I'm one horribly depressing plague and I suppose it makes sense why one and all should veer from this that I am.

"Now you're knocking at my door
Saying please come out against the night
But I would rather be alone
Than pretend I feel alright ....

Now I'm Ready to Start
I would rather be wrong
Than live in the shadows of your song
My mind is open wide
And now I'm ready to start "

Ahhh yes,

money control

Here are some stats that show how hierarchal institutions control our lives. Why do the rich get richer and the poor poorer? Because we do nothing about it except post it in a blog.

• 83 percent of all U.S. stocks are in the hands of 1 percent of the people.
• 61 percent of Americans "always or usually" live paycheck to paycheck, which was up from 49 percent in 2008 and 43 percent in 2007.
• 66 percent of the income growth between 2001 and 2007 went to the top 1% of all Americans.
• 36 percent of Americans say that they don't contribute anything to retirement savings.
• A staggering 43 percent of Americans have less than $10,000 saved up for retirement.
• 24 percent of American workers say that they have postponed their planned retirement age in the past year.
• Over 1.4 million Americans filed for personal bankruptcy in 2009, which represented a 32 percent increase over 2008.
• Only the top 5 percent of U.S. households have earned enough additional income to match the rise in housing costs since 1975.
• For the first time in U.S. history, banks own a greater share of residential housing net worth in the United States than all individual Americans put together.
• In 1950, the ratio of the average executive's paycheck to the average worker's paycheck was about 30 to 1. Since the year 2000, that ratio has exploded to between 300 to 500 to one.
• As of 2007, the bottom 80 percent of American households held about 7% of the liquid financial assets.
• The bottom 50 percent of income earners in the United States now collectively own less than 1 percent of the nation’s wealth.
• Average Wall Street bonuses for 2009 were up 17 percent when compared with 2008.
• In the United States, the average federal worker now earns 60% MORE than the average worker in the private sector.
• The top 1 percent of U.S. households own nearly twice as much of America's corporate wealth as they did just 15 years ago.
• In America today, the average time needed to find a job has risen to a record 35.2 weeks.
• More than 40 percent of Americans who actually are employed are now working in service jobs, which are often very low paying.
• or the first time in U.S. history, more than 40 million Americans are on food stamps, and the U.S. Department of Agriculture projects that number will go up to 43 million Americans in 2011.
• This is what American workers now must compete against: in China a garment worker makes approximately 86 cents an hour and in Cambodia a garment worker makes approximately 22 cents an hour.
• Approximately 21 percent of all children in the United States are living below the poverty line in 2010 - the highest rate in 20 years.
• Despite the financial crisis, the number of millionaires in the United States rose a whopping 16 percent to 7.8 million in 2009.
• The top 10 percent of Americans now earn around 50 percent of our national income.

The source

exposure

-I've undoubted your doubt of mistrust

and now picture this-

the boys crossing railroad tracks

a boundary to the forbidden

and find a cleansing pool where promised

is redemption and loyalty

comrades, love and honor...

the boys are marching dreaming

or days surrounded by those

willing to spill their lifeline for one

and all those that carry poison are vanquished

by the collective of kindred capable of protecting all

-I've diminished a bit of your skeptic

and now form this in your heart-

a broken man reaches for the face

of a woman whom he desires

but his hand is lowered and passes her a thought

saying, "i mend my mind by knowing yours",

and thoughts are spilled and souls exposed

vulnerable, incapable and open they are

to the deceptions of another

but solace is not found in being secure

solace, they discover, is found

by lying open exposed in each other's eyes

and the broken man's wounds are healed

in the open facing the elements of learning another.

