LOOKIN' FER SOME INSPIRATION

In these increasingly brief moments of relative stillness, when the hard edge of the frantic, input-overloaded, aimlessly spasmodic lurch-fest of 21st Century consumer existence is temporarily blunted, I at least try to find some wordy inspiration within the pages of a good book. This week I'm re-reading The Grapes of Wrath -- it feels almost like a "prequel" to what's to be, when Cheney's jackboot utopia is finally established beyond doubt.

OK, well. Perhaps another work of literature is required. Tom Robbins' Still Life With Woodpecker maybe, or even some 30-year old back issue of Mad Magazine.

***

Monkey Man's executive order from last week, wherein the First and Fifth Amendments to the US Constitution were effectively eviscerated with one fell swoop of his turd-shaped pen, for some reason sent me scurrying toward my dog-eared copy of William L. Shirer's Rise and Fall of the Third Reich. Jeeze, talk about pumping too much hot air into one's already dangerously distended psychic innertube -- it very nearly qualifies as criminal self-abuse. Shirer explicates, in no uncertain terms, what always seems to happen to nations when hubris and/or psychosis becomes the animative principle of policy; if nothing else, his monumental history of Nazi Germany serves more than admirably as a cautionary inspiration, if you know what I mean, rather than as (one would hope) an inevitable blueprint of what we have to look forward to.

Speaking of Shirer: I highly recommend his almost-but-not-quite so well known work, The Collapse of the Third Republic. Read about the outrageous machinations of the hard core of defeatist collaborators -- Laval, Petain, Weygand, and others -- who single-handedly destroyed what remained of constitutional government in France, in the disastrous backwash of a lost war; for some reason, it always reminds me of a certain "opposition" political party in the United States, here in the sad Neo-Con era. Vichy Democrats, indeed.

Then again, logic and common sense would tend to indicate that larger, transcendent themes are much more the order of the day -- hard to imagine even attempting to superimpose some wider, encompassing perspective over the utterly trashy and base circumstantial footing of Bushworld, if one spends every waking moment wallowing in all of the filth and putridity. During these sober moments, when the essential futility of all human activities and aspirations is nothing but blatantly apparent, I usually reach for something like Nine-Headed Dragon River, by (in my opinion) the greatest living literary figure in America today, Peter Matthiessen. It's next to impossible to view the obscene foibles and criminal follies of the Neo-Cons -- and our constant knee-jerk reactions to them as well -- in quite the same way after reading passages like this:

I lower my gaze from the snow peaks to the glistening thorns, the snow patches, the lichens. Though I am blind to it, the Truth is near, in the reality of what I sit on -- rocks. These hard rocks instruct my bones in what my brain could never grasp in the Heart Sutra, that "form is emptiness, and emptiness is form" -- the Void, the emptiness of blue-black space, contained in everything. Sometimes when I meditate, the big rocks dance.

The secret of the mountains is that the mountains simply exist, as I do myself: the mountains exist simply, which I do not. The mountains have no "meaning," they are meaning; the mountains are. The sun is round. I ring with life, and the mountains ring, and when I can hear it, there is a ringing that we share. I understand all this, not in my mind but in my heart, knowing how meaningless it is to try to capture what cannot be expressed, knowing that mere words will remain when I read it all again, another day.

If only I could write so well, and apprehend the true nature of things to such a depth ... sort of makes the whole silly business of blogging seem, well, rather shallow and empty in comparison. No kidding, I hear somebody muttering.

***

LATER: I was going to interminably continue with this, but within the understandable yearning for inspiration -- literary-based or otherwise -- the above quote from Matthiessen seems to have inspired me just enough to want to shitcan this waste of a blog, once and for all, and do something authentic instead.

Hmmm ... food for thought, I guess.

HOW COME NOBODY'S TALKING ABOUT THIS?

Bush signs another executive order (heard of this from Mike Malloy):

Executive Order: Blocking Property of Certain Persons Who Threaten Stabilization Efforts in Iraq

By the authority vested in me as President by the Constitution and the laws of the United States of America, including the International Emergency Economic Powers Act, as amended (50 U.S.C. 1701 et seq.)(IEEPA), the National Emergencies Act (50 U.S.C. 1601 et seq.)(NEA), and section 301 of title 3, United States Code,

I, GEORGE W. BUSH, President of the United States of America, find that, due to the unusual and extraordinary threat to the national security and foreign policy of the United States posed by acts of violence threatening the peace and stability of Iraq and undermining efforts to promote economic reconstruction and political reform in Iraq and to provide humanitarian assistance to the Iraqi people, it is in the interests of the United States to take additional steps with respect to the national emergency declared in Executive Order 13303 of May 22, 2003, and expanded in Executive Order 13315 of August 28, 2003, and relied upon for additional steps taken in Executive Order 13350 of July 29, 2004, and Executive Order 13364 of November 29, 2004. I hereby order:

Section 1. (a) Except to the extent provided in section 203(b)(1), (3), and (4) of IEEPA (50 U.S.C. 1702(b)(1), (3), and (4)), or in regulations, orders, directives, or licenses that may be issued pursuant to this order, and notwithstanding any contract entered into or any license or permit granted prior to the date of this order, all property and interests in property of the following persons, that are in the United States, that hereafter come within the United States, or that are or hereafter come within the possession or control of United States persons, are blocked and may not be transferred, paid, exported,

withdrawn, or otherwise dealt in: any person determined by the Secretary of the Treasury, in consultation with the Secretary of State and the Secretary of Defense,

(i) to have committed, or to pose a significant risk of committing, an act or acts of violence that have the purpose or effect of:

(A) threatening the peace or stability of Iraq or the Government of Iraq; or

(B) undermining efforts to promote economic reconstruction and political reform in Iraq or to provide humanitarian assistance to the Iraqi people;

(ii) to have materially assisted, sponsored, or provided financial, material, logistical, or technical support for, or goods or services in support of, such an act or acts of violence or any person whose property and interests in property are blocked pursuant to this order; or

(iii) to be owned or controlled by, or to have acted or purported to act for or on behalf of, directly or indirectly, any person whose property and interests in property are blocked pursuant to this order.

