Tales of the Forbidden Dreamer

U.S. urged to apologize for 1930s deportations

2006-04-07T12:33:00.000-05:00

Updated 4/5/2006 6:57 AM


By Dan MacMedan, USA TODAY

American-born Ignacio Pina, 81, returned to the USA after 16 years in Mexico.


By Dan MacMedan, USA TODAY

Pina, then 6, at right front row, and siblings lived in Montana before they were deported.

By Wendy Koch, USA TODAY

His father and oldest sister were farming sugar beets in the fields of Hamilton, Mont., and his mother was cooking tortillas when 6-year-old Ignacio Piña saw plainclothes authorities burst into his home.

"They came in with guns and told us to get out," recalls Piña, 81, a retired railroad worker in Bakersfield, Calif., of the 1931 raid. "They didn't let us take anything," not even a trunk that held birth certificates proving that he and his five siblings were U.S.-born citizens.

The family was thrown into a jail for 10 days before being sent by train to Mexico. Piña says he spent 16 years of "pure hell" there before acquiring papers of his Utah birth and returning to the USA.

The deportation of Piña's family tells an almost-forgotten story of a 1930s anti-immigrant campaign. Tens of thousands, and possibly more than 400,000, Mexicans and Mexican-Americans were pressured ? through raids and job denials ? to leave the USA during the Depression, according to a USA TODAY review of documents and interviews with historians and deportees. Many, mostly children, were U.S. citizens.

Related story: Some stories hard to get in history books

If their tales seem incredible, a newspaper analysis of the history textbooks used most in U.S. middle and high schools may explain why: Little has been written about the exodus, often called "the repatriation."

That may soon change. As the U.S. Senate prepares to vote on bills that would either help illegal workers become legal residents or boost enforcement of U.S. immigration laws, an effort to address deportations that happened 70 years ago has gained traction:

? On Thursday, Rep. Hilda Solis, D-Calif., plans to introduce a bill in the U.S. House that calls for a commission to study the "deportation and coerced emigration" of U.S. citizens and legal residents. The panel would also recommend remedies that could include reparations. "An apology should be made," she says.

Co-sponsor Rep. Luis Gutierrez, D-Ill., says history may repeat itself. He says a new House bill that makes being an illegal immigrant a felony could prompt a "massive deportation of U.S. citizens," many of them U.S.-born children leaving with their parents.

"We have safeguards to ensure people aren't deported who shouldn't be," says Jeff Lungren, GOP spokesman for the House Judiciary Committee, adding the new House bill retains those safeguards.

? In January, California became the first state to enact a bill that apologizes to Latino families for the 1930s civil rights violations. It declined to approve the sort of reparations the U.S. Congress provided in 1988 for Japanese-Americans interned during World War II.

Democratic state Sen. Joe Dunn, a self-described "Irish white guy from Minnesota" who sponsored the state bill, is now pushing a measure to require students be taught about the 1930s emigration. He says as many as 2 million people of Mexican ancestry were coerced into leaving, 60% of them U.S. citizens.

? In October, a group of deportees and their relatives, known as los repatriados, will host a conference in Detroit on the topic. Organizer Helen Herrada, whose father was deported, has conducted 100 oral histories and produced a documentary. She says many sent to Mexico felt "humiliated" and didn't want to talk about it. "They just don't want it to happen again."

No precise figures exist on how many of those deported in the 1930s were illegal immigrants. Since many of those harassed left on their own, and their journeys were not officially recorded, there are also no exact figures on the total number who departed.

At least 345,839 people went to Mexico from 1930 to 1935, with 1931 as the peak year, says a 1936 dispatch from the U.S. Consulate General in Mexico City.

"It was a racial removal program," says Mae Ngai, an immigration history expert at the University of Chicago, adding people of Mexican ancestry were targeted.

However, Americans in the 1930s were "really hurting," says Otis Graham, history professor emeritus at the University of California, Santa Barbara. One in four workers were unemployed and many families hungry. Deporting illegal residents was not an "outrageous idea," Graham says. "Don't lose the context."

A pressure campaign

In the early 1900s, Mexicans poured into the USA, welcomed by U.S. factory and farm owners who needed their labor. Until entry rules tightened in 1924, they simply paid a nickel to cross the border and get visas for legal residency.

"The vast majority were here legally, because it was so easy to enter legally," says Kevin Johnson, a law professor at the University of California, Davis.

They spread out across the nation. They sharecropped in California, Texas and Louisiana, harvested sugar beets in Montana and Minnesota, laid railroad tracks in Kansas, mined coal in Utah and Oklahoma, packed meat in Chicago and assembled cars in Detroit.

By 1930, the U.S. Census counted 1.42 million people of Mexican ancestry, and 805,535 of them were U.S. born, up from 700,541 in 1920.

Change came in 1929, as the stock market and U.S. economy crashed. That year, U.S. officials tightened visa rules, reducing legal immigration from Mexico to a trickle. They also discussed what to do with those already in the USA.

"The government undertook a program that coerced people to leave," says Layla Razavi, policy analyst for the Mexican American Legal Defense and Education Fund (MALDEF). "It was really a hostile environment." She says federal officials in the Hoover administration, like local-level officials, made no distinction between people of Mexican ancestry who were in the USA legally and those who weren't.

"The document trail is shocking," says Dunn, whose staff spent two years researching the topic after he read the 1995 book Decade of Betrayal: Mexican Repatriation in the 1930s, by Francisco Balderrama and Raymond Rodriguez.

USA TODAY reviewed hundreds of pages of documents, some provided by Dunn and MALDEF and others found at the National Archives. They cite officials saying the deportations lawfully focused on illegal immigrants while the exodus of legal residents was voluntary. Yet they suggest people of Mexican ancestry faced varying forms of harassment and intimidation:

? Raids. Officials staged well-publicized raids in public places. On Feb. 26, 1931, immigration officials suddenly closed off La Placita, a square in Los Angeles, and questioned the roughly 400 people there about their legal status.

The raids "created a climate of fear and anxiety" and prompted many Mexicans to leave voluntarily, says Balderrama, professor of Chicano studies and history at California State University, Los Angeles.

In a June 1931 memo to superiors, Walter Carr, Los Angeles district director of immigration, said "thousands upon thousands of Mexican aliens" have been "literally scared out of Southern California."

Some of them came from hospitals and needed medical care en route to Mexico, immigrant inspector Harry Yeager wrote in a November 1932 letter.

The Wickersham Commission, an 11-member panel created by President Hoover, said in a May 1931 report that immigration inspectors made "checkups" of boarding houses, restaurants and pool rooms without "warrants of any kind." Labor Secretary William Doak responded that the "checkups" occurred very rarely.

? Jobs withheld. Prodded by labor unions, states and private companies barred non-citizens from some jobs, Balderrama says.

"We need their jobs for needy citizens," C.P. Visel of the Los Angeles Citizens Committee for Coordination of Unemployment Relief wrote in a 1931 telegram. In a March 1931 letter to Doak, Visel applauded U.S. officials for the "exodus of aliens deportable and otherwise who have been scared out of the community."

Emilia Castenada, 79, recalls coming home from school in 1935 in Los Angeles and hearing her father say he was being deported because "there was no work for Mexicans." She says her father, a stonemason, was a legal resident who owned property. A U.S. citizen who spoke little Spanish, she left the USA with her brother and father, who was never allowed back.

"The jobs were given to the white Americans, not the Mexicans," says Carlos DeAnda Guerra, 77, a retired furniture upholsterer in Carpinteria, Calif. He says his parents entered the USA legally in 1917 but were denied jobs. He, his mother and five U.S.-born siblings were deported in 1931, while his father, who then went into hiding, stayed to pick oranges.

"The slogan has gone out over the city (Los Angeles) and is being adhered to ? 'Employ no Mexican while a white man is unemployed,' " wrote George Clements, manager of the Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce's agriculture department, in a memo to his boss Arthur Arnoll. He said the Mexicans' legal status was not a factor: "It is a question of pigment, not a question of citizenship or right."

