11 Temmuz 2012 Çarşamba
10 Temmuz 2012 Salı
9 Temmuz 2012 Pazartesi
Don't Sleep in The Subway
To contact us Click HERE
Shortly after I recorded this video the emergency alarms went off in the music building and the entire place was evacuated. I asked those in the stairway if it happens often or if someone was shooting random victims from the bell tower. We plunged into the street not knowing what would happen next. I feel like all of this is giving shuffleboard lessons on board the Titanic. But a part of me thinks that is exactly what life is, a kid comes to you with a splinter on a boat that is sinking...what do you do? You take the splinter out. You teach shuffleboard. You sing gospel songs or Pet Clark tunes. Then the ship sinks. It makes no difference. You can't be like Whitman and think you are going to go on a rampage of mercy and take everyone out of their misery. Fuck it. The boat will sink eventually. Go learn to juggle oranges. I'm gonna go eat tacos and jarritos and watch the fireworks that are really emergency flares.
Shortly after I recorded this video the emergency alarms went off in the music building and the entire place was evacuated. I asked those in the stairway if it happens often or if someone was shooting random victims from the bell tower. We plunged into the street not knowing what would happen next. I feel like all of this is giving shuffleboard lessons on board the Titanic. But a part of me thinks that is exactly what life is, a kid comes to you with a splinter on a boat that is sinking...what do you do? You take the splinter out. You teach shuffleboard. You sing gospel songs or Pet Clark tunes. Then the ship sinks. It makes no difference. You can't be like Whitman and think you are going to go on a rampage of mercy and take everyone out of their misery. Fuck it. The boat will sink eventually. Go learn to juggle oranges. I'm gonna go eat tacos and jarritos and watch the fireworks that are really emergency flares.
8 Temmuz 2012 Pazar
Don't Sleep in The Subway
To contact us Click HERE
Shortly after I recorded this video the emergency alarms went off in the music building and the entire place was evacuated. I asked those in the stairway if it happens often or if someone was shooting random victims from the bell tower. We plunged into the street not knowing what would happen next. I feel like all of this is giving shuffleboard lessons on board the Titanic. But a part of me thinks that is exactly what life is, a kid comes to you with a splinter on a boat that is sinking...what do you do? You take the splinter out. You teach shuffleboard. You sing gospel songs or Pet Clark tunes. Then the ship sinks. It makes no difference. You can't be like Whitman and think you are going to go on a rampage of mercy and take everyone out of their misery. Fuck it. The boat will sink eventually. Go learn to juggle oranges. I'm gonna go eat tacos and jarritos and watch the fireworks that are really emergency flares.
Shortly after I recorded this video the emergency alarms went off in the music building and the entire place was evacuated. I asked those in the stairway if it happens often or if someone was shooting random victims from the bell tower. We plunged into the street not knowing what would happen next. I feel like all of this is giving shuffleboard lessons on board the Titanic. But a part of me thinks that is exactly what life is, a kid comes to you with a splinter on a boat that is sinking...what do you do? You take the splinter out. You teach shuffleboard. You sing gospel songs or Pet Clark tunes. Then the ship sinks. It makes no difference. You can't be like Whitman and think you are going to go on a rampage of mercy and take everyone out of their misery. Fuck it. The boat will sink eventually. Go learn to juggle oranges. I'm gonna go eat tacos and jarritos and watch the fireworks that are really emergency flares.
7 Temmuz 2012 Cumartesi
Don't Sleep in The Subway
To contact us Click HERE
Shortly after I recorded this video the emergency alarms went off in the music building and the entire place was evacuated. I asked those in the stairway if it happens often or if someone was shooting random victims from the bell tower. We plunged into the street not knowing what would happen next. I feel like all of this is giving shuffleboard lessons on board the Titanic. But a part of me thinks that is exactly what life is, a kid comes to you with a splinter on a boat that is sinking...what do you do? You take the splinter out. You teach shuffleboard. You sing gospel songs or Pet Clark tunes. Then the ship sinks. It makes no difference. You can't be like Whitman and think you are going to go on a rampage of mercy and take everyone out of their misery. Fuck it. The boat will sink eventually. Go learn to juggle oranges. I'm gonna go eat tacos and jarritos and watch the fireworks that are really emergency flares.
Shortly after I recorded this video the emergency alarms went off in the music building and the entire place was evacuated. I asked those in the stairway if it happens often or if someone was shooting random victims from the bell tower. We plunged into the street not knowing what would happen next. I feel like all of this is giving shuffleboard lessons on board the Titanic. But a part of me thinks that is exactly what life is, a kid comes to you with a splinter on a boat that is sinking...what do you do? You take the splinter out. You teach shuffleboard. You sing gospel songs or Pet Clark tunes. Then the ship sinks. It makes no difference. You can't be like Whitman and think you are going to go on a rampage of mercy and take everyone out of their misery. Fuck it. The boat will sink eventually. Go learn to juggle oranges. I'm gonna go eat tacos and jarritos and watch the fireworks that are really emergency flares.
When Safety Nets Capture
To contact us Click HERE
"The fight is never about grapes or lettuce. It is always about people."
Cesar Chavez
I feel an agrarian revolution is not only required but is imminent. I love reading Forbes Magazine for the self-satisfied interviews of bright people who molded themselves perfectly into the insulated, blind, fool on hill paradigm of Modern America and make six and seven figure salaries basically shuffling decks of digital cards so other people (web site owners) can read the information and decide what works on their dog sweater website. So, basically you can make a million dollars by being several steps removed from actual tangible skills and products. (some might say, that's the only way to make a million dollars.) These are not jobs, they are gimmicks that will exist for a blink of an eye before we realize they have no value. These phony CEOs go to the store, buy 3 mangoes for a dollar and probably complain when the milk goes up a dime for every gallon. Those days are going to be short lived and I don't need to hire a financial forecaster to tell me that because common sense would tell you that spreadsheets are not as tangible as cotton. (Yeah, economists will argue differently because their job is on the line but I'm not fooled) The trick has always been a moral slight of hand that decreases the value of a mango farmer and elevates the value of internet commerce analysis (I really hope I live to see the day this hoax is exposed). I've really pondered why that is true and it basically comes down to the fact that most people don't actually want to live honestly by their own means and so they rationalize their own superficial careers to justify an exploitation of farmers and farm workers, honest people of the earth who produce tangible and required products, whose common sense prevents their entry into flim flam currency trading or the hedge fund black hole. (That sense isn't a flaw, it's an asset that think tank employees have defined as a flaw in propaganda.) That rationalization snowballs into a mass movement of exploitation and then into a vortex of cause and effect that produces systemic poverty (that requires billion dollar doctoral research groups to understand) and so on until the basic cause (lazy smart people) is completely buried in a pile of research papers and decades of accusations until the poor mango farmer is the "lazy dumb person" in the eyes of society. And that's the natural progression of an astounding lie: the Board of Irony defines the opposite as true and defends it with glossy think tank lies.
Take the violation notice I found on my van yesterday when I returned after my trip to the library. You would think going to the library would be safe, but for someone who lives in his van it means leaving the van unattended for a few hours at a city park. The van is an eyesore, as anyone in St. Louis will tell you, so the neighbors complain and the police come out and want to tow it. But it's parked facing in and that means they have to drag it out first and that's a hassle. Now, this is a city park on the map with picnic tables and I parked there because it was close to me and I took my moped to the library to save gas (like an idiot hippie). Now, I was so pissed off that I sat in my van for hours and fumed at society while reading my paper, cooking ramen noodles, playing guitar. They want an eyesore? I lit up the wood stove and had some hot dogs! It's 4th of July! Yippee! Smoke and sparks pouring into the brittle dry underbrush near an abandoned building. Fuck them.But look at the notice! "This vehicle is in violation of (circle one). Either it's abandoned or violating a municipal ordinance. Which is it? Comrade Ayula doesn't circle either and even though he has a pen in his hand he doesn't write what the fuck I'm doing wrong. It simply says that the clock is ticking on my losing 100% of my property to the city. Why? Because they said so. What could I possible do to defend myself? What court would hear my plight that this is everything I own and I parked in a city park for three hours so I could go to the library and suddenly I'm at risk of being left with only the shirt on my back? "But, your honor, the notice doesn't say what I'm doing wrong!""Next case."
