Posts
"First Lesson About Man" by Thomas Merton
Man begins in zoology.
He is the saddest animal.
He drives a big red car called anxiety.
He dreams at night
Of riding all the elevators.
Lost in the halls,
He never finds the right door.
Man is the saddest animal.
A flake-eater in the morning,
A milk-drinker.
He fills his skin with coffee
And loses patience with the rest of his species.
He draws his sin on the wall,
On all the ads in all the subways.
He draws moustaches on all the women
Because he cannot find his joy,
Except in zoology.
Whenever he goes to the phone to call Joy,
He gets the wrong number.
Therefore he likes weapons.
He knows all guns by their right name.
He drives a big black Cadillac called death.
Now he is putting anxiety into space.
He flies his worries all around Venus,
But it does him no good.
In space where for a long time there is only emptiness,
He drives a big white globe called death.
Now dear children
Who have learned the first lesson about man,
Answer your test:
"Man is the saddest animal.
He begins in zoology,
And gets lost
In his own bad news."
-------
I don't know much about poetry. But I like this poem, which I just came across last night in an essay about the poetry of Thomas Merton. One reason I like the poem is that I find it to be a graceful interplay between tragedy and humor. But I don't know what is meant by that repeated line about man beginning "in zoology."
Living in Germantown has given me a brand new appreciation for birds
Hafez says:
One rosy face from the world's garden for us is enough,
And the shade of that one cypress in the field
Strolling along gracefully for us is enough.
Look at the flow of money and the suffering
Of the world. If this glimpse of profit and loss
Is not enough for you, for us it is enough.
The dearest companion of all is here. What
Else is there to look for? The delight of a few words
With the soul friend is enough.
--
Listening to Chopin in my room, both windows open and the rain pouring down outside, incense burning, watching that nocturne spinning around on a beautiful turntable. Cascading notes getting twisted up into the quiet, repetitive chaos of the rain.
I suppose it will sound hyperbolic to say it, but wouldn't it be somehow opulent to ask for another dose of this? In the interest of modesty alone, wouldn't it feel appropriate now to put away this whole business of recorded music? Surely for me one side of a good record at the right moment is enough.
This morning I experienced the glory of God on my front porch--I was eating a grapefruit at 830 in the morning, jobless "downwardly-mobile" bourgeois dilettante that I am; I was surveying the front yard. A moment of silence creeps up on you and then the foreground of Yard and Breakfast and Schedule and What-I-Am-Doing-With-My-Life starts disintegrating, like expanding holes of acid consuming a piece of paper (where the acid is the dull, stubborn insistence of the Background to be noticed). White noise becomes colored noise and suddenly I get startled to notice all of these birds, singing, taking turns, overlapping and interrupting, screaming, calling from every direction, up in the trees all around, at every distance, at varied volume, all shapes and sizes. Lord have mercy I live in the center ring of a bizarre circus. Help, my homo sapiens frame of reference is outnumbered, drowning in the chaotic net of delicate sounds and drowning in what it represents: The day-to-day routines of a million tiny winged bodies (twitching, contracting, jumping into the air, pooping, hungry again), none of whom for even a moment have felt the need of taking up the burden of self-awareness. For goodness sakes what has the Robin or the Cardinal ever done to accommodate the grand narrative of the human race, much less the arc of my life?
Surely for me a half an hour with these little chirping aliens is enough. Surely I could move back to the cement jungle of North Philadelphia and live there for the rest of my life without ever seeing another exotic-looking migratory bird, protected by the reality of one such encounter.
One rosy face from the world's garden for us is enough,
And the shade of that one cypress in the field
Strolling along gracefully for us is enough.
Look at the flow of money and the suffering
Of the world. If this glimpse of profit and loss
Is not enough for you, for us it is enough.
The dearest companion of all is here. What
Else is there to look for? The delight of a few words
With the soul friend is enough.
--
Listening to Chopin in my room, both windows open and the rain pouring down outside, incense burning, watching that nocturne spinning around on a beautiful turntable. Cascading notes getting twisted up into the quiet, repetitive chaos of the rain.
I suppose it will sound hyperbolic to say it, but wouldn't it be somehow opulent to ask for another dose of this? In the interest of modesty alone, wouldn't it feel appropriate now to put away this whole business of recorded music? Surely for me one side of a good record at the right moment is enough.
