A new Echelon…did you know about the old one?

I just finished writing an entry. 3 hours. Pretty good for drunk ol’ me. You know what happened? WordPress ate my post. Oh, well, that’s not fair. The first 5 lines were preserved. Everything else…gone. “Pissed” is not a sufficiently accurate word for where I’m at right now. Arrrrrrgh!!!!

Let me sum up. Boobka, I disagree with our phone carriers divulging our call records to Uncle Sam. Why? Dezhurnaya, and the system that makes them possible (and/or necessary). Cubans and Moscovites alike will grasp this concept.

I went on in insane detail about Echelon and its omnipresence. If you think that doesn’t bleed down to you…well you have another thing coming. “Dictionary Systems” are the heart of the matter. If you get them, you get most of it.

In a life long past I worked with the men and women that do the “spooking”. They are, in my opinion, patriotic, hard working, good people. People that don’t give two shits about your porn sites or blogging. People that I would understand knocking on my door for buying 2000lbs of fertilizer.

That being said, I forwarded a quote:

“The basis of our governments being the opinion of the people, the very first object should be to keep that right; and were it left to me to decide whether we should have a government without newspapers or newspapers without a government, I should not hesitate a moment to prefer the latter. But I should mean that every man should receive those papers and be capable of reading them.” –Thomas Jefferson to Edward Carrington, 1787. ME 6:57

I will gladly abridge my safety for my freedom. To forget that is to invite Senator McCarthy into my home. Of course, realizing that cross-dressing Mr. Hoover did more damage (and it only took one journalist to take him down).

Have you never wondered what KGB stood for? Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti…State Security Committee. Mystery solved. And what did they do? They represented the controlling interest in what started as the individual “Soviets”. These were the units responsible for security in the newly formed “Union” that obscured Russia and its satellites. In the end, “in the interest of the state” supersceded all else. Under this philosophy giving up my phone records would have been small potatoes. I like to think we did something that led us (permanently) away from that level of “understanding”. 9/11 changed things. It fractured our security. It provided us with the question of security vs freedom on a scale we’d never seen. Here’s a rather forgotten quote (more like a conversation) from the movie “Three Days of the Condor”:

Turner: Boy, what is it with you people? You think not getting caught in a lie is the same thing as telling the truth?

Higgins: No. It’s simple economics. Today it’s oil, right? In ten or fifteen years, food. Plutonium. And maybe even sooner. Now, what do you think the people are gonna want us to do then?

Turner: Ask them.

Higgins: Not now — then! Ask ‘em when they’re running out. Ask ‘em when there’s no heat in their homes and they’re cold. Ask ‘em when their engines stop. Ask ‘em when people who have never known hunger start going hungry. You wanna know something? They won’t want us to ask ‘em. They’ll just want us to get it for ‘em!

Turner: Boy, have you found a home.

At what point is giving Uncle Sam the collective finger okay? Don’t believe for a second that the ability to listen to your pizza order is lost. But 2 billion calls a day? Get a grip. Here’s the scary part. That technology is less than 2 years away. On the flip side we just want them to get it for ‘em.

Like I said. I know these people. They don’t mean you harm. But I will always default to Mr. Franklin. I often feel out of touch with my Founding Fathers, but I feel a sense of connection with Mr. Franklin. “Mr. Franklin, is it acceptable for me to unconditionally read your correspondence with all parties?” You want to guess what his answer to that would have been?

Here’s the deal. I don’t like the fact that some red, white, and blue snoop is staring over my shoulder. But the day he drags a terrorist in front of me I’ll be the first to rub a pig-skin football in his face as I forcibly insert a .45 slug into his dreamstem. What am I gonna base that muscle twitch on? We all have our demons. I have worked with these folks. But I still want Ma Bell the hell out of my business. You may see that as waffling, but at least it’s waffling with purpose. It really sounded better in the first post.

I live in a country where my ability, up to and including leaving, is preserved as inalienable. I’ll take a bomb to my house and the ability to fight with every means available to the naked inability to respond, subjugating personal right. That makes me uniquely American. We have a special place in this world. We took what we have (for better or worse). And we often forget that we are constantly fighting to keep it, both internally and externally. Each society has its “way”. Ours is struggle. We keep forgetting that.

There was a fairly awesome scene in a book I once read. A diplomat engaged in talks with China said something to the effect of, “I understand what you are asking. I am not obliged to answer at this time. I am here as a representative of a democratic society. In case you don’t understand that concept, that means I need to go back and ask a few hundred million people what they think about your request.”

I ended my previous (eaten) post with a musical quote and I won’t disappoint. You know me, there’s always a reference to the music I’m listening to.

“I do believe it’s true
That there are roads left in both of our shoes
If the silence takes you
Then I hope it takes me too”

The day we stop screaming is the day we begin in earnest. You can take a few buildings. You can rain fire on my land. You can set my people in confusion. And I can only promise this: we will reach across the globe and rip your heart from you. We will pursue you to your caves, valleys, holes, hovels, and beyond. We will build roads and hospitals where you have none. And we will use them to destroy you. If you thought the Romans, Peter, and Cyrus sought beyond, you have a new history coming. Believe me.

And stay the fuck out of my phone calls.

“Does she show pleasant enthusiasm when you mount her?”