-Picture this my skeptic doubtful mistrusting friend,

a world where no back is exposed to an enemy

and all of our being is exposed to a comrade and partner...

to whom we are exposed is our painful death or joyous living.

nothing

now a driven one would certainly find

that all in all all is done when

anything asked as apparent allowable

aspirations

not to be sought

is the end of humankind...

and as apathetic

humans hum

to themselves

while withholding wonderful

daring dreams desires & drive

from forward

magnificent minds

we shall find ourselves doomed and destructed

by the ends of moving, doing, and thinking nothing.

exert

An exert from an email I wrote:

It would be great to return to Germany and Paraguay in that year off. I find myself when I am there, in the home of my blood and in the land of where I would give my blood to protect. I'm not talking about protecting the state of Paraguay, but the nation of people, indigenous and non-indigenous alike, that I have grown to love so much. I wish not to be another white male progressive activist who assumes a role of "caretaker" or inspirational leader of those people. To me that is another form of colonialism when we offer "our knowledge" and aid as the only solution to "their primitive condition". While I am sad for their hardships I do not pity these people and pity is not what drives me to action. I have learned of the beautiful intricacies of a people, of many peoples, and as near as possible as allowed I have placed myself beside them. I hope they see it as much as I do as a mutual relationship. What bugs me so much about NGO's and other non-profit organization is the condescending attitude to those they aid. I hate the look of pity in their eyes and the inability to have a resolute look of respect in the eyes when measuring the people in impoverished situations. Now, not all organizations or people in the organizations have this ignorant perspective and I cannot brush aside the good that is done via the medium of human outreach so long as they have no neo-liberal agenda. Curse the spread of modern day indenturism and curse the Debt King and our inability to open our dimmed eyes the virtual slavery to which we are held and the majority of the world more-so than us. Most of all curse the corporations which "legally" have more human rights than a human being and curse the few patriarchs that control all the buttons and switches in the world...curse their secret organizations that in vain good people attempt the expose. Curse the bars that hold political prisoners and curse that apathy and indifference that imprisons that majority of America...and the world. Curse me for not doing enough and curse me for having fallen into this Rat Race. BUT, thanks for the concept of change and thanks for the fortitude of the groups of individuals in our lives that inspire us through mutual recognition of love and loyalty. The love of friends, family and peers in battle for the life where the deaf can hear, the blind can see, and the mute can shout for reason of pure joy. This is not future, this is to be now.

hmmph

"step or stone, breath or bone. Earth, air and water all seems accursed. But so our path is laid"

-Tolkien

Invictus

By William Earnest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

BV

better days, not today. tomorrow isn't waiting for me to embrace something new. today is quite heavy and my head won't be held up. alone...not alone, can't do it alone. can i? tremble tremble tremble in each other's sight. "serious", you ask? "you're a joke", you assign to me? ME? me is alone, can't do it alone. it's something that black velvet can't cure...can't do it alone. want to? yup...but i/me can't do it alone.

what is on my mind?

Let me rant let me rant let me rant...

this is not a hypothetical proposal

what if the strike was real

and from all forces and angles

IT was confronted ?

Disintegrated past the point of diluting

and the traces were not leaked

into our near and promising future?

We are we and 'I' is ineffective with regard

to everything the human condition hopes to achieve.

Do not learn my name, do not recognize my face,

do not look to me for orders

do not follow me not watching for the wolf

prowling in your blindside.

This strike will be anomalous

avoiding the traps of the past

avoiding the traps of the carnal.

We are collective

We are consensus

We are, "we are"

In mutual agreement we achieve the necessary.

paranoia

So, I just thought of this thing that made another thing make total sense about everything. What we should remember is that nothing is an allusion, illusion, or delusion to the conclusion that all things are not constructed equal. Forget creation, we are talking construction. What have you been built up to mean? What are your symbols, i.e. who the hell are you?. Who the hell am I and what the hell is the thing that made another thing make total sense about everything? Well, it's just sometimes...well, how do I tell you this? ... freedom isn't free yankee.

glen beck=dork.

Is this the face that so many choose for pop culture Mormonism? Is that what so many are proud of? Flaunting money, egomaniacal, fact twisting superstar... sad day for humanity:

apathy

We had to write a final reflection for my Race and Minority Relations Class. The assignment was to just write without editing, etc. So, this isn't edited so bear with me. I just wanted to post it cause I'm so pissed at people in the class for being so apathetic.

