Liberalisitarianism

I do not identify as a Libertarian, although I am a big fan of personal freedoms. How do I reconcile these two positions?

I think Libertarian thought is essentially a snotty teenage attitude, written in political ink. They don't like the idea of anyone telling them what to do, for any reason. They think that every country should mind its own business. It's as big a power vacuum as Anarchy, although I've heard Penn Jillette claim that the two are not synonymous.

My political leanings remain Liberal. I don't believe that it is impossible for a government to provide services and regulations, while at the same time being fairly educated and enlightened as to the realities of human life. And what do I mean by that? Oh, things like the idea that marriage is a social institution first and foremost, and it is up to one's chosen clergy to sanctify it, if that's where your pleasure lies, and is not the prerogative of the State. Or that most human beings will respond well to concerns of safety and well-being, rather than paranoia and oppressive attitudes.

The Libertarian viewpoint is basically the Wild West, so far as I can tell. And we've already done that (I know that, because we've done everything). I suppose I recognize them as ideological brothers and sisters because both our positions are based on "liberty", literally and linguistically.

But consider the following. People like to band together, do they not? Whether for protection, efficiency, or the simple pleasure of doing so. I maintain that some of these groups will, without designated auspices, harm others for one reason or another. It's the responsibility of the lots of little people on the bottom to make sure we have a pledged group to the little people. Or to put it another way, government's first obligation is to the people. Any governmental system that says otherwise is bizarre at best, nefarious at worst. On the other hand, a corporation's first interest is that corporation itself. To hell with the people, unless they're shareholders!

And there is nothing inherently strange or wrong about this. We can acknowledge that certain groups and ideologies are in it to make money, first and foremost. That's fine. It's a large world and there is certainly a place for such groups. But where we fall flat is where we start bullshitting ourselves that these entities, without any kind of regulation, will automatically serve the best interests of the people. I just can't see this leap of logic.

To take a more specific example, I happen to like having the FDA around. I like the idea that food manufacturers are legally required to post accurate information about their product along with said product. Do I think that these food manufacturers, if they had the chance, would cut corners, add potentially harmful ingredients to their foods, and so on, assuming such practices increased their profit margins? Absolutely, unequivocally, without a doubt I do. And I hold no malice towards them for it! That's just what they do.

So let us, for our part, invest our political power in groups whose raison d'etre is keeping an eye on these other groups.

And to reiterate my point, I do not give up hope of the idea of a fairly enlightened series of regulations when it comes to this type of thing. Is this going to happen in America? Not any time soon, Jack. The system is firmly entrenched, and it's going to take something like spiritual dynamite to get any kind of change happening. But I happen to like the Scandinavian ethos. They seem, to use the word, "civilized". I suppose that I myself believe in civilization. We can be gentlemen and -women, can we not? Not in any kind of antiquated, stuffy sense. But let us assume their sense of gentility, honesty, plainspokenness, and so on. (We can do without all the class-based colonization in places like the Congo, that goes without saying).

Because what we have now is a lot of stuffy, blue-nosed, schoolmarmish nightmares. We strive to be without moral blemish while perpetrating the worst of horrors. Can we admit to a few vices, if that will help us face up to infinitely more dangerous habits? I hope so.

Diagnosis

Life is a long, irritating, painful slog. The only things that seem to make it worthwhile are virtually impossible to obtain or achieve. Under these circumstances, I cannot condemn anyone for taking their own life; indeed, there are times when I think of suicide as one of the only really rational actions of which a human being is capable.

Well, all right, let's talk about the Democratic party, although I'm out of my depth here (and probably have been from the beginning).

I'd say their biggest problem right now-- and I mean "problem" in the sense that they relate to the rational, normal American like you and me, and not in the sense of Democratic strategy-- is that they are not the GOP. To cut right to the chase, there is a huge game of Good Cop/Bad Cop that is being foisted on the American public right now. (God, I feel like I'm laboring the obvious, but oh well).

