Really, not a good speech. They insulted their grandmother, groan. It was just bad in general. I really didn't want to think of Bush and Laura shaking it "like a polaride photo." I don't think they really reached their generation, instead they just insulted the past generations. Why were they up there?
Wednesday, September 01, 2004
Some thoughts on Bush' flip-flops
Check out the Slate article, but also think about it. He was anti-nationbuilding now pro-nationbuilding. He was against Homeland security, then he was for it. He wanted to have the security council vote about using force in Iraq, then he decided he didn't want it. He said we will win the war on terror. Now he says we can't win the war on terror.
Just some thoughts. I really need to get back to Theology.
Peace,
Chris
Just some thoughts. I really need to get back to Theology.
Peace,
Chris
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
My former band instructor is running for a House Seat here in Wyoming. Help him win.
If you could throw a couple of bucks to his campaign I would appreciate it. Here is his website:<http://www.barbreforhouse.com/ />You can send him money online here:<https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr >or<http://www.barbreforhouse.com/donate.html >I'll be stuffing envelopes for him, I hope to hear he got some money from people who look at my blog. Last election we only lost his district by 100 some votes. I believe Mr. Barbre can win.Thanks, Chris
Monday, August 30, 2004
Garrison Keillor goes hog wild
Something has gone seriously haywire with the Republican Party. Once, it was the party of pragmatic Main Street businessmen in steel-rimmed spectacles who decried profligacy and waste, were devoted to their communities and supported the sort of prosperity that raises all ships. They were good-hearted people who vanquished the gnarlier elements of their party, the paranoid Roosevelt-haters, the flat Earthers and Prohibitionists, the antipapist antiforeigner element. The genial Eisenhower was their man, a genuine American hero of D-Day, who made it OK for reasonable people to vote Republican. He brought the Korean War to a stalemate, produced the Interstate Highway System, declined to rescue the French colonial army in Vietnam, and gave us a period of peace and prosperity, in which (oddly) American arts and letters flourished and higher education burgeoned—and there was a degree of plain decency in the country. Fifties Republicans were giants compared to today’s. Richard Nixon was the last Republican leader to feel a Christian obligation toward the poor.
In the years between Nixon and Newt Gingrich, the party migrated southward down the Twisting Trail of Rhetoric and sneered at the idea of public service and became the Scourge of Liberalism, the Great Crusade Against the Sixties, the Death Star of Government, a gang of pirates that diverted and fascinated the media by their sheer chutzpah, such as the misty-eyed flag-waving of Ronald Reagan who, while George McGovern flew bombers in World War II, took a pass and made training films in Long Beach. The Nixon moderate vanished like the passenger pigeon, purged by a legion of angry white men who rose to power on pure punk politics. “Bipartisanship is another term of date rape,” says Grover Norquist, the Sid Vicious of the GOP. “I don’t want to abolish government. I simply want to reduce it to the size where I can drag it into the bathroom and drown it in the bathtub.” The boy has Oedipal problems and government is his daddy.
The party of Lincoln and Liberty was transmogrified into the party of hairy-backed swamp developers and corporate shills, faith-based economists, fundamentalist bullies with Bibles, Christians of convenience, freelance racists, misanthropic frat boys, shrieking midgets of AM radio, tax cheats, nihilists in golf pants, brownshirts in pinstripes, sweatshop tycoons, hacks, fakirs, aggressive dorks, Lamborghini libertarians, people who believe Neil Armstrong’s moonwalk was filmed in Roswell, New Mexico, little honkers out to diminish the rest of us, Newt’s evil spawn and their Etch-A-Sketch president, a dull and rigid man suspicious of the free flow of information and of secular institutions, whose philosophy is a jumble of badly sutured body parts trying to walk. Republicans: The No.1 reason the rest of the world thinks we’re deaf, dumb and dangerous.
Rich ironies abound! Lies pop up like toadstools in the forest! Wild swine crowd round the public trough! Outrageous gerrymandering! Pocket lining on a massive scale! Paid lobbyists sit in committee rooms and write legislation to alleviate the suffering of billionaires! Hypocrisies shine like cat turds in the moonlight! O Mark Twain, where art thou at this hour? Arise and behold the Gilded Age reincarnated gaudier than ever, upholding great wealth as the sure sign of Divine Grace.
Here in 2004, George W. Bush is running for reelection on a platform of tragedy—the single greatest failure of national defense in our history, the attacks of 9/11 in which 19 men with box cutters put this nation into a tailspin, a failure the details of which the White House fought to keep secret even as it ran the country into hock up to the hubcaps, thanks to generous tax cuts for the well-fixed, hoping to lead us into a box canyon of debt that will render government impotent, even as we engage in a war against a small country that was undertaken for the president’s personal satisfaction but sold to the American public on the basis of brazen misinformation, a war whose purpose is to distract us from an enormous transfer of wealth taking place in this country, flowing upward, and the deception is working beautifully.