Here:

One of the things that I realized one of the final days of class is that people do not like to feel uncomfortable. It isn’t that I didn’t know this before but it was just very evident to me during a class presentation. It was quite discouraging that people were getting upset that I was dissecting and showing the fallacies behind the “Cons to Immigration” argument. Initially the girl wasn’t showing how these arguments were false but rather just reading what she said, “I found it in several places in the internet”, which we know can have a definite bias and be constituted as misrepresenting the argument at hand. Why am I the only one of the few that keeps talking? Because I care. Many people may be sick of hearing me but it pisses me off when people sit back and soak in false arguments that showing the “cons” of immigration. One must ask themselves if the majority of the members in our class would’ve seen the lies to the “con” argument of immigration or would have just accepted it as true “cons” and negative implications of immigration. I would argue that they would’ve taken them as truth and good rebuttal to the “pros” of immigration. This is just an isolated incidence but such things have happened multiple times. A quote from the movie Boondock Saints goes, “what we have to fear is not the evil of bad men, but the indifference of good men”. I don’t know if I saw that change in our class. Some people just say things to participate, but never take them home. I thought I could trust that people, for the better, could change. But indifference was everywhere in class today. So what if I have too much to say? What I have to say is important because it debunks the fallacies that we live in our everyday lives. People stopped caring a few weeks into the class. They did what they had to in order to get by. People became too tired and sick of talking about these serious issues. Us white folk don’t like to see the truth and reality to what we have done to people. It’s better to scoff at, despise, or whisper behind the back of the individual that has something to say. If they won’t say or recognize it then I’ll shove it in their faces. I will not apologize for that. I will not run away from issues such as the vigilantism of racist white Americans gunning down people on the border. I will not let some “facts” (they aren’t facts) be displayed on the projector without being debunked. I will not waver when people scowl at me for expressing my honest experiences and opinions on the catastrophe of social stratification and racism so prevalent in our society. If students despise me for speaking out and making them uncomfortable, then so be it. If students see me as a raging opinionated critic of our society, then so be it. I don’t care about their opinion, hell; I don’t even care about their feelings when it comes to such matters as social injustice. I care about fixing us. I care about the black man and white man trying to understand each other. I care about fixing what we have done to the indigenous societies (including the USA) all over the world. I care about women having a voice…about any oppressed, repressed, suppressed group/people/individual having a voice that creates movement and doesn’t just echo without being heard in the ears of indifference. What did I learn in this class? That people don’t care enough.

Bona Fide Beauty!!!

My friend, Ariana Bentz, is coordinating this event that everyone should and will attend.

Here is what she has to say about it:

Press Release:

Research with beauty pageant contestants in a methods course drove home the realization that our society is concerned with what women look like physically, but focuses very little attention on what they can accomplish. Accordingly, many women measure their self worth through their outward appearance, which is often inspired, and measured against, images in the media. For my senior project in anthropology, I decided to try to do something about this.

Bona fide Beauty is a salute to real female beauty. Friday, April 2nd from 12 - 5 p.m. in the LA Concourse a series of activities will be offered devoted to raising awareness of the exploitation of female beauty for profit. The goal is to erase the beauty myth, where companies profit from the objectification of women, to reject expectations of physical beauty that place women in smaller and smaller boxes, and to show off our Bona fide Beauty instead. Activities will include an open mic to share thoughts on what defines real beauty, a day without make-up, recycling of fashion magazines, exploring the mysteries of PhotoShop with regard to the altering of women's images, and an opportunity to clothe an image of a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. Please join us for a stimulating afternoon.

10,000 maniacs...of paper.

If I were to travel back in time 10,000 years (preferably to the time of the Third Age in Middle Earth) with a piece of paper and on that paper the was written a glorious testament of me! Testament of me aside, if someone found that piece of paper today would it be 10,000 years old or brand new?

Severance

My severance package is all that I never thought wrong.

My peace of mind isn't quite yet complete.

A piece of my peace of mind is all the more complete.

