Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Change We Need?

Oh, the promises we hear on every campaign trail, full of grandiose bravado, insisting that “change” is right around the corner. Question: what sort of “change” are we speaking of? Reactionary Change (a reversion to how things used to be), or Transformative Change (moving forward to uncharted territory)? Imagine Obama on his soapbox saying, “We’re going to change this country. Change change change. ‘What does that mean?’ Well little girl, we’re going to go back to the long since forgotten era of Clintonism.” AKA we’re reverting back to something old rather than doing something new. Grant Obama some wiggle room given the immense battle he’s up against, yet lets not act like we weren’t fooled on the campaign trail as we always are. Although our lovely little super-power nation is being led by the second coming of Jesus (manifested in our new President), we still have a taste for terrorist blood....

Gregory D. Foster, a professor at the Industrial College of the Armed Forces, National Defense University, Washington DC, recently wrote an article entitled “The Obama National Security Team: Old Wine in Old Bottles.” In it he does well in summing up what I am tripping over myself to say-

“The problem is that there is little to distinguish Democrat from Republican or liberal from conservative members of the card-carrying national security establishment. It is a closed, inbred, elitist clique whose members- as the price of entry, acceptance, and retention- all buy into and perpetuate the same tired ideas and ways of thinking. At root, they are hard-wired realists who think of security as national security, not as something grander (global security) or more primal (human security); who tend, notwithstanding occasional rhetorical diversions and deceptions about “soft power” and “smart power,” to equate security with defense and to concern themselves with the accumulation and exercise of national power defined primarily in military terms; who believe national interests actually exist and can be identified, not that they are mere rhetorical contrivances politicians use to rationalize action or inaction for other reasons; who similarly believe there are real threats to those interests that objectively exist, rather than being mental constructions manipulative politicians generate to engender fear and galvanize unity; who subscribe to the enduring primacy of state sovereignty over human sovereignty; who see the future as an inevitable continuation of the iron laws of the past, not as a tabula rasa that can be written anew; and who, unquestioningly and unimaginatively, cling to a singular conception of the military as an instrumentality whose supernal purpose is to prepare and wage war.”

"What we can expect from them, therefore, is a focus on the little-picture tactics of crisis management that consume politics today- reacting to headlines, shaping messages, projecting imagery. But what the new President, the American people, and even concerned external audiences should demand of them is a bolder, more elevated- in other words, strategic- thought and action."

(Kudos if you read that whole thing.)

The Point being?...  Obama is no pacifist. (Sorry hippies.) Also, it helps to be mindful of the fact that Democrats like war too, they just like it for different reasons. Rather than blatant material gain as a central motivation for putting our young military homies into dodgey domains, the “liberal” wing of this oligarchical democracy of ours would have us kill others for a more pure objective- to show those whom we are killing that killing is wrong. (This is an ironic position considering one of the most fundamental principals of their religion [assuming most of them are Christians {what are the chances of that?!}] is the sacred the Golden Rule. Treat others as you would have them treat you, the essence of the great debate between Retributive and Rehabilitative justice.)

Although there's more than one way to skin the statue of the newly overthrown dictatorial leader whose capability in rising to prominence was largely due to US material and intelligence aide, status quo says we’re fucking killing fools with our absurdly gigantic military. Change is in the air? Yeah right…

Friday, February 20, 2009

Consequences of A Pestered Human

Rats. What is the solution? First off, I don't blame them for using my home as their own personal kingdom in which to spread their mouse message and prosper. Part of the source of their highly effective progeny production capabilities is directly related to the excesses of our own existences. (Basically if you can read this, that means YOU.) In fact, their large numbers merit a level of respect similar to that of which I constantly give to humanity; admirable is their ability to successfully adapt to a rapidly changing environment.

Regardless of their savvy skills, the status quo currently states that it is perfectly acceptable to murder these effectively flexible rodents. One question I’m interested in is how we so easily justify the totality of the slaughter without blinking an eye. It seems to bear some resemblance to the way in which humans regard those within their in-group as opposed to those who reside outside this sacred, yet malleable, circle of trust.

It therefore seems that rats (most of them) certainly are labeled as out-groupers. As with most relationships of this nature it sucks to be an out-grouper, for you shall experience the wrath of a human in a state of being “pestered.” How does this formula equate in the daily lives of most Earthly creatures? Essentially, the human who is severely bothered by some sort of presence will inevitably justify extermination of it through any means necessary. This is born out of our own egocentric view of the world, a disease of the mind to which none of us are immune...