The concentration of wealth and power in the hands of the few is the death knell of democracy. No republic in the history of humanity has survived this. The election of 2004 will say something about what happens to ours. The omens are not good.
Our beloved land has been fogged with fear—fear, the greatest political strategy ever. An ominous silence, distant sirens, a drumbeat of whispered warnings and alarms to keep the public uneasy and silence the opposition. And in a time of vague fear, you can appoint bullet-brained judges, strip the bark off the Constitution, eviscerate federal regulatory agencies, bring public education to a standstill, stupefy the press, lavish gorgeous tax breaks on the rich.
There is a stink drifting through this election year. It isn’t the Florida recount or the Supreme Court decision. No, it’s 9/11 that we keep coming back to. It wasn’t the “end of innocence,” or a turning point in our history, or a cosmic occurrence, it was an event, a lapse of security. And patriotism shouldn’t prevent people from asking hard questions of the man who was purportedly in charge of national security at the time.
Whenever I think of those New Yorkers hurrying along Park Place or getting off the No.1 Broadway local, hustling toward their office on the 90th floor, the morning paper under their arms, I think of that non-reader George W. Bush and how he hopes to exploit those people with a little economic uptick, maybe the capture of Osama, cruise to victory in November and proceed to get some serious nation-changing done in his second term.
This year, as in the past, Republicans will portray us Democrats as embittered academics, desiccated Unitarians, whacked-out hippies and communards, people who talk to telephone poles, the party of the Deadheads. They will wave enormous flags and wow over and over the footage of firemen in the wreckage of the World Trade Center and bodies being carried out and they will lie about their economic policies with astonishing enthusiasm.
The Union is what needs defending this year. Government of Enron and by Halliburton and for the Southern Baptists is not the same as what Lincoln spoke of. This gang of Pithecanthropus Republicanii has humbugged us to death on terrorism and tax cuts for the comfy and school prayer and flag burning and claimed the right to know what books we read and to dump their sewage upstream from the town and clear-cut the forests and gut the IRS and mark up the constitution on behalf of intolerance and promote the corporate takeover of the public airwaves and to hell with anybody who opposes them.
This is a great country, and it wasn’t made so by angry people. We have a sacred duty to bequeath it to our grandchildren in better shape than however we found it. We have a long way to go and we’re not getting any younger.
Dante said that the hottest place in Hell is reserved for those who in time of crisis remain neutral, so I have spoken my piece, and thank you, dear reader. It’s a beautiful world, rain or shine, and there is more to life than winning.
In the years between Nixon and Newt Gingrich, the party migrated southward down the Twisting Trail of Rhetoric and sneered at the idea of public service and became the Scourge of Liberalism, the Great Crusade Against the Sixties, the Death Star of Government, a gang of pirates that diverted and fascinated the media by their sheer chutzpah, such as the misty-eyed flag-waving of Ronald Reagan who, while George McGovern flew bombers in World War II, took a pass and made training films in Long Beach. The Nixon moderate vanished like the passenger pigeon, purged by a legion of angry white men who rose to power on pure punk politics. “Bipartisanship is another term of date rape,” says Grover Norquist, the Sid Vicious of the GOP. “I don’t want to abolish government. I simply want to reduce it to the size where I can drag it into the bathroom and drown it in the bathtub.” The boy has Oedipal problems and government is his daddy.
The party of Lincoln and Liberty was transmogrified into the party of hairy-backed swamp developers and corporate shills, faith-based economists, fundamentalist bullies with Bibles, Christians of convenience, freelance racists, misanthropic frat boys, shrieking midgets of AM radio, tax cheats, nihilists in golf pants, brownshirts in pinstripes, sweatshop tycoons, hacks, fakirs, aggressive dorks, Lamborghini libertarians, people who believe Neil Armstrong’s moonwalk was filmed in Roswell, New Mexico, little honkers out to diminish the rest of us, Newt’s evil spawn and their Etch-A-Sketch president, a dull and rigid man suspicious of the free flow of information and of secular institutions, whose philosophy is a jumble of badly sutured body parts trying to walk. Republicans: The No.1 reason the rest of the world thinks we’re deaf, dumb and dangerous.
Rich ironies abound! Lies pop up like toadstools in the forest! Wild swine crowd round the public trough! Outrageous gerrymandering! Pocket lining on a massive scale! Paid lobbyists sit in committee rooms and write legislation to alleviate the suffering of billionaires! Hypocrisies shine like cat turds in the moonlight! O Mark Twain, where art thou at this hour? Arise and behold the Gilded Age reincarnated gaudier than ever, upholding great wealth as the sure sign of Divine Grace.