I'm glad I sat in the van for a few hours because eventually a woman came out with makeup dripping off her baggy, hateful face."'Scuse me? Sir? Sir?""Oh! (Fake sincerity and hospitality) Hello (Oggy puts his juggling pins down) Won't you come in for some hot lemonade? Excuse the mess; I had to fire the maid. Har har! Here, I'll sing you some Cat Stevens songs on my kazoo. Careful of the wood stove, baby, it's still hot because it gets so damn cooooolllllld down heah in Texas! Brrrrrr.""Ok, honey, my naymuh is blah blah, and this is privit propertee.""Is that right? I like it. Is it for sale? Nice view of the beach. How much you want for it? I'll give you a hundred bucks. But only if you include oil rights, har har har!""(nervously wringing hands) Honey, it ain't for sale, see, it private...it's a private tennis club...see?""Tennis club? Well, that would explain all that fine pussy I see bouncing around in them short skirts! (rubs belly, licks lips)"
I was so pissed, but it turned out that I was parked in some high class, detailed Escalades and Porche 911 tennis club for the hot shot rich oil wives with fake sun tans and fake tits popping out of $200 tennis outfits (I watched them with lecherous eyes but grew limp when their pathetic serves fell short of the net). Of course the tennis club parking lot is right between two public parking lots and the only sign that would tell me that is like 15 feet above the ground and faded to total invisibility by the punishing western sun and pulverizing wind. So, I'm the asshole. Or am I? Why the fuck couldn't the cop write "Private parking Area" on the violation notice? Because that would mean he wasn't a programmed machine. And the reason I parked there in the first place is because the temperatures were like 101 degrees and NO ONE WAS PLAYING TENNIS! So the lot was empty. I mean it was deserted and only later in the day did some fancy cars drive through and give me the evil Texas eye from air conditioned comfort as I tossed a tennis ball in the air. Talk about bitter irony, I actually play tennis and have my racquet and balls and was delighted when I saw the courts until I was treated like a cunt.
Here's a challenge for y'all. You know the Jim Crow Laws? Separate water fountains/back of the bus/segregation and such? Well, I want a modern day equivalent title for laws affecting poor people like myself. But I want it to be cool. The source of Jim Crow came from some song and dance routine from 1838. I guess I could just call them "Oggy Bleacher Laws" and try to bring some fame to my affliction. But do you have a better name for these laws:No large backpacks in library
no washing sleeping bags No push carts on busNo sleeping in carNo sleeping in libraryNo free parkingLimit on parking in visitor lotsPark CurfewsNo loitering in parkno eating on sidewalkno serving food on sidewalkno sleeping in publicdriving while poorsleeping while poor
These are the laws I saw in Santa Cruz and these are the laws I see in Texas and they were here long before I arrived so don't blame me for starting them. They criminalize poverty and exacerbate poverty and they are not humane and actually don't serve any purpose except to humiliate and herd poor people around. They control and demean and hurt poor people. That's all these laws do but that allows the police to keep their boots on the homeless man's neck. I remember one argument against sleeping in the forest around Santa Cruz was that "The bums leave trash" Well, littering is against the law. So, are you going to fine someone for a pre-littering act? "He was sleeping, so he was about to litter."You can defend these laws all you want and you'll join a long line of KKK members and cotton plantation owners who defended the Jim Crow laws from 1840 to 1964. Remember: In 1900 there was a reason blacks couldn't drink from the same fountain as whites in Mississippi. Georgia: All persons licensed to conduct a restaurant, shall serve either white people exclusively or colored people exclusively and shall not sell to the two races within the same room or serve the two races anywhere under the same license.Florida: All marriages between a white person and a Negro, or between a white person and a person of Negro descent to the fourth generation inclusive, are hereby forever prohibited. Arkansas: 1947: Public accommodation
This required separate washrooms for whites and workers of a differing race in all mines.California: 1945: Miscegenation [Statute] Prohibited marriage between whites and "Negroes, mulattos, Mongolians and Malays."Kentucky:1956: Employment. Provided that all persons, firms, or corporations create separate bathroom facilities for members of the white and African American races employed by them or allowed to come into the business. In addition, separate rooms to eat in as well as separate eating and drinking utensils were required to be provided for members of the white and African American races. Not following this law gave to offender a misdemeanor, a fine of $100 to $1,000, or 60 days to one year in prison.I realize that arguing for the rights of poor people in America is like getting in line for free blow jobs at the Clinton residence, but I still feel compelled to say something if only to keep the tradition alive of Thoreau and Robert Kennedy. I'm reading a book, So Rich, So Poor by Peter Edelman. He's kind of an example of what is good and bad about the war on poverty. He's been working on the issue for 40+ year and he admits it's only gotten worse. In 2011: 1 in 7 people were getting food stamps. 1 in 4 children. 46 million people. 20,000 new recipients added every day. 2 percent of the population or 1 in 50 have food stamps as their only income. It's grim statistics like this that make me believe a political solution is not something to look forward to. It's precisely because of the political machinations that lull the mango farmer or the cotton picker or the lettuce wrapper or chicken slicer into thinking "someone is working on my behalf." No. No one is working on your behalf. Peter Edelman's bills are paid by his anti-poverty work. He is invested in his work because it provides for him. He risks nothing by doing his work and he risks nothing if his work fails. He does the work that he is good at which is analyzing the conditions, causes and solutions to poverty, but he is a political individual and he is not a leader and he is not working on your behalf. A solution will never come from the top down and Peter Edelman is, like it or not, at the top...or at least not at the bottom. Martin Luther King on the other hand was a man of the people. He risked everything and was eventually killed for it and it's his work, his words, his actions that changed the Jim Crow laws. King could not risk defeat. Peter Edelman will never be assassinated for his work because he operates behind the safe velvet curtain of politics where failure or success never determine your reward. Yes, he investigates poor people but that isn't what poor people need. I admire Peter because he is doing what he can. Not everyone can be a Sir Wilfred Grenfell or Gandhi or Cesar Chavez or Che Guevara. Some people are Sergeant Shriver and they solve everything on paper. But when I see Think Tank workers analyze porn site visitations and make $300,000 a year and a lettuce picker makes $30 a day for three months a year then it's just common sense that something can't last. I feel it's only when I'm at risk do I see the situation as it stands and not as the PHS sociology teachers would try to explain it or how the insulated infants in their AC closets imagine life is. If you aren't having your teeth knocked out by the climate then you will believe you are safe. Good luck with that strategy. It's only when you hear the tow truck backing up to take your van to the impound lot that you understand how much control the authorities have over your life...and that risk is like a shot of crystal meth into my veins and it gives me power to speak the truth, to tell Walmart employees to go on strike, to tell farm workers that their work will always be more important and more valuable than nasty gal resellers and kissmetric click analysts...but they must seize their own value by saying no to poverty. It's a global strike and it will take courage to watch white collar PPC analysts starve to death because their algorithms can't grow food but they are a poisonous snake that civilization can not sustain. Maybe they'll qualify for food stamps but I will not personally pick their food for them and my goal in life is to unite the honest laborers in a global boycott of the amoral urban exploiter. We don't need their $150 Neil Diamond concert t shirts or their digital analysis of e-commerce traffic. They need our mangoes. Who will blink first?
Cesar Chavez
I feel an agrarian revolution is not only required but is imminent. I love reading Forbes Magazine for the self-satisfied interviews of bright people who molded themselves perfectly into the insulated, blind, fool on hill paradigm of Modern America and make six and seven figure salaries basically shuffling decks of digital cards so other people (web site owners) can read the information and decide what works on their dog sweater website. So, basically you can make a million dollars by being several steps removed from actual tangible skills and products. (some might say, that's the only way to make a million dollars.) These are not jobs, they are gimmicks that will exist for a blink of an eye before we realize they have no value. These phony CEOs go to the store, buy 3 mangoes for a dollar and probably complain when the milk goes up a dime for every gallon. Those days are going to be short lived and I don't need to hire a financial forecaster to tell me that because common sense would tell you that spreadsheets are not as tangible as cotton. (Yeah, economists will argue differently because their job is on the line but I'm not fooled) The trick has always been a moral slight of hand that decreases the value of a mango farmer and elevates the value of internet commerce analysis (I really hope I live to see the day this hoax is exposed). I've really pondered why that is true and it basically comes down to the fact that most people don't actually want to live honestly by their own means and so they rationalize their own superficial careers to justify an exploitation of farmers and farm workers, honest people of the earth who produce tangible and required products, whose common sense prevents their entry into flim flam currency trading or the hedge fund black hole. (That sense isn't a flaw, it's an asset that think tank employees have defined as a flaw in propaganda.) That rationalization snowballs into a mass movement of exploitation and then into a vortex of cause and effect that produces systemic poverty (that requires billion dollar doctoral research groups to understand) and so on until the basic cause (lazy smart people) is completely buried in a pile of research papers and decades of accusations until the poor mango farmer is the "lazy dumb person" in the eyes of society. And that's the natural progression of an astounding lie: the Board of Irony defines the opposite as true and defends it with glossy think tank lies.