? Public aid threatened. County welfare offices threatened to withhold the public aid of many Mexican-Americans, Ngai says. Memos show they also offered to pay for trips to Mexico but sometimes failed to provide adequate food. An immigration inspector reported in a November 1932 memo that no provisions were made for 78 children on a train. Their only sustenance: a few ounces of milk daily.

Most of those leaving were told they could return to the USA whenever they wanted, wrote Clements in an August 1931 letter. "This is a grave mistake, because it is not the truth." He reported each was given a card that made their return impossible, because it showed they were "county charities." Even those born in the USA, he wrote, wouldn't be able to return unless they had a birth certificate or similar proof.

? Forced departures. Some of the deportees who were moved by train or car had guards to ensure they left the USA and others were sent south on a "closed-body school bus" or "Mexican gun boat," memos show.

"Those who tried to say 'no' ended up in the physical deportation category," Dunn says, adding they were taken in squad cars to train stations.

Mexican-Americans recall other pressure tactics. Arthur Herrada, 81, a retired Ford engineer in Huron, Ohio, says his father, who was a legal U.S. resident, was threatened with deportation if he didn't join the U.S. Army. His father enlisted.

'We weren't welcome'

"It was an injustice that shouldn't have happened," says Jose Lopez, 79, a retired Ford worker in Detroit. He says his father came to the USA legally but couldn't find his papers in 1931 and was deported. To keep the family together, his mother took her six U.S.-born children to Mexico, where they often survived on one meal a day. Lopez welcomes a U.S. apology.

So does Guerra, the retired upholsterer, whose voice still cracks with emotion when he talks about how deportation tore his family apart. "I'm very resentful. I don't trust the government at all," says Guerra, who later served in the U.S. military.

Piña says his entire family got typhoid fever in Mexico and his father, who had worked in Utah coal mines, died of black lung disease in 1935. "My mother was left destitute, with six of us, in a country we knew nothing about," he says. They lived in the slums of Mexico City, where his formal education ended in sixth grade. "We were misfits there. We weren't welcome."

"The Depression was very bad here. You can imagine how hard it was in Mexico," says Piña, who proudly notes the advanced college degrees of each of his four U.S.-raised sons. "You can't put 16 years of pure hell out of your mind."

Posted 4/4/2006 5:11 PM
Updated 4/5/2006 6:57 AM

Squonk

2006-04-03T06:39:00.000-05:00

Like father like son
Not flesh nor fish nor bone
A red rag hangs from an open mouth.
Alive at both ends but a little dead in the middle,
A-tumbling and a-bumbling he will go.
All the King's horses and all the King's men
Could never put a smile on that face.

He's a sly one, he's a shy one
Wouldn't you be too.
Scared to be left all on his own.
Hasn't a, hasn't a friend to play with, the Ugly Duckling
The pressure on, the bubble will burst before our eyes.
All the while in perfect time
His tears are falling on the ground
BUT IF YOU DON'T STAND UP YOU DON'T STAND A CHANCE.

Go a little faster now, you might get there in time.

Mirror mirror on the wall,
His heart was broken long before he ever came to you.
Stop your tears from falling,
The trail they leave is very clear for all to see at night
all to see at night.

In season, out of season
What's the difference when you don't know the reason.
In one hand bread, the other a stone.
The Hunter enters the forest.
All are not huntsmen who can blow the huntsman's horn
By the look of this one you've not got much to fear.

Here I am, I'm very fierce and frightening
Come to match my skill to yours.
Now listen here, listen to me, don't you run away now
I am a friend, I'd really like to play with you.
Making noises my little furry friend would make
I'll trick him, then I'll kick him into my sack.
You better watch out... You better watch out.

I've got you, I've got you, you'll never get away.

Walking home that night
The sack across my back, the sound of sobbing on my shoulder.
When suddenly it stopped,
I opened up the sack, all that I had
A pool of bubbles and tears - JUST A POOL OF TEARS.

All in all you are a very dying race
Placing trust upon a cruel world.
You never had the things you thought you should have had
And you'll not get them now,
And all the while in perfect time
Your tears are falling on the ground.

The Squonk is of a very retiring disposition and due to its ugliness, weeps constantly. It is easy prey for hunters who simply follow a tear-stained trail. When cornered it will dissolve itself into tears.

True or False?

Freedom, Liberty, Right

2006-04-02T20:22:00.000-05:00

On October 28th the Statue of Liberty will be 120 years old. The country will be roughly 230. The statues real name is Liberty Enlightening the World. In the big picture Liberty is supposed to be a woman escaping the chains of tyranny, which lie at her feet. I haven't ever seen a pic of the chains, and I visited the statue twice in my life and can't recall ever seeing them, but Encarta and the official web site claim they're there and that's enough for me.

The torch in her right hand is now beyond legendary, but in case you're not in to legdends its supposed to be the light of liberty. The popular myth says that the book in her right hand is inscribed with the words "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses" Its a myth. What the tablet says is July 4, 1776” (in Roman numerals). The famous quote is part of a larger poem by Emma Lazarus:

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name,
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

As much as I feel fascism lite is the flavor of the day in the United States the fact is that there are illegal immigrants marching in the streets to say they're not criminals and don't intend to leave. To me it doesn't seem like they have a leg to stand on, let alone march. Is there a difference between saying you have a right to enter an work in a country regardless of the laws and regulations of that country the same as saying you have a right to free speech, due process or privacy? Do we have a fascist government? I am still alive and not in prison. Are the Judges concerns well founded?

Asinine

2006-03-27T08:00:00.000-06:00

I've tried to think of it in several different ways, but in the end the only words I can think of are "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Did you post that comment and then go off and chortle about what a bitch you are. Are your friends proud of you and pat you on the back? Have you emailed people who've never seen my blog before to show them how asinine and sophomoric your humor can be. I want to be sure that the agility of your wit won't be over looked, so I'm reposting your comments.

Van der Graan Generator

Man-Erg

The killer lives inside me: yes, I can feel him move.
Sometimes he's lightly sleeping
in the quiet of his room,
but then his eyes will rise and stare through mine;
he'll speak my words and slice my mind inside.
Yes the killer lives.
Angels live inside me: I can feel them smile...
Their presence strokes
and soothes the tempest in my mind
and their love can heal the wounds
that I have wrought.
They watch me as I go to fall
- well, I know I shall be caught,
while the angels live.

How can I be free?
How can I get help?
Am I really me?
Am I someone else?

But stalking in my cloisters hang the acolytes
of gloom
and Death's Head throws his cloak into
the corner of my room
and I am doomed...
But laughing in my courtyard play the pranksters
of my youth
and solemn, waiting Old Man
in the gables of the roof:
he tells me truth...

And I too, live inside me and very often
don't know who I am:
I know I'm not a hero, but
I hope that I'll not die.
I'm just a man, and killers, angels,
are all me:
Dictator, saviour, refugee in war and peace
as long as Man lives...

I'm just a man, and killers, angels,
are all me:
Dictator, saviour, refugee

Saturday, March 25, 2006 2:52:56 AM

Hopefully, you won't leave it at this, because this has always been a kind of fantasy of mine. I'd like to hear your reasoning behind your post. How have you come to the conclusion that its all in my head? Before you post your reply, and I don't think you will, I'll share something with you. You, and people like you are the only proof that any of the words in your second post are true. If the world were only made up of people like you then it would be easy to believe that life is the hallow, sickening agony that your song describes. So you've been able to scrape enough wit to come to that conclusion and now you should take the second step. The more people like you stop being so hopelessly shallow and full of themselves the less chaotic and desperate life will seem for everyone involved. Yes, clever girl, life seems illusory and bogus. It doesn't have to be that way, and we don't have to wait another generation for things to change. They can change right now. You start. Life isn't a work of art that we stand back and admire, or search for meaning. Life is an action like walking to the store. The meaning of life comes from what you do while you're walking. I know it sounds like another of my desperate delusions, but its far from an original thought, although one that you don't seem to have come across yet. You're welcome.

I look forward to hearing from you again.

Stupid Arrogance

2006-03-22T06:47:00.000-06:00

If you're new here and even if your not I need to make one thing clear; I have never told anyone anywhere in any manner, or form that I have schizophrenia or any other mental illness. Anyone who says anything otherwise is lying.