(b) The prohibitions in subsection (a) of this section include, but are not limited to, (i) the making of any contribution or provision of funds, goods, or services by, to, or for the benefit of any person whose property and interests in property are blocked pursuant to this order, and (ii) the

receipt of any contribution or provision of funds, goods, or services from any such person.

Sec. 2. (a) Any transaction by a United States person or within the United States that evades or avoids, has the purpose

of evading or avoiding, or attempts to violate any of the prohibitions set forth in this order is prohibited.

(b) Any conspiracy formed to violate any of the prohibitions set forth in this order is prohibited.

Sec. 3. For purposes of this order:

(a) the term "person" means an individual or entity;

(b) the term "entity" means a partnership, association, trust, joint venture, corporation, group, subgroup, or other organization; and

(c) the term "United States person" means any United States citizen, permanent resident alien, entity organized under the laws of the United States or any jurisdiction within the United States (including foreign branches), or any person in the United States.

Sec. 4. I hereby determine that the making of donations of the type specified in section 203(b)(2) of IEEPA (50 U.S.C. 1702(b)(2)) by, to, or for the benefit of, any person whose property and interests in property are blocked pursuant to this order would seriously impair my ability to deal with the national emergency declared in Executive Order 13303 and expanded in Executive Order 13315, and I hereby prohibit such donations as provided by section 1 of this order.

Sec. 5. For those persons whose property and interests in property are blocked pursuant to this order who might have a constitutional presence in the United States, I find that, because of the ability to transfer funds or other assets

instantaneously, prior notice to such persons of measures to be taken pursuant to this order would render these measures ineffectual. I therefore determine that for these measures to be effective in addressing the national emergency declared in Executive Order 13303 and expanded in Executive Order 13315, there need be no prior notice of a listing or determination made pursuant to section 1(a) of this order.

Sec. 6. The Secretary of the Treasury, in consultation with the Secretary of State and the Secretary of Defense, is hereby authorized to take such actions, including the promulgation of rules and regulations, and to employ all powers granted to the President by IEEPA as may be necessary to carry out the purposes of this order. The Secretary of the Treasury may redelegate any of these functions to other officers and agencies of the United States Government, consistent with applicable law. All agencies of the United States Government are hereby directed to take all appropriate measures within their authority to carry out the provisions of this order and, where appropriate, to advise the Secretary of the Treasury in a timely manner of the measures taken.

Sec. 7. Nothing in this order is intended to affect the continued effectiveness of any rules, regulations, orders, licenses, or other forms of administrative action issued, taken, or continued in effect heretofore or hereafter under 31 C.F.R. chapter V, except as expressly terminated, modified, or suspended by or pursuant to this order.

Sec. 8. This order is not intended to, and does not, create any right, benefit, or privilege, substantive or procedural, enforceable at law or in equity by any party against the United States, its departments, agencies, instrumentalities, or entities, its officers or employees, or any other person.

GEORGE W. BUSH

THE WHITE HOUSE,

July 17, 2007.

Does anybody have a comment? Anybody?

NEED A NEW GIG -- A GENERIC JOB APPLICATION

Everybody could use a change now and again -- a change of scenery, a change in employment, a change of clothes; a new vice for an old one, a new opportunity for a stale dead one. You all get the picture, surely.

I certainly don't need any new bad habits, however, since those I have at present are sufficiently ridiculous and debilitating to last a lifetime or two. Don't need a new wardrobe either, or a car, or some such ephemeral consumerist pacifier.

What I seem to be in need of most is merely a radical, fundamental alteration of the vocational realm. In other words, a new job, a job that has a discernible depth of meaning, one that has a true public purpose, preferably something that serves the needs of the citizenry at large; or, failing that, at least a position from which to snipe, snarl, and snarkify at the entrenched criminal dinosaurs who've managed to transform this country into -- whatever the hell it's become.

So, if anyone has any (reasonably polite) suggestions for a disaffected bastard searching for something meaningful within the filled-to-overflowing and rapidly collapsing septic tank of the dollar economy, who's toiled at just about every conceivable crap job from punching keys on a cash register to fighting fire, from soil engineering and cartooning and cabinetmaking to being a full-time student, and back again -- I'm all ears. I can play the bass guitar a little, and I have a pretty good working knowledge of computer-based audio recording; modern-day political culture makes me both infuriated and sick to my stomach; and I like beer, for whatever that's worth. Like I said, if anybody has any ideas ...

Yes, well. Please excuse this sickeningly self-indulgent flapdoodle. We'll return to the regularly scheduled program of vomitus bile soon enough.

I am serious about the job thing, by the way.





UPDATE: Really, people. If you're seriously looking for employment information with the state of California (good luck), please go here. For crying out loud.

MISCELLANEOUS THINGS TO CONSIDER WHILE WAITING TO BE CHERTOFFED

Just guzzling coffee and staring out the window, mildly considering the where and when and how we’re all to be Chertoffed this summer -- or is that Santorumed? Perhaps being “Cheneyed” is a more apt descriptor. Whatever.

***

Sometimes I can’t help but wonder: which is stronger, stupidity or fear? Ignorant dumbness must be, given that nobody I associate with seems particularly fearful about anything, really; on the other hand, the great majority is about as swift on the uptake as a sack full of claw-hammers. I suspect there’s some sort of connection here.

***

Congress passed a “defense” authorization bill that requires a withdrawal (of sorts) from Iraq, to commence in -- what -- a few months or so. I’ve always had a soft and fuzzy spot for Vaudeville, especially when it involves “elected representatives,” political apparatchiks, and thuggish goons lusting over dictatorial power. However, one of the problems with such cheap theater, as is the case with popular entertainment generally, is that the ending is, always, invariably the same -- in this case, Chimpy vetoes another feeble, largely symbolic non-check on his death-cult ambitions, his media enablers crank up the noise machine and brand TRAITOR on the seamed forehead of every Democratic “lawmaker,” and the Dems in turn bleat like goats with their gonads caught in a barbed-wire fence before they cave completely. Happens every time, it seems.

***

Is it just my imagination, or is the appalling, insufferable, overbearing, crap-vinyl-bound, bully-boy bullshit practiced by midlevel supervisor/managers -- ambitious mediocrities and sycophantic reamers promoted out of the grimy swill-pit of lowly wage monkeys, for the most part -- usually spewed forth in direct proportion to the pointlessness and/or uselessness of the work at hand? (If this comes uncomfortably close to a confession of the derelict nature of my “professional” life, I apologize.)