There is a song at: The Riddle. You have to wait about 20 seconds before you can download it.

Go there and download this song. I think of Paul every time I hear this song. Yes, yes, you have to jump through a couple of VERY minor hoops to get it. Download it and start it. Listen to the words. But, then again, you probably know me that well. Paul is the “old man of Erin”. Look up the lyrics. It isn’t in line with my current musical tastes, but I always think of Paul when I hear this and that’s pretty energizing for me.

A friend of mine is dead. How and why are not important. Death is the great equalizer that way. This man changed my life. He grabbed me by the throat and dragged me into awareness. He killed my demons. He created my conscience. I have him to thank for…me. His name was Paul Michael Sittler.

When I started college at Texas A&M Paul was one of the first people (one of my bosses) that I encountered as a student worker. Let me describe him. 6′11″ on a good day. Red beard. 300lbs. All of the life and insanity and drive that, frankly, makes life go forward…forward…forward. He saw me and didn’t let go for a second. Imagine Socrates on crack. Why? Exactly! He would’ve laughed at that. I describe him as an equal mixture of Paul Bunyan, Hell’s Angel, David Letterman, and Rasputin. All on a 190 IQ pure fuel burn.

He adopted me and he didn’t let me go. He questioned my life, my decisions, my future. Every day was another trial.

When I got divorced I didn’t feel right showing my face at work for a week. When I finally couldn’t let it ride any longer I went back…fearing what Paul would say. He cornered me within 30 minutes of being back. “Come with me,” he said. I went outside to the loading dock and he perched himself on the low concrete wall and said, “So, what’s up?”

For a moment I was awash in emotion, expectation, fear…I didn’t know what to say. “I don’t know, Paul. It feels like the end of my life.” I was, frankly, afraid of what my always bluntly honest mentor was going to say. “Yeah, that’s how it usually works,” he started. “You’re going to listen to a bunch of sad and heart-rending bullshit songs that will all SPEAK TO YOU. That’s what they are for. Just remember…they are all bullshit. Your strength is within you. You know it…so do I.” I don’t know what else that man said for those 2 hours on that loading dock. I was going to live. I was going to live because of him. This hard, intelligent, belligerent man was going to hold my hand and walk me through it. I made it. My life worked and I went on to live happily ever after. It was because of him. I will never forget that.

When Paul was really sick I called him in the hospital. I didn’t know what to say. I tried to make light of the situation and laughed. All I remember him saying was, “It isn’t funny, dude. This is some serious shit. I can’t keep food down and I don’t know if I’m ever getting out of here.” Oh my God, I felt like shit. There is nothing in this world I would have done to make Paul feel worse and I felt like I’d done it. I wanted to scream, “I’m just nervous. Paul, this can’t be you. You are strong. You are a base for my life. You can’t let this get you. Fight! Fight! Crush this thing and be my Paul.” But I was afraid. This can’t be the Paul I knew. Paul is a force of nature. He taught me to bullfight with the universe…smiling the whole time. This couldn’t be true. He is gone now…and this is my eulogy. I miss him…oh, God how I miss him. I wish I’d known how to be close to him in that decade I was away. Now it is too late. Regret is the only evil I know…and, if you know me, regret is the most significant power of will that you can and should control. All I can do is remember him. And pass it on. That was Paul’s motto: “Pass it on.” Find something good and make sure everyone gets a taste.

There are only two terrifying words in the English language to me: “Too late.” If you haven’t been there, well, maybe you don’t understand, but nothing takes your breath away quite like those two little, unassuming words.

I had a dream last night. In it I was still working at Computer Technology where I used to work with Paul. I heard his voice outside the window and quickly looked out. I saw the back of his leg and scrambled to get to the hallway in time. Again, I heard his voice and saw the back of his legs and hurried up the stairs. Suddenly I was back in the hallway where we used to work and there was Paul. I walked up to him and said, “This is a dream, isn’t it?” He laughed and said, “You know it is. It’s okay. What did you want?” I followed him into our old office area and a found myself breaking down in tears. “Paul, I don’t know how to do this. Please…if you can pass this on. I miss you. I love you.” He just smiled. And I woke up. I don’t remember many dreams…especially the ones that I wake up from. But I remember this one.

I was a dipshit. I was a dumbass college kid that knew everything. When I graduated college Paul said, “Now you have a piece of paper that proves that even a monkey can be trained…and that’s all that’s important right now. Congratulations!!!” That was one of the most important moments of my life.