Here in 2004, George W. Bush is running for reelection on a platform of tragedy—the single greatest failure of national defense in our history, the attacks of 9/11 in which 19 men with box cutters put this nation into a tailspin, a failure the details of which the White House fought to keep secret even as it ran the country into hock up to the hubcaps, thanks to generous tax cuts for the well-fixed, hoping to lead us into a box canyon of debt that will render government impotent, even as we engage in a war against a small country that was undertaken for the president’s personal satisfaction but sold to the American public on the basis of brazen misinformation, a war whose purpose is to distract us from an enormous transfer of wealth taking place in this country, flowing upward, and the deception is working beautifully.
The concentration of wealth and power in the hands of the few is the death knell of democracy. No republic in the history of humanity has survived this. The election of 2004 will say something about what happens to ours. The omens are not good.
Our beloved land has been fogged with fear—fear, the greatest political strategy ever. An ominous silence, distant sirens, a drumbeat of whispered warnings and alarms to keep the public uneasy and silence the opposition. And in a time of vague fear, you can appoint bullet-brained judges, strip the bark off the Constitution, eviscerate federal regulatory agencies, bring public education to a standstill, stupefy the press, lavish gorgeous tax breaks on the rich.
There is a stink drifting through this election year. It isn’t the Florida recount or the Supreme Court decision. No, it’s 9/11 that we keep coming back to. It wasn’t the “end of innocence,” or a turning point in our history, or a cosmic occurrence, it was an event, a lapse of security. And patriotism shouldn’t prevent people from asking hard questions of the man who was purportedly in charge of national security at the time.
Whenever I think of those New Yorkers hurrying along Park Place or getting off the No.1 Broadway local, hustling toward their office on the 90th floor, the morning paper under their arms, I think of that non-reader George W. Bush and how he hopes to exploit those people with a little economic uptick, maybe the capture of Osama, cruise to victory in November and proceed to get some serious nation-changing done in his second term.
This year, as in the past, Republicans will portray us Democrats as embittered academics, desiccated Unitarians, whacked-out hippies and communards, people who talk to telephone poles, the party of the Deadheads. They will wave enormous flags and wow over and over the footage of firemen in the wreckage of the World Trade Center and bodies being carried out and they will lie about their economic policies with astonishing enthusiasm.
The Union is what needs defending this year. Government of Enron and by Halliburton and for the Southern Baptists is not the same as what Lincoln spoke of. This gang of Pithecanthropus Republicanii has humbugged us to death on terrorism and tax cuts for the comfy and school prayer and flag burning and claimed the right to know what books we read and to dump their sewage upstream from the town and clear-cut the forests and gut the IRS and mark up the constitution on behalf of intolerance and promote the corporate takeover of the public airwaves and to hell with anybody who opposes them.
This is a great country, and it wasn’t made so by angry people. We have a sacred duty to bequeath it to our grandchildren in better shape than however we found it. We have a long way to go and we’re not getting any younger.
Dante said that the hottest place in Hell is reserved for those who in time of crisis remain neutral, so I have spoken my piece, and thank you, dear reader. It’s a beautiful world, rain or shine, and there is more to life than winning.
Saturday, August 28, 2004
A question on heart surguries
The Terrible Swede has asked for a brief description as to why I have had to have my heart surguries. In layman's terms (and that's all I'm really good for) I had a hole in my heart (not the romantic kind) between two chambers. Along with that the valves going out of my heart were really small. I had my first correction when I was 2 days old, they took some veins from my left hand and strung them between my lungs and my heart so I could get enough oxygen, to do this they took out a rib (once again I'm missing a rib, but not in the romantic/biblical sense) and cut up my back pretty well, there is a good sized spot on my back that has no feeling in it (If I bend down in a certain way I can make it look like I have a hump in my back). Then when I was three I had a full correction where they replaced my valve with another valve (I am thinking one of the valves may have been pig... yeah I'm an unclean animal). Then when I was ten they had to do another operation, then when I was 13 they put in a stent, then when I was 18 they did another full correction. Each of these full corrections involve cracking open all the ribs in my chest, and replacing valves. The recovery time for each of these is about 6 weeks plus another 3 months or so on Didgoxen.
Hope that was helpful, maybe even entertaining.
Hope that was helpful, maybe even entertaining.
Friday, August 27, 2004
By the way, I turn 21 on the 20th of sept.
Over at my bizzaro blog, BIFA, they are contemplating what should be my first drink.
Chris
Chris
I thought this was cute
Last Thursday, my organization, People Reluctant To Kill for an Abstraction, orchestrated an overwhelming show of force around the globe.
At precisely 9 in the morning, working with focus and stealth, our entire membership succeeded in simultaneously beheading no one. At 10, Phase II began, during which our entire membership did not force a single man to suck another man's penis. Also, none of us blew himself/herself up in a crowded public place. No civilians were literally turned inside out via our powerful explosives. In addition, at 11, in Phase III, zero (0) planes were flown into buildings.