My guilt no longer is in the hands of patriarchy.

My loyalty stands to only be stronger once I release.

My thoughts carry me as undeserving at times,

but those that love me would never feel pity

but trust my commitment to me.

homeward book-bound

Thank god for fantasy books. I've delayed a bit to long in beginning, what I consider, a true life quest. More like, "escape TO reality", because my world is theirs and my world is there. Enough of this web-surfing text, I'm about to go back home via paperback.

Pity Party!!!

In high anxiety I live

and while I feign my trust

I give it to no single one

It isn't that none are deserving

but rather

many are undeserving

and who am I to know

the treacherous type

to tread on me

reap from me

creep through me.

"Heart", you say?

HEART?!?!

Eh, mine is fucked.

Welcome to my pity party.

Have fun with em'

I'm a fool for what I once thought was superb.

Oh it's not, it's not, not so superb.

Sure it is.

I have this case of nostalgia every now and then

and I'm not quite sure how to interpret...

so I won't, I won't, won't interpret.

Sure I will.

Dying Father

There was this boy who thought himself a man. I tell this story not to encourage and neither to enrage. I am a man of peace until a line is crossed where I feel infiltrated by an ideology not mine. I will defend my place even if it be founded on the blood of the innocent, for that I am fairly ashamed, but I will defend my place:

This boy (my boy) was yet to become what we call a 'man'.

"What makes a man", he asked his father".
He (that's me) did not have an immediate answer for the curious lad who thought to become a man.
"My boy, my boy, my boy...", as I responded in time, "...a man, a man is more than himself".
"Himself?", he wondered.
As a father I gave my timely response:
"More than himself is a man that lives past the expectations of others. A man does not believe in the American Dream, but a man attempts to be responsible for his production. A man is more than himself when he comes inside with bloody hands from work and toil and then can still hold his child as though his hands were of silk. A man is also the mother, sister, daughter and wife...all the roles expected for others. A man more than himself does not feel the tread of others. A man, a true man, raises a fist in the defense of others. He does not wait for things to change but is the catalyst. A man concerns himself with his locale which extends to wherever life is found. Care about life my boy, care about death as well; do not abandon the balance.
Finally a man does not hold himself to 'just a man', my boy. My boy, a man can be a woman and a woman a man. A man is more than himself when he puts aside the expectations of all to live in equality with the others, for none can own another."
"Do you understand this my boy?", was my question.
The son turned with deep eyes to his dying father and said, "Dear Father, I think myself a man." "I suppose that you are...", were the last whispers of a dying father.

Dropkick Murphys my boys

Since I was a wee lad I have always felt myself identifying a bit with the good boys from Dropkick Murphys. I suppose I'm just another German wishing I was Irish. But with St. Patties Day coming up in less then a week I suppose it's my day to shine. So all you fucking Eurotrash and front seat craving neo-liberal trans-nationalistic bullshittin neo-naxistic (destroyers of the true multi-ethnic skinhead movement) progressive bureaucratic ass-wiping death-workers...fuck you! Is that punk enough for you? My clothes may have changed but the punk-boy is in my core and my fists can still fly. Try me.

Lyrics to Eurotrash :
This Song Goes Out To All The Trendy, Spoiled Bastards Who Listen To Shitty Music! Euro Trash, go away, so so trenty, your pathetic. Euro Scumbag, champagne and cavier, techno bullshit, blarin from your daddys car. You are such a mess, I hate you Euro Trash. You try hard to dress like your the best. Why don't you must go away, don't you look down on me. Go away and stay. You go down to M-80 tonight, see throught clothing way too tight. Euro jerkoff who the fuck do you think you are? Spoiled rich boy, fuck your ero bars! You are such a mess, I hate you Euro Trash. You try hard to dress like your the best. Why don't you must go away, don't you look down on me. Go away and stay. Kill! Kill! Kill!

