the vernon triangle..

Not being beyond getting behind, a very easy place for me to reside---just ask my accountant and she will emphatically nod the affirmative---I am blinded by a bigger picture that glares over the tedious aspects of day-to-day existence. It's not that I'm lazy. I just don't care much anymore about the quibbling over semantics. It's not that I'm forgetful. Remembering detail just doesn't rank. I don't feel overly elitist. I think the counters and stackers of the world should be the highest paid people on the planet and honored many times a year for their sacrifices made to further foreword momentums. But I'm particularly stuck, locked into expressing as I see them, these nuances of what and how that are mostly ignored by those that participate in them.

 

It's not too important to me as to why the little Asian man walks daily, many times over, from the south end of town to somewhere north and back while talking to himself---sometimes entering a circle, maybe a vortex, where he finds focus---his verbosity increasing and then he'll shoot out of the ring, maybe jumping back in one more time, maybe to recheck his premise, and then off he goes on his way. This happens quite a few times daily, many times in front of the shop, and oddly in that exact same place where all the cars turn around in that strange weekend parking lot dance trying each to return to their preferred plotted paths. I've placed myself in the center of that circle many times wondering if a time/dimensional occurrence will form, a transference, maybe a simple minimal mind out of body experience... nothing yet.

 

What is important is how he goes about it all, his ticks and tocks, the schizophrenic ricochets, the dangling cigarette that bounces about during tirades with the invisible whomever he is conversing, the oversized wind breaker that droops to his knees as he vibrates his life force uncontrollable away into a probable soon nothingness, and finally how soon and preferred we will forget his existence, this time he spent frightening or entertaining... depending on one's point of view.

of sun and metal...

I'm back on the bike again and there are centerings, returns to awareness of moment like mini micro climates to pass through, flashes of chill then heat, and smells of terra firma and the feel of called upon power---V-Twin throbbing underneath as its torque propels the chromed beast forward... lurching but not unleashed. Too long was this past winter as it crept into spring, dampening the usual brief moments of warmth that should peak out at times from under the cold damp Puget shroud, this foggy brew we all move through while waiting for a glimps of blue in the sky. But seemingly not this year until now and I can feel the warmth baking beneath wrapped leather. As my shoulder joints deteriorate from past abuses, I find them unexpectedly tolerant of a stretched positioning, even welcoming the pull from rusted hinges and enflamed gaps that once glided freely---and now grind. So I worried about their failure to endure the long static held haul. So far, so good.

These are not the old days of tribal posturing, pissing and sniffing with beer bottle breakage against wall or skull, usually a fight over a woman to posses for the moment because that moment was all that was important. Gone are the high testosterone bellowings from bored out pipes exuding the cry of freedom from and for. Gone are revved burnouts to prove hierarchical dominance, a pack rite for those who can afford new rubber on a regular basis. Gone are warp speed metal scraping hairpins where sparks ignite to delight. Gone are Harley head bolts pinging off pavement and other peoples' metal. Gone are the freak flags flying and middle fingers wagging.

I almost sold it---the winters so long and time in transport without the need to haul more than would fit on the back being so far and few between. I thought about how many more times I might want to slam into a wayward county truck before that got old... though at the time, more damage to ego than bike or self. I thought about being lumped into the folds of wannabe hippy biker trash, barely able to handle the 800 pounds they straddle for a weekend jaunt to a watering hole before putting back on the Monday morning tie and driving the Mercedes to the office. That couldn't possibly be me. Not now. Not later.

And then I remember the zone, that place where the bike steers itself along winding road, each lean deeper than the last, when there is a silence beyond stillness though the vibration of dual pistons fighting for position shakes to the bone, and eagles parallel off jagged cliff, their shadows in line with mine... a feeling so sublime. I remember the sting of rain on my face and comfort of being safe... but not quite.

Liquid cooled and shaft driven...

film at 11

There are reportings going on. There is a delivery mechanism for them and a delivery persona behind it, normally properly primped with the ability to read a teleprompter. One could say they are properly prompted. The reporting can never be about maneuvering or marginalizing or fudging. Not on my TV. It just can't be.

 

There can never be an ego or two involved, with an agenda of one and divisible by the number of endorsements---one world, under Wall Street, with residuals and interest for a few---a very few. Endorsement is another name for advertisement. If you lose the endorsement, you lose the advertisement and that translates into lost revenue and shareholder devaluation and shareholders hate devaluation. They tend to sue for lost potential. For a corporation by intention to try to devaluate a stock price in lieu of a perceived more important reason is actually against the law, so by default, being simply objective can translate into criminal activity. Edward R. Murrow would probably have died in Jail if he were alive today... sort of.