During Phase IV, just after lunch, we were able to avoid bulldozing a single home. Furthermore, we set, on roads in every city, in every nation in the world, a total of zero (0) roadside bombs which, not being there, did not subsequently explode, killing/maiming a total of nobody. No bombs were dropped, during the lazy afternoon hours, on crowded civilian neighborhoods, from which, it was observed, no post-bomb momentary silences were then heard. These silences were, in all cases, followed by no unimaginable, grief-stricken bellows of rage, and/or frantic imprecations to a deity. No sleeping baby was awakened from an afternoon nap by the sudden collapse and/or bursting into flame of his/her domicile during Phase IV.
For the rest go to the link
At precisely 9 in the morning, working with focus and stealth, our entire membership succeeded in simultaneously beheading no one. At 10, Phase II began, during which our entire membership did not force a single man to suck another man's penis. Also, none of us blew himself/herself up in a crowded public place. No civilians were literally turned inside out via our powerful explosives. In addition, at 11, in Phase III, zero (0) planes were flown into buildings.
During Phase IV, just after lunch, we were able to avoid bulldozing a single home. Furthermore, we set, on roads in every city, in every nation in the world, a total of zero (0) roadside bombs which, not being there, did not subsequently explode, killing/maiming a total of nobody. No bombs were dropped, during the lazy afternoon hours, on crowded civilian neighborhoods, from which, it was observed, no post-bomb momentary silences were then heard. These silences were, in all cases, followed by no unimaginable, grief-stricken bellows of rage, and/or frantic imprecations to a deity. No sleeping baby was awakened from an afternoon nap by the sudden collapse and/or bursting into flame of his/her domicile during Phase IV.
For the rest go to the link
Broken wrist
Well. I hurt my wrist wrestling 2 or 3 weeks ago, but I figured it would get better. Today I went to the doc and it turns out I have a broken Ulna, so now I'm wearing a silly little splint on my right hand. I think I have problems with pain tolerance. Since was born into heart surgeries and the like I figure things don't hurt until they break open my whole chest (every rib, except for 1 they took out when I was young) cavity and twiddle around in my heart. Therefore I don't really think of a lot of things as painful (like my wrist) instead just an irritant.
If anyone feels like praying for my ol' wrist I would appreciate it.
Peace,
Chris
If anyone feels like praying for my ol' wrist I would appreciate it.
Peace,
Chris
Thursday, August 26, 2004
The Death mobile and a break down of JE's stump speeches
Well. First off I'm still driving for the homeless shelter here in Cheyenne, though the van I drive has taken a turn for the worse. Driving up a hill it stalls, driving down a hill it stalls, stopping at a sign or light it stalls. WEEEE.
And here are John Edward's promises.
raise the minimum wage;
spend more money on: early education, public schools, child care, afterschool programs, and salaries for teachers in the communities where they're needed;
raise taxes on: companies that take jobs overseas; individuals who make more than $200,000 a year;
reduce taxes for: small businesses that create jobs in communities with high unemployment; individuals through a $1,000 tax credit for health care and a $4,000 tax credit for college tuition (in addition to promising four years of tuition to individuals who perform two years of public service);
improve health care by: making the congressional health-care plan available for purchase by all Americans; covering all children; allowing prescription drugs to be imported from Canada; and allowing the government to use its bulk-purchasing power to negotiate lower drug prices from pharmaceutical companies;
reform labor laws by: swiftly and severely punishing employers that violate labor laws; banning the hiring of permanent replacements for strikers; "make card-check neutrality the law of the land";
fight the war on terror by: strengthening alliances to help "get terrorists before they get us";
improve the situation in Iraq by: improving our relations with allies so that NATO will agree to get involved; keeping Iran and Syria from interfering; and getting "others involved in reconstruction besides Halliburton."
And here are John Edward's promises.
raise the minimum wage;
spend more money on: early education, public schools, child care, afterschool programs, and salaries for teachers in the communities where they're needed;
raise taxes on: companies that take jobs overseas; individuals who make more than $200,000 a year;
reduce taxes for: small businesses that create jobs in communities with high unemployment; individuals through a $1,000 tax credit for health care and a $4,000 tax credit for college tuition (in addition to promising four years of tuition to individuals who perform two years of public service);
improve health care by: making the congressional health-care plan available for purchase by all Americans; covering all children; allowing prescription drugs to be imported from Canada; and allowing the government to use its bulk-purchasing power to negotiate lower drug prices from pharmaceutical companies;
reform labor laws by: swiftly and severely punishing employers that violate labor laws; banning the hiring of permanent replacements for strikers; "make card-check neutrality the law of the land";
fight the war on terror by: strengthening alliances to help "get terrorists before they get us";
improve the situation in Iraq by: improving our relations with allies so that NATO will agree to get involved; keeping Iran and Syria from interfering; and getting "others involved in reconstruction besides Halliburton."