This morning I experienced the glory of God on my front porch--I was eating a grapefruit at 830 in the morning, jobless "downwardly-mobile" bourgeois dilettante that I am; I was surveying the front yard. A moment of silence creeps up on you and then the foreground of Yard and Breakfast and Schedule and What-I-Am-Doing-With-My-Life starts disintegrating, like expanding holes of acid consuming a piece of paper (where the acid is the dull, stubborn insistence of the Background to be noticed). White noise becomes colored noise and suddenly I get startled to notice all of these birds, singing, taking turns, overlapping and interrupting, screaming, calling from every direction, up in the trees all around, at every distance, at varied volume, all shapes and sizes. Lord have mercy I live in the center ring of a bizarre circus. Help, my homo sapiens frame of reference is outnumbered, drowning in the chaotic net of delicate sounds and drowning in what it represents: The day-to-day routines of a million tiny winged bodies (twitching, contracting, jumping into the air, pooping, hungry again), none of whom for even a moment have felt the need of taking up the burden of self-awareness. For goodness sakes what has the Robin or the Cardinal ever done to accommodate the grand narrative of the human race, much less the arc of my life?
Surely for me a half an hour with these little chirping aliens is enough. Surely I could move back to the cement jungle of North Philadelphia and live there for the rest of my life without ever seeing another exotic-looking migratory bird, protected by the reality of one such encounter.
In the glass
Pre-eminent documentary filmmaker Errol Morris contributes something to the NY Times every now and again.
He's just come out with a fascinating retrospective of iconic images from the 43rd presidency, as curated by representatives of three of the major still photography proprietor: AP, AFP and Reuters.
Some of the commentary is of interest, some of it is forgettable and/or predictable. I'm afraid that many of the images are best reviewed as they were first viewed: without much interpretation.
In general, I find that the AFP collection blows the others away. However, the standout image for me is this AP shot, from Crawford, Texas, which I had never seen before:
There's so much to see here, between the varied poses of the supporting cast (esp. Rice), the lines of perspective, the horizon, the evocative setting (interrupted by the microphones). The president dominates this photo in his casual attire and confident poise. There has been from the beginning something very compelling about Bush's Texan-ness, something the Republican strategists sniffed from the get-go and then failed to capitalize on, and this shot sums up for me precisely that essence. As one facet among many, this Bush is--dare I say it--dead sexy.
The other worthy bit from Morris' piece is his closing thought, as nabbed from Oliver Wendell Holmes:
"Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr., writing in 1859 (about 20 years after the first daguerreotypes appeared), called photography 'a mirror with a memory.' He writes,
'The man beholdeth himself in the glass and goeth his way, and straightway both the mirror and the mirrored forget what manner of man he was…'"
He's just come out with a fascinating retrospective of iconic images from the 43rd presidency, as curated by representatives of three of the major still photography proprietor: AP, AFP and Reuters.
Some of the commentary is of interest, some of it is forgettable and/or predictable. I'm afraid that many of the images are best reviewed as they were first viewed: without much interpretation.
In general, I find that the AFP collection blows the others away. However, the standout image for me is this AP shot, from Crawford, Texas, which I had never seen before:
There's so much to see here, between the varied poses of the supporting cast (esp. Rice), the lines of perspective, the horizon, the evocative setting (interrupted by the microphones). The president dominates this photo in his casual attire and confident poise. There has been from the beginning something very compelling about Bush's Texan-ness, something the Republican strategists sniffed from the get-go and then failed to capitalize on, and this shot sums up for me precisely that essence. As one facet among many, this Bush is--dare I say it--dead sexy.
The other worthy bit from Morris' piece is his closing thought, as nabbed from Oliver Wendell Holmes:
"Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr., writing in 1859 (about 20 years after the first daguerreotypes appeared), called photography 'a mirror with a memory.' He writes,
'The man beholdeth himself in the glass and goeth his way, and straightway both the mirror and the mirrored forget what manner of man he was…'"
Kinds of technology
A while back I submitted this blog to a website that tracks a few basic statistics about it. Having this information available does a couple of things for me: First of all, it makes me a little embarrassed to be blogging, as I get so few visitors. Secondly, it provides me with a good laugh by tracking the google search phrases that bring my random google searcher to one of my posts.