Paul spoke seven languages.
Paul wrote an adult novel (a very good one, if I must say) in both English and Korean.
Paul once rode a moped from College Station to Houston and back. He described it as “a grasshopper riding an ant”. I believe him.
Upon first meeting my fiance at the time, Paul’s first comment was, “Kenny, you didn’t tell me she was so well endowed.” My fiance laughed and forever won a place in his soul.
Paul was, literally, a soapbox preacher in Houston while living under a bridge and working (off and on) for Manpower.
Paul sold the first electronic Hewlett-Packard calculators in College Station while working for a Volkswagen repair shop.
Paul died wanting to fix up the Carmengia that was parked in his garage.
Paul once entertained me for 2 hours in Service Merchandise by buying a MIDI saxaphone and following people around the store playing “O Danny Boy”.
He insisted on playing a recorder (not the electronic type) while driving, fastidiously, below the speed limit.
Paul hit me in the face with a 12-foot tall brick wall of “why?” He helped me redefine my psyche. He bought me the “Smiling Man” book (I’ll buy it for you, too, if you need it).
He used the A-star algorithm to solve the “traveling salesman problem” and shared it with me that very afternoon. All between programming his new MIDI keyboard (which he kept in the hallway) and nuking ramen noodles.
Paul taught me the most important lesson of gun owership. “Guns make people rot. Either end of the barrel…somebody rots. Stupid people with guns are the worst. Smart people with guns are just slightly better. I’ve seen enough rotting for both of us.” I argued that I’d been brought up on a farm with guns. “Fair enough,” he said. “If you don’t shoot them often enough, then the gun will rot. Use your head.” More than a decade later, and enough personal experiece (and a brief exursion into Paul’s past world) to call my own, I understand what he meant. I think a number of my readers do, too.
And I won’t even get into the magical smells that he pointed out (on more than a few occasions) that a mustache can retain.

If only I wasn’t so afraid, I’d be living under a bridge. And he even understood that.

One of my favorite quotes was, “Snow Crash…have you read it? Read it!!! I don’t read fiction.” Paul was the champion of every good thing that he could get his hands on. To this day, if I read a book or watch a show or play a game that is awesome I feel compelled to share it with everyone I know. That was just how Paul was.

So many of my conversations with Paul went something like this:

Kenny: “I blah blah blah.”
Paul: “Why?”
Kenny: “Well, because blah blah blah.”
Paul: “Bullshit. Why?”
Kenny: “Ummmm…because blah blah blah.”
Paul: “Okay, so that’s the bullshit behind the bullshit. Stop talking until you understand what the fuck you are talking about.”
Kenny: “I guess I’m just stupid.”
Paul: “More bullshit. The day you understand the difference between stupid and ignorant you can say that…until then try again. Over.”

This happened again and again until I wasn’t ignorant. Paul was good that way. Like I said…Socrates. With more cursing. I became intelligent. I learned. I learned because he didn’t let up. He hounded me until I was no longer ignorant. He kicked my ass (screaming and fighting) into intelligence. I couldn’t have asked for a better father. My grandfather even understood that.

One time my grandparents came to visit while I was in college. They came up to where I worked and met Paul. We went out on the back porch of the building in which we worked to smoke. Paul lit a match and insisted that we all light our cigarettes off that one match. He went on to explain it was a superstition from WWI because snipers would use the second match to acquire their targets. My grandfather, being ex-military himself, knew that superstition (first I’d ever heard of it) and they were in love. Again, Paul was like that.

Paul used to grab my chest and pull back his pulsating hand. He would say, “I just ripped your beating heart out of your chest. You want to see it before you die?” Then he would laugh like a maniac and grab me behind the neck and drag me outside…offering me a cigarette and lighting both…before telling me how much of a dumbass I was for smoking. I’m sorry I fell away. I’m sorry he’s gone.

Reget is the only evil I know.

Find this quote. It was Paul’s favorite movie:

“There is an endless supply of white men. There has always been a limited number of human beings.”

The title of this entry is his other favorite quote. I’ll stop here, while even decorum that Paul would have frowned at stills my hand.

Obviously I don’t want to die now that Paul is gone. But I feel less like living.

He would kick my ass for saying that.

Disconnected…Driven

I sit here umongst my most stable of platforms…my disconnected state. Odd that, eh? I am driven by that which refuses me. I find solace in youth and understanding. Most importantly understanding. Most misunderstood…youth.

Are you afraid of heights? Have you ever stood upon a railing and wondered? What would it feel like? Would it be the drop or the fall? The impact? The decision? What stopped you? Why not? I believe there is a future worth discovering. A space in which we are traveling. Have I, in my life, decided that the end is worth it all? Yes. I have. And I have come back from that presipice. It wasn’t faith or belief or commitment that did it. I am a sanguine product of perserverence. Farm parents and all that… The injustice that is violent, destroying life is changing. It doesn’t take a boy and make a man. It takes a man and makes a regrettable shell. A reactive spectre. A thing. I force my belief to the edge of consideration. Not understanding, for I understand. “He who understands will understand.” Look that up. I have done my time dragging behind man’s moral code. I once embraced it…now I serve penance with full conscience. I will never repair the pain that I’ve cost. But I will use it to drive myself to a place of more…or nothing.

The only message to which I can honesly attest is both the internal and the external. Freeze this moment. Stop right here. What is right? Is George Bush evil? Is gay marriage wrong? Is drinking against God? Is pornography a path to unforgiveness? Right now! Choose! Right now!

Heady stuff, eh? I don’t like being backed into a corner. I’m pretty sure you don’t, either. Choose it. Decide it. NOW!!! I ain’t waiting around for your ass. Neither are the people that love you. Choose who you are. Right now. Because one day they will be gone. And then, I don’t care how many eulogies you give for them, you will not be able to regain their judgement on the matter. You will be cast adrift…on your own. And that will be your personal judgement day. And don’t even think for a second that I am a guide for your choice. That is the saddest of all possible outcomes. Who…the…fuck…are…you? OK, so here I am…crazy blog guy. Why pay attention to me? Why, indeed? And here’s the crazy part. I have my own beliefs on these issues. They may not be the same as yours. Choose!