As soon as official party policy becomes, "At least we're not that OTHER GUY!" you've begun to introduce a kind of slow rot into the idea of electability. This is what seems to have torpedoed the Democratic aspirations in '04 against Bush. The best Kerry could ever muster was, "Well, I'm not Bush, you can say that for sure!" And that's pretty weak tea, cold oatmeal. It's death, from a philosophical standpoint. Even factoring in the roiling tides of anti-Bush sentiment, it just wasn't enough.

And that seems to have been a crucial point in Democratic ideology. "We're not those guys!" Which is great, because on the one hand, no, we don't exactly want a bunch of eye-rolling loonies. But of course that's a colossal dupe. There is no choice. Do you want a punch in the eye or a kick in the balls? You're plenty bad enough, even if you aren't those guys. You're just a little sneakier about it.

Do you want something that explicitly terrifies you, or only implicitly? I wrote a little anecdote which is the best I can put it:

The impatient businessman says to his client, "Don't forget to take a pen on your way out." His client looks at the empty mug on his desk and says, "But you're out of pens." The businessman replies, "Fine, then take two and let's not have any fuss about it."

party conversation topic

As I was explaining last night to a fellow who turned out to be from Scotland, Texas is in the rather unusual position of having to defend a rational policy.

And what I mean by that: Texas, by virtue of its geographic character, shares a pretty enormous border with Mexico, meaning that in spite of all the abstract thinking and (let's be honest) stupid rhetoric that gets tossed around on this issue-- they actually and truly have to deal with being a border state. As a result, even though they are firmly in The South, solidly conservative, GOP, home of George W. Bush and so on, someone like Rick Perry has had to stand up and say to other GOP candidates things along the lines of, "Well, we'd all love to build a fence to keep out 'illegals', but you know that's not really feasible or desirable..." while the other candidates then get to jump on him for being soft on illegal immigration.

You can probably see the rich irony of the situation. Texas politicians get flak from their own party for dealing with reality, no matter how much they might wish it were otherwise, if only because official party policy is at such odds with reality. And this puts them in the blackly humorous position of having to defend a rational, reasonable, forward-thinking set of policies because such rationality is held in such low regard by others in their party.

This, to me, is modern political theater at its most absolutely hilarious. I mean, for pure black comedy you just can't beat it. It makes Pagliacci look absolutely amateur.

I think in certain ways this makes Rick Perry the inescapable end-product of our modern political system, or at least one wing of it (the Democratic side of the aisle has a much more subtle terror going for them, but I won't go into that now). Where he is not absolutely and monstrously wrong, he is absolutely and monstrously right, and there is no way either of these positions can do him any good. (There's also the chance that he really is a braindead buffoon. But I don't think it's lack of intelligence, per se, that makes him the figure that he is). He is right for all the wrong reasons, and he's wrong for all the right reasons. And you can't ask for a more fascinating politician than that.

As a matter of fact, what's been his most effective strategy so far, as a politician? Not showing up! He didn't show up for debates when it came to the governorship of Texas, and that suited him perfectly. That strategy was a resounding success. And now that he's become a national joke, what is he talking about doing? Not showing up! Yes! The problem is that he has actually been going to the GOP debates, and opening his mouth, and just generally spewing forth the type of incoherent word-salad that has him plummeting in the polls like a swan with an arrow through its heart. His tactic is to be absent. His positions are that which remain once all other positions have been taken by other, irritatingly present candidates. Rick Perry is What's Left. And that is fucking brilliant.

Now, this may have suited him for the governorship, but I don't think it'll be enough to win him the GOP nomination. For one thing, Mitt Romney just keeps showing up and not being demonstrably insane, which you can tell is pissing off the Washington insiders no end. They're desperate to go with any-fucking-body else, but it's just not happening. For another thing, Perry has already burst his own balloon by doing the opposite of what he does best. He's already shown up (and it's been a disaster). If he had been the perfect, abstract candidate... and aren't those polls hilarious, the ones that show Obama losing to generic, anonymous "Republican candidate", but him thumping soundly any actual person with a name and an agenda?-- he might've stood a chance. But no, he's become distinct now, and what he is is distinctly... strange. Not electable, anyway. Oh well. Poor Richard.

another in a series of endless examples

there is, I believe, a fundamental difference between american and european attitudes when it comes to personality. (This is a grotesque and probably objectionable oversimplification on the parts of both europeans and americans, but it serves here as a shorthand for what I'm really getting at. The idea, of course, being that I'm trying to emphasize a basic duality which transcends national boundaries, and has at various times been filled by American and European roles. The two characters could easily be reversed and probably have been).