I wanted to take the opportunity to review a few choice selections, in no particular order. Some of them are pretty surprising--I had to go to google and enter a couple of these search phrases myself to confirm that they will actually route you to this blog:
1. "the onion magazine"
I must be one of the few that finds these things funny.
2. "recent top stories"
Shockingly, this blog shows up as the third result for that phrase.
3. "too many sermon podcasts"
I feel for this guy. Perhaps he's part of an emerging constituency of internet browsers who are turning to google for some kind of therapeutic release.
4. "quotes baden powell nation of wasters"
Unfortunately my blog was unable to provide an intrepid browser with the following quote from "Recovering To Success: A Book of Life-Sport for Young Men," by an author named Robert Baden-Powell, who I have never heard of:
"'The world can be made safe for democracy, but democracy will never be safe for the world until the mental loafer is saved from himself.' There are mental loafers and wasters just as much as there are physical wasters, fellows who let themselves be guided by cheap newspapers, persuasive orators, and rotten literature and cinemas."
5. "what does frim look like"
You won't find any pictures of me on here. But you could get close by looking up the old post that discusses my celebrity look-alike.
6. "how to get a frim but and tight legs" (sic)
All time favorite.
7. "kinds of technology", "three kinds of technology", "what are the kinds of technology", and the altruistic "what kinds of technology will help the poor"
This theme, in its many variations, brings in a steady stream of random cyber-guests. What shows up on google is an old post that was made up of a quote from Ted Kaczynski's technology manifesto. My best guess of what these browsers are looking for is quick-n-dirty ideas to work into an essay, maybe for some introductory-level college class in engineering or technology theory. The following answer, provided by Yahoo(!) answers, should do for these purposes: (1) Instructional technology (2) Assistive technology (3) Medical technology (4) Technology productive tools (5) Information technology. However, if you, dear reader, happen to be one such befuddled youngster, please note that in my newly legitimate, google-result-endorsed, blogger opinion, there is no conventional over-simplification of the "kinds" of technology that can justify your question. Technology encompasses all kinds of human creations and therefore contains an infinite amount of possible uses and categories. Certainly there is no authoritative single way to divide technology into "kinds". But, I happen to think Ted's theory is worth repeating. He breaks down technology into two functional categories: tools which can be used independently and those which are dependent on other tools to be used, requiring an ever more complex system to be sustained.
8. "my hands feel heavy"
I wanted to take the opportunity to review a few choice selections, in no particular order. Some of them are pretty surprising--I had to go to google and enter a couple of these search phrases myself to confirm that they will actually route you to this blog:
1. "the onion magazine"
I must be one of the few that finds these things funny.
2. "recent top stories"
Shockingly, this blog shows up as the third result for that phrase.
3. "too many sermon podcasts"
I feel for this guy. Perhaps he's part of an emerging constituency of internet browsers who are turning to google for some kind of therapeutic release.
4. "quotes baden powell nation of wasters"
Unfortunately my blog was unable to provide an intrepid browser with the following quote from "Recovering To Success: A Book of Life-Sport for Young Men," by an author named Robert Baden-Powell, who I have never heard of:
"'The world can be made safe for democracy, but democracy will never be safe for the world until the mental loafer is saved from himself.' There are mental loafers and wasters just as much as there are physical wasters, fellows who let themselves be guided by cheap newspapers, persuasive orators, and rotten literature and cinemas."
5. "what does frim look like"
You won't find any pictures of me on here. But you could get close by looking up the old post that discusses my celebrity look-alike.
6. "how to get a frim but and tight legs" (sic)
All time favorite.
7. "kinds of technology", "three kinds of technology", "what are the kinds of technology", and the altruistic "what kinds of technology will help the poor"
This theme, in its many variations, brings in a steady stream of random cyber-guests. What shows up on google is an old post that was made up of a quote from Ted Kaczynski's technology manifesto. My best guess of what these browsers are looking for is quick-n-dirty ideas to work into an essay, maybe for some introductory-level college class in engineering or technology theory. The following answer, provided by Yahoo(!) answers, should do for these purposes: (1) Instructional technology (2) Assistive technology (3) Medical technology (4) Technology productive tools (5) Information technology. However, if you, dear reader, happen to be one such befuddled youngster, please note that in my newly legitimate, google-result-endorsed, blogger opinion, there is no conventional over-simplification of the "kinds" of technology that can justify your question. Technology encompasses all kinds of human creations and therefore contains an infinite amount of possible uses and categories. Certainly there is no authoritative single way to divide technology into "kinds". But, I happen to think Ted's theory is worth repeating. He breaks down technology into two functional categories: tools which can be used independently and those which are dependent on other tools to be used, requiring an ever more complex system to be sustained.