***

It could be worse -- I could be in the military, which is no place for thinking people these days. When I was an enlisted Air Force nobody back in the late 1980’s, I and my firefighting compatriots never could’ve imagined being stuffed into a bottomless sausage machine like Iraq, or becoming lost and abandoned in the lunar deathscape of Afghanistan; daily existence was trying enough, after a fashion, particularly in Germany, where the mostly fictional “Soviet threat” was hung around our necks like a dead pigeon on a string made from entrails and bad intentions. Within the framework of USAFE (United States Air Forces in Europe), we chuckleheads were burdened by quarterly “Operational Readiness Inspections,” periodic NATO exercises, endless fire training, far too much alcohol consumption, and an anemically weak US dollar against the West German Mark. To be perfectly honest, it was a semi-artificial, faux-military experience at best, particularly when compared to today: endless deployments, compelled participation in an ongoing war crime, Republican middle fingers, sudden violent death ... We had Ronald Reagan, that noted doddering old fuck. Now they have -- holy crap -- Bush and Cheney.

***

Oh, well. It’s now mid-morning -- time for a drink. Bottoms up, people!

OUR GREAT SENATE IN ACTION

A snippet, a quick explication of mental illness; some of the serious business the illustrious United States Senate is bravely taking up this week (thanks to Crooks and Liars):

110th CONGRESS 1st Session

S. RES. 236

Supporting the goals and ideals of the National Anthem Project, which has worked to restore America's voice by re-teaching Americans to sing the national anthem.

IN THE SENATE OF THE UNITED STATES

June 14, 2007

Mr. BAYH (for himself, Mr. CRAIG, Mr. KENNEDY, Mr. HAGEL, Mr. CRAPO, Mr. NELSON of Nebraska, Mr. CARDIN, Mr. BYRD, Mr. DURBIN, Ms. SNOWE, Mr. ROBERTS, Mr. LOTT, Mr. COLEMAN, Mr. MENENDEZ, and Mr. AKAKA) submitted the following resolution; which was referred to the Committee on the Judiciary

---

RESOLUTION

Supporting the goals and ideals of the National Anthem Project, which has worked to restore America's voice by re-teaching Americans to sing the national anthem.

Whereas a Harris Interactive Survey discovered that of men and women 18 years of age and older, 61 percent of those surveyed did not know all the lyrics of the first stanza of the national anthem, and of those who answered the question affirmatively, 58 percent had received at least 5 years of music education while growing up;

Whereas an ABC News poll revealed that more than 1 in 3 Americans (38 percent) do not know that the official name of the national anthem is `The Star-Spangled Banner', less than 35 percent of American teenagers can name Francis Scott Key as the author of the national anthem, and as few as 15 percent of American youth can sing the words to the anthem from memory;

Whereas the national anthem, `The Star-Spangled Banner', holds a special place in the hearts and minds of the American people as a symbol of national unity, resolve, and willingness to sacrifice in order to preserve the Nation's sacred heritage of freedom;

Whereas the National Anthem Project has inspired the American people to have a greater appreciation of their patriotic musical heritage while learning American history;

Whereas music educators are the among the leading caretakers of this important piece of our Nation's heritage, in that many students learn the national anthem in music class;

Whereas our Nation's future is enhanced by the quality of the historic knowledge and awareness provided to children of all ages through learning about the national anthem, and that high-quality music education represents a worthy commitment to our children and our Nation's future; and

Whereas, the national anthem is the symbol of American ideals and freedom around the world: Now, therefore, be it

Resolved, That the Senate--

(1) supports the goals and ideals of the National Anthem Project;

(2) commends the American citizens who have participated in this project; and

(3) encourages the people of the United States to learn the national anthem, `The Star-Spangled Banner', and its proud history.

In the spirit of the previous post, I'll just add this: FUCK.

"WE ARE FUCKED!!" -- ALWAYS HAVE BEEN

Web-meandering in recent days brought me to a blog post that ended, in about as emphatically opaque a manner as possible, like this:

“We are FUCKED!!”

Now, it’d be tough to argue with such a statement, as we do seem to be teetering precariously over the Neo-Con abyss, blandly awaiting the last good shove that finally sends us over the edge. By any objective method of measurement -- the existential “fuckedometer” that some people carry around in their heads, perhaps -- we are, certainly, stuck in the dark hole of extremity, rapidly approaching a multi-forked constitutional crossroad where every choice of direction is fraught with unspecified dangers, perils, and pitfalls. Fucked, indeed.

I’ve spent the last couple of days chewing on this expression of despair (among others), this bald declaration of anger and frustration at our sheer inability to affect the fundamental course of things. While it’s impossible to gainsay, at least in any intellectually honest way, it nevertheless starts to stick in my mental craw the more I give brain space to it.

Yeah -- we’re fucked alright. But then, when were we ever not fucked? When was there ever a human being who was ever spared the extreme discomfort of getting stared down by the harsh exigencies of reality? Who’s never, sooner or later, had to come to terms with the absurd fictions of permanence, security, and immortality? Name one individual who’s managed to avoid being terminally flashed by the drool-dripping, scythe-wielding, pervert-in-a-raincoat otherwise known as the Grim Reaper? When were we ever not destined for dissolution in the boneyard or ash heap?

In this vein, substitute nations and/or societies for individual human beings, and it’s rather obvious where this is going.

Believe you me, it isn’t as if I’ve suddenly broken-out in a rash of equanimity as far as the dangerously amorphous condition of “representative democracy” is concerned. Hardly. In fact, I blither and dither and howl and rage, kick shit around and break things in half, and become nearly immobilized with stationary panic as much as ever. More than ever, probably. But now, after much time spent allowing the perfectly flat, nuance-free declamation We are FUCKED!! to re-arrange the cheap plastic cognitive furniture on my psychic patio, I’m compelled to tack on an addendum, a qualifier, of my own, which I’ve basically already mentioned: ...and we always HAVE been!