Suffice to say I believe there is a message. A plan, if you will. Have you no sense of history (read my two previous posts to understand that I do)? In the 5th century there was a belief that women where inconsequential to the future of the world (virgin god birth notwithstanding) for purely Hebrew reasons. In the 20th century there was a belief that women controlled the sexual revolution (for a shitload of reasons that most of you won’t do the research to understand…who’s fault?). Let’s refer to Nag Hammadi. See below. I’m not going to do your research for you. Do it yourself.

I have no argument that I am the 21st century Parseval to this forgotten path. Sorry for drawing you this far. I am a scientist. An Engineer. And that makes exactly shit all guidance for your own personal quest.

One of my greatest friends is a fellow searcher. In the end I believe that all the words that represent the search for truth to be the same: Messiah, Horus, Siddartha Guatama, Christ, Krishna, etc. If you do an academic (not expected) amount of research you will see an emerging pattern.

What goes back as far as the teachings of man? Laws? No prophecy. Laws? What drives the future of Mesopatamia? Laws?. See Hammurabi for original reference on this one. Oh, yeah, the laws came from the “Master of Scribes” who went to the mountain to receive the laws from the gods. Oops, Moses? You are such a follower. Oops, indeed!

Here’s the deal. I’m not looking to risrupt anyone’s beliefs. Quite the contrary. I serve to reinforce them. The best thing in you is…in you. Catch a tune or emotion or feeling. Ride it to where you need to be. But be aware of what modern religion has brought you. Don’t disagree. Don’t dissent. Or risk being on the outside. Risk thinking and questioning. Risk your very soul on a popular ideal that dictates a following. Right or wrong you should look at the internal. At the end of the day you will be held to yourself. I feel for the human that is astray. Your choice.

I look myself in the face once a day and question. Are you following your beliefs? Are you worthy of being? Are you a gigantic hypocrite?

Some days yes.

Some days no.

Do you need a god? Listen. What do you think about it? Whatever *it* is? What did the first voice tell you? Forget the world and guilt and “fitting in” and … Therein lies God. Sadly, you think that is too simple.

I deal with my own salvation. Oddly enough, so do you. There was never a more clear message. Have you ever thought differently?

Because I can never finish without a quote I’ll end with:

“The call to arms was never true
Time to imbibe here’s to you
I’ll tell you stories bruised and blue
Drum machines and landslides

Just one more round before we’re through
More psychedelic yuppie flu
It’s such a silly thing to do
Now we’re stuck on rewind”

Nothing makes this more pertinent than the call to arms.

If you ever thought it was difficult…I’m sorry. It really isn’t. Belief is the awareness of understanding.

Part and Parcel

Idiom speak and bespoke truth.
Womb bring forgotten youth.
Aim before and not behind.
No tomorrow found in kind.
Toss the stones, their fortune found.
Take their urge, clues abound.
Off to find my fortune dear.
Don’t forget the bended ear.
If you find the truth in me,
Even so shall glory be.

Pointing Out Some Golden Meaning

I believe I’ve created an ocean of puzzled looks. So, here, let me shed a little light on my previous post.

The symbol on the left is rich with history. It is linked to the sacred feminine, the holy trinity circumscribed by the all or “the one”, the male essence or “phallus”, not to mention the “chief cornerstone” (check your bibles for more on this one).

The diagram on the right is a very elementary construction revealing a somewhat mystifying relationship. If A and B are the midpoints of the two legs of the circumscribed equilateral triangle, and you draw a straight line through them to C you have, in a manner of speaking, a mystery of the universe. The ratio of AC/AB is the same as the ratio of AB/AC. This is called Phi, or the Golden Section, or the Divine Proportion. And it truly is everywhere. The ratio between the distance from your elbow to your wrist and your wrist to the end of your fingertips…Phi. A cross-sectional view from the top of the DNA double helix forms a decagon. A decagon is in essence two pentagons, with one rotated by 36 degrees from the other, so each spiral of the double helix must trace out the shape of a pentagon.The ratio of the diagonal of a pentagon to its side is Phi. Phi defines the geometry of the pentagram. A Fibonacci series is the best whole number approximation of Phi. Leonardo’s Vitruvian Man (among many of his other works) is a magnificent testament to Phi. Check out little ol’ 1.61803398874. You will be amazed.

As for the gospels…read them (the 4 out of 27 books in the canonnical list) side by side. There are more specific factual differences than similarities. I’ll let you follow up on the rest of this one…I’m not pushing an agenda.

What does this sign mean? Many scholars call it the “John sign”.

As for Wilfred Owen’s poem…well, I took a bit of liberty there. This is one of my favorite poems. However, I changed the Latin word “patria” to “patris” as a sort of literary puzzle. The Latin phrase is actually attributed to Horace (ancient Roman author) who had a few things to say about feminine goddess worship and such-like.

The Priory of Zion is a red herring. I am simply stating that anyone can come up with a lie as compelling as that of Mr. Plantard without nearly as much trouble. And *this* Priory of Zion actually exists!