On the one hand, you have a certain affected naivety, where the roles of social convention are followed to a T, at the expense of a certain effectiveness. On the other hand, you have a kind of honesty which seems simplistic but (in my opinion) is much more effective when it comes to communication and tolerance of the individual.

James Spader's character on "The Office" (in this case a pretty quintessentially "American" show) fills the second type of personality, and in so doing, lends a pretty good streak of humor. He simply exists, unapologetically, leaving the other characters politely bewildered in his wake. (I wonder if this might not have to do with europe's having had yea many years to understand and absorb the lessons of Kafka, who taught us once and for all the absolute nightmares that lay behind trying to politely follow the rules. Which in turn prefigured the endless enigmatic terrors of Stalin's bureaucracy and so on). At any rate, the lesson to be learned is the difference between being "open", which is merely a shorthand for being confused and not much of anything, and simply being, which is far more fascinating and potentially impolite, which is just better, I think, for all of us.

Parable

I stumbled across this by accident. I quite like it.

An aging Hindu master grew tired of his apprentice complaining, and so, one morning, sent him for some salt. When the apprentice returned, the master instructed the unhappy young man to put a handful of salt in a glass of water and then to drink it.

“How does it taste?” the master asked.

“Bitter,” spit the apprentice.

The master chuckled and then asked the young man to take the same handful of salt and put it in the lake. The two walked in silence to the nearby lake, and once the apprentice swirled his handful of salt in the water, the old man said, “Now drink from the lake”.

As the water dripped down the young man’s chin the master asked, “How does it taste?”

“Fresh,” remarked the apprentice.

“Do you taste the salt?” asked the master.

“No,” said the young man.

At this, the master sat beside this serious young man who so reminded him of himself and took his hands, offering, ”The pain of life is pure salt; no more, no less. The amount of pain in life remains the same, exactly the same. But the amount of bitterness we taste depends on the container we put the pain in. So when you are in pain, the only thing you can do is to enlarge your sense of things... Stop being a glass. Become a lake."

It Keeps me Running

On a camping trip last weekend, I was sitting next to this beautiful, intelligent woman by the fire pit. I wanted to ask her a little bit about herself.

"So," I said, and then stopped.

"Yes?" she said.

"I wanted to ask you..." and then I trailed off. I could feel my thoughts piling up, one on top of the other, like a traffic jam. I couldn't really think of any way of asking her to tell me about herself that didn't sound questionable or peculiar. Abort.

"Um, never mind. It's not important".

She got up and walked away.

Dope, I thought to myself. That didn't go very well. Now her most recent memory of you is going to be of a sub-verbal doofus. I sat there stewing for a few minutes. Then a feeling came up on me. It was a feeling of frustration and, from frustration, freedom. I had botched things, so now I could do as I liked without fear of further embarrassment. It was clear in an instant that I needed to communicate, if I was to communicate, through a better medium than idle chatter between strangers.

I walked back to my tent and got my guitar. Now I was on more familiar ground. Late nights, fire going, lots of cheerful people bent on beer and unidentified substances. Yes, this was an old, comforting situation. I could deal with this.

I sat down by the fire and started thwacking the strings, letting my self-recrimination and turbulence come bouncing out, lapping out in waves that hit the trees and the rocks and the bugs underground. There was no one in a ten-mile radius who was singing Radiohead with more fervor than I was at that moment.

Amazingly, the universe granted me a wish. She came bouncing back up soon after. I had thought she might be the musical type, and I wasn't wrong. She started inhabiting the musical space right along with me. I brought out a book of Beatles tunes and a flashlight. She volunteered to hold the flashlight. "How's this?" she asked, putting her arm around my shoulders and shining the light on the pages. We stayed like that and sang "While my Guitar Gently Weeps", our heads practically touching, her harmonizing with the lyrics, totally intent on the song and the emotion.