That’s the hard crux of the matter. We’ve always lived an agenda that wasn’t our own, we simpleton Americans. Silly people! Of course most Americans are lazy, intellectually hollow chumps, easily manipulated by misinformation, disinformation, and outright falsehoods -- we’ve always been so. As much as we’d like to believe otherwise, Bush and Cheney and the rest of the hard-core Neo-Con Sturmtruppen haven’t really concocted anything of particular originality in their warped and polluted vision of a corporatized America; their only true innovation has been to drop the age-old and outmoded pretense that there’s any such thing as a “democratic republic” on the continent of North America -- and, naturally, they possess the ambition and ruthlessness to re-model, whatever it is, over in their own sick image. They bring nothing new to the table, the table that’s weighted down with the overflowing minced-meat pie that used to known as the body politic. They’re just more than willing to start carving it up, is all.

So, yes: We are FUCKED!! Always have been.

MORNING-AFTER BEWILDERMENT

Plowing through the eerily deserted streets of Midtown Sacramento this morning, seeking solace in a cup of coffee and bitterly resentful that the weird emptiness is due to the fact that an inordinate number of people have the day off (and I don't), I noticed something rather strange. At least, stranger than the lack of traffic.

Anyone else notice this ...? Where are all the smoking piles of blown fireworks? Where's the burned detritus of garbage that symbolizes (what is commonly referred to as) the Freedom and Liberty which we know so well? Come to think of it, where was all the noise and clouds of barbecued Chinese gunpowder last night? It had to be the quietest, least stench-ridden Fourth of July on record, so far as I can recall.

I'm rather flummoxed, which comes as no surprise. It's almost possible to believe that a significant number of over-heated fellow Valley denizens actually had better things to do yesterday evening; that maybe their primitive nationalism, animated within the framework of unreflective "patriotism" and unquestioning obedience, is beginning to evaporate; that reason and common sense are finally starting to trump the overbearing, imperative qualities of the consumer culture; that the nitwits and flapdoodlers are, perhaps, coming out of their media/commerce-induced stupors ...

Is this really possible, or am I merely clutching at straws that don't exist?

ISN'T IT A PITY

Isn't it a pity
Now, isn't it a shame
How we break each other's hearts
And cause each other pain
How we take each other's love
Without thinking anymore
Forgetting to give back
Isn't it a pity

Some things take so long
But how do I explain
When not too many people
Can see we're all the same
And because of all their tears
Their eyes can't hope to see
The beauty that surrounds them
Isn't it a pity

Isn't it a pity
Isn't is a shame
How we break each other's hearts
And cause each other pain
How we take each other's love
Without thinking anymore
Forgetting to give back
Isn't it a pity

Forgetting to give back
Isn't it a pity
Forgetting to give back
Now, isn't it a pity


-- George Harrison, Isn't it a Pity

WHAT'S TO CELEBRATE, EH?

Nationalism is our form of incest, is our idolatry, is our insanity. “Patriotism” is its cult.

--Erich Fromm, The Sane Society


It’s that unfortunate time of year when the tired, depleted landscape inexplicably sprouts rickety plywood-and-chickenwire shacks, manned by religionist fanatics and/or vacuously stupid college students peddling cheesy Chinese-made engines of noise and stink. Somewhere within this cloying reek of commerce and greed -- generating a palpable funk of enthusiastic ignorance that nearly gives the smog a run for its money -- lies, in all its dilapidated and largely unexamined glory, some notion that this spasmodic convergence of ear-splitting explosions, a stench not unlike (I would imagine) that which turgidly wafts from Lucifer’s underpants, and the pathetic accumulation of dollars, has something to do with “independence” or “political democracy.” The complex relationship between these things is enough to completely defeat the cognitive abilities of most people. Including my own, such as they are.

By all means, let’s “celebrate” American Independence Day with as much of a gunpowder-flavored racket as possible, swilling and gluttonously stuffing our already over-fed selves into rapturous stupors, spitting out drunkenly fulsome odes and sow-bellied declarations of undying loyalty to a nation-state that never was. Let’s not stoop to reflect on the actual nature of the Cheneyist hellhole trying desperately to give birth to itself; let’s just pretend that the Founders and their high-falutin’ documents still mean anything, if they ever did. Whatever you do, though, don’t allow the multitudinous victims of American benevolence and idealism -- not to mention our love of peace, freedom, and democracy -- to inject a note of discordance into our raucous symphony of self-indulgent excess. Drink up -- it’s not that difficult to shut your eyes and ears to the horror of Iraqi children covered with white phosphorous, or Afghani wedding parties blown to pieces, or the death rattle of young GI’s puzzling over the circumstances that drove them towards such a fate. Come on, people, you ignore this shit all the time. Just enjoy yourselves!

I’ll tell you -- if I actually had a US flag, I’d “celebrate” by burning the fucking thing. But then, since it would likely be made in China, the extra poisonous fumes produced by the uranium-soaked thread and the lead-based paint, and all the other crap that was supposed to end up as dog food or toothpaste, would probably waste an untold number of loyal Americans downwind. I guess I’ll just get loaded instead.

ABOUT A HUNDRED POSTS TOO MANY

...This is, in all likelihood, not a controversial proposition. But then, I’m not on the receiving end of this sad waste of electro-chemical energy, so I don’t really know.

In any case, this is the 100th post of this infuriating joke of a crock of a multi-faceted chunk of virtualized toe-jam. Big fucking deal.

***

Now then.

Where were we? Oh yes: going nowhere in one hell of a god-awful hurry. Actually, I had something or other to say -- more shallow wisdoms and pithy worthlessness, certainly -- but I’ll be dipped headlong into a bucket of hogsnot and chimp-rot if I haven’t plum forgot what it was. Such laser-like intensity and sense of purpose have really made this blog what it is. I’m sure you all would agree.

“You all” -- that’s a good one. Hope springs eternal, don’t you know.

***

As the supreme court picks up steam, intent on doing its dingy and nefarious part to transport all us hapless wastoids to some dim, over-sized, over-surveiled version of an antebellum plantation; and as Cheney The Man-Sized Safe Man and his wind-up toy minions accelerate the process by which a deeply flawed, error-prone, violence-plagued, but nevertheless full-of-promise experiment in self-government is irreparably altered into ... whatever it is their stewed brain stems can conjure up, I’ve arrived at certain conclusions, or merely observations, or whatever.