Lyrics to Front Seat :
Some times I get so fired up I never feel like commin down. But your attitude you have is tearin us apart. You constantly whine and moan, waxing passively. I've got a solution for you today. We'll take the front seat mister, and we're never gonna take the back, we'll take the front seat, mister liberal scum to the back. You come forward with an attitude forthright. But it's only temporary, feigned and fucking tried. We have an ongoing war me and you, but I've got the answer and I know what to do. We'll take the front seat mister, and we're never gonna take the back, we'll take the front seat, mister liberal scum to the back. Anger, Dischord, Pissed Off, Lets Tear This Place Apart! We'll take the front seat mister, and we're never gonna take the back, we'll take the front seat, mister liberal scum to the back.

Suicide of my morals

I did a book critique of Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee by Dee Brown. Below is the opinion/reflection section of the paper. Sorry if seems a bit self-oriented but the professor is asking about us and our perception of the ethnicity presented in the book. It's not academic, in fact, I think I'm just ranting in this section but it may help illustrate some of my personal feelings toward to issue. Here:

I very much appreciated this book. As a white male it obviously brought new information to the table for me. This only serves as fuel to the fire because I am involved and plan to be more involved with indigenous activist movements in South America. I have a substantial amount of knowledge (as an outsider) of the plight of the Guarani Indians in Paraguay. I have also conducted fieldwork in Paraguay revealing acts of resistance by the native community against assimilation. My weakness is in the knowledge of the plight, rape, pillage, violation, massacre, atrocity, relocation, etc. of the indigenous natives to the United States. While my interest in Paraguay stems from serving an LDS mission in Paraguay and learning the Guarani language while living with them for quite some time, I find myself, like most white Americans, unfamiliar to what has and what does occur with our indigenous population. I would hope that this inspirational work has served and motivated me to also be involved and active in the indigenous social movements in the United States. I realize that as a white outsider my ability to aid in social movements is limited to the trust that the indigenous population gives to me. I am o.k. with that. To be indifferent to the current situation of indigenous groups and to “hope” for a better future would violate my morals that you would think I would consciously defend.

The effect of this book on my opinion and perception of the Native American ethnicity was profound mainly in one specific way. I was aware that the Native Americans used many forms of resistance against the dominant white society but this book added further detail. Oftentimes white culture looks at the “history” of Native Americans and considers them passive and childlike much like the initial perception of Christopher Columbus. This translates to mean that the Native Americans were foolish children in mind and easily manipulated and controlled. Following such a concept would also imply that they were immature in religion, morals, “civility”, and thus why they were called, “heathens”. Whites consider it their job to either exterminate such a despicable race or educate them to catch up (but stay slightly behind) in “progression”. Over the past few years I have made a conscious effort to turn such a concept on its head and shake the hell out of anyone who continues to adhere to such foolish and ignorant perceptions. What Dee Brown revealed to me is that Native Americans were even more aggressive, active, and independent in defending themselves, their resources, and their ideologies. The book was filled with numerous examples of Native Americans staring the white man in the face and fighting to the death for what should not have been necessary to defend, i.e. their rightfully occupied land and traditions. While many times the Native American was staring the white man in the face to defend what was theirs, on a continual basis, was a white man that sneaked up behind his back to craftily slip in a sharp blade that was only intended for death to the Native. Yes, what has happened is truly a tragedy. But the greater tragedy is the indifference of men and women who claim to live by morals. The tragedy even can be found in the Native American community. Today, when talking with a friend who is 1/4 Cherokee, I asked her why she was not angry about the past and she responded, “Well, they haven’t done anything to me”. The attitude by the dominant of, “I haven’t done anything to them, what my ancestors did is not my fault”, and the attitude of the dominated of, “they haven’t done anything to me”, is what plagues and aids the constant festering of this open sore which we call, “racism”. To me, to push the responsibility of healing the sore to the next generation would be my suicide of my morals.