Take the violation notice I found on my van yesterday when I returned after my trip to the library. You would think going to the library would be safe, but for someone who lives in his van it means leaving the van unattended for a few hours at a city park. The van is an eyesore, as anyone in St. Louis will tell you, so the neighbors complain and the police come out and want to tow it. But it's parked facing in and that means they have to drag it out first and that's a hassle. Now, this is a city park on the map with picnic tables and I parked there because it was close to me and I took my moped to the library to save gas (like an idiot hippie). Now, I was so pissed off that I sat in my van for hours and fumed at society while reading my paper, cooking ramen noodles, playing guitar. They want an eyesore? I lit up the wood stove and had some hot dogs! It's 4th of July! Yippee! Smoke and sparks pouring into the brittle dry underbrush near an abandoned building. Fuck them.But look at the notice! "This vehicle is in violation of (circle one). Either it's abandoned or violating a municipal ordinance. Which is it? Comrade Ayula doesn't circle either and even though he has a pen in his hand he doesn't write what the fuck I'm doing wrong. It simply says that the clock is ticking on my losing 100% of my property to the city. Why? Because they said so. What could I possible do to defend myself? What court would hear my plight that this is everything I own and I parked in a city park for three hours so I could go to the library and suddenly I'm at risk of being left with only the shirt on my back? "But, your honor, the notice doesn't say what I'm doing wrong!""Next case."I'm glad I sat in the van for a few hours because eventually a woman came out with makeup dripping off her baggy, hateful face."'Scuse me? Sir? Sir?""Oh! (Fake sincerity and hospitality) Hello (Oggy puts his juggling pins down) Won't you come in for some hot lemonade? Excuse the mess; I had to fire the maid. Har har! Here, I'll sing you some Cat Stevens songs on my kazoo. Careful of the wood stove, baby, it's still hot because it gets so damn cooooolllllld down heah in Texas! Brrrrrr.""Ok, honey, my naymuh is blah blah, and this is privit propertee.""Is that right? I like it. Is it for sale? Nice view of the beach. How much you want for it? I'll give you a hundred bucks. But only if you include oil rights, har har har!""(nervously wringing hands) Honey, it ain't for sale, see, it private...it's a private tennis club...see?""Tennis club? Well, that would explain all that fine pussy I see bouncing around in them short skirts! (rubs belly, licks lips)"
I was so pissed, but it turned out that I was parked in some high class, detailed Escalades and Porche 911 tennis club for the hot shot rich oil wives with fake sun tans and fake tits popping out of $200 tennis outfits (I watched them with lecherous eyes but grew limp when their pathetic serves fell short of the net). Of course the tennis club parking lot is right between two public parking lots and the only sign that would tell me that is like 15 feet above the ground and faded to total invisibility by the punishing western sun and pulverizing wind. So, I'm the asshole. Or am I? Why the fuck couldn't the cop write "Private parking Area" on the violation notice? Because that would mean he wasn't a programmed machine. And the reason I parked there in the first place is because the temperatures were like 101 degrees and NO ONE WAS PLAYING TENNIS! So the lot was empty. I mean it was deserted and only later in the day did some fancy cars drive through and give me the evil Texas eye from air conditioned comfort as I tossed a tennis ball in the air. Talk about bitter irony, I actually play tennis and have my racquet and balls and was delighted when I saw the courts until I was treated like a cunt.
Here's a challenge for y'all. You know the Jim Crow Laws? Separate water fountains/back of the bus/segregation and such? Well, I want a modern day equivalent title for laws affecting poor people like myself. But I want it to be cool. The source of Jim Crow came from some song and dance routine from 1838. I guess I could just call them "Oggy Bleacher Laws" and try to bring some fame to my affliction. But do you have a better name for these laws:No large backpacks in library
no washing sleeping bags No push carts on busNo sleeping in carNo sleeping in libraryNo free parkingLimit on parking in visitor lotsPark CurfewsNo loitering in parkno eating on sidewalkno serving food on sidewalkno sleeping in publicdriving while poorsleeping while poor
These are the laws I saw in Santa Cruz and these are the laws I see in Texas and they were here long before I arrived so don't blame me for starting them. They criminalize poverty and exacerbate poverty and they are not humane and actually don't serve any purpose except to humiliate and herd poor people around. They control and demean and hurt poor people. That's all these laws do but that allows the police to keep their boots on the homeless man's neck. I remember one argument against sleeping in the forest around Santa Cruz was that "The bums leave trash" Well, littering is against the law. So, are you going to fine someone for a pre-littering act? "He was sleeping, so he was about to litter."You can defend these laws all you want and you'll join a long line of KKK members and cotton plantation owners who defended the Jim Crow laws from 1840 to 1964. Remember: In 1900 there was a reason blacks couldn't drink from the same fountain as whites in Mississippi. Georgia: All persons licensed to conduct a restaurant, shall serve either white people exclusively or colored people exclusively and shall not sell to the two races within the same room or serve the two races anywhere under the same license.Florida: All marriages between a white person and a Negro, or between a white person and a person of Negro descent to the fourth generation inclusive, are hereby forever prohibited. Arkansas: 1947: Public accommodation
This required separate washrooms for whites and workers of a differing race in all mines.California: 1945: Miscegenation [Statute] Prohibited marriage between whites and "Negroes, mulattos, Mongolians and Malays."Kentucky:1956: Employment. Provided that all persons, firms, or corporations create separate bathroom facilities for members of the white and African American races employed by them or allowed to come into the business. In addition, separate rooms to eat in as well as separate eating and drinking utensils were required to be provided for members of the white and African American races. Not following this law gave to offender a misdemeanor, a fine of $100 to $1,000, or 60 days to one year in prison.I realize that arguing for the rights of poor people in America is like getting in line for free blow jobs at the Clinton residence, but I still feel compelled to say something if only to keep the tradition alive of Thoreau and Robert Kennedy. I'm reading a book, So Rich, So Poor by Peter Edelman. He's kind of an example of what is good and bad about the war on poverty. He's been working on the issue for 40+ year and he admits it's only gotten worse. In 2011: 1 in 7 people were getting food stamps. 1 in 4 children. 46 million people. 20,000 new recipients added every day. 2 percent of the population or 1 in 50 have food stamps as their only income. It's grim statistics like this that make me believe a political solution is not something to look forward to. It's precisely because of the political machinations that lull the mango farmer or the cotton picker or the lettuce wrapper or chicken slicer into thinking "someone is working on my behalf." No. No one is working on your behalf. Peter Edelman's bills are paid by his anti-poverty work. He is invested in his work because it provides for him. He risks nothing by doing his work and he risks nothing if his work fails. He does the work that he is good at which is analyzing the conditions, causes and solutions to poverty, but he is a political individual and he is not a leader and he is not working on your behalf. A solution will never come from the top down and Peter Edelman is, like it or not, at the top...or at least not at the bottom. Martin Luther King on the other hand was a man of the people. He risked everything and was eventually killed for it and it's his work, his words, his actions that changed the Jim Crow laws. King could not risk defeat. Peter Edelman will never be assassinated for his work because he operates behind the safe velvet curtain of politics where failure or success never determine your reward. Yes, he investigates poor people but that isn't what poor people need. I admire Peter because he is doing what he can. Not everyone can be a Sir Wilfred Grenfell or Gandhi or Cesar Chavez or Che Guevara. Some people are Sergeant Shriver and they solve everything on paper. But when I see Think Tank workers analyze porn site visitations and make $300,000 a year and a lettuce picker makes $30 a day for three months a year then it's just common sense that something can't last. I feel it's only when I'm at risk do I see the situation as it stands and not as the PHS sociology teachers would try to explain it or how the insulated infants in their AC closets imagine life is. If you aren't having your teeth knocked out by the climate then you will believe you are safe. Good luck with that strategy. It's only when you hear the tow truck backing up to take your van to the impound lot that you understand how much control the authorities have over your life...and that risk is like a shot of crystal meth into my veins and it gives me power to speak the truth, to tell Walmart employees to go on strike, to tell farm workers that their work will always be more important and more valuable than nasty gal resellers and kissmetric click analysts...but they must seize their own value by saying no to poverty. It's a global strike and it will take courage to watch white collar PPC analysts starve to death because their algorithms can't grow food but they are a poisonous snake that civilization can not sustain. Maybe they'll qualify for food stamps but I will not personally pick their food for them and my goal in life is to unite the honest laborers in a global boycott of the amoral urban exploiter. We don't need their $150 Neil Diamond concert t shirts or their digital analysis of e-commerce traffic. They need our mangoes. Who will blink first?