Perhaps the only one that matters is that, for all intents and purposes, representative government -- however one might choose to define such a thing -- is as dead as stone. Or at least as dead as stone is reputed to be, which is pretty damn dead. In any event, there’s hardly any room for argument on this point. Cheney’s below-the-radar subversions, coupled to Bush’s programmed buffoonery and the “opposition” party’s astoundingly inept weakness, blatantly underscores the process by which the hollow shell of “self-rule” has been effectively hogtied, beat to a pulp, and (almost) smothered to death, as well as dishing up an ugly gray-washed preview of what the future could have in store. Of course, the body politic has been in critical condition for quite some time -- uncontrollably bleeding from the ears and rectum, splashing the antiquated life-support machinery with ever-diminishing supplies of various other sticky fluids and assorted viscera. The only new wrinkle in this sad tableau is that the Neo-Con cabal has its grimy hands on the plug, ready and oh-so eager to pull it.

And herein lies the hairy crux of the matter: maybe letting the helplessly diseased, near-cadaver officially expire is precisely what should happen. After all, employing artificial means to prolong the life of a terminal patient is never successful in the long run, as desirable as it is to entertain contrary expectations. I know, from personal experience. Dispensing with the medical metaphors (a difficult proposition, after having seen Sicko), it seems to boil down to two equally distasteful choices -- either bamboozle ourselves into believing that what is plainly happening to this country is, in fact, not happening, perpetuating for as long as possible the fictitious shadow-play of the “land of the free” and other such hyperbolic bullshit; or we accept the cruel reality of our precipitous situation, particularly when said reality is luridly glaring at us with its one dripping eyeball while simultaneously humping our collective leg and robbing us blind, preparing as thoroughly as possible for the radically-altered material circumstances awaiting us when, mercifully, the oily Bushist epoch comes to an end.

Ah, well -- more speculative gut-rot for everybody to wallow around in. I’ll tell you, though, that it’s a bit easier to at least try to accept the inevitability of what is to come, than to be completely immobilized by anger 24 fucking hours a day.

(Imagine -- it only took a hundred posts to rise to this level of advanced incomprehensibility. At least I finally found a use for that scanned East German 100-mark bill ...)

LOTS OF TALKING, NOT MUCH LISTENING (ANOTHER IN A LONG SERIES OF PATHETIC POSTS)

Everybody’s talking, nobody’s listening.

At least, that’s the feeling pressing down on my bloodshot brain these days. Doesn’t anyone else get that impression? A quick, random stroll through the blog-spew and web droppings out there seems to leave little doubt that everybody’s just shouting past everybody else. Our reactionary buttons are all being pushed by the same NSDAP-inspired madness machine, and the nearly uniform response sounds like an especially off-key choir of the damned, bleating and squawking in all directions, blazing new trails through the conceptual undergrowth of pitch and harmony. Everything sounds oddly similar, though -- a cantankerous caterwaul of modulated outrage and carefully channeled (and largely co-opted) anger; everyone barks out the same pissed-off tune, more or less, paying little attention to anybody else, and the world of humans continues to fly out of control regardless.

I don’t know about any of you all out there -- if there are any -- but it’s starting to bore the hell out of me.

Now, I’ve had a rather obvious attitude of blatant skepticism towards this blogging business from the very beginning. No shit some might say, in an inelegant ode to the readily apparent. Really, it’s true. Honestly: what sort of cheesehead truly believes that the huge wash of atomized opinioneering that is the “blogosphere” -- insipid, inane, and badly written as most of it is -- really means anything or has a measurable impact on the course of things? Is Cyborg Cheney, Mr. Man-Sized Safe himself, likely to experience something approximating an epiphany-driven conversion to the side of goodness and light, simply because a gaggle of infuriated bloggers bloviate over his egregious bullshit? Maybe Bush will impeach himself, if only we, the upright ones, complain about it enough.

Oh yes -- been down this road before. Many times, in fact. Still searching for a reason, still looking for the critical point of it all ... vainly, it would seem.

***

I attended a sneak preview of Sicko this past weekend, and the experience was a concrete illustration of the debilitated nature of society in general; the feeble, echoingly empty virtual world of the blogs is a reflection of this as well (which is, obviously, the only reason I’m bothering to bring this up). Anyway, Michael Moore definitely has a knack for filling up a movie theater, and this largely unadvertised early showing of his new film was no exception. Packed to the rafters, it was, with well-intentioned individuals thoroughly convinced of their righteousness and sense of purpose. And therein lies the bur-infested, hairball-wrapped rub: a big movie auditorium full of individuals, momentarily galvanized by an extremely well-made movie that covers an issue of overwhelming importance, to be sure, but still really only a dispersed and scattered mob; the unmistakably warm, liberally-minded atmosphere generated by the serendipitous gathering of hundreds of correct-thinking people popped like a flaccid balloon once the film was over and the lights came up. A brief flicker of time when our shared humanity seemed actually palpable, as much more than merely a nice amorphous theory, was over all too soon, leaving us all in our little self-contained individualities and going our own separate ways.

The strange phenomenon of the blogs strikes me in much the same way. Divided and compartmentalized, incidentally “united” over some issue or other, but nonetheless pushing and pulling in our own disparate fashions -- and largely irrelevant and ineffective as a consequence. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been much of a “joiner,” in any sense of the word (excepting the military, but that’s not quite the same thing), so I’m hardly advocating the submergence of individuality under an ill-defined rubric of “common cause” or any such similar bat-squeeze. Hell, if that was the sort of thing I had in mind -- a vision of lock-step automatons mouthing slogans of undying loyalty to the subhuman scum who’re toiling so diligently to turn everybody into dog food and rat bait -- then I’d be little better than the insecure mouth-breathers who pump out mountains of pious bullshit in praise of the power apparatus and its enslavement tendencies. However, that being said, there must be a way to harness the gobs of latent and dissipated energy inherent to this end of the blogosphere, aiming it like a monstrous virtual sledgehammer against the chains and shackles of our corporatist massas and their disinforming whores and shills, while simultaneously preserving the individuality of each weird and quirky snark-monger. There has to be way.