You know the problem with my stalkers? They're always on the same trip. No matter what happens its all my fault. They drug the food, and I can tell so I don't eat it. Then I'm as ass for wasting food. They drug the butter and cooking oil, and spices, and I'm an ass for not cooking for myself. I'm an ass for not believing their lies. I'm weak for needing contact with other people. I'm weak because their insults make me angry. I'm insecure because their lies make me nervous. I'm stupid because I can't tell they care in spite of the lies and obvious pain and profound physical discomfort I feel on a daily basis. To them any objection I make to the death threats or insults is just pure arrogance, and they never ever stop laughing. They always want to say everything just short of "I know everything you do on your computer, and have a camera in your room," I don't really have to guess about a lot of things because they're really not very subtle. Its clear that they think I'm a habitual murderer, and rapist. What I don't get is how I can be accused and punished for a crime, without a trial, or even being told about it. Its clear that they think I'm schizophrenic. What I don't get is how you can label someone as a schizophrenic and treat them against their will, without ever telling them about it.

Who are these people? What could have possibly happened in their clearly limited, sheltered little lives to lead them to expect that from me? And why are they so amused with the fact that I clearly expect them to stop. Not only do I expect them to stop, but I expect a full explanation, and I'm never going to settle for anything less. So you can exploit my isolation for all its worth, but I'm telling you now, no matter what the consequences this isn't going to rest until I know the crimes I'm accused of and am completely exonerated, and someone is held accountable for the years of my life wasted in this, and the torture I've endured.

So yeah, I have totally fallen for this whole "I love you, Al" game. Its what I need to hear and there are some really good liars out there. Thank god your fucking uncontrollable, ignorant pig laughter always tips me off. You think I'm not beating your fat ass because I'm scared of you, but there are other reasons. One of them is that my stalkers call you their cum faced whore behind your back, so I think they're fooling you a lot more than they're fooling me. Its possible that you actually like being their cum faced whore, in which case that's just another reason not to beat your fat ass. My reasons for not beating your fat ass are a lot better than your reasons for drugging me and playing the inside man to this bullshit, but I know that you can't tell the difference, and that's another good reason. I have a lot, but I am not afraid of you. One of us is definitely stupid and arrogant, but I don't think its me. You've probably never even seen this blog. I bet you count on them to tell you everything. Smart.

Chocolate Genius II

2006-03-17T08:08:00.000-06:00

Chocolate Genius

Black Music

Hangover Nine

I am forgetting about you at least twice a day
I am falling face down into a bloody stoop
And I?m seeing ghost in every dead bottle
And I?m wasting time like Don Knots
I am emptier than yesterdays raincoats
I am crushing grapes, and midwives, and rent-a-cars
I am burning Cubans with the spooky Presidents
And I am the shit that you call understanding

And yes I?ll have another one
I?ll have another one
Yes, I?ll have another one
I?ll have another one
Yes, I?ll have another one
I?ll have another one
You want some more?

And I have been saved if you don?t count last night.
And I am better than you will ever be so get used to it
And I?m hanging up now, because you bore me

And yes, I?ll have another one
I?ll have another one
Yes, I?ll have another one
Hell yes, another one
Yes, I?ll have another one
I?ll have another one
You want some more?

Oh my God

And where are my keys?
And where are my keys?
And where are my keys?
And where are my keys?
And where are my keys?
Has anybody seen my keys?

Oh my God
I?ll never do this again
You want some more?

The other day I posted a wallpaper form the Chocolate Genius Inc. website. If you don't know what Chocolate Genius is, you should. Last night somone asked me about music and I started to Google some Chocolate Genius lyrics for them, only to find that there are none on the internet. That seems really odd for the internet. It might be because Chocolate Genius doesn't want his song lyrics online. If that's the reason he's gonna be contacting me soon. I'll probably be posting more. If you already know about Chocolate Genius, your welcome in advance.

2006-03-15T23:41:00.000-06:00

http://www.chocolategeniusinc.com/

Here's what the judge thinks. Thats what we pay them for, to judge.

2006-03-13T17:43:00.000-06:00

Former top judge says US risks edging near to dictatorship

· Sandra Day O'Connor warns of rightwing attacks
· Lawyers 'must speak up' to protect judiciary

Julian Borger in Washington
Monday March 13, 2006

Guardian

Sandra Day O'Connor, a Republican-appointed judge who retired last month after 24 years on the supreme court, has said the US is in danger of edging towards dictatorship if the party's rightwingers continue to attack the judiciary.

In a strongly worded speech at Georgetown University, reported by National Public Radio and the Chicago Daily Law Bulletin, Ms O'Connor took aim at Republican leaders whose repeated denunciations of the courts for alleged liberal bias could, she said, be contributing to a climate of violence against judges.

Ms O'Connor, nominated by Ronald Reagan as the first woman supreme court justice, declared: "We must be ever-vigilant against those who would strong-arm the judiciary."

She pointed to autocracies in the developing world and former Communist countries as lessons on where interference with the judiciary might lead. "It takes a lot of degeneration before a country falls into dictatorship, but we should avoid these ends by avoiding these beginnings."

In her address to an audience of corporate lawyers on Thursday, Ms O'Connor singled out a warning to the judiciary issued last year by Tom DeLay, the former Republican leader in the House of Representatives, over a court ruling in a controversial "right to die" case.

After the decision last March that ordered a brain-dead woman in Florida, Terri Schiavo, removed from life support, Mr DeLay said: "The time will come for the men responsible for this to answer for their behaviour."

Mr DeLay later called for the impeachment of judges involved in the Schiavo case, and called for more scrutiny of "an arrogant, out-of-control, unaccountable judiciary that thumbed their nose at Congress and the president".

Such threats, Ms O'Connor said, "pose a direct threat to our constitutional freedom", and she told the lawyers in her audience: "I want you to tune your ears to these attacks ... You have an obligation to speak up.

"Statutes and constitutions do not protect judicial independence - people do," the retired supreme court justice said.

She noted death threats against judges were on the rise and added that the situation was not helped by a senior senator's suggestion that there might be a connection between the violence against judges and the decisions they make.

The senator she was referring to was John Cornyn, a Bush loyalist from Texas, who made his remarks last April, soon after a judge was shot dead in an Atlanta courtroom and the family of a federal judge was murdered in Illinois [and here].

Senator Cornyn said: "I don't know if there is a cause and effect connection, but we have seen some recent episodes of courthouse violence in this country ... And I wonder whether there may be some connection between the perception in some quarters, on some occasions, where judges are making political decisions yet are unaccountable to the public, that it builds up and builds up to the point where some people engage in violence."

Although appointed by a Republican, Ms O'Connor voted with the supreme court's liberals on some divisive issues, including abortion, making her a frequent target for criticism from the right. After announcing that she intended to retire last year at the age of 75, she was replaced in February this year by Samuel Alito, who is generally regarded as being more consistently conservative.

In her speech, Ms O'Connor said that if the courts did not occasionally make politicians mad they would not be doing their jobs, and their effectiveness "is premised on the notion that we won't be subject to retaliation for our judicial acts".

Guardian Unlimited © Guardian Newspapers Limited 2006

Do We Have a Fascist Government?

2006-03-11T02:45:00.000-06:00

14 Characteristics that Define Fascism

Powerful and Continuing Nationalism
Disdain for the Recognition of Human Rights
Identification of Enemies/Scapegoats as a Unifying Cause
Supremacy of the Military
Rampant Sexism
Controlled Mass Media
Obsession with National Security
Religion and Government are Intertwined
Corporate Power is Protected
Labor Power is Suppressed
Disdain for Intellectuals and the Arts
Obsession with Crime and Punishment
Rampant Cronyism and Corruption
Fraudulent Elections

by Dr. Lawrence Britt

What am I doing? I'm reading other peoples blogs and blogging things I find interesting.. For those of you who know I've been reading your blog, I usually comment when I have something to say. Me, the day I commented on your blog was the first time I ever saw it. Sorry, I'm not your lurker. I have been lurking since then though, so that's something :).