8. "my hands feel heavy"
A New Year's Post
In recognition of the dawn of 2009, I have prepared the a year-end list. I am calling it "The Most Important Ideological Questions of 2008."
Unlike The Wire magazine's top 50 albums of 2008 list and Time magazine's list of Fond Farewells 2008, it is not a very practical list. This is because (1) it has only one entry, and (2) it is likely to exist in the same form at the end of 2009 (as it has for 2007 and 2006). Nevertheless and without further ado:
THE MOST IMPORTANT IDEOLOGICAL QUESTIONS OF 2008:
1. Is the world getting better and better or is the world getting worse and worse?*
I suggest that your answer to this very basic question will determine a great deal of your politics and your religion. It will certainly determine your response to the many technological developments in which we are awash.
Greg Ash is a friend from church and a graphic designer. I contributed an essay to the latest installment of the monthly digital magazine he puts out.
You can download it here.
My essay is basically a review and reflection on a recent NY Times editorial by Kevin Kelly, an influential technological-cultural theorist and writer whose name and thoughts have regularly appeared on the pages of this blog. His NYT piece (which I would recommend reading) basically claims that the written word (as located in "the book") is in the process of being replaced by the image (as located on "the screen"). This is a thesis which comes across as either techno-centrically pretentious or really obvious, depending on how you look at it.
Though it undergirds the whole essay, The Most Important Ideological Question of 2008 waits patiently for 800 words to make a cameo appearance in the concluding sentences.
*Granted: If we're looking to get basic, the question "(What) Will I eat today?" is a more influential question in determining ideology. But I have chosen to confine my list to a more abstract or rational kind of questioning.
Unlike The Wire magazine's top 50 albums of 2008 list and Time magazine's list of Fond Farewells 2008, it is not a very practical list. This is because (1) it has only one entry, and (2) it is likely to exist in the same form at the end of 2009 (as it has for 2007 and 2006). Nevertheless and without further ado:
THE MOST IMPORTANT IDEOLOGICAL QUESTIONS OF 2008:
1. Is the world getting better and better or is the world getting worse and worse?*
I suggest that your answer to this very basic question will determine a great deal of your politics and your religion. It will certainly determine your response to the many technological developments in which we are awash.
Greg Ash is a friend from church and a graphic designer. I contributed an essay to the latest installment of the monthly digital magazine he puts out.
You can download it here.
My essay is basically a review and reflection on a recent NY Times editorial by Kevin Kelly, an influential technological-cultural theorist and writer whose name and thoughts have regularly appeared on the pages of this blog. His NYT piece (which I would recommend reading) basically claims that the written word (as located in "the book") is in the process of being replaced by the image (as located on "the screen"). This is a thesis which comes across as either techno-centrically pretentious or really obvious, depending on how you look at it.
Though it undergirds the whole essay, The Most Important Ideological Question of 2008 waits patiently for 800 words to make a cameo appearance in the concluding sentences.
*Granted: If we're looking to get basic, the question "(What) Will I eat today?" is a more influential question in determining ideology. But I have chosen to confine my list to a more abstract or rational kind of questioning.
Ode to SEATAC
Welcome Tim. (List view). Click here to filter results immediately. Show me my recent searches. Show me the WorldPerks. Switch off the personal devices. 1-L, 1-R. It’s already time for the crosschecking of doors.
Twelve minutes spent quietly bonding with my fellow patrons over a mild sense of anticipatory restlessness. Cellular conversations occur, some affectionate, some curt. When the logjam starts moving, when it is my turn to shuffle out into the aisle, I will be courteous yet assertive. We will see if I am able to quickly spot and gracefully free my carry-on from the overhead bin.