Well, if there is some way to do that, it’s certain that I won’t be the one to figure it out. As a matter of fact, somebody surely has figured it out already, which is precisely (or not so precisely) my whole point: we’re all running our mouths off so much, we’re not actually paying much attention to what anybody is really saying. *Sigh*

(“Snark-monger”? Clearly, I was thinking of myself when coining that term. My apologies.)

RAGE FATIGUE, #2

Still pissed; still encased in the wrought-iron rat trap of impotent fury; still stupefied by a debilitating rictus of extremely foul and ugly anger; still -- still -- overwhelmed by a sick, almost pleasurable desire to tear the living crap out of something, anything ... The quickly degenerating, adrenalized blur of an overly-energetic temper, exhausting and depressing as it is, is still obscenely tickling the reptilian sections of my unraveling brain sack, even as I mightily combat the nearly irresistible need to just take a nap for the next year and a half.

Oh well, at least the two praying hypocrisy-mongering dorks aren’t in my rapidly diminishing field of vision this morning, here at the groovy midtown coffeehouse. That’s something. Not much, but I’ll take what I can get.

***

Then along comes something like this, and the brief respite from destructive thoughts -- generated by the absence of the two religionist retards -- swiftly evaporates, not unlike campaign promises the day after an election. A headline from this morning’s Sacramento Bee:


Bush rejects secrecy limits

White House, like VP, says it’s exempt from oversight


Not that it’d serve any useful purpose, but let’s make at least a rudimentary attempt to understand this particular circle-jerk of hubris and misapplied ambition. Cheney the Cyborg isn’t subject to the rules regarding the handling of classified material because his office isn’t really a part of the executive branch; the Chimp now declares that the executive order he signed doesn’t actually apply to him, so the Congress, the Democrats, the American people, and the rest of the world’s population (outside of Albania) can all just go pound sand and fuck itself ... Umm, OK. Sounds about right. I suppose if they can establish that the executive branch of the Federal government isn’t, in real terms, a true branch of the government -- a secret, rogue agency, perhaps, responsible and answerable to no one -- maybe that’s an argument saying that they can’t be impeached or otherwise removed from office, under any circumstances ... Oh hell, I don’t know. I’m too tired and angry to figure out any of this crap.

Anyhow. I finagled a ticket to a sneak preview of Sicko tonight; maybe that’ll cheer me up. Ha Ha.

RAGE FATIGUE

Rage Fatigue ...

Infuriated exhaustion seems to be much in fashion these days, at least among the more “enlightened” and able-to-think sectors of the great bulk of the American mass. Rage Fatigue. Over-inflated anger; flaccid fury; dissipated distempers and enervated disapprobation ...

I suppose it’s the price that decent people are expected to pay, just for giving a shit. I wonder if it’s worth it.

***

Just when it appears that it can’t get any worse, when the reserves of energy and purpose are at their lowest ebb, when the congenitally-defective twins Hope & Optimism drop their pants and make fools out of us one time too many, when the two nitwits in the far corner of this funky midtown coffeehouse start praying (yeah, praying) so loudly you want to pound them over the head with the wobbling shillelagh of their own phony piety ...

Just when your Rage Fatigue finally induces the blessed relief of sheer numbness, along comes a rude reminder that mere escapism is not really an answer to anything. From Rediff News, via Guerilla News Network:


Get Your Ringside Seat to the upcoming financial implosion of the USA

The skew in the global financial system—commonly called ‘global imbalance’—seems to be fast spiraling out of control.

For some time now economists have been engaged in the mother of all debates: whether the U.S. dollar would collapse by as much as 40% when compared to other currencies (some are even betting on the U.S. dollar going belly-up) or whether there would be an orderly devaluation—that is, a gradual revaluation of other currencies vis-a-vis the U.S. dollar.

In effect, the question that is confronting us is not ‘whether’ but ‘when’ and by ‘how much?...


(Read the whole thing here)

It’s sort of the toxic glue that binds together such travesties as the end of Posse Comitatus and habeus corpus, Halliburton concentration camps, and The Chimp’s recent directives gathering dictatorial powers to himself in case of a “national emergency.” Rage fatigue, indeed.

A RELUCTANT (AND SLIGHTLY BUZZED) FATHER'S DAY POST

Thanks to The Prissy Patriot for providing a ridiculous drunk such as myself a picture-perfect image to so unashamedly swipe ... It actually induced me to order another beer, here in the wonderfully gloomy confines of this midtown Sacramento brewpub.

Happy trails, people!

UNTITLED POST, #95

Hot weather in the Sacramento Valley during the summer -- and, often, before and after -- is so boringly common as to be completely unworthy of mention. Like humidity in the South and twisters in the Midwest, the dry blast-furnace of overheated smog that this heavily populated geomorphological oddity becomes for upwards of half the year is dully prosaic and inescapable; like it or loathe it, this is what it is. The only way to avoid the hot, seething vulgarity of it all is to live somewhere else. It’s perfectly simple.

Why, then, do ambulatory vegetables who’ve spent their entire useless lives here, rarely displaying the requisite initiative to travel as far as, say, San Francisco or Tahoe perhaps, always complain in lock-step regularity when the weather turns the least bit unpleasant?

Appearances and expectations to the contrary, this isn’t merely one of those I Piss On All Suburban Blockheads sort of posts, although the ubiquitous contempt that is such a critically important component of my rather ragged weltanschauung always seems to be percolating just below the surface of things. Anyway, it’s a valid enough question, this completely bewildered bewailing of the modern American predilection for pathetically whining about the vast panoply of stuff you really can’t do anything about -- in this case, the past week’s minor heat wave. Of course, the pointless tendency to constantly reiterate the obvious dovetails nicely with the overflowing sump of desperately vital muck and goo that some so studiously avoid, or of which they live in bland ignorance: the ongoing debacle in Iraq (soon to be expanded to Iran and elsewhere), the slow lingering death of representative government in the US and its replacement with an iron-fisted Cheneyist dystopia, Guantanamo, election fraud, Gaza ... and on and on, ad nauseum.

Well, duh. Clearly there’s a direct relationship between what people choose to pay attention to, and what they stay away from. How original.