The cardigan is also a bit of red herring. More misleading really. On the surface it seems to refer to Lord Cardigan (after which the sweater is named). Instead I am referring to Cardigan Castle in which one of the Arthurian romances is started ( Erec and Enide). Yeah, I know…bit of a stretch.

The rest I leave to the interested reader. My point here was that it is all too easy to fill the air with mysteries and connections…some real and truly extraordinary…some not so much. Makes for tons of fun, though. Tons. I certainly haven’t explained everything, in fact I just sorta scratched the surface. But having all the answers is just no fun at all!

Are there answers to these deeper mysteries? Undoubtedly. However, the real question is whether there are, in fact, implied mysteries at all? How many strange artifacts and coincidences need to be aligned before we collectively say, “Hey! There’s something up here. Something is different from how we thought it was.”? I can’t say, but I do know that folks like Dan Brown sure seem to know and are raking in the dough.

What about thinking again again? Nag Hammadi redux

The “Da Vinci Code” is out. Apparently the book wasn’t enough. Open your eyes. Tune in and tune out. Think, think, think. This fictional story is doing something that has been done for thousands of years: redefining history. Bringing to the forefront myths and legends that have, sadly gone by the wayside for thousands of years. It is mostly bunk. This is a folly. An entertainment. A glorious entertainment.

Curiously enough the Catholic church decided in the 60’s that Mary Magdelen wasn’t a whore. And from there a genre was born. Churches, mountains, and regions are no longer safe. There is a cryptogram in every staff and stall. Right? Walk the Languedoc. No matter to me. This is just a hiccup in my search. Sadly, the Catholic church (the first GUI religion) is drawing a sacreligous issue… Sadly you can entertain youself on a weekend of Rennes-le-Chateu if you like now (Rosslyn Chapel hiding for the end of this post).

Here’s the thing to think about. A new set of questions have entered the scene. TONS of people have taken up the mantle and stated “Huh?” Whatcha gonna do about it? Oooo I love that one. What…are…you…gonna…do?

Supposedly we all know the answers, right? Come on…quote the gospels. Quote Corinthians. Paul was all about answers, right? You know, never having met Christ and all…but he had the letters to spread. Ooops, he wasn’t an Apostle. No problem. We’ve got Luke, John, Matthew, and Mark. I mean, their gospels correspond perfectly, right? The revealed “Word of God” should agree on the facts, right? Read ‘em. Perfect match. God’s revelation is a totally airtight story as revealed to the four literate (I’m joking) apostles thus proving the whole birth, passion, and resurrection as truth and sacrament. Read and compare. And you are worried about a freaking movie? Just ask that guy…or Jesus…or the Angel…whichever gospel you choose.

Welcome to Egypt. Welcome to Nah Hammadi. Welcome to the other than the 27.

Lionardo…do you know him? Does John point to God? Does John come (point to the) first? Did John (sign for all) meet Jesus on the road to Egypt? If you don’t know…you should. And why… Come on. If we don’t answer these questions, who will?

There is a message. It boils and whirls inside you. I don’t know what it is. Look me up and teach me. I can guarantee you that it won’t be in the frames that Dan Brown or Ron Howard offer. It will be in today’s mystery. It will be in the history of woman and man. The one that we have ignored.

Oh, yeah, I have a gigantic …

Hanna…

Mr. Plantard was full of shit. What body follows a secret in the Egyptian desert? Nag Hammadi indeed. Other than the 27, can some find the tomb? Like it or not we really are involved… You wanted me to post. Oddly you are closest to all of our answers…

Once you are done digging around in the depths of Sarmatians of your neighbors yards you might want to spend a minute on Mr. Fawkes’ gunpowder (V for previous post aside…). Apparently a new bible was a problem, regardless of the tribulations involved in getting caught. Awesome mystery…no?

I’ll leave you with this:

There is a an interesting English Baptist Chapel in the gardens of Priory. It is known as Mount Priory. It is a Priory of Zion. Enjoy your Cardigan.

“Dulce et decorum est pro patris mori”

Wilfred Owen:

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.

GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!– An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.–
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,–
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patris mori.

A crvcifiction is as much as based on this…man has travelled this path many times before…(quick homework assignment…how many crucified bodies has history turned up?…1…Uno…One…of the, you know, 6 million or so that we can prove through writings that the Romans participated in…I mean instigated. Look it up.

The lie is the base. It is both the base and the lie. Life is death. Death is life. Once understood the finger upright in sight…so shall you understand the Cathar message. John is first. John before.

1.61803398874

“First Painter, Engineer and Architect of the King”

I release upon that which lies before you in redemption and faith. You’d though we forgot, hadn’t you? Isn’t Hollywood great? Welcome back!!!

Or, I could just be a babbling lunatic. Hard to tell these days…

V for “Very Good Movie”

I just love this quote:

Creedy: Defiant until the end, huh? You won’t cry like him, will you? You’re not afraid of death. You’re like me.

V: The only thing that you and I have in common, Mr. Creedy, is that we’re both about to die.

Creedy: How do you imagine that’s gonna happen?

V: With my hands around your neck.

Creedy: Bullocks. Whatchya gonna do, huh? We’ve swept this place. You’ve got nothing. Nothing but your bloody knives and your fancy karate gimmicks. We have guns.

V: No, what you’ve have are bullets, and the hope that when your guns are empty I will no longer be standing, because if I am you will all be dead before you’ve reloaded.