A brief rush of cold air and a narrow glimpse of the night, it’s a blast of dry warmth that greets me. Two otherwise unaffected faces with matching pairs of collared white shirts, short sleeve burgundy v-necks and navy blue dickies are rendered enigmatic, draped in long shadows by overhead lighting installed just a foot or two above. These two are standing out of the way, hands idly wrapped around the vertical, perpetually oily stainless bar of respective horizontally collapsed wheelchairs. The dress code has apparently placed one’s choice of shoes at liberty (within the inevitable confines of appropriateness): Loafers here; there, two permanently creased mesh, leather and dingy, flamboyantly sculpted foam chariots resting flatly, patiently on the unforgiving dense spring of worn blue-gray industrial carpet.
No windows in this dim tunnel, just shadowy accordion walls on the side, those lights overhead, and an unhurried jean and fleece-clad (cat enthusiast?) steady walker immediately in front. Stepping into a bright cavernous echo chamber of white noise and indoor public place white smell, stepping between streams of light evening foot traffic, I have just now received my final sincere service smile of the day, supplemented perhaps with the uplift of a shift about to end.
At the rubber-bounded conclusion of carpeting, I am re-introduced to the solid squeak of linoleum laid over cement. Left or right? There is no need to consult internationally legible signage when the business casual advance team has already begun to confidently stride towards the promise of baggage. I catch a pungent buttery whiff of Auntie Anne’s.
Twelve minutes spent quietly bonding with my fellow patrons over a mild sense of anticipatory restlessness. Cellular conversations occur, some affectionate, some curt. When the logjam starts moving, when it is my turn to shuffle out into the aisle, I will be courteous yet assertive. We will see if I am able to quickly spot and gracefully free my carry-on from the overhead bin.
A brief rush of cold air and a narrow glimpse of the night, it’s a blast of dry warmth that greets me. Two otherwise unaffected faces with matching pairs of collared white shirts, short sleeve burgundy v-necks and navy blue dickies are rendered enigmatic, draped in long shadows by overhead lighting installed just a foot or two above. These two are standing out of the way, hands idly wrapped around the vertical, perpetually oily stainless bar of respective horizontally collapsed wheelchairs. The dress code has apparently placed one’s choice of shoes at liberty (within the inevitable confines of appropriateness): Loafers here; there, two permanently creased mesh, leather and dingy, flamboyantly sculpted foam chariots resting flatly, patiently on the unforgiving dense spring of worn blue-gray industrial carpet.
No windows in this dim tunnel, just shadowy accordion walls on the side, those lights overhead, and an unhurried jean and fleece-clad (cat enthusiast?) steady walker immediately in front. Stepping into a bright cavernous echo chamber of white noise and indoor public place white smell, stepping between streams of light evening foot traffic, I have just now received my final sincere service smile of the day, supplemented perhaps with the uplift of a shift about to end.
At the rubber-bounded conclusion of carpeting, I am re-introduced to the solid squeak of linoleum laid over cement. Left or right? There is no need to consult internationally legible signage when the business casual advance team has already begun to confidently stride towards the promise of baggage. I catch a pungent buttery whiff of Auntie Anne’s.
No discount to be found when paying the ultimate price
VALLEY STREAM, NY—Until now, late November's violence and upheaval had been confined to south and southeast Asia. This morning the terror touches down on American soil, as horrific eyewitness accounts begin to trickle in from the idyllically-named Long Island suburb:
"They took the doors off the hinges..."
"He was trampled and killed in front of me."
"They're savages..."
"They took me down too...I literally had to fight people off my back."
"There's nothing we can do. The baby is gone."
"They took the doors off the hinges..."
"He was trampled and killed in front of me."
"They're savages..."
"They took me down too...I literally had to fight people off my back."
"There's nothing we can do. The baby is gone."
“ ”
Werner Herzog says:
"People thought films could cause revolutions or whatever. And it does not. But films might change our perspective of things and ultimately in the long term it may be something valuable. But there is a lot of absurdity involved as well. As you see, it makes me into a clown. And that happens to everyone. Just look at Orson Welles or look at even people like Truffat: They have become clowns... It's because what we do as filmmakers is immaterial. It's only a projection of light. And doing that all your life makes you just a clown. And it's an almost inevitable process... It's illusionist's work and it's just embarrassing to be a filmmaker. To sit here like this... I mean, thank heaven's I don't sit here for my own films. I am sitting here for a film that was made by a friend of mine."