Body count: 1

this paper is killing me so I'm gonna take a break:

When I was young I made 50 million records. I am the youngest superstar you have ever known. I created a frenzy of make belief lovers that always had it out for me. Those crazies wanted a piece of me, literally. I lost my arm in the War on Love even though congress never declared it official. I deployed 50 million to march in my name...in the name of Love. You too, U2, me too? Me as well.
Old news; I then lost my leg in the War on Love 2. Then I Killed Myself When I was Young. I needed a.a. bandage, A.A. Bondy, a.a. body bag? hmm.
Now it's quiet and I just hear the whistle of the wind in my old war zone. I am now the prodigal son of a prodigal son. An anomaly in the family that loved the Army. I fear in the near future my blood will enter that war opposed to my own...and that war zone hears no whistle of empty but the cries of the dying and the innocent fleeing. As innocents intercept bullets meant for ideology I think of my father who said, "they only seek peace for their family". Oh my, oh my, oh my...is that not our boys desire?
So come over to my side brother of the desert and join the 50 million march toward to the War on Love and let us find an empty battlefield. My hope, my dream. Body count: 1.

did you know...The new indie is dead...did you know?

So I saw this explosion.
Boom-shack-rattle-roll it said to me.
Out of this explosion, unbeknownst to me, came forth a hipster zombie.
This hipster zombie didn't know it was dead.
did you know...The new indie is dead...did you know?
Hipster Zombie had all the right apparel, american in style.
It even lived in an urban, lounge sort of area.
Where it had a job at an outfitters store, urban in location.
And smelt of vintage, decades or more in age.
Hipster Zombie roams from people to people.
It'll suck your face if you're not careful
and take your intellect and use it as blanket statements
to criticize the, "masses".
Hipster Zombie thinks itself different
but we see the zombie in it...
poor old brainwashed Hipster Zombie
same attitude different clothes.
But us humans can still see Hipster Zombies real face
oh goodness, it is mighty ugly.
Be careful...it bites...it'll disease you.
did you know...The new indie is dead...did you know?

Willy is so freakin pissed

I'm pretty pissed about the sympathy for the trainers of the "Killer" Whales, better yet, let's call them by something proper which is, "orca"...no, not "Shamu". If orcas fell under the category of domesticated animals then I would justify sympathy for the CAUSE of death to the trainer. Yes, I do sympathize that she has died and for the grief of her family, but I feel no remorse in regards to how it happened. Read this quote:
He said they enjoyed the show, adding: "It's a tragedy, but these things happen when you're dealing with wild animals."
NO FUCK! A tragedy? The real tragedy is the forced relocation of these animals and then the exploitation for capitalist gains. Oh, what was that? You say, "they love splashing people and throwing trainers in the air"! Nope. They do it because they associate the behavior with a reward of treats or a meal. Ever wonder why their dorsal fin goes flaccid? Ever seen Free Willy, dumbass?
I suppose I'm not an animal activist because I have not strong knowledge of both sides of the argument. But, my opinion... free the orcas, and then you won't die! I'm pretty sure the whales are pissed. Free Willy!!!!

Trial of Tim DeChristopher

[The following was co-written by Naomi Klein, author of #1 NYT bestseller The Shock Doctrine, Terry Tempest Williams, world renowned wildlife author, Bill Mckibben, founter of 350.org and author of The End Of Nature, and Dr. James Hansen, author of Storms of my Grandchildren, and who is regarded as the world's leading climatologist. All recognize the trial of Tim DeChristopher to be a turning point in the climate movement. Included are links to resources for travel to Utah]

Dear Friends,

The epic fight to ward off global warming and transform the energy system that is at the core of our planet’s economy takes many forms: huge global days of action, giant international conferences like the one that just failed in Copenhagen, small gestures in the homes of countless people.

But there are a few signal moments, and one comes next month, when the federal government puts Tim DeChristopher on trial in Salt Lake City. Tim—“Bidder 70”-- pulled off one of the most creative protests against our runaway energy policy in years: he bid for the oil and gas leases on several parcels of federal land even though he had no money to pay for them, thus upending the auction. The government calls that “violating the Federal Onshore Oil and Gas Leasing Reform Act” and thinks he should spend ten years in jail for the crime; we call it a noble act, a profound gesture made on behalf of all of us and of the future.