Wednesday, August 25, 2004
I've talked about the short stories, here are a few examples
Darkest Night, lightest day
Here in Wyoming, the sky is different than in your neck of the woods. For all its negative qualities Wyoming’s sky almost makes up for all of them. Here one can watch sunset, and moonrise. Here one can be transported into the vastness of infinite space. Here one can realize they are nothing without meditations and ruminations. Here one can become a speck upon the ball of lint. Here one is overwhelmed each morning and each evening.
That of course is why I am telling you this. You do not know what you ask of me, to take you here and see the problems of Wyoming, because Senator, the problems are empty, as is the sky. I would recommend you go back to DC where you belong, where you are enclosed by domes and pocketbooks. Where importance is something thrust upon you, something bought and sold. As for me, I shall stay here, and watch how these people cope with the emptiness. I shall see them root and fuck. I shall see them contemplate themselves to gunshot wounds. I shall see them slit their wrists. I shall see them break. I shall see them live.
It is not a pleasant duty for which I have dedicated my life. It is not a happy place to be a watcher, but for Science, God, and Country I shall observe, and report. Howl.
A question or three
“Why must everyone die father?”
The kindly old man, named Abraham looked down at his son, bound upon the altar to his foreign God, “My son,” said he, “death, is part of life. You see. Sacrifices, are offered because they are something blessed. So too are we. We are blessed, only because we have a finite amount of time in which to make choices. Therefor our own impending death creates value, we have to make choices, separate great from good, good from so-so, and so-so from not so good.”
With that he scrapped the sacrificial blade again, no Mesopotamian was he, but instead the first exile, he had chosen a value higher than country, that of ideology, and God.
“Why are these values good? What use is there for hierarchy?”
He thought of that, wondering at Isaac his famous son, and chose his words carefully, “Remember your brother Ishmael, yet I say I have but one son, you Isaac. Don’t you see, I have chosen the more valuable one as a Gift to the one who Shalt Be.”
“What makes me a more pleasing sacrifice? Why am I better to kill than my brother? Why must you differentiate between the two?”
And with that Abraham could stand it no longer, the knife came down, toward the boy’s throat.
There is more to life than dying characters
“Have you heard of such a thing as love Mr. Higgins?”
The old teacher nodded at his bright young student.
“And what have you to say on the matter?”
He smiled, in an odd way, “Well, Donald. There are things to think about. For example, may I ask what,” he paused, smiling further, “or should I say… who, brought up this topic of conversation?”
“I think you well know that. Don’t you sir?”
“I do,” he nodded, and continued, “I know you have looked at Ms. Poe for three long days.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, blushing from happiness, not embarrassment (a feat the author could never do, at least not when the fairer sex is concerned).
The old man smiled, “What is it that strikes you about her? What is it about her that makes your heart leap.”
“Sir, it is an indescribable thing.”
Mr. Higgins looked at the boy, “I’m an English teacher. I know you can describe this.”
“True,” said Donald, and continued, “Angela Poe is an angel.”
“There have been many angels before Donald, one’s that are in fact pieces of the Throne of the Blessed one, Holy be he, one’s that are cupidic, ones that avenge the Holy will, and devils too. Be more specific, describe the concreteness of this attraction.”
“I,” he began, unsure of himself, “I know that to others she is simply a,” he couldn’t bear to say it, yet he said it anyways, “another girl, but to me. She seems to be a immaculate statue, carved out as an ode to beauty…”
“Stop. What is Beauty? What is beautiful about this statue to an… abstraction.”
“It is,” he paused, “oh, I see sir. Let me go again.”
“Rather.”
“She is an immaculate marble statue carved out by some god to represent caring. It is a healing maiden, a Virgin Mary, but with spunk and love.”
“Love. How is this love manifest in spunk dear Donald?”
“You are right,” he said, “spunk, she will heal, she will bear forth the Christ Child whether God wants her to or not. She will manifest the Will of the Holy One Blessed be He whether or not He wills it or not.”
“That is sacrilege, but most love it. Continue.”
“Where shall I continue sir?”
“Where ever you feel like it.”
He breathed deeply, “okay. In her very existence you see the propensity to be compassionate no matter what.”
“I think you’ve already said that.”
“Well… Sir. That’s because it is true. I love her for her compassion. I love her for her willingness to… I don’t know sir.”
“You do. The Idea and the Deed. That is where you are headed, or should be if I’ve taught you anything.”
“Yes,” he exclaimed, “she is the idea, that is idealism, along with the deed, praxis. She knows what needs to be done, and she will do it whether it is accepted or not.”
“Is that love or tyranny?”
“Both,” Donald said, misty eyed and smiling. Mr. Higgins could do not but nod.
Wisdom poetry
“And what did he mean by this?” asked the Rabbi.
The student looked up to him, and said, “that Abraham is the… what kind of spice?”
“Does the kind of spice matter? What is the point of the text?”
“The text is infinite,” said the boy, twisting his tefilim.