I haven't been blogging much because I don't have much more to say. As I've told several people who've instant messaged me, after you've used so many words to talk about a subject you start to wonder what's the point. The general impression seems to be that its possible that I'm mistaken, and I might only have food poisoning. There is no comment about the stalkers online and off, so I have to assume that people think I'm delusional. The only thing writing about it has accomplished is giving my stalkers a good laugh and some pointers on how to tell better lies. Offline it has been suggested that perhaps I have diabetes, and very directly indirectly implied that I have a tendancey toward exaggeration. So here I am writing about why I'm not writing about it.

Ok the subject is Fascism. This is a great list. Fascism always looks the same. What do you think?

More...

2006-03-06T21:13:00.000-06:00

An atheist professor of philosophy speaks to his class on the problem science has with God, The Almighty.He asks one of his new students to stand and?..

Prof: So you believe in God?
Student: Absolutely, sir.

Prof: Is God good?
Student: Sure.

Prof: Is God all-powerful?
Student: Yes.

Prof: My brother died of cancer even though he prayed to God to heal him. Most of us would attempt to help others who are ill. But God didn't. How is this God good then? Hmm?
Student is silent.

Prof: You can?t answer, can you? Let?s start again, young fella. Is God good?
Student: Yes.

Prof: Is Satan good?
Student: No.

Prof: Where does Satan come from?
Student: From?God?

Prof: That?s right. Tell me son, is there evil in this world?
Student: Yes.

Prof: Evil is everywhere, isn't it? And God did make everything. Correct?
Student: Yes.

Prof: So who created evil?
Student does not answer.

Prof: Is there sickness? Immorality? Hatred? Ugliness? All these terrible things exist in the world, don?t they?
Student: Yes, sir.

Prof: So, who created them?
Student has no answer.

Prof: Science says you have 5 senses you use to identify and observe the world around you. Tell me, son?Have you ever seen God?
Student: No, sir.

Prof: Tell us if you have ever heard your God?
Student: No, sir.

Prof: Have you ever felt your God, tasted your God, and smelled your God? Have you ever had any sensory perception of God for that matter?
Student: No, sir. I?m afraid I haven?t.

Prof: Yet you still believe in Him?
Student: Yes.

Prof: According to empirical, testable, demonstrable protocol, science says your GOD doesn't exist. What do you say to that, son?
Student: Nothing. I only have my faith.

Prof: Yes. Faith. And that is the problem science has.
Student: Professor, is there such a thing as heat?
Prof: Yes.

Student: And is there such a thing as cold?
Prof: Yes.
Student: No sir. There isn't.
The lecture theater becomes very quiet with this turn of events.
Student: Sir, you can have lots of heat, even more heat, superheat, mega heat, white heat, a little heat or no heat. But we don?t have anything called cold. We can hit 458 degrees below zero, which is no heat, but we can?t go any further after that. There is no such thing as cold. Cold is only a word we use to describe the absence of heat. We cannot measure cold. Heat is energy. Cold is not the opposite of heat, sir, just the absence of it.
There is pin-drop silence in the lecture theater.

Student: What about darkness, Professor? Is there such a thing as darkness?
Prof: Yes. What is night if there isn't darkness?

Student: You?re wrong again, sir. Darkness is the absence of something. You can have low light, normal light, bright light, flashing light?. But if you have no light constantly, you have nothing and its called darkness, isn't it? In reality, darkness isn't. If it were, you would be able to make darkness darker, wouldn't you?
Prof: So what is the point you are making, young man?

Student: Sir, my point is your philosophical premise is flawed.
Prof: Flawed? Can you explain how?

Student: Sir, you are working on the premise of duality. You argue there is life and then there is death, a good God and a bad God. You are viewing the concept of God as something finite, something we can measure. Sir, science can?t even explain a thought.It uses electricity and magnetism, but has never seen, much less fully understood either one. To view death as the opposite of life is to be ignorant of the fact that death cannot exist as a substantive thing. Death is not the opposite of life: just the absence of it. Now tell me, Professor. Do you teach your students that they evolved from a monkey?
Prof: If you are referring to the natural evolutionary process, yes, of course, I do.

Student: Have you ever observed evolution with your own eyes, sir?
The Professor shakes his head with a smile, beginning to realize where the argument is going.

Student: Since no one has ever observed the process of evolution at work and cannot even prove that this process is an on-going endeavor, are you not teaching your opinion, sir? Are you not a scientist but a preacher?
The class is in uproar.

Student: Is there anyone in the class who has ever seen the Professor?s brain?
The class! breaks out into laughter.

Student: Is there anyone here who has ever heard the Professor?s brain, felt it, touched or smelled it?No one appears to have done so. So, according to the established rules of empirical, stable, demonstrable protocol, science says that you have no brain, sir. With all due respect, sir, how do we then trust your lectures, sir?
The room is silent. The professor stares at the student, his face unfathomable.

Prof: I guess you?ll have to take them on faith, son.
Student: That is it, sir.. The link between man & god is FAITH. That is all that keeps things moving & alive.

Now guess who the student is ?

More...

2006-03-06T21:11:00.000-06:00

True Friendship*

Are you tired of all those sissy-ass "friendship" poems that always sound good, but never actually come close to reality? Well, here is a series of promises that really speaks to true friendship:

When you are sad - I will help you get drunk and plot revenge against the sorry bastard who made you sad.
When you are blue - I will try to dislodge whatever is choking you.
When you smile - I will know you finally got laid
When you are scared - I will rag on you about it every chance I get.
When you are worried - I will tell you horrible stories about how much worse it could be and to quit whining.
When you are confused - I will use little words.
When you are sick - Stay the hell away from me until you are well again. I don't want whatever you have.
When you fall - I will point and laugh at your clumsy ass.

This is my oath...I pledge it till the end. "Why?" you may ask, because you are my friend.

*Stolen from a 360 blog. When I was a kid all of these things used to be absurd jokes. Now they're so funny because they're so true.

None of These Jokes is Funny

2006-03-06T21:09:00.000-06:00

YOU GOTTA LOVE CHICAGO WOMEN!!*

A woman from Chicago and another from the East coast were seated side-by-side on an airplane. The woman from Chicago, being friendly and all, said:

"So, where are you from?"

The East coast woman said, "From a place where they know better than to use a preposition at the end of a sentence."

The woman from Chicago sat quietly for a few moments and then replied: "So, where are you from, bitch?"

More...

Addition and Deduction

2006-03-06T19:22:00.000-06:00

Maybe I changed the settings on my blog. I decided to do some reading and found the place to put the "Edit HTML" option back, and low and behold it worked. Good thing because I'm looking for things that work today. Its a good thing I didn't let on how frustrated I was getting.

I've been surfing blogs in search of some fresh reading matter. Things on this side of the monitor are getting more and more bizarre, so I need more distraction, and I lost some good ones this week. I found a few things of interest. You'll have to remember I'm fairly new to the blog world as a reader and writer. It takes a lot of time to find things worth reading in blogs. I admit it, I'm picky, but its not really in a snobbish sort of way. Just like the first rule of Journalism, if you don't grab my attention right away I'm probably not going to go rooting around through your blog looking for something interesting.

I posted a couple of weeks ago about Bored Housewife I like reading her blog. She actually got me started on the search for blogs that I might like to visit more than once. She has a feature called "Braless Tuesdays" which is kind of funny and innocent, but definitely Braless so its not false advertising at all. I came across referer.org on her site. I might have heard of it before, but I can't recall, but today I'm adding their service to the blog. If you don't know what it is feel free to click the link, it won't take you anywhere that can hurt your computer or tell either of us anything about each other that we don't already know. I used to work with a woman who was really into the web, and web design. She used to say that adding counters and services like referer.org to a site or blog like mine only made it look more pathetic. She was beautiful, talented, intelligent, and as shallow as a dime. Catherine, I'm adding this for you *wink.

I guess I'm also updating the template today. I've mentioned a lot of blogs that I've never added to my links list. I'm particularly concerned about A few drops of rain... . A great poet, and writer, but his last few poems seemed to be saying he was terribly depressed and would commit suicide on February 28th. Since his profile says he lives in India, I'm not sure what to do about that, but mentioning it here might help.

If you're into books Bibliolitry is a very charming blog by a school teacher. Its basically book reviews. She's also a member of the same webring my Geocities is on, which was supposed to bring lots of traffic to my web pages but has failed to do so. Another great reason to link to her.