Tim’s action drew national attention to the fact that the Bush Administration spent its dying days in office handing out a last round of favors to the oil and gas industry. After investigating irregularities in the auction, the Obama Administration took many of the leases off the table, with Interior Secretary Ken Salazar criticizing the process as “a headlong rush.” And yet that same Administration is choosing to prosecute the young man who blew the whistle on this corrupt process.

We cannot let this stand. When Tim disrupted the auction, he did so in the fine tradition of non-violent civil disobedience that changed so many unjust laws in this country’s past. Tim’s upcoming trial is an occasion to raise the alarm once more about the peril our planet faces. The situation is still fluid—the trial date has just been set, and local supporters are making plans for how to mark the three-day proceedings. But they are asking people around the country to flood into Salt Lake City in mid-March. If you come, there will be ample opportunity for both legal protest and civil disobedience. For example:

#Outside the courthouse, there will be a mock trial, with experts like NASA’s Jim Hansen providing the facts that should be heard inside the chambers. We don’t want Tim on trial—we want global warming on the stand.

#Demonstrators will be using the time-honored tactics of civil disobedience to make their voices heard outside the courthouse in an effort to prevent “business as usual”—it’s business as usual that’s wrecking the earth.

#There will be evening concerts and gatherings, including a “mini-summit” to share ideas on how the climate movement should proceed in the years ahead. This is a people’s movement that draws power from around the globe; for a few days its headquarters will be Salt Lake City.

You can get the most up-to-date news at climatetrial.com, including schedules for non-violence training, and information about legal representation. If you’re coming, bring not only your passion but also your creativity—we need lots of art and music to help make the point that we won’t sit idly by while the government tries to scare the environmental movement into meek cooperation. This kind of trial is nothing but intimidation—and the best answers to intimidation are joy and resolve. That’s what we’ll need in Utah.

We know it’s short notice. Some of us won’t be able to make it to Utah because we have other commitments or are limiting travel, and if you’re in the same situation, climatetrial.com will also have details of solidarity actions in other parts of the country. If you can contribute money to help make the week’s events possible, click here. But more than your money we need your body, your brains, and your heart. In a landscape of little water, where redrock canyons rise upward like praying hands, we can offer our solidarity to the wild: wild lands and wild hearts. Tim DeChristopher deserves and needs our physical and spiritual support in the name of a just and vibrant community.

Thank you for standing with us,

Naomi Klein,

Bill McKibben,

Terry Tempest Williams

Dr. James Hansen

Indifferent

Tell me why I can't complain. Are you the surest that I've never seen a miracle? I suppose, beyond all that you care to believe, that I've been to the opposites to witness both possibilities of humankind. On me they put this decision and I must plead inexperience...slip through these worn fingers a chance to become what I once thought could be me. My cup, my fill? No, thank you. I knew the best decision and I let it fall past me. I hate indifference.

What the to doodoo?

I'm living my life in the margins, marginalized only by me. I guess this isn't something new following our family experience but this time I'm unsure which way to split.

I declare this painting, found by Hilary, as the best painting in the history of human & ferretkind and dedicate it to my very own ferret, Lady.

Amnesic Heart

Military man took the journey to a dry land where a family sought peace
Exploited man stole the bread of everyday to feed his young ones
Working man shot sticky fingers in the back to preserve those he loved
Our commonality is we seek no common understanding and common ground is the least occupied
Hearts are the most amnesic where no common ground is found.

Paraguay's Indigenous Peoples in peril

More tragedy
For Amnesty International article

Papa's stories

My Sister asked my Father to write a couple of stories about his youth. Here is what he wrote:

And now to my youth. My first real memory of growing up was when I was about three years old. I remember that I had red suspenders and grandpa's red cowboy boots. They were fancy dancing boots from his youth when he was dating grandma. I wore those boots out, they did not fit and I had to drag my feet to keep them on but they were the only shoes I would wear. I loved those boots and wish I had them now, not to wear but as a part of my life.