“So what?” asked the Rabbi, “Does that matter? What is the point at essence?”
“That’s for you to know,” said the boy.
The Rabbi’s face darkened, his earlocks practically curled, “I ask these questions, for I do not know the answers.”
“Abraham makes Isaac a solemn sacrifice, but he does it believing, knowing that the Holy one, blessed be He shall resurrect Isaac, or stop the sacrifice in some way.”
“Or?”
“Or that the command of the Holy One, blessed is He is so all powerful, all encompesing that he has to obey."
“Which would the Christians believe?”
“The first.”
“Which do you believe?”
“The second.”
And with that the Rabbi slammed the TaNaK shut, and whipped out a cigar, “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“The Christians would believe one or the other.”
“The first,” said the student, stepping away from the smoke, “I already said, the first.”
“We would believe both. Saying the text is infinite, and living into an omnipotent text are two different things.”
Here in Wyoming, the sky is different than in your neck of the woods. For all its negative qualities Wyoming’s sky almost makes up for all of them. Here one can watch sunset, and moonrise. Here one can be transported into the vastness of infinite space. Here one can realize they are nothing without meditations and ruminations. Here one can become a speck upon the ball of lint. Here one is overwhelmed each morning and each evening.
That of course is why I am telling you this. You do not know what you ask of me, to take you here and see the problems of Wyoming, because Senator, the problems are empty, as is the sky. I would recommend you go back to DC where you belong, where you are enclosed by domes and pocketbooks. Where importance is something thrust upon you, something bought and sold. As for me, I shall stay here, and watch how these people cope with the emptiness. I shall see them root and fuck. I shall see them contemplate themselves to gunshot wounds. I shall see them slit their wrists. I shall see them break. I shall see them live.
It is not a pleasant duty for which I have dedicated my life. It is not a happy place to be a watcher, but for Science, God, and Country I shall observe, and report. Howl.
A question or three
“Why must everyone die father?”
The kindly old man, named Abraham looked down at his son, bound upon the altar to his foreign God, “My son,” said he, “death, is part of life. You see. Sacrifices, are offered because they are something blessed. So too are we. We are blessed, only because we have a finite amount of time in which to make choices. Therefor our own impending death creates value, we have to make choices, separate great from good, good from so-so, and so-so from not so good.”
With that he scrapped the sacrificial blade again, no Mesopotamian was he, but instead the first exile, he had chosen a value higher than country, that of ideology, and God.
“Why are these values good? What use is there for hierarchy?”
He thought of that, wondering at Isaac his famous son, and chose his words carefully, “Remember your brother Ishmael, yet I say I have but one son, you Isaac. Don’t you see, I have chosen the more valuable one as a Gift to the one who Shalt Be.”
“What makes me a more pleasing sacrifice? Why am I better to kill than my brother? Why must you differentiate between the two?”
And with that Abraham could stand it no longer, the knife came down, toward the boy’s throat.
There is more to life than dying characters
“Have you heard of such a thing as love Mr. Higgins?”
The old teacher nodded at his bright young student.
“And what have you to say on the matter?”
He smiled, in an odd way, “Well, Donald. There are things to think about. For example, may I ask what,” he paused, smiling further, “or should I say… who, brought up this topic of conversation?”
“I think you well know that. Don’t you sir?”
“I do,” he nodded, and continued, “I know you have looked at Ms. Poe for three long days.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, blushing from happiness, not embarrassment (a feat the author could never do, at least not when the fairer sex is concerned).
The old man smiled, “What is it that strikes you about her? What is it about her that makes your heart leap.”
“Sir, it is an indescribable thing.”
Mr. Higgins looked at the boy, “I’m an English teacher. I know you can describe this.”
“True,” said Donald, and continued, “Angela Poe is an angel.”
“There have been many angels before Donald, one’s that are in fact pieces of the Throne of the Blessed one, Holy be he, one’s that are cupidic, ones that avenge the Holy will, and devils too. Be more specific, describe the concreteness of this attraction.”
“I,” he began, unsure of himself, “I know that to others she is simply a,” he couldn’t bear to say it, yet he said it anyways, “another girl, but to me. She seems to be a immaculate statue, carved out as an ode to beauty…”
“Stop. What is Beauty? What is beautiful about this statue to an… abstraction.”
“It is,” he paused, “oh, I see sir. Let me go again.”
“Rather.”
“She is an immaculate marble statue carved out by some god to represent caring. It is a healing maiden, a Virgin Mary, but with spunk and love.”
“Love. How is this love manifest in spunk dear Donald?”
“You are right,” he said, “spunk, she will heal, she will bear forth the Christ Child whether God wants her to or not. She will manifest the Will of the Holy One Blessed be He whether or not He wills it or not.”
“That is sacrilege, but most love it. Continue.”
“Where shall I continue sir?”
“Where ever you feel like it.”