 

Another problem with reporting is that it is boring and we need to be entertained. We demand diversion. Who wants to waste time just hearing or even worse, watching a human drone through reporting the facts with no twists or turns or accusations when there is an unreal reality based group embarrassment going on on a different channel. Switching channels can decrease shareholder value. This is why news reporters and game show hosts have quite a deal in common. Actually, the naked news channel was fun for awhile---facts and titties, the perfect combination even if one and/or the other is overinflated. I think it was deemed objectionable by a few others though---a few important others and it was cancelled. The diversion was not approved.

 

Finally, reporting is clutter and we can't handle too much of that. Clutter is reserved for that which occupies any available garage or basement space. Cerebral clutter can be a cause for pause and pausing to sort before reacting slows the economy. We're trying to handle clutter with multiple points of access but the devices that provide the access sometimes don't interface or their batteries don't hold or they need upgrades. So to weed through the clutter we need a sage, a reporter that will show us the way, tell us what is important so we don't have to think as much. We can be led to the truth. Since there really is no such thing as truth beyond one's own, this is not a dilemma and thus not a reason to lose a good night's sleep over.

 

 

captain crunch was an x-phi

So now we have x-phi, experimental philosophy, because reflecting on the human predicament without the influx of data cannot be considered valid considering there is so much interelated numbers to crunch out there in info-land. And I just finished "Blink" that postures there is probably too much data that probably clogs the decision making process and we don't need all of that goo in the first place. I know what happens to me when I'm confronted with too many choices. I choose not to choose because I've already made my choice before I got there. That doesn't mean I won't change my mind. It means I need an articulate argument and not just another option. I find little articulation in crunched data. I still see little truth coming out of the crunching beyond the agenda driving it because we generally see what we want to, or worse yet, project the supposed crunched truth as a statistical fact to end the argument. Arguments don't end. We just choose to disagree or escalate.

today's drivel...

I have a yard but sometimes it has me and I don't groom well beyond a toss and a tuck because time consumption is more than the pursuit of being neat and tidy with regards to grass and weed. So my yard always looks nice but could look better. I think it looks nice enough. I wonder why I think about it at all except that it is a production in a process and with production comes productivity and out of that comes product. The quality of the product is the result of the craft. No one wants to buy just my yard though and who thought all of this shit up anyway?

 

I'm in a state of perpetual awe when it comes to the evolution and de-evolution of the human predicament, the collective swings toward movements and ideology, the leverages applied, and the reactions ranging from detached non-response to violent rage, collective revenge, and whatever results from spun polling. I'm not sure culture has that much relevance---context with regard to abundance seems to. We don't like when other people mess with our shit. A university in Oregon is gearing up for the soon inevitable water shortages and the reactions by desperate people toward who has what and how much they get. Tribal rights versus agricultural access is a starting point... then onto population explosions in arid areas and then there is the requirement of industry. They are training young people to be negotiators, liaisons, and arbitrators for when the emotions of economic survival take over reason. They are expecting a bad time of it. They are worried about anarchy and what the State will do to bring order if reason falls to the wayside.

 

Zimbabwe is a having a bad time of it today. Our little nun Sister Cathy is there and her faith keeps her there as she tries to save as many children as she can from earthly man-made devastations... mostly ones against each other. We hope she comes back in the fall and we can convince her of other agendas, ones that may keep her safe, even alive. We doubt it though. Little nuns are stubborn that way when it comes to the downtrodden.

 

I think summer is here.

resumessies

So The McClellan done did a bad thing... a very bad bad thing. He bolted and tattled, probably to save his own ass because there will be lynchings---probably not the ones needing lynched, because it is the subordinates who are required by all that is holy in the land of the crony---required to fall upon their swords---to take one for the Gipper. Ask The Poindexter and The North---the Gipper isn't talking. The McClellan must have misplaced his sword, not like the Rummy and Brownie did though. They fell on theirs but it wasn't messy.