We did not have much as I was growing up. All of my clothes were hand-me-downs from my Aunt Mary, grandma sister. she had two boys that were a couple of years older than I was so when they grew out of something they passed it on to me. By the time I got them they had already been through two boys. It seemed that everything had patches. I hated patches and would pick them off. To prevent that Mom would sew them from the inside of my pants. Aunt Mary gave me a pair of wool Sunday pants that I hated. They itched so bad but grandma made me wear them. I would have gone naked to church rather than wear those pants given a choice.

We were a poor family but I did not know that. Everyone I knew was poor and dressed much the same as I did. We all worked, we had to but it did not seem like such a big deal. We did not have a TV until 1961 and then we only got one station from Idaho Falls. We raised rabbits and sold them to 'Green's Market' which used to be across the street from the post office and the Western store. Dad would butcher the rabbits and I would deliver them. Mr. Green would give Dad the money or more often would write it against the balance we owed him.

In the fall we would all work in the potatoes fields picking 'spuds'. We got paid a nickel a bag which we split. On a good day we could earn a couple of dollars but only when we picked with grandma. She could fill a couple of bags in the same time that Linda and I used to fill a basket. It took two baskets to fill a bag and sometimes it was a long haul to get enough to fill the basket. I work the fields until I joined the Army and went from picker to 'bucker'. A 'bucker' would walk along the side of a flat bed truck and pick the filled bags up and throw them onto the truck while another person would stack the bags on the truck. Once you got the hang of it you could throw the bags up eight or nine feet. We thought we were the biggest studs and the absolute peak of the potatoes harvest crew. The most I ever got paid was .13 cents a bag and would earn thirty or forty dollars a day.

With my wages I would buy all of my school clothes and supplies for the year. I was king of the hill when I could buy a pair of new levis'. No patches!

As I earned more than just a few dollars I would give most of what I earned to Dad and Mom. I remember one time giving them my whole earnings for the season. It was $383 dollars which was a lot of money and even more sweat. It did not seem strange or like they were demanding that I give them what I earned, it was just the way it was. It was 'our' money. We were living high on the hog that year, store bought bread and real cereal, not just cracked wheat, but corn flakes.

Well enough stories for today.

Love ya - Dad

unfinished alliteration

11/8/09
Fall is forgiven faults found
in my mounds matriculating mountains of
dismay downwards to
obviously oblique optimistic
persona's purposely penetrated...

11/20/09
Death deals the devils distant
punishment of pure poverty
in colloquial concepts comes
to say that social stratification
is just justified
by nature not nurture...
I say it is bullshit.

Non-alliteration, just feelings to an experience:
Sept 2009
"There is always one of those"
and I'm sorry for my rebuttal,
sorry to have offended.
Where I thought opinions could be entertained
without the damage of offense
was just another illusion
and here is not a safe zone.

flash from the past

10/23/09
Mad vengeance is upon this scene
where atrocities were performed
and is found unforgiven
to whom left the charred remains
unidentifiable to all.
But he who knows
what was burnt
is a madman of satire
so dance and chant
on the lovers ash
stomp the bones
of that which is unknown.

10/25/09
HYPOCRITE?
how dare you call believers "HYPOCRITES"?! Do you even know what that word means? You do not make me feel uplifted by your preaching. You have no Spirit and your competitive mindset is contrary to Christ. The Gospel is no competition and God cries when we patronize his children. You are far from representing the Mormon doctrinal value.

The Guarani need help and this site has a fund set up to support them. This fund supports the Guarani in Brazil but there continues to be the same tragic problems in Paraguay. Read the story and watch the videos here:
http://www.survivalinternational.org/tribes/guarani

Broducer Revolution

The fallacy of the producer revolution is that you consumed more than those you deemed consumers. Go to jail.

Plane

I have had racist thoughts but am I a racist? Conscious attempts to expel socialization and learned behavior are my best attempts. To say I'm inherently racist as a white is just as debasing as saying a black American is inherently less intelligent than a white American. Forgive and be patient my constant conscious battle with socialization for I am not a racist.