He breathed deeply, “okay. In her very existence you see the propensity to be compassionate no matter what.”
“I think you’ve already said that.”
“Well… Sir. That’s because it is true. I love her for her compassion. I love her for her willingness to… I don’t know sir.”
“You do. The Idea and the Deed. That is where you are headed, or should be if I’ve taught you anything.”
“Yes,” he exclaimed, “she is the idea, that is idealism, along with the deed, praxis. She knows what needs to be done, and she will do it whether it is accepted or not.”
“Is that love or tyranny?”
“Both,” Donald said, misty eyed and smiling. Mr. Higgins could do not but nod.
Wisdom poetry
“And what did he mean by this?” asked the Rabbi.
The student looked up to him, and said, “that Abraham is the… what kind of spice?”
“Does the kind of spice matter? What is the point of the text?”
“The text is infinite,” said the boy, twisting his tefilim.
“So what?” asked the Rabbi, “Does that matter? What is the point at essence?”
“That’s for you to know,” said the boy.
The Rabbi’s face darkened, his earlocks practically curled, “I ask these questions, for I do not know the answers.”
“Abraham makes Isaac a solemn sacrifice, but he does it believing, knowing that the Holy one, blessed be He shall resurrect Isaac, or stop the sacrifice in some way.”
“Or?”
“Or that the command of the Holy One, blessed is He is so all powerful, all encompesing that he has to obey."
“Which would the Christians believe?”
“The first.”
“Which do you believe?”
“The second.”
And with that the Rabbi slammed the TaNaK shut, and whipped out a cigar, “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“The Christians would believe one or the other.”
“The first,” said the student, stepping away from the smoke, “I already said, the first.”
“We would believe both. Saying the text is infinite, and living into an omnipotent text are two different things.”
Kerry Wisdom of the day
"You'd be amazed at the number of people who want to introduce themselves
to you in the men's room," he said. "It's the most bizarre part of this entire
thing."
Monday, August 23, 2004
Kerry's response to Swift-boat folk
A front group for the Bush campaign called 'Swift Boat Veterans forTruth' continuing to spread their lies about John Kerry's militaryrecord. Their statements have been contradicted by official Navyrecords, the New York Times, the Washington Post, the Chicago Tribuneand every man who served under John Kerry yet George Bush refuses tocondemn their tactics. Through his silence George Bush is approvingtheir action. In fact, Bush campaign officials in Florida are evenpromoting events for this front group. Today we're calling for all of you to join together and stand withJohn Kerry. Tell George Bush: stop the smear, get back to the issues.Sign John Kerry's petition by visiting:http://www.johnkerry.com/oldtricksEnough is enough. No matter what these Bush campaign shills now say,John Kerry's commanders in 1969 remarked that 'In a combat environmentoften requiring independent, decisive action, LTJG Kerry wasunsurpassed.' In fact all John Kerry's performance reports (availableon John Kerry's website) display an absolutely heroic record ofservice. John Kerry's campaign has just release a new internet adcalled 'Old Tricks' which shows John McCain asking George Bush toapologize for attacking his own heroic record.View the ad by visiting:http://www.johnkerry.com/oldtricks
Thursday, August 19, 2004
Electorial College vote as of today, and new music
Well, if you check out the Electorial College Vote you will see Kerry wins 301 to 213, with 24 votes tied.
In other news I increased my CD collection by about a fifth. Just bought Tracy Chapman by... Tracy Chapman. I also bought Keep Right by KRS-One.
I've been writing a lot, all of it short stories and reading Lord of the Flies as well as the complete works of Lord Byron.
I've been pretty worried about the stuff going on in Najaf, I really think harming the Ali Mosque could really screw the US in the short and long term. It would be like blowing up the Vatican just because the Pope was taking potshots at Lutherans.
At any rate, I hope we don't end up shooting ourselves in the foot, and I hope Al-Sadr quits shooting at us.
In other news I increased my CD collection by about a fifth. Just bought Tracy Chapman by... Tracy Chapman. I also bought Keep Right by KRS-One.
I've been writing a lot, all of it short stories and reading Lord of the Flies as well as the complete works of Lord Byron.
I've been pretty worried about the stuff going on in Najaf, I really think harming the Ali Mosque could really screw the US in the short and long term. It would be like blowing up the Vatican just because the Pope was taking potshots at Lutherans.
At any rate, I hope we don't end up shooting ourselves in the foot, and I hope Al-Sadr quits shooting at us.
Wednesday, August 18, 2004
Song by Woody Guthrie
Jesus ChristJesus Christ was a man who traveled through the land,A hard working man and brave.He said to the rich "Give your goods to the poor."But they laid Jesus Christ in His grave.
Jesus was a man, a carpenter by hand,His followers true and brave,One dirty little coward called Judas IscariotHas laid Jesus Christ in His grave.He went to the preacher, He went to the sheriff,He told them all the same,"Sell all of your jewelry and give it to the poor,"But they laid Jesus Christ in his grave.