Folks, I don't ask for much, but every man needs a good moment now and then. Just a little crumb. A little twinkle. Doesn't have to be much. I'm not greedy. A moment that puts its arm around you and sings with you. It keeps me running.

Solitude

Solitude, though silent as light, is, like light, the mightiest of agencies; for solitude is essential to man. All men come into this world alone-- all leave it alone. Even a little child has dread, whispering consciousness, that if he should be summoned to travel into God's presence, no gentle nurse will be allowed to lead him by the hand, nor mother to carry him in her arms, nor little sister to share his trepidations. King and priest, warrior and maiden, philosopher and child, all must walk those mighty galleries alone. The solitude, therefore, which in this world appalls or fascinates a child's heart, is but the echo of a far deeper solitude through which already he has passed, and of another solitude deeper still, through which he has to pass: reflex of one solitude-- prefiguration of another.

--Thomas De Quincey

Fulcrum

So much was going on at one time; I'm empty now inside. But I know what it is. I have put my inner self to sleep, for a little while, and am trying my luck in the hard-edged, concrete world of the outside. Once I have secured a better place for the animal I can turn back in on myself and water the seeds that have gone to sleep under the soil.

Life in Death

I'll tell you about another time I felt happy. It was towards the end of our Anatomy class, when our teacher told us that some of the kids from the Zoology class were offering a look at their dissections, you know-- to see what was going on at the other branches of the taxonomic tree.

A bunch of us were curious to check it out. We were told that the Zoo class got specimens in from all over the county, and dissected them, putting their skeletons up for display. All of us had done our cadaver dissection at that point, and weren't about to be put off by a little biology.

Anyway, when I walked in the door, it was amazing. They had a deer, a mountain lion, and a fox all in various stages of dissection. The deer was laid out on a large table, with its open belly looking like a barrel. The scarlet blood pooled between its ribs. There was fur and blood everywhere.

The smell was intense and unmistakable. The animals were not treated with any sort of preservative, and the ripe stench of dead biological matter had well set in. Flies buzzed around. The only time I could remember smelling anything like it was when I cleaned out the fridges filled with chicken when I worked at a barbecue joint.

The whole thing was fantastic. It was savage, intense, messy. Students were walking around with filtration masks and gloves while the vibrantly dead figures lay, exploded open, on various surfaces. There were skeleton models of various animals set up around the room.

As I walked around, I was joined by the girl I had a pretty severe crush on. We strode the room, peering over people's shoulders, taking in the pools of blood and the skin and the muscles and the bones and the paws and the teeth. The smell was like rotten vinyl. Her hair looked like the red patch of a blackbird's wing. I felt great. Some atavistic part of my brain was definitely being spoken to, some simian part that looked at the slaughterhouse scene and saw only triumph. I felt like picking up a femur and running out to smash the first thing I saw, hooting all the while. It was gross and primeval and totally exhilarating. I wished I could visit the room whenever I wanted, to get some sort of visceral impact.

My modern routine is fairly safe and sanitary, for the time being. But it was nice to look at animals, to see biology in an up-close and impolite way, to know that some sort of identification with carnage rumbles and paces around the back of my modern, civilized brain. It's reassuring.

My Heart, the Whore

Recently I feel like I increased my Understanding a little bit more, because it seemed clearer to me how you could get hurt by someone and enjoy it. This is not necessarily related to BDSM, but maybe it is.

I'm not explaining this very well. But I had met someone who had enacted a change in my heart that was unprecedented, which happens with all people who change my heart, because all people are different.

Anyway, the particulars of this person were that they made my heart feel like a prostitute. That's the simplest way I can put it, because it was a feeling and feelings don't really translate. But yes, I felt like my proud heart had been overthrown and reduced to the purest junkie beggary. What organ had once been the model of modest decorum became, as far as this person was concerned, the most outrageous slut imaginable.

So, from that sort of abject thrall, I could suddenly understand how you could flaunt being owned by someone, or be treated roughly by them. That person was my liege, my flag and my flower, if she wanted. (She didn't-- c'est la vie). So even if she cut off all my hair, stabbed me or bit me or deprived me, I would feel like running up to other people and, with the greatest, most genuine pride, show them my marks.