"People thought films could cause revolutions or whatever. And it does not. But films might change our perspective of things and ultimately in the long term it may be something valuable. But there is a lot of absurdity involved as well. As you see, it makes me into a clown. And that happens to everyone. Just look at Orson Welles or look at even people like Truffat: They have become clowns... It's because what we do as filmmakers is immaterial. It's only a projection of light. And doing that all your life makes you just a clown. And it's an almost inevitable process... It's illusionist's work and it's just embarrassing to be a filmmaker. To sit here like this... I mean, thank heaven's I don't sit here for my own films. I am sitting here for a film that was made by a friend of mine."
A smoking gun or a mushroom cloud
Bill Moyers has provided some thoughtful and sobering reflections on the six year anniversary of our nation's ramp up to the invasion of Iraq.
Historical Philadelphia
Can't seem to get enough of this online database of historical Philadelphia photos, which is searchable by address, date and neighborhood.
History being what it has been, reality being what it is
This morning I woke up to a pointed exchange between Iranian president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and NPR correspondent Steve Inskeep. I would recommend reading the whole thing.
Ahmadinejad is a sharp interviewee and he successfully reframes Steve Inskeep's gently-attempted gotcha questions into a very important, much larger conversation about national sovereignty, the history of U.S. interests in Iran and the Middle East, and who gets to be the Grand Inquisitor in the Court of Global Affairs.
All the layers of "the Iran Problem" remind me that editing is one of the most crucial, dangerous and unavoidable steps in the process of understanding truth about any person, place or thing. At least until we human beings are able to achieve omnipresence.
Update: Required reading on the infamous comment regarding the wiping of Israel
Ahmadinejad is a sharp interviewee and he successfully reframes Steve Inskeep's gently-attempted gotcha questions into a very important, much larger conversation about national sovereignty, the history of U.S. interests in Iran and the Middle East, and who gets to be the Grand Inquisitor in the Court of Global Affairs.
All the layers of "the Iran Problem" remind me that editing is one of the most crucial, dangerous and unavoidable steps in the process of understanding truth about any person, place or thing. At least until we human beings are able to achieve omnipresence.
Update: Required reading on the infamous comment regarding the wiping of Israel
Trip-Tych-Bo
I came across a book written by a new age sage calling himself Bo Lozoff. The pages seemed saturated with the dissolute ramblings of a rather cheap mysticism. Fortunately, Lozoff had apparently retained a great deal of his wit and sense of absurdity, as evidenced by the many pen and ink illustrations peppering the pages of his book. Here are three of my favorites, which I have now brought to you with the help of a scanner.
Conspiracy to incite free assembly
Apologies for another rant, but the current rash of overzealous law enforcement is really getting my goat.
Apparently it is neither out of the ordinary nor newsworthy for a cocktail of Federal and local law enforcement agents to raid some innocuous little house of political/cultural dissidents without having any sort of legal justification.
Well, this month it's more of the same Fourth Amendment mockery in Minneapolis (Again, credit to Glen Greenwald for his ongoing, blow-by-blow analysis): Several houses in the region of the Minnesota Republican National Convention meeting were raided by police and FBI. Computers, planners, notebooks, propaganda, etc. were seized with, again, only building code violations produced and various tantalizing instruments of potential crime. But wait, there's a surprise plot twist in this case: Unlike in Philadelphia, the police and FBI had actually gone to the trouble of acquiring a warrant this time around. So while nothing illegal had taken place and no actual evidence of wrongdoing has yet come to light the police had invoked a previously unused Minnesota statute to search these houses and take stuff in order to pre-empt a "conspiracy to incite a riot."
So were these angry youngsters planning a state coup? A terrorist bombing of the convention center? A riot? Perhaps they were. After all, these days any group of people assembling in public without first acquiring the permission of the state authorities (or outside of the designated "free-speech zone") is technically "rioting".
But if past experiences are any indication, we can deduce the probable outcome of these groups' alleged conspiracies: A lot of people making their voice heard, a few of them willing to break the law. Over the passing of hours, a medium size march dwindling down to a minority of angry kids with bandanas on their faces, who decide not to disperse in the face of repeated threats of arrest for disturbing the evening commute (that most sacred of events) and perhaps even going so far as to break a window of a nearby department store. Eventually the kids are backed into a corner, surrounded by 5-10 times as many riot-gear-clad police armed with rubber bullets and tear gas and efficiently, anti-climatically loaded onto a series of paddy wagons.