Green Chameleon: I don't know that I "believe in" those test, but I do find that some are a lot more accurate than others, kind of like horoscopes. I prefer Blogger over Yahoo too.

Testing with a Love Test

2006-03-04T17:25:00.000-06:00

OK lets try something.

Your Five Variable Love Profile

Propensity for Monogamy:

Your propensity for monogamy is medium.
In general, you prefer to have only one love interest.
But it's hard for you to stay devoted for too long!
There's too much eye candy to keep you from wandering.

Experience Level:

Your experience level is high.
You've loved, lost, and loved again.
You have had a wide range of love experiences.
And when the real thing comes along, you know it!

Dominance:

Your dominance is medium.
You tend to be the one with more power.
You aren't a total control freak in relationships..
But of course you don't mind getting you way!

Cynicism:

Your cynicism is low.
You are an eternal optimist when it comes to love and romance.
No matter how many times you've been hurt - you're never bitter.
You believe in one true love, your perfect soulmate.
And if you haven't found true love yet, you know you will soon.

Independence:

Your independence is low.
This doesn't mean you're dependent in relationships..
It does mean that you don't have any problem sharing your life.
In your opinion, the best part of being in love is being together.

The Five Variable Love Test

Hmmmmmm it looks like Blogger has just changed their format. You can post HTML in your blogs if you can figure out how. This is only my second try so I still have to pretend that I'm not really frustrated and angry. I hate that.

2006-03-04T01:47:00.000-06:00

I know its corny, but think of the alternative ;)

Well.....

2006-03-03T19:43:00.000-06:00

Blogger seems to have removed the ability to insert HTML into your post.

That's pretty much a drag. I'll probably find another blog spot now. I hope someone from Blogger reads this.

That's gonna leave a mark

2006-03-03T01:33:00.000-06:00

Crazy Love, Vol. II Lyrics

Fat Charlie the Archangel
Sloped into the room
He said I have no opinion about this
And I have no opinion about that
Sad as a lonely little wrinkled balloon
He said well I don't claim to be happy about this, boys
And I don't seem to be happy about that
I don't want no part of this crazy love
I don't want no part of your love
I don't want no part of this crazy love
I don't want no part of your love
I don't want no part of this crazy love
I don't want no part of your love
I don't want no part of this crazy love
I don't want no part of this crazy love

She says she knows about jokes
This time the joke is on me
Well, I have no opinion about that
And I have no opinion about me

Somebody could walk into this room
And say your life is on fire
It's all over the evening news
All about the fire in your life
On the evening news

I don't want no part of this crazy love
I don't want no part of your love
I don't want no part of this crazy love
I don't want no part of your love

Fat Charlie the Archangel
Files for divorce
He says well this will eat up a year of my life
And then there's all that weight to be lost
She says the joke is on me
I say the joke is on her
I said I have no opinion about that
Well, we'll just have to wait and confer

I don't want no part of this crazy love
I don't want no part of your love
I don't want no part of this crazy love
I don't want no part of your love
I don't want no part of this crazy love
I don't want no part of your love
I don't want no part of this crazy love
I don't want no part of this crazy love

From: Las Vegas and the Mob

2006-02-26T23:52:00.000-06:00

Things aren't always what they seem.

THE ROLL

By Dennis N. Griffin

It was 5:30 on a Tuesday morning. I was in a small casino a block off the Las Vegas Strip, where my wife worked as a waitress. I had another hour to wait before her shift ended and we could go home.

I decided to kill some time at the craps table. The place had a quarter minimum bet; so you could play quite a while on a ten-dollar buy in. I considered myself to be very disciplined at the tables, so I knew I?d never drop any serious money while just passing time. And, with a little luck, I might even be able to make a couple of bucks profit.

There was only one other player at the table. I shrewdly eyed his bet and the status of his chip rack as I walked up to the table. He had fifty cents on the pass line, with no odds behind it. The puck showed he was trying to make a point of five. I guessed his chip rack contained three or four dollars of quarters and a couple of ones. Maybe he was just killing time, too.

I walked to the opposite end of the table and bought ten dollars in chips, mostly quarters. As my chips were being counted out, I noticed that only the three dealers manned the table. The boxman ? the fourth member and boss of the crew ? was absent. The lack of action probably didn?t require his presence.

For the next ten minutes my fellow shooter and I took turns passing the dice back and forth. We were both betting ?pass? and risking a half dollar each. He?d throw three or four numbers with no repeats, and then seven out. I?d do the same. The cubes were ice cold.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a figure approaching the table. I turned my head for a direct look. What I saw was not a pleasant sight. To say the newcomer was disheveled would be a gross understatement. I figured him to be in his late sixties, but he could have been much older, or much younger, for that matter. There was nothing remarkable about his height or build, but his appearance is indelibly etched in my mind. From his head to his feet he looked dirty. The salt and pepper hair was long and uncombed. He hadn?t used a razor in quite some time. His pullover shirt may have been white once, now it was gray and stained ? with what I dared not guess. His blue jeans were tattered, and looked as though they could stand up by themselves. I just knew he?d carry an unpleasant odor.

His shoulders were stooped, as though he carried the weight of the world on them. Here is a man who life has beaten into submission, I thought smugly. Here is a loser.

To my horror, this hideous apparition headed straight toward me. As he neared, I moved further around the end of the table until I was nudging the dealer. I could go no further. He stopped next to me, so close we were almost touching. My hunch had been right: he stunk. I briefly thought about moving to another position, and then discarded the idea. Who was he to make me move? To hell with him. I stubbornly decided to stand my ground, foul aroma and all.

My colleague at the other end of the table had just sevened out. The stickman passed the dice bowl in my direction. ?Shoot?? he asked as he passed the bowl in front of the loser. The old man nodded. He reached in his pants pocket, pulled out two crumpled up dollar bills and laid them on the felt in front of him. ?Ones,? he said. Two chips immediately replaced his bills. He put one of them on the pass line.

As his claw-like hand was selecting a pair of dice from the bowl, I put eight of my quarter chips on the ?don?t?. If this clown is going to blow his last two dollars, I might as well bet against him and make a dollar or two, I figured.

His first roll was a twelve. ?Craps dice, line away,? the dealer said. I smiled to myself as the dealer took the old man?s chip. The boxcars had been a ?push? for me. My bet was safe. I left the chips where they were.

His next three tosses were an eleven, sandwiched by a pair of sevens. He had let his bet ride, and now had eight dollars. I had doubled up after each loss and was down fourteen.

The smelly one moved five chips from the table to his rack. I reached for my back pocket and my third buy in. Only this time I wasn?t going to fool around with a lousy sawbuck. ?Give me forty ones,? I said to the dealer as my pair of twenties hit the table.

Over the next forty minutes I watched this man make fifteen passes and throw a whole bunch of numbers. As his bankroll increased, it became obvious he had a money management system. He kept four bets working, his pass line and three ?comes?. He took full odds on each. He?d ?press? a bet on occasion, but made sure to take down sufficient profits.

Several minutes into the roll a small crowd formed around the table to watch the action. The boxman returned. Perched on the edge of his chair, he watched the shooter like a hawk. Later, the pit boss also made an appearance. But by that time I was just a spectator, my chip rack and wallet long since empty.

I heard the boxman explain the streak to his boss. ?Considering the roll this guy is on, we haven?t been hurt too bad. The other guy is only betting half-dollars, and he (nodding toward me) was a non-believer. He offset some of the loss.?

After he finally sevened out, the old man spoke the only words he?d uttered since he ordered his chips. ?Color me up,? he said, as he shoved his considerable pile of winnings toward the dealer.

As I was watching my nemesis shuffle off to the cashier?s cage with several hundred dollars in chips, my wife grabbed my arm. ?Hi,? she said. ?What have you been up to??

?I guess you could say I?ve been in school.? I kept the emotion out of my voice, even though I was still smarting from the beating I?d taken.

?And what did you learn?? she asked, puzzled.