Creedy: That’s impossible. Kill him.

[The fingermen open fire on V, but he still stands after their clips are empty.]

V: My turn.

GO SEE IT!!!

Perhaps the seminal quote of the movie (yes, I know what that means…maybe you should, too).

“Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is it vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished, as the once vital voice of the verisimilitude now venerates what they once vilified. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified, and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin van-guarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose vis-à-vis an introduction, and so it is my very good honor to meet you and you may call me V.”

O Sacred Head

“O sacred Head, now wounded,
with grief and shame weighed down,
now scornfully surrounded
with thorns, thine only crown:
how pale thou art with anguish,
with sore abuse and scorn!
How does that visage languish
which once was bright as morn!”

Church of Christ. In case people were wondering…Pamela.

Bach’s “Passion Chorale”. Still brings me to tears. Truly a moving piece of music. Especially a cappella.

Now, if only the blurry keys would stop touching my fingers I could get some sleep.

Eat Me…Drink Me

Choice. An ample, if not overwhelming, topic. Or at least it should be. There are two awesome quotes that say it better than I:

“My will shall shape the future. Whether I fail or succeed shall be no man’s doing but my own. I am the force; I can clear any obstacle before me or I can be lost in the maze. My choice; my responsibility; win or lose, only I hold the key to my destiny.”
-Elaine Maxwell

and

“One ship sails East,
And another West,
By the self-same winds that blow,
Tis the set of the sails
And not the gales,
That tells the way we go.”
-Ella Wheeler Wilcox

I’ve been contributing an abnormal amount of my thought to this topic latley. Quantum Mechanics aside, the concept of choice simply grows in unabashed awesomeness the more I think about it.

As I am a confessed unbeliever I feel that I have no right or privelege to play the religion card…but I am steadfast in that I must broach the matter in this discussion, what with choice being such a pillar of the world’s religions. I contend that Christianity has, in fact, gotten it wrong. A once loving and involved God, in his later years, began a policy of “revelation by exception”…so to speak. That is, where once God chose to press His message via world-destroying plagues and maladies he began to see a “kinder, gentler” form of hermitage. Curiously, these new methods were much more in line with humanity and — dare I say — much more popular. You know…than the whole “we’re all gonna die” method of instant salvation. It just wasn’t cutting it. So, we all know about Jesus and the message and the Word and…etc. But I would say that the last message was the most damning. “It’s your choice. Do as you will. You know the consequences.” If you don’t think that’s a release for aberrance, just sit in a Burger King for a few hours. Holy Cow…not to mix metaphors. Talk about the choice fountain being open for business. There is no more destructive element to humanity than unrestrained choice. So, I further postulate, choice is the the rock and the foundation upon which present (“cultured”) society is based.

Think about it. If you commit a crime in front of 30 police officers you will still have the opportunity to stand in front of your peers and try to convice them to make the choice that you didn’t do it. Our rebellion against Britain was based upon having sufficient numbers of volunteers to make the choice to join. Your present situation in life has been based upon the multitude of small and large choices that you have made. Every second of every day is a dizzying cacophany of if/then/else statements (again, nod to the programmers).

Let’s define some terms.
“Freedom” is the ability to make choices. It really is that simple.
“Opportunity” is having choices to make.
“Power” is the ability to take choices (and opportunities) away or grant them.

So, take your religion, job, relationships, and life and put them in the appropriate context. Are you free? Do you have opportunity? Are you powerful? Most people reading this will probably have fairly positive answers to this. However, you will — also probably — never understand the full import of your power to deny choice to others.

Someone once said that the most heinous of curses would be for us all to become gods. For within lies a future of categorical impostion and servitude. Have you ever been waited upon by a servant? Few Americans can claim such. However, if you travel to certain countries that is exactly what happens. They aren’t waiters/waitresses or maintenance people…they are servants. Their choice is between serving your needs or suffering. I don’t know about you, but that really sets me on edge. I come from a country where every commercial interaction is (or should be) met with mutual cooperation. Yes, you are waiting on me in this restaurant, but I give you money so that you can also go to school, have a family, not put up with shit, enjoy television, etc. But elsewhere this is not the case. Service personnel don’t exist outside of providing that service. Otherwise, they sleep, shit, and eat. Power excludes them in the worst possible way. Freedom and opportunity exist at their cost. And in many cases I’m not just talking about the resort microcosm that I’ve described…it permeates the entire country (Cuba, Bahamas, Sudan, et al).

Put a quarter in a jukebox. Press “B4″. Listen to your history. Follow the White Rabbit. Moving on…

So, is it any surprise that religion and revolution have grown with such fervent passion? “Hi! We’re here to help you out! Oh, the Revolution/God/McDonald’s is ON YOUR SIDE. Sucks that you sold half the continent for some mirrors and beads. Well, I guess we’ll be making your choices for you (for your own good) for awhile.” Power. Ain’t it great? How about we get our freedom back? Let’s have a revolution!!! Let’s select someone to pioneer a way forward for us, the comman man, and overthrow this horrible regime that oppresses us. Viva La Revolution! Umm…so what should we be doing…you know, as the common man? No problem. Just give me the power (not that you know what that means) and I’ll do the doing for you. And the circle continues. Freedom is yours (see glossary above).