 

But sometimes there can be examples made above the next link in the chain. Sometimes reclamations happen and there are accountablities to be held to, even at the highest and seemingly ultra immune levels. Sometimes heads roll, like the pompous Louis XVI's and the lovely and pretentious Ms Antoinette's once did... and they only rolled once. But that was a long time ago when powdered wigs and snuff were the rage and the end result was quite messy. The French must have been really pissed off to create such a mess---their tables are never a mess---nice linens and all. But they didn't have media networks back then and though our networks love hints at violence, they don't like the actual mess. The Nixon slipped away while his cronies did jail time---not a satisfying outcome, but still, no mess. The Libby was put through the ringer but is now vacationing somewhere---no mess. The Rice has her old job lined back up at Stanford where she can teach younger others the art of misrepresentation. The Rove is set as a Limbaugh wannabe on FAUX Network and The Bush is poised to dedicate his 10 million dollar presidential library to himself while finally having a place to store his Marvel Comics collection. Score!

 

And finally, The Cheney---his ass print still fixed for a ready return to that comfy Haliburton chair where he can really reap those war profits and shoot his friends in the face with no press around to catch it... because it's all good. Booyah! But the McClellan. What to do with The McClellan who now sits in front of congress? This could get messy and that ain't right... But then there is The Pelosie and The Reid who take things off the table. It must be a French table because it is not messy. And it wasn't their fault that things could get messy, that there was reason for a mess. It's just best if it doesn't and isn't because one mess begets another and pretty soon there are a shit load of begets accumulating and it'll soon all be a mess.

and it has been written...

Now, in any reality there is one constant and that being irony. For after the Major God America burned out from the worst case of cyclical redundancy ever documented, a deity imploding upon discovering the irrationality of those that created him, the aliens he went looking for as a destructive distraction actually and simultaneous to the millisecond of his bursting into oblivion, stumbled into earth's atmosphere. It wasn't quite what they had expected as upper layered particles stuck to their ship's outer skin, clogging various intakes and outputs, and made them wonder what hideous beings could exist that breathed in such toxins.

 

Upon scanning the surfaces and depths of the earth's lands and oceans, one creature stood out as the predominant organic and one as the primary mechanical: creatures called cattle and cars. It was evident this was a primitive and backward set of cultures as neither had begun the approach toward singularity (the inevitable evolution of the organic and technical) and oddly the two were even separated in that there was no real apparent symbiotic relationship between them: no communication, no cooperation other than every once in a while the cattle were transported by very large cars and a car would ever so often kill a cattle creature that ventured into its defined territory. Another creature they deemed to be a parasite seemed to attach itself indiscriminately at any moment to either life force, by feeding off the cattle and using the cars as transport after doting over them and grooming them for hours on end. This bipedal creature also had a disturbing tendency for attacking each other, causing mass extinctions of its own kind and particularly infanticide, and though there did not seem to be any evidence of recent cannibalism, it was noted the potential for that to happen if the cattle no longer permitted them to feed. Another annoyance was the creature's inability to transform its own waste. The planet had a foul funk to it that the aliens found more than unpleasantly distasteful. The aliens could not understand how the cattle and cars allowed this sub-creature to exist considering it had no real purpose other than to extract and consume whatever was before it and wondered if maybe the entire planet was not worth their time and effort.

 

As most terrestrial beings had evolved to make hyper decisions within micro seconds, that wonderment did not last long. The earth was immediately vaporized and a shorter more direct intergalactic route was instantaneously created... no more round about bypassing of the stupid little blue planet that kept getting in the way. There was one interesting byproduct from the incineration though....

 

steak.

 

 

 

 

and it was said...

Major God America looked down at all before him and thought about what he had created. Now granted, he himself was but a figment of some collectives' mind at one time, but like most figments that hang around too long, they grow from figment to tangent to cult to dogma. It's a momentum thing. And now, sitting atop of the dogma pile, he began to wonder if there was anything left to conquer, anymore momentums to build, if the human predicament could handle another feeding frenzy while bowing to him as the provider of any and all such gifts. Was this all there was? Was he becoming stale in the mouths of so many looking for a new and crisper cookie?

 

He understood backlash as his priests fought feverishly hard to preserve his superiority as the God of all things right in the world. The Cheney was one who burnt much incense and made many sacrifices... mostly of the young and impressionable. Their armies marched forth to protect their Major God America given right to consume, to deplete what the earth relinquished, the earth provided by Major God America. After all, in their minds, did he not give them the earth to use at their corporate socialist will? "Go forth and suck it dry" the new scripture--- obscene personal gain the new alter, Major God America could see an end approaching. He was created to validate and now he validates by creating. Such a self feeding entity soon can find himself running out of food and this was the dilemma now before him.