5 Temmuz 2012 Perşembe
Don't Sleep in The Subway
To contact us Click HERE
Shortly after I recorded this video the emergency alarms went off in the music building and the entire place was evacuated. I asked those in the stairway if it happens often or if someone was shooting random victims from the bell tower. We plunged into the street not knowing what would happen next. I feel like all of this is giving shuffleboard lessons on board the Titanic. But a part of me thinks that is exactly what life is, a kid comes to you with a splinter on a boat that is sinking...what do you do? You take the splinter out. You teach shuffleboard. You sing gospel songs or Pet Clark tunes. Then the ship sinks. It makes no difference. You can't be like Whitman and think you are going to go on a rampage of mercy and take everyone out of their misery. Fuck it. The boat will sink eventually. Go learn to juggle oranges. I'm gonna go eat tacos and jarritos and watch the fireworks that are really emergency flares.
Shortly after I recorded this video the emergency alarms went off in the music building and the entire place was evacuated. I asked those in the stairway if it happens often or if someone was shooting random victims from the bell tower. We plunged into the street not knowing what would happen next. I feel like all of this is giving shuffleboard lessons on board the Titanic. But a part of me thinks that is exactly what life is, a kid comes to you with a splinter on a boat that is sinking...what do you do? You take the splinter out. You teach shuffleboard. You sing gospel songs or Pet Clark tunes. Then the ship sinks. It makes no difference. You can't be like Whitman and think you are going to go on a rampage of mercy and take everyone out of their misery. Fuck it. The boat will sink eventually. Go learn to juggle oranges. I'm gonna go eat tacos and jarritos and watch the fireworks that are really emergency flares.
Bandit Country
To contact us Click HERE
In order to blend in I have tried to find a costume that the locals can accept. They don't sell top of the line palm hats like this at the gas station and you'll have to wait to see me wearing what I call my "Ronald Reagan Pants" which are officially called "Ranch Jeans" made of stretchy polyester and better fitting than denim. With my stooped and shuffling walk it doesn't really make me look any better.
I fled the 109 temps in Austin because the city wore me down. I had worked out a system of survival that was teetering on disaster every minute, my heart palpitated and the crickets freely roamed my kitchen area. There was a long shot job opportunity that I decided to investigate but it required going south toward Mexico into ranch country and driving to the HR Ranch to try to talk my way into a ranch hand gig. Basically, it's like the indentured servitude that most people live with except for two factors:
1) They don't pretend you are a free individual. You are on the clock 24 hours a day to maintain the ranch and "keep the owners happy". You live there. They provide you provisions to stay alive, like you are one of the (smarter) cattle. This appealed to me because the indignity of working 12 hours a day doing bench electronic work was compounded by the fact I also had to maintain a home life...as if the two were possible. So basically, the job claims all of your working time but then you must hustle and sweat to maintain a home life that you rarely even see. Boy, the big bosses must be laughing their asses off to see the working man scrounge for a buck that he has to turn around and pay his rent with while the television collects dust. lol. This brings me to...
2) They pay you hourly wages on top of providing your living quarters and utilities. So even though you are not technically on the clock you will get a check twice a month that more than pays for your food and clothes and online porn subscriptions.
Basically, ranch hand work is indentured servitude with an exit plan. You will save enough money to buy a house or land in Belize but you will only get to visit the house twice a year. So, you had better like to live on a lonely ranch in the middle of Comanche country.
I can't speak from experience on living where the Comanche once roamed so I could only present my cowboy hat in my hands and promise to work hard. Jobs like this aren't unusual in this part of Texas but it's very unusual for a northerner like myself to drive up to a 3000 acre ranch and try to talk my way into it. Jobs like this are handed down from father to son or agreed on in bars. There is no way on earth you are going to advertise for work on the internet and find someone who will fit in. "Help Wanted: Cattle Hand. Must be ok with hunting and gutting hogs and dressing deer and quail. Tractor experience a must. Well digging and Welding skills a plus. Wildlife habitat will be your office. Single men only. No pets. No kids. No women. No drugs. No television. No internet. No phone. Nearest populated town one hour. Nearest WalMart 2.5 hours. Expected to be on ranch 24/7 350 days a year. Serious applicants only."
I mean, really, who is going to fit that job description? If you are a ranch owner then you basically have to get to know people so you'll know who to hire. And even the person you hire won't know if it's a good fit until they've been there a few months. As the guy said, anyone who wants that job already has that job. Very unusual job bordering on Edward Abbey type stuff. Makes Thoreau look like a social butterfly.
Rancher: So, Oggy, what kind of experience do you have decapitating coyotes? And when was the last time you fired a .30 caliber rifle?
Oggy (thinking of his bongo drum): Well...
It's one thing to read about this kind of life in a Louis L'Amour book but it's quite another to be walking down a trail with a punishing hot 99 degree wind in your face, scorpions and lizards watching you from the shade of scrub brush, your ranch pants roasting on your thighs, your shoulder not feeling very good despite the 5 pain pills you took, with a shotgun in one arm, listening for wild hogs, looking to shoot a quail and you haven't seen another person in three months.
Sadly, the man whose job this was worked 5 solid years, never asked for a day off, got sick one afternoon after lunch...felt bad all weekend...went to Mexico for a cheap doctor visit...diagnosed with pancreatic and liver cancer with 6 months to live...week later had an unrelated brain embolism that left him with the use of only one hand ( and I mean only one hand)...the bunk house still smelled like his cigarette smoke when the help wanted ad went up.
So, that's not a fate one can look at contentedly. But I had to find out and at least see the ranch and talk to the man with my cowboy hat on and my ranch pants and the dust and sun in my eyes. I wasn't sure this was a perfect fit but there's no way I'd know that. It got me out of dead end Austin. I guess I'm out of other options and have been seriously considering a Trappist Monastery because they have a pipe organ I could play. The ranch hand job would be like a monastery except you get to kill and dress deer in between prayer.
Now I'm eyeing the border with Spanish eyes, though everyone tells me it's suicide to go there. Suicide by Mexico. There was a movie called "Old Gringo"(1989) and I think it had Gregory Peck playing the author Ambrose Bierce in 1914 Mexico, While in Mexico, Bierce wrote a letter to a friend that stated: ‘If you should hear of my being stood up against a Mexican stone wall and shot to rags, please know that I think that it is a pretty good way to depart this life. It beats old age, disease or falling down the cellar stairs. To be a gringo in Mexico-ah, that is euthanasia.’
That quote has stuck with me all these years. Mercy-killing in Mexico and it returned to my mind when a friend I met in La Paz, Don, wrote me that the old British soldier who had told me stories about a lovely fictitious nurse had face planted drunk in his room and died. And then the mental case American vet who lived in a broom closet and painted terrible creepy portraits had not woken up one morning, his unfinished masterpiece still on the easel. No emergency contact. No relatives. Cremated at the animal shelter as bells rang in the nearby church and Catholic saints looked on in mute clay repose, dust blowing across the dry desert. When poor Don dies there will be on one left to relay me the message. He may already be dead. It's a romantic notion to see these deaths as merciful but I'm a romantic and an anonymous life assembling electronics for superficial enjoyment seems to me not as merciful a death as kidnapping and assassination in Nuevo Leon.
The Corpus Christi harbour bridge with patriotic colors.
I don't really qualify to be a monastic hog hunter in the ranch country of southeast Texas. I would take the job and fake it until I either cracked the code to my scrambled conscience or else became another Comanche land casualty to John Deer thrasher mechanisms. Maybe I'd even find the time to write. It's not a decision that is in my hands at this point so I'm looking for other gigs and considering a visa to Guatemala. The money is almost completely depleted (that hat wasn't cheap) and the ocean breezes from the Corpus Christi bay are hurricane force. The police chose July 4th to get in my grill about reading my paper in a parking lot. That was fitting because the parade and musical synched fireworks were the most audaciously jingoistic I'd ever witnessed. Everyone took pictures and combed their hair and posted fake smile video to fakebook and then waited 3 hours in a line of cars to go home. America is a beautiful study in image so I wear my cowboy hat to better fit in and be trusted. I'm at peace with my destiny, whether it be a Trappist Monastery or a shallow grave in Mexico or as hog assassin in the desert. I was helping a man fix his 1970 Chevy Nova and asked him if I should go to Tampico. "Pray," he said. "If god tells you that you should go. Then go. If not. Then stay. God's will is at work, my friend."
 |
| Profiles in conformity |
I fled the 109 temps in Austin because the city wore me down. I had worked out a system of survival that was teetering on disaster every minute, my heart palpitated and the crickets freely roamed my kitchen area. There was a long shot job opportunity that I decided to investigate but it required going south toward Mexico into ranch country and driving to the HR Ranch to try to talk my way into a ranch hand gig. Basically, it's like the indentured servitude that most people live with except for two factors:
1) They don't pretend you are a free individual. You are on the clock 24 hours a day to maintain the ranch and "keep the owners happy". You live there. They provide you provisions to stay alive, like you are one of the (smarter) cattle. This appealed to me because the indignity of working 12 hours a day doing bench electronic work was compounded by the fact I also had to maintain a home life...as if the two were possible. So basically, the job claims all of your working time but then you must hustle and sweat to maintain a home life that you rarely even see. Boy, the big bosses must be laughing their asses off to see the working man scrounge for a buck that he has to turn around and pay his rent with while the television collects dust. lol. This brings me to...