Anyway, like I say, this was all emotional, psychic information. None of it actually happened. But now I feel like I Understand a little bit more than I did before.

Summertime Detox

After a conversation with a friend yesterday, and watching some Red Hot Chili Peppers videos this morning (and some other psychological factors I won't go into here), I think it's a good time to try being really strict with myself. In other words, I'm going to try taking no psychoactive drugs whatsoever-- no caffeine, no nicotine, no THC, no alcohol, no nothin'. Also, I'll be a vegetarian while this is going on.

I haven't imposed any pressure on myself to do this for any specific length of time, but I feel like it's an important thing to try and do right now. Also I'll be trying to get as much exercise as possible.

It probably has to do with the fact that the sun has finally come out around here.

Also, I'd really love to finally try Kundalini yoga-- I found a studio that teaches it, right here in town. The only thing stopping me is cost, but maybe I can find a way to swing it. If this all works out, I think I'll be in a good place to make some psychic progress.

The Absent One

"2. Historically, the discourse of absence is carried on by the Woman: Woman is sedentary, Man hunts, journeys; Woman is faithful (she waits), man is fickle (he sails away, he cruises). It is Woman who gives shape to absence, elaborates its fiction, for she has time to do so; she weaves and she sings; the Spinning Songs express both immobility (by the hum of the Wheel) and absence (far away, rhythms of travel, sea surges, cavalcades). It follows that in any man who utters the other's absence something feminine is declared: this man who waits and who suffers from his waiting is miraculously feminized. A man is not feminized because he is inverted but because he is in love. (Myth and utopia: the origins have belonged, the future will belong to the subjects in whom there is something feminine.)

3. Sometimes I have no difficulty enduring absence. Then I am "normal": I fall in with the way "everyone" endures the departure of a "beloved person"; I diligently obey the training by which I was very early accustomed to be separated from my mother-- which nonetheless remained, at its source, a matter of suffering (not to say hysteria). I behave as a well-weaned subject; I can feel myself, meanwhile, on other things besides the maternal breast.

This endured absence is nothing more or less than forgetfulness. I am intermittently, unfaithful. This is the condition of my survival; for if I did not forget, I should die. The lover who doesn't forget sometimes dies of excess, exhaustion, and tension of memory (like Werther)."

--Roland Barthes, "A Lover's Discourse"

Attn: Investors

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--VARIETY. We believe in the individual. As such, we have an unparalleled range of choices for you and we love constantly expanding our horizons! We are proud to employ men and women, as well as people of more ambiguous gender, anatomy, and genetic makeup. We here at the BASC don't much cotton to limitation. Needless to say, we cater to all major sexual orientations, and not a few minor ones as well. (Please note: due to unanimous board decision, all employees are of legal age in the state in which they are employed. This is one of our very, very few inflexible points.)

--ENTHUSIASM. What do we at the BASC look for in our employees? Quite simply, we look for people who love what they do. We pride ourselves in employing the best, no matter what their area of specialty. Elaborate fantasies? Not a problem. Something you can't bring up in polite company? We specialize in that. Like to be immersed in Jell-O while watching a Filipino lady in a gas mask masturbate? Hell, we have a check box for that. We look forward to hearing your ideas. In the extremely rare case that we are unable to find an employee to suit your needs, there is someone at one of our other branches who can, and in most cases can be at your location within 48 hours (additional fees and travel expenses may apply).

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--SETTING. We are proud to be the owners of a large, spacious facility. The contemporary design and modern amenities mean no crowding or rushing. Please consult the attached map for orientation purposes. (PLEASE NOTE: due to renovations on floor 17, Ruby's clientele has been temporarily relocated to suite 1535. Until structural reinforcements are complete, you may want to bring your own handcuffs and/or hex bolts. We apologize for any inconvenience).

If you have any further questions, please feel free to contact one of our representatives. We look forward to hearing from you.

A Reversible Poem

Years ago, I wrote a poem that could be read either forward or backward, one line at a time. Forward, it goes:

I'd like that:
to walk with you
through the grass,
falling twilight--
unlike
a play,
the scene begins
when
slowly, the curtain

falls

the cherry blossom:
marks
the first action.
A drama,
not meant for
to end the day.
In my garden,
a walk with you...