After a few seconds of thought, I answered her. ?A few things that wouldn?t interest you, like the proper way to bet a hot hand. But there are two things I hope I won?t forget. Never bet on emotion, and looks don?t make a loser.?

http://www.authorsden.com/dennisngriffin

If its not one thing....

2006-02-20T16:47:00.000-06:00

The problem actually isn't solved as much as its been removed. I'm giving up on my blog template idea for the time being. Maybe what I wanted to do isn't actually possible.I guess I should say thinks. I really appreciate you pointing that out to me, Cinas. What I don't understand is why I have to accept your friendship along with a line of bull that's only slightly more believable than Santa Clause. Its not just that you're lies are transparent its the fact that you have to type *wink while you're lying, and still insist that you're not. And then top it all off by saying its not a bad look while you're telling me about the display problem with my blog, like you were eating a kids mud pie. And the fact that its so outrageously insulting and moronic and I have to explain it like we were all born yesterday and are just establishing the basic laws of respect. Maybe there is something wrong with me. I don't know you. Maybe you treat people like that all the time and they never object. Who knows. Anything is possible.

The Bad Evil IE Look

2006-02-20T15:07:00.000-06:00

OK I admit its my fault. I've been saying that there's a problem for a while now, but I didn't check other browsers to see how bad it was. Deep down I actually don't care. Internet Explorere sucks as a browser, and personally I never use it, but most people who visit my blogs do. They should stop. Just do yourself a favor right now.

What you are looking at is the bottom of my blog page. My right side bar has been pushed there by the right margin of the blog content. It look odd in Firefox, but in IE it looks bad. Cinas was kind enough to share this information with me. Its not clear how she discovered the problem because she doesn't actually read my blog. We had a long chat about it. She's scared of my counter. She does want me to think she visits my blog and I'm not sure why that is either. Now she'll message me and be terribly offended that I would say such a thing and we'll debate back and forth about what was actually said in our chat, but the long and short of what she said *wink was that she thought I was trying to track her using my counter *wink and she doesn't read my blog, but wants me to think she cares. The winks are hers the interpretation is mine.

How's it look to you?

2006-02-20T14:53:00.000-06:00

Someone just told me my profile pic is moving around the blog. This is my blog in Firefox

HermesNews.Net

2006-02-20T14:30:00.000-06:00

OK it happened again. Its probably some system thing with Blogger, although I can't imagine why. Suppose I wanted to post about HTML and wanted to share some mark up?

I recently discovered that this blog is being traded in a stock market game. The site is called BlogShares. My blog is worth $19,202.54 in Blogshares money. That means its almost worthless. There's a reason why and it makes sense if you look a their site. Since my discovery I've joined the site and added one of their buttons to the bottom of the page. Now I just have to figure out how to play.

Their system is fairly well thought out and allows for Press Releases if you can afford it and want to promote your blog. I'm sure it adds to the game play but its also a good way to learn what is happening in the world of blogs. Below is a recent press release that I wanted to make note of for myself.

[Press Release] HermesNews.Net

On behalf of HermesNews.Net:

Hermes News is Back!

Check us out today at http://www.hermesnews.net!

We're looking for contributing writers as well! If your interested email us at hermesnews at goldstein media DoT CoM.

-Seth
Editor

Another Problem Solved and Another Mystery.....

2006-02-20T02:06:00.000-06:00

I think I've solved the border issue. We'll see with this post.

I still want to use Nvu to blog. The reason is that I get to see exactly what my post will look like before I post it, but you have to set your template up correctly for that to work, which I think I have finally done.

I know I said I wasn't going to write about it for a while, but I just noticed that my last post about it has been edited. The original post looked like this:

I haven't laughed so hard since my father died.

I added the tags to make it clear that I was being sarcastic, you never know what people will think, but for some reason they were removed. After I made the post I checked it several times, because I'm like that, and I like to look at my pics. I created the post in Nvu so there's no way that Blogger could have mistaken it as HTML. Nvu converts all that because its a WYSIWYG editor. Oh well, another thing I can't do anything about.

Nvu works

2006-02-20T01:08:00.000-06:00

I woke up this morning with the revelation that I've been thinking of Nvu in the wrong way. Its not supposed to do all the things that I want it to do. Its not supposed to replace my other web authoring tools. It was designed for people who don't know anything about HTML and want to create web pages, but can't afford a swanky program. That's what its for and that's what it does. I'm frustrated because I want it to do something else.

One problem solved today.

Fog of Life

2006-02-20T00:58:00.000-06:00

Apparently, there are Bald Eagles living along the Fox River. If you're not from Chicago the Fox River is near here, and if you are from Chicago I bet you thought you'd have to drive a long way to see a Bald Eagle in the wild. OK you probably just walk down to the Lincoln Park Zoo. Hey, maybe these Eagles escaped from there.

This guy has a job, a wife, and kids and he feels compelled to drive around and take pictures of things.

Fog of Life

A few drops of rain ...

2006-02-20T00:30:00.000-06:00

Maybe its not just me. Maybe there are a lot of unread blogs out there. This guy seems really disturbed about something. I wonder where his stalkers are.

A few drops of rain ...

Best Funny Pics: Does this Thong Make my Ass Look Big

2006-02-20T00:24:00.000-06:00

I'm burnt out writing about "it". I'm surfing blogs. This is what the rest of the world is doing.

Best Funny Pics: Does this Thong Make my Ass Look Big

Illusion, Delusion and Changing Times

2006-02-17T19:22:00.000-06:00

With every post I'm thinking that I may have fixed my template problem. I was getting frustrated with Nvu, thinking that using it to blog wasn't using it the way that it was meant to be used. Then I went to check out the blog of the person who designed the program and it turns out lots of people use Nvu to blog. Who knew? I guess I'll just keep plugging away. Learning to use it is a distraction, and entertaining. I also went looking for guides to features that I haven't been able to figure out yet, only to discover that the tutorial has never actually been finished. Of course, I haven't read every single word of the help files and tutorial yet, but if the information is there its not clearly labeled. I working on my own fix for that. If anyone reading has any ideas or insight into Nvu let me know. Maybe Green Chameleon knows something?

I'm debating on whether I'm interested enough in HTML to start a blog dedicated specifically for it. I've thought about a web page also, but every time I try to start one it ends up being just a long page of ramblings and saved notes, which is what I don't want. I'm really excited about Nvu and there doesn't seem to be much out there about it or how to use it.

Despite my blogs subject matter there are a few people who come back regularly. The pics are for you and for me. The woman is Rita Hayworth. I've been enjoying the previous pics so much that I thought I'd add more. As always I found the images online. They're really too small to do justice to such beauty, so I also linked them to larger versions stored at Geocities. Enjoy.

The response to my last post was almost instant. As I've said before my stalkers know what I'm writing almost as soon as I write it. First chat went silent, with chatters giving the NeoNazi 88 (Heil Hitler, for those of you who aren't in the know) sign before they stopped chatting int he main room. Second it took my post well over 24 hrs. to show up in my 360° feeds. I'm starting to wonder if anyone other than them can see my blog at all. The next day my stalkers started responding. I guess they need some time to commiserate. My stalkers always take the attitude of being somehow wiser than me. Their general attitude is that they are teaching someone who is incapable of coping with the world, how to do it, and they intend to teach the hard way. One asked me "If you were hanging onto a branch by your teeth over a pack of hungry wolves would you let go to growl at them?" Clearly a response to my assertion that I'm just not smart enough to keep silent about what's happening in my life. It seems like an odd comment though because it seems like the hungry wolves are asking if I'm smart enough not to be eaten by them. It reminds me of the type of ego head trip the Nazis were on. They had convinced themselves that if the Jews had been smarter they would have somehow evaded the Final Solution. The logic is so circular and obviously inept its mind boggling that anyone over the age of 18 could maintain it for longer than a season without realizing their own foolishness. Supposedly, if I were smart i wouldn't call them fools; if I were smart I wouldn't let them make me angry. Who wants to be that smart? I wonder if women or men who comply with their rapist demands, and submit to the rape and never contact the police, look in the mirror every day while their brushing their hair and say, "I am so smart."