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

A Hero Is Born

There are few moments that occur in the universe that lend themselves to the description of positively poetic. One such snapshot of confluent perfection was recently brought to my attention thanks to one of my fellow captives of the 68 BLOCK ZOO. The human actor whose thought process and impending action resides at the core of this episode shall go unnamed; however, should he step forward to claim ownership of this happening with pride he would be due the highest of high honors. After all, it’s not everyday that a hero is born…

Our tale is set in a viral, pathetic zone of existence that many people have experienced for themselves; neck deep in a herd of human cattle mooing their way down that disease saturated incubator ironically known as a “breezeway” to board an airplane. Try briefly to imagine yourself in the middle of that line of raw humanity. Sweaty, annoyed, stressed, full of overpriced over-processed airport food, and generally anxious to get anywhere but here; these are the characteristics that envelop the essence of this vestibule’s vibe. Now imagine that it is 6 a.m., and you’ve gotten a single solitary hour of “sleep” prior to putting yourself in this poor predicament. Why is that the case? Known as Standard Operation, or Standard-Op in the philosurphy world, that is exactly the protocol of what one does on their final night in Las Vegas after non-stop binge drinking for seven dark days.

This cramped corridor of consciousness is where our hero finds himself. Lets call him Colden Haulfield. With two trusty fellow comrades flanking Colden on either side, the trio comprised a sort of Trinity of the Fiesta Spirit that radiated effervescence within this melancholy moment in space-time. Bellies full of booze and uneasy smiles across their faces, the team pushes on despite the fact that their souls are utterly exhausted from a week of debauchery. The three look at each other, basking in the glory of their ability to retain beating hearts after such a concentrated consumption of cocktails, and shake their still smirking heads (in slow motion of course).

Suddenly, a strong draft weaved its way through the antechamber, signifying a rift in the cool energy produced by these ravenous ragers. The source of this cumulous cloud over the enigmatic energy came from our hero, Colden. What started as a slight tickle in his tummy quickly churns and turns its way up his esophagus, without warning and minus mercy. Colden, being the Samurai of Slosh that he was, instinctually searches for the nearest receptacle capable of withstanding the violent velocity of the Vegas vomit. To his right, a blank white wall; to his left, two empty handed amigos displaying looks of severe confusion in conjunction with their own nagging nausea. “Damn it,” Colden exclaims in a tone of ultimate desperation.

This is the moment in which Colden becomes a legend. The average drone would no doubt deliver the goods in projectile fashion, most likely landing on the oldest and most proper looking lady no matter how far she may be from you in that quagmire of a queue. But not Colden. Realizing the stench the substance would generate within that already doomed passage, an epic sacrifice was quickly conceived on the part of our hero. (As he wiggled and writhed, the weight of the straps on his shoulders initiated the inception of the idea.) Thus, in an attempt at salvation of the innocents, Colden reached for the sack on his back full of relatively meaningless material possessions. Slowly, Colden placed the bag on the ground, unzipped it, stuffed his cranium within its depths, and proceeded to purge poison. One harrowing heave was followed by another. Loud gasps mixed with sharp shrieks filled the air as those around him began to notice the exorcism, until arrived that last cathartic cry suggestive of the light at the end of the tunnel.

Once finished, the man-myth-legend stood to his feet. With bloodshot eyes and a chin dripping with drool he zipped the bag closed. Understandably embarrassed, Colden slowly retrieved his head out of the tail-between-the-legs position only to lay eyes on the most peculiar sight; the entire breezeway had their gaze immersed upon him. At first our hero's heart sank. However, he was soon surprised to notice that rather than daggers into his soul from the fellow foyer inhabitants, their stares exhibited almost admiration. A transformation of the contour of the eyes that were fixated upon him soon thereafter commenced; beginning with wide open oculars from utter amazement, quickly the shock dissipated and the wrinkles in the corner of those peepers surfaced along with cracked lips. Smiling faces soon erupted into small giggles, shortly snowballing into a symphony of snickers. Colden didn’t know who started the applause, yet a minute after his praying to the Jansport God our protagonist found himself being praised by the sheep for his brave surrender.

Hence, to this day the incident remains Colden’s most glorious moment- seizing the opportunity to play the role of Catcher in the Rye. It is not often that we, as normal everyday commoners, get the occasion of saving our brethren from such a hellish scenario that would inevitably scar them for life. Therefore this selfless act by Colden has earned him the title of “Knight” in the Kingdom of Philosurphy. Keep fighting the good fight Grabby…


Monday, February 9, 2009

Proper-Tone Propaganda

How many commercials will there be slamming tokers of the budda-sess? Lets see some ads running about the EFFECTS OF ALCOHOL and all the stupid things people do. Think leaving your friends at a party is bad? How about not forgetting them, and then your drunk ass gets in a horrible wreck killing all your friends (accept you) as well as the family on their way home from movie night. All I'm saying is lets have an even handed dialog about drug use in this country...

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Proposition H8TE

Thanks Jack for helping us put the situation in perspective....

"Well the Bible says a lot of things, you know.... Like you can stone your wife, or sell your daughter into slaverrryyyyyyy!!!!!!!!"

"Well friend, it seems to me you pick and choose- well choose LOVE instead of HATE! Besides, YOUR NATION WAS BUILT ON SEPARATION OF CHURCH AND STAAAAAAAAATE....."

"See ya later sinnas"

Fountain of irony, how you gush like Niagara or a Catholic Priest on Viagra....