The icing on the cake here is that no one really cares at all. Why? Because a certain pseudo-militant-cynical-smelly-activist-Debbie-Downer archetype called to mind by any act of public protest has long since been alienated from the empathy of "average Americans". Conservatives feel deeply resentful of this ungrateful prick (holding up a sign and shouting about politics being several notches above 'not wearing a flag pin' on the Anti-American-O-Meter) and registered Democrats keep an embarrassed distance.
However, while we're all free to pass judgment on the questionable tactics or dubious morals of certain protesters, it's crucially important to provide the opportunity to exercise free speech and free assembly to everyone and then only those who actually break the law should have to expect arrest. I guess I am in favor of that old, out-dated system where you couldn't get arrested until you actually did something wrong.
Apparently it is neither out of the ordinary nor newsworthy for a cocktail of Federal and local law enforcement agents to raid some innocuous little house of political/cultural dissidents without having any sort of legal justification.
Well, this month it's more of the same Fourth Amendment mockery in Minneapolis (Again, credit to Glen Greenwald for his ongoing, blow-by-blow analysis): Several houses in the region of the Minnesota Republican National Convention meeting were raided by police and FBI. Computers, planners, notebooks, propaganda, etc. were seized with, again, only building code violations produced and various tantalizing instruments of potential crime. But wait, there's a surprise plot twist in this case: Unlike in Philadelphia, the police and FBI had actually gone to the trouble of acquiring a warrant this time around. So while nothing illegal had taken place and no actual evidence of wrongdoing has yet come to light the police had invoked a previously unused Minnesota statute to search these houses and take stuff in order to pre-empt a "conspiracy to incite a riot."
So were these angry youngsters planning a state coup? A terrorist bombing of the convention center? A riot? Perhaps they were. After all, these days any group of people assembling in public without first acquiring the permission of the state authorities (or outside of the designated "free-speech zone") is technically "rioting".
But if past experiences are any indication, we can deduce the probable outcome of these groups' alleged conspiracies: A lot of people making their voice heard, a few of them willing to break the law. Over the passing of hours, a medium size march dwindling down to a minority of angry kids with bandanas on their faces, who decide not to disperse in the face of repeated threats of arrest for disturbing the evening commute (that most sacred of events) and perhaps even going so far as to break a window of a nearby department store. Eventually the kids are backed into a corner, surrounded by 5-10 times as many riot-gear-clad police armed with rubber bullets and tear gas and efficiently, anti-climatically loaded onto a series of paddy wagons.
The icing on the cake here is that no one really cares at all. Why? Because a certain pseudo-militant-cynical-smelly-activist-Debbie-Downer archetype called to mind by any act of public protest has long since been alienated from the empathy of "average Americans". Conservatives feel deeply resentful of this ungrateful prick (holding up a sign and shouting about politics being several notches above 'not wearing a flag pin' on the Anti-American-O-Meter) and registered Democrats keep an embarrassed distance.
However, while we're all free to pass judgment on the questionable tactics or dubious morals of certain protesters, it's crucially important to provide the opportunity to exercise free speech and free assembly to everyone and then only those who actually break the law should have to expect arrest. I guess I am in favor of that old, out-dated system where you couldn't get arrested until you actually did something wrong.
The One
This just in: Biblical scholars in Colorado Springs argue that presidential candidate John McCain exhibits telltale characteristics of the Antichrist. Read more here.
This is next
--
Oh, you Axis!
You dark prince!
Wielding your scimitar, bloodthirsty.
Castle of Pure Evil:
Shimmering, oriental palace;
Standing in sharp, foreboding profile on the horizon of the American public discourse.
--
This article presents a fairly well-documented genealogy of a key brick in the ideological bridge that would link Saddam Hussein with "Al Qaeda" in 2001.
Both capitalism and democracy are premised upon the "well-informed consumer," who will make the best self-interested decision based on that knowledge. But in our information-based economy, hidden-fee cell phone pricing plans and insidiously suggestive but unfounded front page news stories both seriously threaten the integrity of each system, respectively.