“So much hate for the ones we love?
Tell me, we both matter, don’t we?
You, you and me.
You and me, won’t be unhappy.

And if I only could,
Make a deal with God,
And get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
Be running up that building,
if I only could, oh…”

Choice. The Matrix is based on it. Can’t work without it. Guy Falkes exemplified it. We will all die a thousand deaths for it. It will not be extinguished. It is our curse/blessing from God. It is His great and final gift before slamming the door and moving on to something vastly more interesting. “Here’s a bunch of rope. Hang away.”

I once heard an interesting story of a man that died and was allowed to view both heaven and hell before choosing (wow, what a choice). He went to hell and saw a group of people at a dinner table trying to eat soup. The problem was that they all had spoons that were about 4 feet long. So they could scoop the soup up but the spoon was too long for them to get it to their mouths. “How awful”, the man said. He was then taken to heaven. Same soup. Same spoons. “But this is just like hell”, he said. “The spoons are so long no one can eat.” “Ah, yes”, said the custodian angel. “But here they have learned to feed one another.” Same circumstances. Different choices.

God said, “Come to me…or else.”
Jesus said, “Come to me…or not.”
I say, “You’re already there…now what?”

Wherein lies the most power, opportunity, and freedom? Even answering that question requires a choice.

“But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked.
“Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat: “We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”
“How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice.
“You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come here.”
Alice didn’t think that proved it at all; however, she went on “And how do you know that you’re mad?”
“To begin with,” said the Cat, “a dog’s not mad. You grant that?”
“I suppose so,” said Alice.
“Well, then,” the Cat went on, “you see, a dog growls when it’s angry, and wags its tail when it’s pleased. Now I growl when I’m pleased, and wag my tail when I’m angry. Therefore I’m mad.”

Perhaps you’ll understand why “The Mummer’s Dance” was the choice for our wedding song. Look it up. I act upon you in silence. With knowledge. With words. We are all slaves to our choices. Rejoice or reject. You cannot escape it.

Remember the thing I said before about conscience? About my own personal set of ethics and morals? Choices. Make yours now. Right now. You don’t know how much time you have left to settle yourself. Now is always a good time. If nothing else, realize how much in amuses me that you are ignoring this.

That being said…I have some tough choices to make. I am sad that blogs cannot be set to music. Alas, I am confined to parsimonious effect.

Silence Dogood…how we miss you…

Let’s imagine, for a moment, the first Congressional Congress. Ah, 1774, what a good year. Come on…you had high school history. You remember. All those free thinking folks in that unairconditioned space plotting the future of our destiny. All that talk of freedom…of servitude…of conscience. You couldn’t have missed it. It’s on the news every single day now. Just tune in…and tune out.

(As a side note, I will agree with my friend, Edge. Drink, the night, a good idea, and music simply cannot be beat. It is the intersection of the gods…but you know what’s coming. I’m listening to Cirque Du Soleil if that helps.)

Just for a moment, put yourself in the shoes of Mr. Franklin. I truly associate with this man. Not just because he gave me my industrial calling (thanks for getting electrical charge backwards, Mr. Franklin), but because he played my part. Was he a revolutionary? Yes. History proves this out. But, at the end of the day, he did his damnedest to avoid bloodshed. He struck deals with everyone from the Danish to the Spanish to put pressure on King George to let good enough be. We came to this land to avoid their form of brutality…we lost. The brutality followed. Why? Why, money, of course.

At the end of the day even Mr. Franklin understood (and, frankly, so do I because of him) that we had to take our…selves…back. I weep for the years and people lost because of that decision. I live free today because of it. What makes this country great (and *DO NOT* consider this lightly…re-read this passage) is the mature, absolute, unrequited, steadfast, and dignified knowledge that directed violence is the way of last resort…and knowledge. I will never hurt you. Unless…you hurt those I love. “Unless” and “love” are the two words you should carry away from this discourse. It won’t be polite. It won’t be with “ordered humility”. I…will…fuck…you…up. And, friends, and liberal believers in the Original Congressional Congress (the greatest show on EARTH!!!) you’d better understand that concept…becuase I ain’t seeing it much in the press these days.

War. Yes, war. It is (I’ll wait a moment while you check your bibles) pretty much the oldest form of human consideration (coming in only second to prostitution). In the day, King George was the King of War. “Kill ‘Em All” was the order of the day. Do you think for a second that we weren’t aware of that? And, yet, somehow we were undeterred. Why? And, more importantly, how could my peace (and beer) loving compatriot have agreed?

Let’s skip ahead to…oh…now. We’ve got a few years under our belt to think about it. What are we known for? We willingly help the downtrodden across the planet. We are willingly the authority on infectious diseases throughout the globe (and the medicines to cure them). We are willingly (see that word again) the “land of political asylum”. We welcome “…your tired, your poor, your huddled masses.” We printed it right on the entry sign to the freakin’ harbor (thanks French, and sorry to all you Germans who came in through Galveston, Chinese through the rail system, etc.) And they came. But they understood (probably better than “we” did at the time) there’s gonna be a fight. And, by God, I’m gonna be in it. How did they know? Oh, come on. They ran from the assholes that were starting the fires.