Among the assorted collection of mouth-breathers, sycophants, gold-diggers, pinheads, consumerist geeks, and miscellaneous fucksticks whose awfulness is general and undifferentiated -- specifically, the majority of people I’m forced to associate with at work -- a spell of hot weather provides the perfect opportunity to see who, of all these stellar examples of DNA gone horribly wrong, obediently spends the most time, blank-eyed and slack-jawed, in front of their electric tee-vees. Bidding their credulity a hearty goodbye, giving no quarter to their common sense or whatever amount of native intelligence they might theoretically possess, they dutifully absorb the disinformation and misinformation and hollow entertainments relentlessly cooked up in the fly-blown kitchens of the corporate media combine. Properly programmed, brains thoroughly pickled by the poisonous brine transmitted through their telescreens, they parrot the lines provided for them; in this particular instance, the well-groomed blowholes who tell them that it’s going to be a bit hotter than normal, for a few days. This less-than-startling information becomes the existential pivot around which their miserableness rotates, the locus of ennui that -- until it’s replaced by something else, in a day or two at most -- trumps all other cares and concerns. They make themselves feel as terrible as possible by worrying themselves into a frenzy over the inconsequential, as the rest of the world goes up in a puff of smoke. Pure madness.

Oh well. Just another manifestation of the collective unconsciousness, this adamant insistence by the majority to be as stupid as possible and to actively -- enthusiastically, even -- participate in their own intellectual impoverishment and, indeed, the elimination of their very capacity for critical discernment. What’s the answer to this dead-ended puzzle? One response (I would never refer to it as an “answer”) is to madly dribble out interminable blog posts that go absolutely nowhere in a hurry; another is to explode in self-righteous anger, whenever some idiot in an air-conditioned office whiningly complains about how hot it is outside, and issue an aggressive question like How fucking hot is it in Baghdad, you dumb asshole? I toss around queries like that all the time, and usually the only thing I get in return is a sometimes wild-eyed look of utter confusion, frequently tinged with a verdigris of fear. As much as I enjoy eliciting such reactions, I understand it offers no solution to anything, unfortunately.

OK -- everybody together now: *SIGH*

(By the way, for anybody who cares -- and why should you? -- today’s forecast for Sacramento: 89 degrees)

***

A FATHER’S DAY NON-SEQUITUR: My father hasn’t the time for such sentimental hogwash as a “holiday” inspired by greeting card companies; he’s nearly 77 years old, and is in Nevada playing golf. Good for him.

FEINSTEIN POLLUTES MY INBOX

Several days after signing one of those what-the-hell online petitions (yeah, I know, I know) -- this one about impeaching Cheney, which I frankly forgot about -- and having one of those canned letters sent to my two Senators, I get this today from that noted war profiteer, Dianne Feinstein:

Thank you for your letter concerning impeachment proceedings against Vice President Richard Cheney. I appreciate the time you took to write and welcome the opportunity to respond.

In our most recent elections, the American people expressed clear disapproval with the path this country was on. They are tired of partisan politics and of an Administration that pays little heed to the wishes of the American people. They want-and deserve-a Congress that holds the Administration accountable and fulfills its Constitutional responsibility to check and balance the Executive branch. I share this sentiment and am determined to work hard and across party lines in the United States Senate to promote issues that are of real concern to most Americans, including the situation in Iraq and Afghanistan, homeland security, global warming, and lobbying and election reform.

At this time, however, I believe that impeachment proceedings against President Bush or Vice President Cheney will only divide the country even further, frustrating our hopes for a meaningful change in direction, while having little chance of success.

I have been deeply disappointed by many of this Administration's actions and have been outspoken in those instances. Nevertheless, given the challenges our country faces I believe that we need to focus on constructive and cooperative steps that would lead us in the right direction.

Again, thank you for your letter. If you have any further questions or comments, please contact my office in Washington, D.C. at (202) 224-3841. Best regards.

Sincerely yours, Dianne Feinstein
United States Senator


It speaks for itself, I guess. At least it almost seems like a real message, in comparison to the bland form letter I got from Boxer.

*Sigh*

CRINGING BULLIES AND PINHEADED BABOONS

It’s an amazing world we’ve built for ourselves -- a cacophonous brain-squonk of hollow stupidity, dominated by cringing bullies and overbearing cardboard cut-outs of simulated humans wallowing in the steaming, stinking puddles of their own pathetic servility. A microcephalic baboon cage most foul.

(Anyone who’s attempted to shop at a 24-hour Safeway at 5:30 in the morning, then followed up by having the shitheads with the pierced faces at the groovy midtown coffee house disconnect your wireless internet connection and change the channel on the electric Muzak machine to some “death metal” noise pollution, and then topped that off by unwittingly biting into a blueberry scone covered with mold, all the while being harassed by the largest mosquito you’ve ever seen ... knows exactly what I’m talking about.)

***

Seriously. The less-than-pithy term “cringing bullies” suddenly popped into my leaking brain-bag the other day at work, as I re-witnessed a modern ritual for what must’ve been the 10,000th time: over-officious demi-supervisors, scowling faces freshly removed from the nether cracks of their immediate boss/masters, “inspecting” the personal belongings of departing employees. Two things about such a scene immediately jump to the fore, competing to see which one will finally trigger that long-anticipated terminal apoplexy: that an employer assumes it has the right to poke around in your stuff, whenever the hell it wants; and the incredibly meek and subservient manner in which most of the nitwits and birdbrains submit to such outrageous perversions.

The deeply closeted Stalinists by whom I happen to be employed obviously assume they have the legal authority to violate the privacy of anyone they wish, under any pretext or circumstance, mainly because no one has officially challenged them on it; they do it because they can, as the old joke about a dog goes. Anyway, they claim that this police-state activity is necessary for reasons of “security,” which actually means, in their warped and twisted corporate view of the world, “security” for themselves and the “company” against their own employees -- since, as we all know quite well, any poor unfortunate scumbag who gets paid by the hour is simply not to be trusted. They’re thieves and liars and contemptible lowlifes, by definition.