2) They pay you hourly wages on top of providing your living quarters and utilities. So even though you are not technically on the clock you will get a check twice a month that more than pays for your food and clothes and online porn subscriptions.
Basically, ranch hand work is indentured servitude with an exit plan. You will save enough money to buy a house or land in Belize but you will only get to visit the house twice a year. So, you had better like to live on a lonely ranch in the middle of Comanche country.
I can't speak from experience on living where the Comanche once roamed so I could only present my cowboy hat in my hands and promise to work hard. Jobs like this aren't unusual in this part of Texas but it's very unusual for a northerner like myself to drive up to a 3000 acre ranch and try to talk my way into it. Jobs like this are handed down from father to son or agreed on in bars. There is no way on earth you are going to advertise for work on the internet and find someone who will fit in. "Help Wanted: Cattle Hand. Must be ok with hunting and gutting hogs and dressing deer and quail. Tractor experience a must. Well digging and Welding skills a plus. Wildlife habitat will be your office. Single men only. No pets. No kids. No women. No drugs. No television. No internet. No phone. Nearest populated town one hour. Nearest WalMart 2.5 hours. Expected to be on ranch 24/7 350 days a year. Serious applicants only."
I mean, really, who is going to fit that job description? If you are a ranch owner then you basically have to get to know people so you'll know who to hire. And even the person you hire won't know if it's a good fit until they've been there a few months. As the guy said, anyone who wants that job already has that job. Very unusual job bordering on Edward Abbey type stuff. Makes Thoreau look like a social butterfly.
Rancher: So, Oggy, what kind of experience do you have decapitating coyotes? And when was the last time you fired a .30 caliber rifle?
Oggy (thinking of his bongo drum): Well...
It's one thing to read about this kind of life in a Louis L'Amour book but it's quite another to be walking down a trail with a punishing hot 99 degree wind in your face, scorpions and lizards watching you from the shade of scrub brush, your ranch pants roasting on your thighs, your shoulder not feeling very good despite the 5 pain pills you took, with a shotgun in one arm, listening for wild hogs, looking to shoot a quail and you haven't seen another person in three months.
Sadly, the man whose job this was worked 5 solid years, never asked for a day off, got sick one afternoon after lunch...felt bad all weekend...went to Mexico for a cheap doctor visit...diagnosed with pancreatic and liver cancer with 6 months to live...week later had an unrelated brain embolism that left him with the use of only one hand ( and I mean only one hand)...the bunk house still smelled like his cigarette smoke when the help wanted ad went up.
So, that's not a fate one can look at contentedly. But I had to find out and at least see the ranch and talk to the man with my cowboy hat on and my ranch pants and the dust and sun in my eyes. I wasn't sure this was a perfect fit but there's no way I'd know that. It got me out of dead end Austin. I guess I'm out of other options and have been seriously considering a Trappist Monastery because they have a pipe organ I could play. The ranch hand job would be like a monastery except you get to kill and dress deer in between prayer.
Now I'm eyeing the border with Spanish eyes, though everyone tells me it's suicide to go there. Suicide by Mexico. There was a movie called "Old Gringo"(1989) and I think it had Gregory Peck playing the author Ambrose Bierce in 1914 Mexico, While in Mexico, Bierce wrote a letter to a friend that stated: ‘If you should hear of my being stood up against a Mexican stone wall and shot to rags, please know that I think that it is a pretty good way to depart this life. It beats old age, disease or falling down the cellar stairs. To be a gringo in Mexico-ah, that is euthanasia.’
That quote has stuck with me all these years. Mercy-killing in Mexico and it returned to my mind when a friend I met in La Paz, Don, wrote me that the old British soldier who had told me stories about a lovely fictitious nurse had face planted drunk in his room and died. And then the mental case American vet who lived in a broom closet and painted terrible creepy portraits had not woken up one morning, his unfinished masterpiece still on the easel. No emergency contact. No relatives. Cremated at the animal shelter as bells rang in the nearby church and Catholic saints looked on in mute clay repose, dust blowing across the dry desert. When poor Don dies there will be on one left to relay me the message. He may already be dead. It's a romantic notion to see these deaths as merciful but I'm a romantic and an anonymous life assembling electronics for superficial enjoyment seems to me not as merciful a death as kidnapping and assassination in Nuevo Leon.
The Corpus Christi harbour bridge with patriotic colors.I don't really qualify to be a monastic hog hunter in the ranch country of southeast Texas. I would take the job and fake it until I either cracked the code to my scrambled conscience or else became another Comanche land casualty to John Deer thrasher mechanisms. Maybe I'd even find the time to write. It's not a decision that is in my hands at this point so I'm looking for other gigs and considering a visa to Guatemala. The money is almost completely depleted (that hat wasn't cheap) and the ocean breezes from the Corpus Christi bay are hurricane force. The police chose July 4th to get in my grill about reading my paper in a parking lot. That was fitting because the parade and musical synched fireworks were the most audaciously jingoistic I'd ever witnessed. Everyone took pictures and combed their hair and posted fake smile video to fakebook and then waited 3 hours in a line of cars to go home. America is a beautiful study in image so I wear my cowboy hat to better fit in and be trusted. I'm at peace with my destiny, whether it be a Trappist Monastery or a shallow grave in Mexico or as hog assassin in the desert. I was helping a man fix his 1970 Chevy Nova and asked him if I should go to Tampico. "Pray," he said. "If god tells you that you should go. Then go. If not. Then stay. God's will is at work, my friend."
Unpopular Science
To contact us Click HERE
I'm reading the latest Popular Science magazine, July 2012, and it pretty much confirms everything Thoreau, Schumacher, Great Spirit, Hippies have been saying for 200 years, which is the earth is a delicate balance and we ought not casually fuck with it in the name of streaming video. The magazine is Popular Science, not Mother Earth. How is the Heartland Institute going to spin that to their favor?
But it seems the science will always try to have the cake and eat it (and upload a video of us eating it and then make a wireless game app that has virtual people eating virtual cake...) There must be some balance between what we can have and what simply uses too many resources to have but right now the hedonism reigns supreme. I look at the Amish. Are they miserable people without smart phones or iPods? I talked to a guy who picked cotton to go to school in Texas. He said when the machines came they put the kids out of work. Today the same kid who would've picked cotton sells crystal meth. I really wonder what I'm missing when the models for sustainable living actually exist but are ignored and marginalized in favor of reality show celebrities with big tits and fake smiles who shill their dog sweaters on interactive whore videos.
Eventually, there has to be either a global meltdown or it will be unacceptable to use natural and human resources to produce a sweater for a dog with reality show accessory bullshit printed on it. This is repulsive to me and all who enable this sweater are also repulsive to me no less than if you fucked dead Buddhist nuns in your basement. It's a mockery of the dog and of the earth and humanity. Totally disgusting. I have more respect for a crack junkie but the American model respects and rewards this insanity. "I sold a $10 sweater for $550 on ebay," brags a slim amoral cunt in Forbes magazine. How? "With a cute model and snazzy urban copy." You dumb bitch, that sweater wasn't even worth $10 in 1986 when the Philippino refugee sewed it together! This model rings so totally false to my ears but it's 100% How The World Works. And step one in E.F. Shumacher's steps to sanity is to learn how the world works. Step 2 is to follow your conscience. Step 3 is to surrender yourself to God. I can only console myself that this is how the world will work for one blink of an eye before the model itself leads to the ultimate destruction.
So, are we going to defend to the death our right to sacrifice all coastal communities so that our dogs can be humiliated with ego bicep bulging chest pumping ape monkey fucker accessories? The answer seems to be, yes.
The entire edition of Popular Science is devoted to the #1 crisis of the day which is climate instability. They are a year behind my quest for the arctic wolf in articles highlighting northern animal plight. I've heard cock sucking hedge funders defend their 9 child families by saying all of humanity could fit in Florida. Well, have you been to parts of Florida that are underwater? Is that where we'll fit all the poor people? Huh? And the reason parts of Texas aren't populated is because a human can't live there. No, we haven't populated every possible spot on earth, but we're getting pretty damn close. And how about this comparison since we're trying to obfuscate the obvious...all the water on earth would fill a sphere 860 miles in diameter. The war between spin doctors is upon us.