I'd like that.

And backwards:

I'd like that:
a walk with you,
in my garden,
to end the day.
Not meant for
a drama,
the first action
marks
the cherry blossom

falls

slowly, the curtain,
when
the scene begins
a play,
unlike
falling twilight.
Through the grass,
to walk with you:

I'd like that.

You Know My Name

What I did not understand was the effect of, the absolute crushing honesty of, the gravity-warping unseen nature of, the devoted soul. What is essentially the atomic bomb of emotion. As it is unseen, which is unexpected, which is surprising.

When memorizing something, it helps to get as many senses as possible into the mix. Write it down while speaking it out loud. That way, you will experience the kinesthetic, visual, and auditory. Thus do I appraise the taste of people. Gustatory as well as everything else. I don't mind. When we were little babies, most things were grasped through the mouth. The mouth leads down deep into the insides of a person. A kiss is a mining expedition. But of course there is more than one way into the body.

This spring is particularly surprising-- it arrived with great suddenness. The weather was appallingly bad-- rain, wind, dour skies, at one point in even hail. But then, out of absolutely nowhere, perfect, balmy weather, the kind we're renowned for. Too sudden to even get a bead on it. Oddly enough, people are sick lately. Things can change faster than we're ready for.

There is a way of acting-- I don't know whether it's good or bad-- to operate beyond known parameters. As Jung says, no human being is a tabula rasa. Any mother knows that one infant is different from another; we have a certain inbuilt personality. So when you're operating out beyond what is known, you're forced to rely on instinct, what is there to begin with. Damn, all this time and we haven't even begun yet. Frustrating... but the beginners are the experts...

My Anti-Fascist Reaction: An Incomplete Document

1. Right Wing: Fascists are fervently against: Marxism, Socialism, Anarchism, Communism, Environmentalism; etc – in essence, they are against the progressive left in total, including moderate lefts (social democrats, etc). Fascism is an extreme right wing ideology, though it can be opportunistic.

I hereby declare that one of the goals of my anti-fascist reaction shall be the transcendence of political labels in favor of personal character; and that whether one's policies are "conservative" or "liberal" shall be considered of very little importance when compared to the character of the individual. That being said, the anti-fascist reaction shall abjure no political movement of the left, but instead attempt to glean understanding from them with wisdom and understanding, not allowing itself blind reaction because of labels, but assessing any political or social movement, whether on the "right" or on the "left" by the beneficence or poverty of its ideas. Progress being recognized as one of the rights of humankind, no attempts to quell innovation and improvement will be dignified.

2. Nationalism: Fascism places a very strong emphasis on patriotism and nationalism. Criticism of the nation's main ideals, especially war, is lambasted as unpatriotic at best, and treason at worst. State propaganda consistently broadcasts threats of attack, while justifying pre-emptive war. Fascism invariably seeks to instill in its people the warrior mentality-- to always be vigilant, wary of strangers and suspicious of foreigners.

The love of the land of one's ancestors, of one's place of birth, and one's fellow citizens is beyond reproach. To that end, the anti-fascist reaction will not allow it to become sullied and transformed into blind, arrogant superiority. It is my hope that the wise one will recognize that to love something is to be not oblivious to its flaws, and that diligence and attentiveness will attend upon that love. The nation of one's inhabitance will not be above careful examination, and it is the duty of all to keep it in good working order. Those expressing a grievance with it will be respected, and their complaint will be given due consideration, not meaningless punishment.

3. Hierarchy: Fascist society is ruled by a righteous leader, who is supported by an elite vanguard of capitalists. Hierarchy is prevalent throughout all aspects of society-- every street, every workplace, every school will have its local Hitler, part police-informer, part bureaucrat. The absolute power of the social hierarchy prevails over everything, and thus a totalitarian society is formed. Representative government is acceptable only if it can be controlled and regulated, direct democracy (e.g. Communism) being the greatest of all crimes. Any who oppose the social hierarchy of fascism will be imprisoned or executed.