 

The old Jewish god could always fall back to smiting and earthquakes and floods as punishment for sins and the humans would delight in the blessed suffering he brought forth to them. But Major God America had a different problem as he absolved all that followed him from sin---and all followed him. It was the nonbelievers, the ones who didn't embrace the supply side of life who were the sinners and thus there were no sinners. If a god punishes for following the dogma, that god could be quickly deemed false. Major God America needed a diversion... a war against an evil beyond anti-consumerism. He needed the threat of immediate world destruction instead of the slow one he professed. He knew he could convince the humans that a slow death of depletion was a sure trip to heaven versus an immediate annihilation. No longer could he blame the Russians and Chinese and Muslims. They were now capitalists and look at Dubai for Major God America's sake. They had more money than Major God America. What he needed was an alien invasion.

 

So he began to search the outer galaxy for someone or thing to piss off until he remembered that couldn't because he was really still but a figment in the mind of someone else needing validity and thus only as great as the legend in his own mind, a mind that was never his to begin with, and then something weird happened... he died.

more subscription...

The embattlements fortified, lines drawn deep into the dirt as the two tribes hurled their masses into the fray. "Death before defeat" was the mantra of the day and night as they each claimed the moral high ground, an ascension worship beyond reason, beyond rational. They each claimed the ultimate truth and vowed to purge the evil before them. And yet in the background the watchers were safe, immune from the devastation as they siphoned and skimmed the fat rising to the top of the spilt pooled blood. They built their towers tall and halls immovable with forced allegiance. And people were spent and maimed all to the watchers' elevation and delight...  as it should be... elevation at others' expense... as it should be.

future same

The swing had begun, momentums untraceable to specific origin, but there were presumptions and accusations and many died from the backlash... believers taken to the street, wayward sheep following their masters' bellowing from media pulpits, mouths foaming, a rabid-ness with no antidote. Civil war is like that. Human nature demands it as we circle our tribes. And punishments reign for the circle must be lapped and lapped until there is no time left and no one left to keep the time. And in the end... same as it ever was...

retired

So now I'm really thinking communal centric with visions of scrap and techo-fusion, chaotic heaps of twisted rejection, worn out and rusted nonretardants, unupholstered skeletons draped and anchored into a new viable validity: replenished, reconstituted furnishings beyond the cult of personality and brand and expressive beyond the limitations of mass marketability, not manufracturable, not convair-ed assemblages, all beyond the reach of just form and function... insertion... melded fabrications enhancing the fluidity of ebb and flow when the body no longer can muster that exertion. Interconnecting appendages breathing and pumping life in one giant symphonic pulsating reverberation while encoded light streams beaming informative repercussions, simultaneously downloadable uploadable, calculating the infinite, honing the finite into dharmaniacal perfection, and all in the name of something else.

I'm thinking creaky old ageless ex-hipsters with sags and bumps and hair and warts grinding to a halt on the rails of somebody elses tracks while feeling no pain beyond the weight their tired bones already carry. I see them stacked interpersonal, layered in their individual nooks and crannies, old and bent geezers and dried up grannies walking the talk of grace and eloquence and not giving too much thought if anyone else is listening. I hear murmurs in the candle lit night around hearth with tunings and the clearing of hoarse throats and less nimble fingers about to pluck and noodle upon stings and these folk singing about a life well lived without tubes and breathing apparati.

I smell the yeasts of life brewing and baking and fermenting nourishment beyond a minimum daily allowance, a scented nullification of fixed income, an aromatic redefinition of the working, living, and breathing poor manifested into the wealthiest of abundant beings---wealthier than they ever were, wealthier than they ever will be. What a sweet smell it is.

one more time...

a slip and a dip and tomorrow maybe a pop
as the dead cat bounce continues to doo-wah bebop,
awaiting the next tickle down---
the next pump nozzle drop...

...and the market averages multiple down as the panicked double down their downs, looking for the bottom---the key word is down. But the sky may not be all so much falling, it actually may be opening up, creating a fissure in the Wall Street ceiling where much of our national worth is measured by how much is earned off of subscriber debt---debt accumulated by the accumulation of accumulates, and industrial disease---inhaled and absorbed seepage, residual from all the accumulative ooze.