But it seems the science will always try to have the cake and eat it (and upload a video of us eating it and then make a wireless game app that has virtual people eating virtual cake...) There must be some balance between what we can have and what simply uses too many resources to have but right now the hedonism reigns supreme. I look at the Amish. Are they miserable people without smart phones or iPods? I talked to a guy who picked cotton to go to school in Texas. He said when the machines came they put the kids out of work. Today the same kid who would've picked cotton sells crystal meth. I really wonder what I'm missing when the models for sustainable living actually exist but are ignored and marginalized in favor of reality show celebrities with big tits and fake smiles who shill their dog sweaters on interactive whore videos.
Eventually, there has to be either a global meltdown or it will be unacceptable to use natural and human resources to produce a sweater for a dog with reality show accessory bullshit printed on it. This is repulsive to me and all who enable this sweater are also repulsive to me no less than if you fucked dead Buddhist nuns in your basement. It's a mockery of the dog and of the earth and humanity. Totally disgusting. I have more respect for a crack junkie but the American model respects and rewards this insanity. "I sold a $10 sweater for $550 on ebay," brags a slim amoral cunt in Forbes magazine. How? "With a cute model and snazzy urban copy." You dumb bitch, that sweater wasn't even worth $10 in 1986 when the Philippino refugee sewed it together! This model rings so totally false to my ears but it's 100% How The World Works. And step one in E.F. Shumacher's steps to sanity is to learn how the world works. Step 2 is to follow your conscience. Step 3 is to surrender yourself to God. I can only console myself that this is how the world will work for one blink of an eye before the model itself leads to the ultimate destruction.So, are we going to defend to the death our right to sacrifice all coastal communities so that our dogs can be humiliated with ego bicep bulging chest pumping ape monkey fucker accessories? The answer seems to be, yes.
The entire edition of Popular Science is devoted to the #1 crisis of the day which is climate instability. They are a year behind my quest for the arctic wolf in articles highlighting northern animal plight. I've heard cock sucking hedge funders defend their 9 child families by saying all of humanity could fit in Florida. Well, have you been to parts of Florida that are underwater? Is that where we'll fit all the poor people? Huh? And the reason parts of Texas aren't populated is because a human can't live there. No, we haven't populated every possible spot on earth, but we're getting pretty damn close. And how about this comparison since we're trying to obfuscate the obvious...all the water on earth would fill a sphere 860 miles in diameter. The war between spin doctors is upon us.
4 Temmuz 2012 Çarşamba
Gospel Hour
To contact us Click HERE
Beside the still waters is not a song I remember from the rescue mission but it's one that sounds good to my ear today.
I shouldn't wallow in the tragedies of the past but these landmarks were on my way to the music practice rooms.
There is a hymn for every life event.
Beside The Still Waters:
Beside the still waters in pastures of green,
The Shepherd is leading where all is serene;
By day and by night He will always be seen
Beside the still waters of peace.
For He's the Good Shepherd who died for the sheep;
His own He has promised to keep.
He lovingly watches and guards while they sleep
Beside the still waters of peace.
Beside the still waters the sheep find their rest;
The Shepherd stands by so that none can molest;
The flock, by His presence, is happy and blest
Beside the still waters of peace
The sheep know His voice and they go not astray,
For Jesus will guide all the way.
In paths that are righteous He leads day by day
Beside the still waters of peace.
Beside the still waters is not a song I remember from the rescue mission but it's one that sounds good to my ear today.I shouldn't wallow in the tragedies of the past but these landmarks were on my way to the music practice rooms.
 |
| UT bell tower |
 |
| Memorial Plaque |
 |
| Memorial Pond |
Beside The Still Waters:
Beside the still waters in pastures of green,
The Shepherd is leading where all is serene;
By day and by night He will always be seen
Beside the still waters of peace.
For He's the Good Shepherd who died for the sheep;
His own He has promised to keep.
He lovingly watches and guards while they sleep
Beside the still waters of peace.
Beside the still waters the sheep find their rest;
The Shepherd stands by so that none can molest;
The flock, by His presence, is happy and blest
Beside the still waters of peace
The sheep know His voice and they go not astray,
For Jesus will guide all the way.
In paths that are righteous He leads day by day
Beside the still waters of peace.
Don't Sleep in The Subway
To contact us Click HERE
Shortly after I recorded this video the emergency alarms went off in the music building and the entire place was evacuated. I asked those in the stairway if it happens often or if someone was shooting random victims from the bell tower. We plunged into the street not knowing what would happen next. I feel like all of this is giving shuffleboard lessons on board the Titanic. But a part of me thinks that is exactly what life is, a kid comes to you with a splinter on a boat that is sinking...what do you do? You take the splinter out. You teach shuffleboard. You sing gospel songs or Pet Clark tunes. Then the ship sinks. It makes no difference. You can't be like Whitman and think you are going to go on a rampage of mercy and take everyone out of their misery. Fuck it. The boat will sink eventually. Go learn to juggle oranges. I'm gonna go eat tacos and jarritos and watch the fireworks that are really emergency flares.
Shortly after I recorded this video the emergency alarms went off in the music building and the entire place was evacuated. I asked those in the stairway if it happens often or if someone was shooting random victims from the bell tower. We plunged into the street not knowing what would happen next. I feel like all of this is giving shuffleboard lessons on board the Titanic. But a part of me thinks that is exactly what life is, a kid comes to you with a splinter on a boat that is sinking...what do you do? You take the splinter out. You teach shuffleboard. You sing gospel songs or Pet Clark tunes. Then the ship sinks. It makes no difference. You can't be like Whitman and think you are going to go on a rampage of mercy and take everyone out of their misery. Fuck it. The boat will sink eventually. Go learn to juggle oranges. I'm gonna go eat tacos and jarritos and watch the fireworks that are really emergency flares.
Presidential Custom Work
To contact us Click HERE
 |
| LBJ...he wasn't all bad. His war on poverty probably helped four or five people. |
 |
| Dreaded cam switch |
 |
| The workshop (not pictured is the 101 degree heat or the patrol car watching my every move) |
 |
| Engineering magic. That silver split ring from china lasted a few weeks. I'm replacing it with custom copper flashing. The rubber o-ring was from a prototype failure. |
 |
| This is as important as most news. I trimmed it further so it wouldn't short the contacts. But it'll fail soon. |
On Strike
To contact us Click HERE
Someone asked me why I was sleeping in the parking lot and I told them I was on strike against my employment agency. I got assigned a job a ways north and I drove there expecting an 8 hour gig and got 4 hours. The tile setter had fucked up the arrangement of new tiles and I tore them up faster than they had anticipated, saving some and tossing the rest, badly bruising my right calf on the dumpster and breathing more mortar dust than legally allowed by God. Brand new building. $25,000 mistake. Oggy's total payment after Uncle Sam's mexican mordida was $27. Problem is that it cost me $32 in gas to get there and back. So if I had taken the day off and walked down to Tacos More and bought $5 worth of barbacoa and Jarritos it would've been the exact same financial outcome. Of course, minus the bleeding face from flying chips of tile. It was actually the most laughably lopsided ticket I've ever had from any day labor operation. I seriously laughed when Kourtney handed me the check. Her indifference was priceless as she clicked shoe styles on the computer. The best is that I lost more money when I went to the Pakistani grocer's to cash the check. So I decided to strike because I'm a disgusting Communist.
The person waved at my half naked body, lack of signage or pamphlets, sweat dripping off my face.
"What kind of strike is this?"
"The same kind as any. Worthless. 20 Mexican scabs cross the picket line every morning to ear $20 a day."
"What picket line?"
"That's the problem. They start work before I wake up."
I mopped my face and picked a Pete Seeger song on the guitar.
"Where have all the flowers gone...?" I sang. It was like 104 degrees and the tail lights don't work and my exhaust pipe is hanging down like elephant phallus.
"Ok, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," said the man.
"Whatever..."
See, I'm a new kind of activist, the defeated kind. So I drove to the park and set up camp as far from the children's pool as possible. A man walking his dogs stopped and asked me what my deal was.
"Where you going, where you coming from?"
"It's a long story. No ending in sight."
He proceeded to tell me of taking a 1978 Honda CB 750K, my near dream motorcycle, on a 13,000 mile tour of the U.S. in 1982.
"Best thing I ever did." he grinned like a kid as he told me about camping, cheap gas, freedom.
Then he followed it up with a story that chills my fucking heart.