The anti-fascist reaction believes that no person should be unduly squashed by the exercise of power. Each person shall have the right to representation where they are subordinate, and the responsibility for recognizing the same among the persons he directs. No leader, from greatest to least, shall be considered above the duties and privileges that attend upon all, and any attempt to usurp power or place oneself in a tyrannical position shall be regarded as a shame and an aberration that must be addressed immediately. The intrinsic worth of all persons is recognized, and any granted authority is given on the predication of that irrefutable knowledge.

4. Anti-equality: Fascism loathes the principles of economic equality and disdains equality between the immigrant and the citizen. Some forms of fascism extend the fight against equality into other areas: gender, sexuality, minority status or religious belief, for example.

As has been previously stated, a love of one's land and of one's countrymen is natural and good-- and from this, the anti-fascist reaction recognizes this same love in the heart of others, whether of a different country, background, society, or other sphere. An ocean between people does nothing to erase the similarities between them, and a person's skin or manner of dress will do nothing to lower them in the eyes of the true anti-fascist. Resentment and cruelty towards women being recognized as one of the scourges of history, they shall be regarded with all due respect and the kindness that is a human being's birthright. It shall not be given to others to say whom we may love, or how-- it is the love itself that shall be the focus, and if it be abundant and good, why then no harm may come of it.

5. Religion: Fascism contains a strong amount of reactionary religious beliefs, hearkening back to times when religion was strict, potent and pure. Nearly all Fascist societies are Christian, and are supported by Catholic and Protestant churches.

The anti-fascist acknowledges the authenticity of each person's spiritual quest, and their right to seek meaning wherever they choose, fearless of the hatred or censure of short-sighted demagogues. No person shall be judged inferior based on their spiritual understanding, nor shall they attempt to belittle that of others, but as with all things, the goal is a growth of knowledge and understanding. Any use of religion to oppress, inflict harm or ignorance upon others, acquire unearned authority, or justify hateful acts will be recognized as anathema to the aims of the anti-fascist.

Two Sides

One that comes bubbling up from the basement:

"...[T]herefore grinding your teeth in silent impotence to sink into luxurious inertia, brooding on the fact that there is no one even for you to feel vindictive against, that you have not, and perhaps never will have, an object for your spite, that it is a sleight of hand, a bit of juggling, a card-sharper's trick, that it is simply a mess, no knowing what and no knowing who, but in spite of all these uncertainties and jugglings, still there is an ache in you, and the more you do not know, the worse you ache."

(Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes From the Underground).

And one that comes drifting down from the ceiling:



(Hu Ming, The End of Colorful Clouds, 2000).

The Super-Rich

Past a certain point, I believe the paradigm shifts from "object acquisition" to "addiction", with all attendant emotional disturbances and thinking distortions. That's when people say, "Uh, don't you think you have enough?"

But that's like asking someone who's severely addicted to crack, "Uh, don't you think you have enough crack?" And they'd probably reply something along the lines of "Fuck no! What if I run out? And people might be trying to take it away from me!" The addict could be swimming in an ocean of their desire and their thoughts will run to "this could all be taken away! I need more!" The only difference is that the crack addict typically can't use crack to influence legislators to pass laws making it easier for them to procure/retain crack, whereas the very rich can, and do.

Of course, it doesn't take a Cassandra to tell you that obsessively hoarding up huge stocks of something against the animal paranoia of it being taken away will, given enough time, make it all but certain that it will be taken away. You can't keep up that type of enormous imbalance forever. Piling up more and more straw on your camel, thinking "How much I'll have when I get home! Perhaps a few loads more." Meanwhile, the poor beast's knees are beginning to buckle. Keep going. You'll have a dead camel and a useless pile of straw.

Repetition

A well-trodden cemetery plot
For when it's not even worth a shot
A blunt pencil and a piece of paper
A hollow eye and a tongue scraper
a bright round shot like a tracer
a necessary intervention
for a selfish intention
it's education
for my station
until I get sick
and decide to kick
I'll do it over and over

The Empyrean

Lately I've been listening to John Frusciante's album "The Empyrean", a) because I've been reading interviews with him about the album, which makes it more interesting for me, and also b) because the loose thematic theme seems to tie in well with where I'm at.