Looking at prosperity as one thing and gluttony as another, are we possibly seeing the real fruition for 30 years of sanctioned gluttony? Banks imploding, oil prices on the brain---that to which ridiculously all life is umbilically attached, an impending food shortage, that global warming thing, and I am part of this cog---buying 10 times more cars in my lifetime than I had reasons for and I didn't know why at the time. Is this possible prelude to a shortage the trigger we need to spur a collective cooperativeness not seen since our ancestors trudged across the prairies in search for a better place to subsist: a pullback of more than the wallet? Original conservatives understood the value of community and being good stewards of the land. They knew that if you extracted without replenishing, abundance in all its forms could go to shit real fast. And that is all this new Capitalism is about... extraction. I don't know what the fuck the current NeoCons are thinking besides "more is better" and less is some one elses problem. I suspect that eventually, the ideology driving this new and supposedly improved corporate socialist structure will affect even the most die hard denialists deeper than what is at the bottom of the wallet. The question is---how long will it take and what can some of us do in the meantime to offset the inevitable calamities and dramas to come? How much more ineffective pissing and sniffing can we continue to tolerate?

Run away?
To where?
Hide, horde, and defend?
From what?

I keep thinking of the concept of Intentional Community and what that encompasses. I worry about the human ability for creating exclusive tribes which easily can lead to repression and oppression via the absolutes of authority. We seem to have enough of that on the national level and just who benefits from that? I wonder if required attachment to process and awareness of responsibility can overcome the inclinations for perceived privileged or subscriber inclusive/exclusive structures. I worry about retreat as a disconnect and how we really can't afford to disconnect. Us versus them has no place in quest for sustainability. We can't keep warring against each other, even on just a verbal level. History shows it can and most likely will escalate.

Creating a base for local mercantilism, agriculture, art, and individual expression, is not a utopian concept. Gathering into cooperatives for support and collective leverage for subsistence is not a hippie only thing. This might well be the best way to implode: micro villages, human terroir denoting place where a mental environment for access to a fair and even plane exists. A redefinition of want and need, one that doesn't impede or regress, but refocuses.

In the meantime... Go Bama

subsidiaries...

The State of Washington likes to investigate. They probably are no different than any other State in that respect. That is what they call it... investigation. Compliance and enforcement leads to modes of investigation and one medium for application is surveillance. They love surveillance. It gives them purpose. They hire people who survey and prioritize the aspects of enforcement over the needs of providing social service. They call that accountability. These surveillancers are not the highest quality of individuals. They crave the power of authority. They like to hide. They like the undercover aspect of the enforcement life. They get to play Serpico all over again. They have psychological deficiencies from childhood traumas and they are perfect for the job. They get off on the application of punishment. They love the leverage the State gives them. They like to threaten. They love the security of hiding behind the badge though it is a plastic one. When forced to confront, they shake because they are exposed and that makes them vulnerable. They are validated by law, so they see no fault in their character. They watch all the available reruns of Law and Order and dream of meglamaniacal grandeur and during commercial breaks, jump to whatever is on Fox News. They get paid and have benefits and retirement.

The State of Washington subsidizes the insurance industry. They compensate work men and work women injured and deemed unable to work by doctors on the State's preferred list just enough to hand it over to the insurance company for continuation of COBRA, who is not paying for any medical expenses associated with the injury. The tax payer does that. Socialized Corporate windfall is obviously preferred.

The State of Washington promotes alcoholism. They prefer a claimant to sit all day at a bar and spend their compensation drinking rather than attempting to contribute as a functioning member of society. If the surveillancers catch them doing anything but drinking heavily in a bar, specifically doing something that looks like work even they are not getting paid, they punish them with discontinuances and fines and label them fraudulent even though they are still recovering from surgury. Even though they have performed all the required rehabilitations and tests and retests while awaiting State decisions on continuance, the issue is all about the punishment.

The State subsidizes doctors, the ones that prescribe State funded surgeries and MRI's and physical therapies and pharmaceuticals who lead the injured to believe they need to find another line of work, for they are incapable of continuing in their once sustainable job. The State reimburses the doctors' for their efforts. When confronted by the surveillancers, the doctors fold and run for cover, agreeing the accused is definitely at fault. They don't want off the list.

The State of Washington subsidizes lawyers, the ones that are guaranteed 30% of whatever they keep the State from taking back from the accused. So if the accused owes the State $10,000 and the lawyer negotiates the back payment to $4,000, the accused gets to pay the State the $4,000 and the lawyer $1,800 of the $6,000 that was saved.

It's a good gig if you can get it.