suggested we spend a Saturday morning canvassing for Obama. I have never canvassed for any candidate. But I did, of course, what most middle-aged married men do: what I was told.

At the Obama headquarters, we stood in a group to receive our instructions. I wasn't the oldest, but close, and the youngest was maybe in high school. I watched a campaign organizer match up a young black man who looked to be college age with a white guy about my age to canvas together. It should not have been a big thing, but the beauty of the image did not escape me.

Instead of walking the tree-lined streets near our home, my wife and I were instructed to canvass a housing project. A middle-aged white couple with clipboards could not look more out of place in this predominantly black neighborhood.

We knocked on doors and voices from behind carefully locked doors shouted, "Who is it?"

"We're from the Obama campaign," we'd answer. And just like that doors opened and folks with wide smiles came out on the porch to talk.

Grandmothers kept one hand on their grandchildren and made sure they had all the information they needed for their son or daughter to vote for the first time.

Young people came to the door rubbing sleep from their eyes to find out where they could vote early, to make sure their vote got counted.

We knocked on every door we could find and checked off every name on our list. We did our job, but Obama may not have been the one who got the most out of the day's work.

I learned in just those three hours that this election is not about what we think of as the "big things."

It's not about taxes. I'm pretty sure mine are going to go up no matter who is elected.

It's not about foreign policy. I think we'll figure out a way to get out of Iraq and Afghanistan no matter which party controls the White House, mostly because the people who live there don't want us there anymore.

I don't see either of the candidates as having all the answers.

I've learned that this election is about the heart of America. It's about the young people who are losing hope and the old people who have been forgotten. It's about those who have worked all their lives and never fully realized the promise of America, but see that promise for their grandchildren in Barack Obama. The poor see a chance, when they often have few. I saw hope in the eyes and faces in those doorways.

My wife and I went out last weekend to knock on more doors. But this time, not because it was her idea. I don't know what it's going to do for the Obama campaign, but it's doing a lot for me.