As he puts it, the album is all about how giving up and failing ultimately help you reach higher than you would have, until you finally reach "the Empyrean", the highest point in heaven. Along the way, you descend back into madness.

The older I get, the more clearly I'm able to visualize these two states. In other words, there were times when I was in them, but I didn't know what they were. Now they come with all sorts of pictures, tastes, smells, and ideas.

The first part, to me, feels like being in the ground. Now, there's different types of earth. There's warm, rich, loamy soil-- and there's cold, sterile, ground, blasted with radiation or oozing with fetid muck. Sometimes you immerse yourself into the swamp and swim around in the brackish water with the alligators and nematodes. That's all right, it's fertile and organic.

But oh children, I have to tell you, there are places I don't know what they are. This one time I was a hollow person and all this disgusting water kept rushing through me. I was tied to a table by an insect doctor and his lipless nurse. They kept forcing sludge through me in belching waves. The most common occurrence then was when all the skin would slough off me and the only thing that was left was a huge, hollow-eyed bird skull, perched like a plague doctor. Those two black hollow circles are the most persistent symbol.

But that was a while ago. I clambered out of the metallic wastes eventually and found a safe, if unremarkable, plain where I could rest. Eventually, I decided to build a staircase out of my bones and start climbing it.

Now, I've managed, after cracking open my chest many times to pluck out more ribs to make stairs and then growing new ones, to find what I think is a new platform. My eyes are just peeking above the rim of it and I can hardly believe my eyes. I didn't really even believe that such a thing existed. It'll probably take me a while just to adjust to the knowledge of there even being such a place. (I think some people have been on that platform their entire lives, even, maybe). It's a great, white and black tower. Mathematics and clean lines help me build it and it's free from slime and spiderwebs. I've even grown to like climbing and my curiosity to see where it goes is building.

I guess what I wanted to say is: not feeling like a failure is an unbelievably liberating feeling, and I highly recommend it if you haven't tried it yet.

In Which I Spaz Out

I watched a clip of Louis CK on Conan, talking about how people were impatient and unappreciative of the incredible advances in technology that they take advantage of every day, and how nobody today was happy about it. Couple things:

1) Well, of course! There's a huge part of the human organism that is like the anti-Buddha, in that its entire being and concept is to want. As David Foster Wallace described in his essay on the pleasure cruise that he took,the entirety of this part of us is devoted to dissatisfaction. In response to any pleasure or gratification, it will simply adjust its needs upwards until it once again arrives at its usual state of grasping greediness. The fact that the next generation of phones is a little faster or shinier or better at maintaining a WiFi connection has absolute fuck-all to do with satisfying this pleasure-principle, because it cannot ever be fully satisfied.

2) Was anyone really so ephebic as to think that our ability to manipulate little packets of data in better ways would contribute to overall human happiness? He's upset that technological progress has had little to no effect on what is essentially an organic/spiritual problem?

3) Happiness is itself a state of disequilibrium. As far as I know, our bodies just don't have enough dopamine or serotonin to be "happy" all the time. Nor are we set up to be "sad" all the time. What is sustainable, I think, is serenity, peace, understanding, contentment. So expecting society in general to be "happy" is kind of unrealistic, I feel. (What you can do is act and behave in ways that make your life more conducive to happiness. You are the garden, moments of joy are little butterflies that come and visit. You don't get upset when butterflies fly away-- you know they come and they go. If conditions are right, they'll be back).

4) It's all very well to point to people who are surly, childish, impatient, general pains in the ass-- lord knows they exist in droves-- but that's only part of it. We have to at least come up with some ideas for making things better. (In fairness to Louis CK, I didn't watch the entirety of the clip. It's possible that he has dozens of good ideas for making peoples' lives better). To jump to an unrelated point, it's kind of how I feel about people who are smug about their atheism because they've just come up with it. OK, there's no God. Are you just going to stop there? You've reached the end of all thought and there's nothing further to glean? Nah, man, you've got to keep going. People are immature and greedy, they complain about trifles, they feel entitled to all pleasures-- all right, and then what? Where do we go from there?