He works for American Airlines for 28 years, took pay cut after pay cut (thereby inhibiting his opportunity to save money) and is on the lip of getting laid off (he is about 58 years old) and his retirement benefits will be $800 a month. You think he likes moving luggage? You know, not everyone in the world can be hedge fund brokers and real estate lawyers or online game programmers or currency traders or maintain websites with snarky top 10 lists. Someone actually has to accomplish something tangible and this guy, totally typical American, who believes in tangible labor for tangible rewards, got completely fucked. He'll be lucky to get $800 a month because if some slippery tramp in the pension dept. gets sticky fingers like happens quite a bit lately, he'll end up at the day labor hall crossing his fingers to get $27 a day. I've heard too many stories like this to think it's an anomaly. Plumbers, carpenters, mechanics, and others took jobs that are tangible trades, and they honestly thought they would not be swindled by Politicians and the thinking class of pencil pushers. Now they are losing their farms to a Chinese investment consortium and their jobs got outsourced to India. But don't worry, it won't happen to you so it doesn't really matter.
In Texas they will actually pay you $10 a shift to walk a picket line...because your personal involvement has nothing to do with holding a sign. Why would it? Planned Parenthood pays college students to get people to sign up for memberships...the dues immediately going back to the college student who got paid to sign you up. Total revolving door of money with futility as an interest point. A guy wrote a program to answer/refute every global warming denier comment on Twitter but the problem is that all the denier comments were entered by conservative think tank computer bots. The propaganda against socialism and communism is similar to the marketing of high heel shoes for women. They hurt, they are expensive, they are impractical, but women buy them and fuss over them. Why? Propaganda. Only in a fearful, immature society would a person toss luggage for 28 years for living wages to go on the dole when he gets laid off while the CEO retires at 38. Because those are offenses every other civilized culture have used as reason to behead, castrate, burn and pillage. But we're cockheld by the tramp market...the thought machine feeds us dirty laundry and we clean it with our tongues.
The essay I want to write is "Living By Default" because that's the trip Americans are on right now. The ruling class instituted a marketing campaign starting from 1st grade that made conformity and docile cocksucking the rule to follow. Don't make waves. Don't rock the boat. Don't talk about Communism and don't make friends with the homeless people. Every criminal is "crazy" and every junkie is diseased. There's no cause behind the heat waves and cigarette smoking is healthy. So, what would come naturally to the unaffected, free thinker, something like going on strike for better wages, not only is resisted, but it's violently opposed. You treat people like children long enough and they start thinking like children. The default status when you are born is protected and defended though it is the very weight that drowns you and the stepping stone that is on your neck. It isn't stupidity that keeps the status quo alive because a stupid person would recognize the insanity, it's smart people being gullible enough to believe the talking heads repeatedly defining the default lifestyle and risks as acceptable and good. Again, it's not a mistake that Kansas voters shoot themselves in the neck every election, it's as intentionally manufactured as a Jack in The Box menu item.
But don't listen to me, I'm a communist who should be thankful for the opportunity to contribute to the greater construction good. Ha! I just realized it was more socialist of me to spend my own money to help with an industrial construction project, than it would be to go on strike. But that's the ultimate victory of the propaganda machine: When being "American" is defined as being "communist" then you have to be a "socialist" to be accepted as a loyal "American". Someone just committed a "ThinkCrime".
The person waved at my half naked body, lack of signage or pamphlets, sweat dripping off my face.
"What kind of strike is this?"
"The same kind as any. Worthless. 20 Mexican scabs cross the picket line every morning to ear $20 a day."
"What picket line?"
"That's the problem. They start work before I wake up."
I mopped my face and picked a Pete Seeger song on the guitar.
"Where have all the flowers gone...?" I sang. It was like 104 degrees and the tail lights don't work and my exhaust pipe is hanging down like elephant phallus.
"Ok, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," said the man.
"Whatever..."
See, I'm a new kind of activist, the defeated kind. So I drove to the park and set up camp as far from the children's pool as possible. A man walking his dogs stopped and asked me what my deal was.
"Where you going, where you coming from?"
"It's a long story. No ending in sight."
He proceeded to tell me of taking a 1978 Honda CB 750K, my near dream motorcycle, on a 13,000 mile tour of the U.S. in 1982.
"Best thing I ever did." he grinned like a kid as he told me about camping, cheap gas, freedom.
Then he followed it up with a story that chills my fucking heart.
He works for American Airlines for 28 years, took pay cut after pay cut (thereby inhibiting his opportunity to save money) and is on the lip of getting laid off (he is about 58 years old) and his retirement benefits will be $800 a month. You think he likes moving luggage? You know, not everyone in the world can be hedge fund brokers and real estate lawyers or online game programmers or currency traders or maintain websites with snarky top 10 lists. Someone actually has to accomplish something tangible and this guy, totally typical American, who believes in tangible labor for tangible rewards, got completely fucked. He'll be lucky to get $800 a month because if some slippery tramp in the pension dept. gets sticky fingers like happens quite a bit lately, he'll end up at the day labor hall crossing his fingers to get $27 a day. I've heard too many stories like this to think it's an anomaly. Plumbers, carpenters, mechanics, and others took jobs that are tangible trades, and they honestly thought they would not be swindled by Politicians and the thinking class of pencil pushers. Now they are losing their farms to a Chinese investment consortium and their jobs got outsourced to India. But don't worry, it won't happen to you so it doesn't really matter.
In Texas they will actually pay you $10 a shift to walk a picket line...because your personal involvement has nothing to do with holding a sign. Why would it? Planned Parenthood pays college students to get people to sign up for memberships...the dues immediately going back to the college student who got paid to sign you up. Total revolving door of money with futility as an interest point. A guy wrote a program to answer/refute every global warming denier comment on Twitter but the problem is that all the denier comments were entered by conservative think tank computer bots. The propaganda against socialism and communism is similar to the marketing of high heel shoes for women. They hurt, they are expensive, they are impractical, but women buy them and fuss over them. Why? Propaganda. Only in a fearful, immature society would a person toss luggage for 28 years for living wages to go on the dole when he gets laid off while the CEO retires at 38. Because those are offenses every other civilized culture have used as reason to behead, castrate, burn and pillage. But we're cockheld by the tramp market...the thought machine feeds us dirty laundry and we clean it with our tongues.
The essay I want to write is "Living By Default" because that's the trip Americans are on right now. The ruling class instituted a marketing campaign starting from 1st grade that made conformity and docile cocksucking the rule to follow. Don't make waves. Don't rock the boat. Don't talk about Communism and don't make friends with the homeless people. Every criminal is "crazy" and every junkie is diseased. There's no cause behind the heat waves and cigarette smoking is healthy. So, what would come naturally to the unaffected, free thinker, something like going on strike for better wages, not only is resisted, but it's violently opposed. You treat people like children long enough and they start thinking like children. The default status when you are born is protected and defended though it is the very weight that drowns you and the stepping stone that is on your neck. It isn't stupidity that keeps the status quo alive because a stupid person would recognize the insanity, it's smart people being gullible enough to believe the talking heads repeatedly defining the default lifestyle and risks as acceptable and good. Again, it's not a mistake that Kansas voters shoot themselves in the neck every election, it's as intentionally manufactured as a Jack in The Box menu item.
But don't listen to me, I'm a communist who should be thankful for the opportunity to contribute to the greater construction good. Ha! I just realized it was more socialist of me to spend my own money to help with an industrial construction project, than it would be to go on strike. But that's the ultimate victory of the propaganda machine: When being "American" is defined as being "communist" then you have to be a "socialist" to be accepted as a loyal "American". Someone just committed a "ThinkCrime".
Remember The Alamo
To contact us Click HERE
What basically happened was the Mexican gvt. made a terrible choice to invite American colonists to settle parts of Mexico north of the Rio Grande. Eventually the Mexicans decided to end free immigration (talk about reversed roles) and the Texian colonists felt offended because their letters sent back east saying how easy it was to find land in Mexico would not be honored anymore.
Davy Crocket's reelection campaign in 1835 said if voters didn't reelect him then they could "go to hell and I'll go to Texas." It's hard to translate what that would mean today because at the time Texas was Mexican Tejas so it was like Obama saying, "Reelect me or I'm going to Cuba." Well, he went to Tejas and decided it wasn't fair to stop immigration and, in fact, Texas should just decalre their independence from Mexico. Mexico was going to learn the hard way that when you give an inch they take a mile.
Enter James Bonham and Jim Bowie and William Travis. Sam Houston came later...
Days before the battle of the Alamo, Texas declared itself a republic independent of all nations, kneeling before none. 4 days later the republic lost the first battle that would eventually win the war.