What satisfies me about this article is the same thing that satisfies me about reading Noam Chomsky and Paul Farmer re-trace American foreign policy Haiti: It is the incomparable pleasure of The Instant Replay. The semi-processed "data" that shapes public opinion is incredibly fluid--it zips by at a hundred miles per hour in a constant fluctuating feed of small information parcels. The Feed is not physical but spiritual, never complete but always coming into being (constantly reshaped based on its reception and consequences). Who among us mortals can possibly keep track of what was said, who said it, what happened as a result, much less whether or not it was true?
Thus, as an information consumer, I am always surprised by and grateful to anyone who has the resources and tenacity to exhume, reassemble and re-present an "information play" in slow motion, that it might be processed in a way that can yield understanding.
Independence day
I.
This dramatic, distinctly concise epitaph could be the launch pad for a thousand reveries, depending on the nature of your mental trade winds. On this day (our nation-state's glorious birthday), I would like to leave you, dear reader, with just a few reflections. The first three fall into the category of "The Impossibly Ironic (But Inevitable?) Oxymorons of Institutional Aging":
1. That a state conceived by anti-imperial revolutionary fervor could in such a short period of time grow into the largest and most complete global empire the world has ever known, thus becoming the de facto arch nemesis of any contemporary sons of any revolution opposed to the current, global capitalist order (in which 86% of the world's goods are consumed by 20% of the world's population).
2. That a state birthed by an intensely politically engaged populace (e.g. ready to shoot, ready to die, ready to identify themselves primarily with the life or death of their local community) could in 200 years so completely become transformed into a disaffected, disengaged crowd of virtual spectators (e.g. ready to watch the TV, ready to make fun of the President, simultaneously ready to benefit from the perpetuation of the current order).
3. That a state birthed from not only from a radical political revolution but from a very violent political revolution could evolve into a state of people generally in denial about the violence of the world, distant from even the possibility of either killing or dying for their beliefs, taught to instinctively disregard any person or social movement that uses violence to achieve its ends (other than America, of course) as shocking and inherently illegitimate. (To me, this doctrine seems to be an echo of nonviolent strategy, twisted out of shape, co-opted and bent back onto itself to reinforce a detached passivity.)
4. The truly shocking, pervasive association of any disturbance (creative or not, violent or not, just or not, in line with the constitution or not) with the recently invented monolithic meme known as "Terror" (e.g. “Domestic terrorism”--esp. “Eco-Terror”, Human rights activists as terrorists, Peaceable assembly as terrorism; also, see China tear a page out of the American propaganda rule book, referring to the Dalai Lama as a terrorist).
II.
The Organizational Kid is good at finding practical, productive ways to integrate all his energies into the existing order. But he is not very good at getting any larger perspective on the good-ness or evil-ness of the existing order.
Granted, the American kid of my generation is working with some pretty mixed messages. Namely:
“Rebel! Conformists are boring and un-sexy.”
“Conform! Get real. Cynicism and resistance are downers (and futile, to boot).”
The most obvious way to synthesize this contradiction—especially when the second claim holds more ultimate, authoritative weight in society—is to conform with the substance of one's life while preserving one or two symbolic holdouts of cultural rebellion, perhaps in the realm of accessorization or media consumption.
These days I am also learning about another, equally comforting way to resolve such cognitive dissonance: To oscillate back and forth, to weigh endlessly, to “not take a stance." The social pressure to withhold judgment, masquerading as a value for intellectual humility, is in fact a very effective way for cultural conformity to insinuate itself. For example, to harbor a vague sense of disapproval about the Iraq war (“What a messy conflict. I wouldn’t want to hold one of those big guns. Women and children are dying. Plus, I don’t like dusty places.” Or “What are we even over there for?”—the confused question, not the rhetorical one) without real or actual commitment to that disapproval, while enjoying the benefits of imperial dominance every day, is one such remarkable feat of incoherent resolution.
Beyond this, there is of course the social pressure to not act on a defined position even once it has been reached (“Don’t be one of those extremists.”). A moderately acceptable path might perhaps be to teach about your radical position from within the academy. Or blog about it.
But to quote Howard Zinn: You can’t stay neutral on a moving train.
I wish that I could be extricated quicker, more completely, with more objectivity, from the numbing, paralyzing body cast of illusory neutrality.
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