What, I’ll ask again, are we known for? War. Killing. Death. Just ask anyone. What about the other stuff? No one remembers that. War. That is what we are good at. We live behind our cloak of safety and prosperity. But you are a fool if you think there is anything standing between you and the rest of the nasty, cold, sad world but our proficiency at war. You tell me about a time when that wasn’t an important factor in human history and I’ll tell you about the time that I did tequila shots with the Easter Bunny. We are good at war. The best Americans aren’t proud of that fact. The best Americans are sad about it, in fact. Ben Franklin wanted no part of war. But he respected its necessity. He also understood, as a father of our country, the limits of personal liberty. But you don’t want to hear about that now, do you? Too controversial.

We have all seen the face of war. It isn’t glorious. It isn’t interesting. It isn’t adventure. It is the very definition of loss. It is the dirty little secret that we wish, as humans, we could keep. We just can’t figure out who to keep it from. We have “peace riots” and “humanitarian gestures” and “police actions”…but we have simply evolved to a state that we hate the context and meaning of our way. And yet we depend on that barrier…that strength to keep us safe.

I don’t pray for an end to war. I’m not misled, I’m not duped. To wish so is to end our existence. A destruction of humanity. We must face what we are. If you don’t like it, good for you. I wish I had that pleasure.

Do you know when I became free? It was the day that I learned the meaning of the word “glory”. Glorious in battle. Glorious in conquest. Glorious in the very act of taking…in destruction. The very word that set us all free. The very word that determined what we least want to be. The very word that was leading to humanity’s downfall. Check it out. Read about the Romans. Read about the Greeks. An ancient concept, that damning word “glory”. We are all expected, as Americans, to aspire to a higher standard. Every time in my life that I have been given power I have had the great — and ominous — charge to understand my responsibility. We live free today because we had smart enough people to establish a foundation in aberrant disregard to glory. Glory is something to establish us…and set us apart. That word has led many a man and nation to a sad end.

“I pull the trigger. A can feel the recoil against my cheek. From the corner of my eye I can see the flash of brass as the spent cartidge leaves my rifle…curiously no sound. I have fired once…maybe I fired 100 times. I can’t remember changing magazines. I see a man before me in a cloud of dust. He is falling. The world is slow and, although I still feel as though I am moving in real-time, everything has slowed down. Like a crazy dream. This is some kind of insane circus. Sparkling windmills swing past. Dogs standing on their back legs with balls on their noses. Training? Is this the way it’s supposed to be? Did I do that? Are my friends safe? What do I do now?”

-”Anonymous Stories of War”

Where is glory here?

I grieve. I am filled with sadness. And yet I understand that the comfort upon which I type this line is burdened entirely upon the shoulders of a young person (today or 40 or 200 years ago) that entered that personal hell. And I don’t forget for a moment that our human destiny is based upon our ability to right wrongs and bring the power of war to those that can’t or won’t agree…or even consider it. As the world gets smaller our responsibility grows larger.

Do you know what sets us apart from the rest of the world? As an example, our military training is specifically designed, by our highest standards, to avoid ,whenever possible, the cost of human life. Respectful war? Go figure. Even though I have many a time found myself in the depths of hatred and anger, I draw an awesome strength from the fact that I daily see our brave men and women in the face of absolute horror…holding their fire. I have met thugs. I have heard the shrill cry of dying. I have cringed at the fear of instant death. And I came away hating those that did violence unto me. And I have felt unbelievable satisfaction that there are those in harm’s way that represent the most considered form of peace on this planet. They are better than me. I have seen angry 19-year old soldiers point their barrels at the ground and escort men, women and children out of reinforced bunkers. So have you.

I don’t care how much you didn’t pay attention in high school. When all is said and done you know what is right. I have spent a minor portion of my life with those that have been “in the shit”. I can say that, without fail, Americans on the ground (for the vastly most part…there are always buttheads) know what is right. You may not trust your President. You may not trust your government. But the spirit of those sad and regretful men at Valley Forge resides squarely in the hearts of our soliders. Respect that, if nothing else.

Even as Mr. Franklin (gleefully turning electrical engineering on its ass) sits back in his chair to observe what he helped bring to be, his eyes fill with tears. Even he hoped there was an end…an avoidance. But he knew there wasn’t. I may be a shite engineer, Mr. Franklin…but I’m writing. Writing to Silence.

To be that bold. To be that trusting. To be that sad…

I know what sets me apart from the violent, destructive, baseless humans of this planet. And although I seldom harbor fear for my own safety, I take comfort in the fact that we are in a position to use that strength to prevent another child from the horror of destitude. It would be horrendous indeed if I found fault in our inability to save them all. The fact is: we’ve saved one. Can you imagine an America where you didn’t celebrate that fact?

“I walk the earth.
Touch the sky.
I am an angel in your eyes…”

In so many places…in so many times…this is our curse. And yet hope is alive within me…as my forefathers.

As always, I’m obviously wrong. Off to refresh my drink.

From the song I’m listening to:

“Beautiful roaring scream
Of joy and sorrow, so extreme
There is a love in me raging
Allegria”

Believe it or not, I’m a fairly happy person. Translate as you see fit, but this song is how I feel right now (thanks Cirque Du Soleil…somehow you typically get it right). I think ol’ Ben would appreciate it.