I’ve always viewed these rather penny-ante control mechanisms -- which include, in addition to the “inspection” regimen, such gems as electronically-controlled locks on all interior doors and a “biometric” time clock -- as little more than a pale reflection of the times, inspired by the disinformation and carefully modulated paranoid fear-mongering so well practiced by the Neo-Con elite. It’s interesting to note that none of these artificial “security” measures were deemed necessary during the 1990’s; they’re a 21st Century innovation.

But getting back to the “cringing bullies”: as a term of derision and contempt, it’s applicable in a 360-degree circle, as it were. I pin it unreservedly to the morons who submit so willingly to all sorts of employer-sanctioned indignities, mostly swaggering twenty-something punks who wield their car stereos like bludgeons and who can’t seem to complete a sentence without artlessly tossing in a half-dozen superfluous f-bombs and other choice expletives. Wearing that assumed tough-guy attitude derived from the most egregious excesses of pop-media culture, they bravely turn into compliant piles of servile jello when confronted with each successive violation of their privacy, and their human rights in general. It’s difficult to understand, really, since the Junior Gestapo Enforcers who so gleefully sniff around in the darkest and most obscure recesses of various handbags, knapsacks, and lint-filled trouser pockets, are themselves the most ridiculous and pathetic “cringing bullies” of them all. The young, slave-mentality blockheads would be surprised to learn, probably, just how effective the judicious use of angry invective can actually be, if used intelligently -- just a couple of carefully-timed “Get your fucking hands off my laptop” and “If you place one finger on me, I’ll break your goddamn arm” and the ambitious mediocrities in their supervisor suits tend to sag and wilt, and pretty much leave you alone. At least, that’s been my experience with these dirt-suckers.

Is there some kind of lesson lurking around in the middle of this badly-written and typically amorphous screed? Perhaps, perhaps not. There might be something to be said for the idea of rudely calling the bluff of incredibly pretentious employers who lack the cojones and fortitude to back up their police-state proclivities; it’s something else entirely when trying to apply that to the desperate situation our constitutional republic has been, and is, facing these days. But, as somebody somewhere has surely said, one can always hope -- which is a statement that doesn’t come very easily to a cynical windbag like myself; maybe, at least as a catalytic starting point, all we need to do is shout “Get your fucking hands off my civil liberties” and things just might work out OK after all ...

Yeah, right, and I guess I’ll order another moldy scone and wash that mess down with a warm glass of beer and get stuck in another traffic jam with SUV-driving baboons who want to transform me into a biological speedbump. That seems much more likely.

WE NEED TO BE ATTACKED IN ORDER TO FEEL MORE SECURE ... OR SOMETHING TO THAT EFFECT

Just the sort of hollow-skulled bullshit to kick off another dreary work-week, infusing it with all the extra gooey layers of eye-rolling despair and hopelessness we've grown to love ...

I'm sure everybody's seen this by now. Via Raw Story:

Arkansas GOP head: We need more 'attacks on American soil' so people appreciate Bush

In his first interview as the chairman of the Arkansas Republican Party, Dennis Milligan told a reporter that America needs to be attacked by terrorists so that people will appreciate the work that President Bush has done to protect the country.

"At the end of the day, I believe fully the president is doing the right thing, and I think all we need is some attacks on American soil like we had on [Sept. 11, 2001]," Milligan said to the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, "and the naysayers will come around very quickly to appreciate not only the commitment for President Bush, but the sacrifice that has been made by men and women to protect this country."

Maybe tonight, when I shuffle home after another pointlessly trying day producing profits for my corporate overlords, I'll be able to say something about this fucked-up untermensch.

What I want to know is: where do these people come from?

JUST TURN IT OFF

I’m right there in the middle of the great heaving mass of the angry and conflicted, disgusted by the appallingly spineless performance of the Vichy Democrats in Congress, plumbing new depths of cynical loathing and contempt for just about anything and everything. Sheer desperation seems to have reached a new high in recent weeks, corresponding as it does to the completely expected -- but still thoroughly infuriating -- Democratic capitulation on the “war supplemental,” or whatever the hell it’s called. Between bouts of hair-ripping and garment-rending, the small “d” democratic consensus seems to be coagulating around variations of the question, What the fuck do we do now?

A good question. A really good question, in fact.

What sort of plausible answer can you dish out to (perhaps) a majority of the public who feel, rightly, that the party they worked so hard to return to the leadership position in Congress just pathetically piddled down their collective pant leg? Leaving aside the slightly obvious fact that relying on any establishment political machine to do the right thing is suicidal, about the only answer I can come up with is that I don’t have an answer. Nobody does, not really. Working to reform the system from within? Oh, come on. Electing third-party candidates, as a form of punishment for the Democrats’ blatantly crass betrayal? Well ... that might be feasible in the long term. Rapidly retreating as deeply as possible into the hollow excitements and phony promises of the mass-consumption culture? Seems to work for the sad majority of numbskulls I have to deal with on a regular basis.

What what what?

Like I said, I don’t have any answers to the pukefest we find ourselves wallowing in. Except ... well, perhaps one thing we could do, one tiny and modest “anti-protest” we could indulge in, would involve doing as little as possible. I know -- it sounds as if my beer-softened skull has finally, mercifully, caved in on itself, terminally vindicating the self-indulgent crudity of my decrepit weltanschauung. But anyway, the notion that miraculously popped into my tired head was this: just turn it all off. Turn it the fuck off. Rampaging consumerism provides the economic/political apparatus with its misbegotten reason for being; we are, in effect, the financiers of our own intellectual debasement and -- increasingly -- our physical restraint and coercion as well. Is it so ridiculously naive to think that refusing to participate in the consumerist meatgrinder, to whatever extent one can, would truly alter the tragically misfired azimuth this country is being prodded along? I don’t think so. Turn it off -- stop playing along with this empty charade, stop being the oh-so-willing and over-enthused monetary engine that’s propelling us all right down the proverbial crapper. Simply do nothing -- don’t spend, don’t consume, don’t do anything; bring the whole foul and stinking machine to a halt by ignoring it as much as possible, and make a far more impressive impact than any under-attended protest march or insipid online petition ever could.

Yeah, whatever. As passively silly as all this probably sounds, at least it’s no more absurd than waiting breathlessly for Reid and Pelosi to swoop down and save us, representative government and all.

Remember: just turn it off. The moneybagged bastards just might pay attention then.