Along with this typical display of wit and logic came the regular signs of contempt. They know where I live and in fact live near me. They know who I live with and think they are saintly for "trying to help" me. Obviously, my offline friends know and protect my online stalkers. Don't even ask me who that works for them, because I really don't know. Black people who think NeoNazis are harmless and funny are the lowest form of life in my opinion. They'll keep us all laughing right into the showers while the orchestra plays that wonderful music. Why would they play this wonderful music if they were going to kill us? My offline friends made it clear that they think the death threats are a joke, as well as the police officer who told me that they weren't illegal, and the cars that play chicken with me while I walk to the store. All just a few people having a laugh. I haven't laughed so hard since my father died. As usual, there's more, but I'm tired of writing about it. Hopefully, one day I'll be free and this will all be material for a really good book.

One of my stalkers implied that I was being treated. He/she suggested that I am going though therapy, that I am a person who can't adapt to a changing paradigm, and suggested that I might be undergoing a chemical lobotomy. Do I seem like a person who needs to be medicated against his will, and such a sever case that the only solution is a chemical lobotomy? Unfortunately, my offline friends are completely mistaken. My stalkers have every intention of killing me. I've contacted the police and the FBI numerous times. There's nothing I can do.

I was looking for other distractions today and came across this blog. Very exciting writing and extremely cute (and married) chick. Her comments section is more like a Guestbook. I left a comment and when I started to leave my URL I found myself thinking about what she or anyone would find when they visit here. There's a lot about my blog and life that don't say "visit and join in". Like her, I wish that I had other things to write about. Unlike her I do have other things to write about except this thing consumes me.

Intelligent Life

2006-02-14T10:50:00.000-06:00

What a weekend. My blog template isn't working out. It looks fine on this blog and on Dreams of Color, but in Interpretation it eats the little border between the blog and the side bar. My stalkers have been very active.

You might notice that in this blog I spent a lot of time writing directly to my stalkers, the people in my offline life. That's because I can tell that they read it. It has never done any good. No matter what I write it only makes them angry and for some reason makes them think that if the refine their methods things will get better. Well, maybe I should rephrase that. They don't want things to get better. The fact is that they don't care how I feel or what happens to me. They just don't want me to be able to defend myself against them. I'll start writing about a drugs in the food and they change the drugs. The kitchen is immaculately cleaned with bleach. This weekend we had an "accident" and even the dishwasher was cleaned to the point of overflowing with bleach and detergents.

Since I started my 360Â° blog my stalkers have started a new ritual. They love to talk about how cold it is outside. They tell me that people in other countries have it much worse than any American ever could, and that they are grateful for the little comforts they have. The analogy is shoddy at best. The analogy is usually surrounded by other little stories and comments the gist of which is that a smart person would take a little discomfort rather than be homeless.

Without recounting every little detail I'd like to say that what happens in my offline life, as well as my online life, is far from a little discomfort. I haven't written about my Christmas ordeal, because I haven't been able to find words to describe it that aren't rife with the appropriate anger and indignation. Over Christmas the beer was drugged, and I was given more drugged food, which of course my offline friends had to joke about and pat each other on the back. They compliment each other at how clever they are when drugging my food. They actually believe this is true. Even though the only thing that's actually true is that I can't stop them or get away from them. We were given a bottle of Champaign for the New Year. The Champaign was drugged. It was a combination of drugs. The pain was incredible and when I came to I had soiled my bed. Over the next few days I was so drugged that I could barely think straight.

I've actually been given the drug that makes me lose control over my bowels much more often than I write about. My stalkers joke about it. The jokes aren't worth recounting here. Just imagine the average ten year old boys fascination with pooo" and sprinkle in a fewprofanitiess and you'll have a good idea of what its like. In a pathetic way it would even be funny if it weren't for the fact that they are essentially telling me that they are drugging me to humiliate me and there's nothing I can do about it.

My offline friends say I'm stupid for writing about this in my blog. For them its only natural that an adult would make fun of another adult being drugged into insensibility and losing control of his bowels in convulsive agony. My online stalkers tall me they love it, and my misery gives them joy.

Writing about it sucks almost as much as living it, and I'm about to run out of cigarettes, which they tell me is my "trigger" for an anger episode, as if I need a "trigger". Its all just bullshit. They are right about one thing. I am not smart enough to endure a few discomforts to save myself from being homeless. With gods grace I will never be that "smart". If they're right, and they seem to have the inside track on what's happening in my life, (who am I kidding, they are my life) I'll soon be homeless because I raise too much of a fuss over the lies and the drugs and the isolation and the manipulation and the theft of my things and the accusations of rape and murder. If they are right I will also be killed as punishment for my crimes.

Apparently there has been a great change in the world and it makes sense that I am isolated and tortured, and can write about it here without a single comment of outrage an only the most reserved sympathies. To the extent that people comment at all its to say they are sorry that I've been having trouble online. I've been writing about it for over a year. Recounting it again won't make it any better. To quote my stalkers "so be it". They love saying that.

2006-02-08T01:26:00.000-06:00

It really does look better. I guess you never know until you try. I tried once before, but I guess the Blogger servers were malfunctioning.

I collect a lot of pics off the web. You can never have enough pics of Lauren Bacall, unless of course you need to make more room for your pics of Ingrid Bergman. These pics really show how standards of beauty have changed over the years.

I don't really have anything else to say. Just wanted to pust a pic of Ingrid. enjoy.

Colortini's

2006-02-07T23:40:00.000-06:00

Actually they're all going to be black & white. I saw a feature on here to upload pictures directly to Blogger when I was playing with it earlier. What I want to do is use pictures in my posts without having to upload them to my Geocities. So, far that's not proving possilbe. OK, now I've created some content, now lets try to add an image.

Yup, that's what I wanted to do. Is that easier than the way I've been doing it? Lets see how it looks on the page.

2006-02-07T23:32:00.000-06:00

She is a striking beauty, but I don't see how this is feature is useful for me. I neve post pics like this, although I guess I could. I remember seeing some other feature on the Blogger page..... brb

2006-02-07T23:14:00.000-06:00

Playing with more free software. I'm working on a page about beautiful women for my Geocities. This is a pic of a very young Lauren Bacall. Lets see how it looks.

Later that day...

2006-02-07T22:33:00.000-06:00

I guess I got a little too excited with my Nvu experiments. I tried to use it to edit my Blogger template. Do not do that. I or Nvu somehow rewrote the code for my template, and before I realized what had happened it was uploaded and saved. Good things came out of it. I had to install a new template and it seems to have pulled the blog together a bit. You may or may not notice a difference, but I see it.

I noticed some other things as well. I decided to take a look at other pages I had experimented on with Nvu. In the earlier post I commented on the number of visitors to my blog, but my Geocities page got more visitors than that today. Of course, my massive ego assumed that people were viewing my page, reading my poems or looking into my Black History Month links. This evening I discovered what they were actually looking at. Nvu has a CSS editor. I've never worked with a program that edits CSS before so I was using it to make some adjustments to my Geocities, and apparently made some mistakes. Well, at least that's what I think they were visiting to see. It would be very consistent with my stalkers behavior.

I have to confess I don't know how to relate to adults who take such prepubescent glee in the mistakes and misfortunes of others. I'm told its simply the way people are but its so abnormal to me that I'm constantly taken aback by it. I wonder who their friends are, where they work. What kinds of people associate with and respect people like that? I simply can't imagine. I'm actually proud that they hate me so much. When people like that see something they can relate to in you its time to reexamine your behavior.

On another note, TFD (Tales of the Forbidden Dreamer) has been visited by some of my 360° friends. I've added links to their 360° and Blogger blogs. I certainly appreciate the company.

Thank You. Come Again.

2006-02-07T18:37:00.000-06:00

I have to say I'm very excited about this new wave of traffic to my blog. I think I've gotten more comments in the last two weeks than I've gotten in the last year. My stalkers are even signing my Guest Book.

For the curious, I have four blogs. This is what is turning out to be my main blog. I also have two other blogs on Blogger; Dreams of Color and Interpretation. Links to both are in the side panel on the right.

My first two entries in Dreams of Color were about Matt Hale, the leader of our local branch of the KKK/Nazi Party. The project is unfinished and may be converted to drafts. Its not that I don't have anything to say on the subject of race in America, but I don't often think of constructive ways to say it. Still I like the idea of Dreams of Color, so it hasn't been deleted yet.