Well, it's basically a fight that should not have happened because the Mission itself is not worth defending and the men defending it (about 189 souls) weren't remotely able to match the Mexican army's numbers of nearly 1000. On March 6th, 1836 around the time Henry David Thoreau was entering Harvard University, the Mexican army attacked and killed everyone, using their own cannons against them, burning their bodies and moved north, foolishly, to attack Sam Houston. Think about this...the battle for a small Christian Mission in San Antonio ended the 6th of March and almost 200 proto-Texans died. On april 21, not even two months later, the battle of San Jacinto took place that left the Mexican army in ruins and affirmed the independence of Texas until it was annexed by the larger united states in 1846. Interestingly, debt was a main contributor in the annexation because if Texan loyalists had just balanced their own damn budget they could've argued to remain a Republic. But the federal reserve slipped their lying fingers into the wallets of Texans and haven't stopped since. It was basically an 1846 version of a bailout plan. Surviving for 10 years as a republic had cost money Texas didn't have. The final cost was being bailed out by the States and taken into the fold of the stars and stripes. Speaking of flags, "Six Flags" refers to the 6 flags that have flown over Texas in recent human history. Spain, France, Mexico, Texas Republic, American and the Confederacy. Yep, a mere 15 years after the bail out, Texas bit the hand that fed them and allied with the Gray rebel slave states. Once ungrateful dogs, always ungrateful dogs. Well, we all know how the civil war turned out so you could say there were seven flags because after the stars and bars of the short-lived confederacy there was another American flag that had the new stars that represented the divided states of Virginia and Carolina. Someone fact check me because my quarter is going to run out on my history knowledge.
I want to conclude by saying that my journey to Labrador brought me into tangible proximity to the Livyers and the Innuit natives who were married by English and Irish cod fishermen, who were left behind for the winter to watch the warehouses and subsequently became the free people of The Labrador. And it strikes me now, so far away in southern Texas, in a land that was bled over and lied upon and claimed and fought for that the people again ebb and flow like water in a tide pool. Basically, political and social events overlap so that I eat tacos with jalapenos and Mexican decent Americans gawk at the Alamo and buy gift postcards and post pictures to Facebook...and the insane soup of humanity and political rule that has run over this land makes no difference. The people who are here are sort of pawns in a larger game of chess but the kings who make decisions are slaves to their own factors, arguing and strategizing and scheming for bits of corn and crumbs under mesquite tables while the barbacoa folk, the pinata earthlings with only love in their hearts wish to breed and multiply beyond the capacity of the land and the frozen chicken fingers but will learn the hard way the carrying capacity of their private zeon food chain.
I was overwhelmed, in short, by emotion of the humanity and desperation and futility of the Alamo, the bravery and the bones, the gunshots and the ruins of Christ while a teeming mass surrounds me. That's the contradiction I see when I visit historical sites, they are overrun by us, the future earthlings with different skins (black people here walking where Jim Bowie died!) and asians speaking Chinese at the Alamo and did the men with knives and long rifles and canons who sweated desperately for help and swore with savage vengance as the bullets penetrated their lungs, gasping for mercy from God, did they know if this was the future they wanted? Is it worse or better than a peaceful end or all Mexicans or All Cubans? But it doesn't matter. The library still welcomes one with cool air...the taco stands await...the drug dealers cruise on stolen bicycles. Here we are as we are today and you could say that the Alamo is a cause of this but isn't humanity the cause of it all and the details are immaterial?
In other news I am hunting the end of the road. My brain tumor had my head spinning like a top for the last few days as I pondered the contradiction that my conscience has made conventional living almost impossible. There is absolutely no pure life that would allow me to simplify my needs and understand the nature of my means. And there never will be. We're too complicated now and adapting means accepting my own limitations and living with the black holes of undertanding about semiconductors and bridge engineering and water sanitation and irrigation and industrial corn processing. It's all a mystery on top of the mystery of how strippers and priests can coexist. So, I'm following what might be my last lead. I prayed for relief. This is good because I may find peace, but it also means the end of the blog. I see them as mutually exclusive. The days in Austin were indescribably insane. If you love me then you will want this madness to end.
Davy Crocket's reelection campaign in 1835 said if voters didn't reelect him then they could "go to hell and I'll go to Texas." It's hard to translate what that would mean today because at the time Texas was Mexican Tejas so it was like Obama saying, "Reelect me or I'm going to Cuba." Well, he went to Tejas and decided it wasn't fair to stop immigration and, in fact, Texas should just decalre their independence from Mexico. Mexico was going to learn the hard way that when you give an inch they take a mile.
Enter James Bonham and Jim Bowie and William Travis. Sam Houston came later...Days before the battle of the Alamo, Texas declared itself a republic independent of all nations, kneeling before none. 4 days later the republic lost the first battle that would eventually win the war.
 |
| Not the location of Pee Wee's bicycle. Rather, a christian mission. |
Well, it's basically a fight that should not have happened because the Mission itself is not worth defending and the men defending it (about 189 souls) weren't remotely able to match the Mexican army's numbers of nearly 1000. On March 6th, 1836 around the time Henry David Thoreau was entering Harvard University, the Mexican army attacked and killed everyone, using their own cannons against them, burning their bodies and moved north, foolishly, to attack Sam Houston. Think about this...the battle for a small Christian Mission in San Antonio ended the 6th of March and almost 200 proto-Texans died. On april 21, not even two months later, the battle of San Jacinto took place that left the Mexican army in ruins and affirmed the independence of Texas until it was annexed by the larger united states in 1846. Interestingly, debt was a main contributor in the annexation because if Texan loyalists had just balanced their own damn budget they could've argued to remain a Republic. But the federal reserve slipped their lying fingers into the wallets of Texans and haven't stopped since. It was basically an 1846 version of a bailout plan. Surviving for 10 years as a republic had cost money Texas didn't have. The final cost was being bailed out by the States and taken into the fold of the stars and stripes. Speaking of flags, "Six Flags" refers to the 6 flags that have flown over Texas in recent human history. Spain, France, Mexico, Texas Republic, American and the Confederacy. Yep, a mere 15 years after the bail out, Texas bit the hand that fed them and allied with the Gray rebel slave states. Once ungrateful dogs, always ungrateful dogs. Well, we all know how the civil war turned out so you could say there were seven flags because after the stars and bars of the short-lived confederacy there was another American flag that had the new stars that represented the divided states of Virginia and Carolina. Someone fact check me because my quarter is going to run out on my history knowledge.
I want to conclude by saying that my journey to Labrador brought me into tangible proximity to the Livyers and the Innuit natives who were married by English and Irish cod fishermen, who were left behind for the winter to watch the warehouses and subsequently became the free people of The Labrador. And it strikes me now, so far away in southern Texas, in a land that was bled over and lied upon and claimed and fought for that the people again ebb and flow like water in a tide pool. Basically, political and social events overlap so that I eat tacos with jalapenos and Mexican decent Americans gawk at the Alamo and buy gift postcards and post pictures to Facebook...and the insane soup of humanity and political rule that has run over this land makes no difference. The people who are here are sort of pawns in a larger game of chess but the kings who make decisions are slaves to their own factors, arguing and strategizing and scheming for bits of corn and crumbs under mesquite tables while the barbacoa folk, the pinata earthlings with only love in their hearts wish to breed and multiply beyond the capacity of the land and the frozen chicken fingers but will learn the hard way the carrying capacity of their private zeon food chain.
 |
| Oggy got his western wear mixed up with his beach bum wardrobe |
I was overwhelmed, in short, by emotion of the humanity and desperation and futility of the Alamo, the bravery and the bones, the gunshots and the ruins of Christ while a teeming mass surrounds me. That's the contradiction I see when I visit historical sites, they are overrun by us, the future earthlings with different skins (black people here walking where Jim Bowie died!) and asians speaking Chinese at the Alamo and did the men with knives and long rifles and canons who sweated desperately for help and swore with savage vengance as the bullets penetrated their lungs, gasping for mercy from God, did they know if this was the future they wanted? Is it worse or better than a peaceful end or all Mexicans or All Cubans? But it doesn't matter. The library still welcomes one with cool air...the taco stands await...the drug dealers cruise on stolen bicycles. Here we are as we are today and you could say that the Alamo is a cause of this but isn't humanity the cause of it all and the details are immaterial?
In other news I am hunting the end of the road. My brain tumor had my head spinning like a top for the last few days as I pondered the contradiction that my conscience has made conventional living almost impossible. There is absolutely no pure life that would allow me to simplify my needs and understand the nature of my means. And there never will be. We're too complicated now and adapting means accepting my own limitations and living with the black holes of undertanding about semiconductors and bridge engineering and water sanitation and irrigation and industrial corn processing. It's all a mystery on top of the mystery of how strippers and priests can coexist. So, I'm following what might be my last lead. I prayed for relief. This is good because I may find peace, but it also means the end of the blog. I see them as mutually exclusive. The days in Austin were indescribably insane. If you love me then you will want this madness to end.
Kaydol:
Yorumlar (Atom)