When Jesus come to town, all the working folks aroundBelieved what He did say,The bankers and the preachers they nailed Him on a cross.Then they laid Jesus Christ in His grave.
The poor workin' people, they followed Him around,They sung and they shouted gay,The cops and the soldiers, they nailed Him in the air,And they laid Jesus Christ in His grave.
Well, the people held their breath when they heard about His death,And everybody wondered why,It was the landlord and the soldiers that he hired,To nail Jesus Christ in the sky.This song was written in New York City,Of rich man, preacher and slave,But if Jesus was to preach like He preached in Galilee,They would lay Jesus Christ in His grave.
Jesus was a man, a carpenter by hand,His followers true and brave,One dirty little coward called Judas IscariotHas laid Jesus Christ in His grave.He went to the preacher, He went to the sheriff,He told them all the same,"Sell all of your jewelry and give it to the poor,"But they laid Jesus Christ in his grave.
When Jesus come to town, all the working folks aroundBelieved what He did say,The bankers and the preachers they nailed Him on a cross.Then they laid Jesus Christ in His grave.
The poor workin' people, they followed Him around,They sung and they shouted gay,The cops and the soldiers, they nailed Him in the air,And they laid Jesus Christ in His grave.
Well, the people held their breath when they heard about His death,And everybody wondered why,It was the landlord and the soldiers that he hired,To nail Jesus Christ in the sky.This song was written in New York City,Of rich man, preacher and slave,But if Jesus was to preach like He preached in Galilee,They would lay Jesus Christ in His grave.
Monday, August 09, 2004
Camp, Al-Sadr and more on LUT
Well. I've been gone for a while. Went to Sky Ranch in Colorado. I've never been to a Christian camp before. It was really fun. Stayed up all night playing "chancy chancy" with a group of pastors. Went for a couple of hikes, got a bit lost, but found myself (by that I mean I think I'm going to Africa for a year between College and Seminary). Good times.
Here are my thoughts on Al-Sadr. I think he plans to get himself killed while praying at Ali's tomb. His last words will be "We must not allow infidels in this holy place."
Why do I think that? Because Ali was Martyred (he got his head split open while praying alone in the dark) while praying and his last words were something like don't fight on my grave. So I think that Al-Sadr, for the sake of a radicalized Islamic Iraq will allow himself to follow in Ali's footsteps. At least that is what I'd do if I was Al-Sadr.
Finally, there is the issue of Marxism within L.utheran U.nderground T.heology. I'll be brief. Marx saw "the Party" as a nursemaid to ease the "birthing pains" of the revolution. I say, likewise "the Church" is the nursemaid of the end times, for Jesus says "Blessed are the barren, and the wombs that never bore, and the breasts that never suck!" during "the days that are coming." (Luke23) Yet there shall be those nursing and birthing, and the church must be there to ease the birthing pains. Basicly, since we are in the inbetween times, the Already not Yet, we must prepare, and pre-figure what the Kingdom of God shall be like, yet still knowing that the Kingdom of God s to come.
So, to answer Brian C I'm not talking about tearing up the church and replacing it with Stalinism, I'm talking about intentionality and recognition of the time period in which the church is in.
One final note, I got a letter from one of the peeps at Christus house where I'm staying next year, the way things work out I'll be leaving Cheyenne on my 21st birthday (9/20) to go back to Eugene.
Peace all,
Chris
Here are my thoughts on Al-Sadr. I think he plans to get himself killed while praying at Ali's tomb. His last words will be "We must not allow infidels in this holy place."
Why do I think that? Because Ali was Martyred (he got his head split open while praying alone in the dark) while praying and his last words were something like don't fight on my grave. So I think that Al-Sadr, for the sake of a radicalized Islamic Iraq will allow himself to follow in Ali's footsteps. At least that is what I'd do if I was Al-Sadr.
Finally, there is the issue of Marxism within L.utheran U.nderground T.heology. I'll be brief. Marx saw "the Party" as a nursemaid to ease the "birthing pains" of the revolution. I say, likewise "the Church" is the nursemaid of the end times, for Jesus says "Blessed are the barren, and the wombs that never bore, and the breasts that never suck!" during "the days that are coming." (Luke23) Yet there shall be those nursing and birthing, and the church must be there to ease the birthing pains. Basicly, since we are in the inbetween times, the Already not Yet, we must prepare, and pre-figure what the Kingdom of God shall be like, yet still knowing that the Kingdom of God s to come.
So, to answer Brian C I'm not talking about tearing up the church and replacing it with Stalinism, I'm talking about intentionality and recognition of the time period in which the church is in.
One final note, I got a letter from one of the peeps at Christus house where I'm staying next year, the way things work out I'll be leaving Cheyenne on my 21st birthday (9/20) to go back to Eugene.
Peace all,
Chris
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