Interpretation is a blog on Buddhism. I find that writing about Buddhism is at least as challenging as applying the teachings of Buddhism to day to day life. I'm very satisfied with the content to date, very little of which is my own work.

Feel free to browse my other blogs. The comments are very encouraging.

Nvu-

Blogging with Nvu is as easy as falling off a log. You can basically format your blog entry any way you want and then cut and past from the WYSIWYG screen.

Creating web pages isn't as easy as I think it could be. Nvu is great for working with templates, but if you want to create a design from scratch, best stick with one of the standard HTML Editors.

The experiment continues.

Look what I can do - Nvu

2006-02-03T18:11:00.000-06:00

I downloaded Nvu a few days ago. I heard about it from a Yahoo Group I'm in. Learning HTML is a great hobby if you're looking for a way to keep your mind active, but writing HTML can be really time consuming if you also like to write. Between writing and designing your page you can literally spend all day sitting in front of your computer. For some people that might not sound like a bad thing, and I actually spend most of my time on my computer, but I like to do other things besides blogging and making web pages.

There are a lot of programs designed to automate the task of making web pages. All of them are good depending on what you want to do, and how picky you are about how you do it. Some people just want to put up a web page. Lots of people have web pages and they're fun. You can put a picture of your car, boy friend, girl friend, or other favorite thing, tell your life story, these days web pages can do anything you want to do

Search WYSIWYG Editors

Google

ODP

Yahoo

with words and pictures. If you just want to put up a web page learning HTML can be a big deal. HTML isn't brain surgery but its not something you'll be able to pick up in a day. For people like that you can get what's called a WYSIWYG (What You See Is What You Get) editor. WYSIWYG editors are word processors that create documents as web pages. You don't have to know any HTML, you just type and go like any other word processor. If you just want to create a web page, and aren't really interested in learning HTML a WYSIWYG editor is great. They range in price from free to a few hundred dollars. The difference in price mainly has to do with the amount of graphics and templates that come with the program. The free programs usually have no graphics or templates, and the really expensive ones usually have tons.

The problem with WYSIWYG editors is that you can't learn HTML using them even if you wanted to. The designing team decided how the program will write the code and the user doesn't have very much control over it, but they do make nice web pages. Some people (people who are really into creating web pages) have a problem with WYSIWYG editors. They think the HTML they create is ugly and too big (if you don't know anything about HTML don't ask, take my word for it, if you know something about HTML you'll either agree or disagree).

People who are really into HTML or Web Design like to write their own HTML. Writing your own HTML give you a lot of control over how your pages look and act in a browser. Even if you like writing your own HTML it can be a big deal if you want to create several pages or a page with some complexity. For people like that they make what is called an HTML Editor. This type of program gives you all the control of writing your own HTML, but it automates some of the tasks involved in writing HTML. Most HTML Editors also allow the user to integrate other languages like Java and CSS into their web pages. HTML Editors also range in price from free to a few hundred dollars. I have no idea what a high end HTML Editor does, but I bet its worth the money.

So, like I was saying I downloaded Nvu. Nvu is based on Mozilla Composer, which is a WYSIWYG editor that comes bundled with the free Mozilla browser. Nvu is almost an HTML editor, except you don't have a lot of control over the how your HTML looks, but you still have all the control over how your page looks. At least that's how I think its supposed to work at this point. Like I said, I just downloaded it. You can use it like a WYSIWYG editor and just type in your content like a word processor. You can also use CSS inline styles, or it can create an external style sheet. In theory it looks like a great program which is why I downloaded it.

Nvu is a great program so far, and its free, and who doesn't like that?

I'd rather have this bottle in front of me.....

2006-01-31T19:35:00.000-06:00

Well I've spent my afternoon preparing the ground for my move back to Blogger and I bet you can't tell that I've done a single thing. That's OK because I've mostly been trying to make it easier for me to create a post. One of the most valuable lessons I got from 360° was discovering what I didn't like about their blog format. I understand what they're trying to do, but I need more flexibility. Maybe flexibility isn't the word I'm looking for but I know what I need, and what's more, I feel like I'm getting it.

Part of working on the blog has been going over my old posts. Its a wonder I'm not a complete basket case. Especially if you take into account the preceding has only been what I've found the energy to document. Its difficult to experience, its difficult to write about, its difficult to read. What I decided to do is steal an idea from they kids on the 360° team. I've added a section on the left for posts I'd like to highlight. If you're not familiar with Blogger they normally have a section there that lists your most recent posts, which may or may not be your favorites. I realize
if its difficult for me to read its gotta be hell for anybody who might blunder upon my blog using the Bloggers random button.

Its really odd, but for some reason I feel like I've moved from a nice furnished apartment to an empty studio on the wrong side of town. There are so many people on Blogger and blogging in general that blogging is like floating a message in a bottle, only the ocean looks like a wine cellar and sounds like a crowded cocktail party. I feel like a crasher.

My Return

2006-01-27T07:00:00.000-06:00

Hmmmmmm well I'm back to Blogger after quite some time away. If you've been visiting and wondering what happened to me its not as bad as you might think, but its pretty close. I'm not dead, but things have gone from bad to worse. Mostly, I've been silent on the whole issue. I did visit Yahoo 360° for a few months, and you can view all my entries there through the link on my side panel. In all it was a very educational experience.

I have learned just crap loads about HTML! I tore down my entire Geocities and started from scratch. I think it looks much better, but of course I intend on making more changes. Other than relief from boredom I'm not sure what I'm looking for. I guess I know when I get there.

I've learned a lot about Blogging too. I didn't understand the blog world, and contrary to popular belief I'm not really inclined toward the shameless art of selfpromotion. which is what I think most of the blog world consist of. I am still trying to blog though, so maybe I'm mistaken.

This is just a small test for my first post here. You forget a lot after a long time. If you stop by to visit I'd appreciate a message.

I'm starting to believe its true that no one sees through your bull shit.

2005-07-10T22:50:00.000-05:00

I'm starting to believe its true that no one sees through your bull shit. Not only have I been through what you've been through, but I've been through worse and you know it. This is all an act. I'm not sure who you're putting it on for but its not fooling me. Anybody with half a brain knows that if people who work till 2 am are on the downlow; unless you work in a bar. You probably got off about the same time yesterday and the whole "I gotta go back to work" thing was just as much of an act. Just so you know, I'm acting too.

What are you lookin' at? You're all a bunch of fuckin' assholes. You know why? You don't have the guts to be what you wanna be.

2005-07-08T04:38:00.000-05:00

What are you lookin' at? You're all a bunch of fuckin' assholes. You know why? You don't have the guts to be what you wanna be. You need people like me. You need people like me so you can point your fuckin' fingers, and say "that's the bad guy." So, what'll that make you? Good? You're not good. You just know how to hide, how to lie. Me, I don't have that problem. Me, I always tell the truth... even when I lie. So say goodnight to the bad guy. Come on. The last time you gonna see a bad guy like this again, let me tell you.

Sadly enough, I've spent all evening sick, and my pants are soiled. Its not because I have no selfcontrol.

2005-07-08T04:29:00.000-05:00

Sadly enough, I've spent all evening sick, and my pants are soiled. Its not because I have no selfcontrol. Its because you got angry and decided to put a dose in my food. Now if I used your kids to get even with you that would be wrong wouldn't it?

You're all so smug with no reason. Like a dog proud of the strength of the smell of his shit. But I'll admit you're smart. If I was doing this to someone I'd never let them up. Then again if I was doing it I'd be right. Wondering how I figure that aren't you? That is the whole point.

Yeah, I can feel the drugs in the food you cooked tonight

2005-07-03T20:42:00.000-05:00

Yeah, I can feel the drugs in the food you cooked tonight, and I don't give a fuck if you get the whole fucking neighborhood to eat it, I don't want it. Maybe if you would fess up to drugging the food in the first place, tell me what drugs they are and why I have to take them, and then serve your time for putting them in my food without my knowledge in the first place, I'd eat it. I'm starting to smell it too. That is some nasty ass shit.

Is the beer supposed to make me like the death threats.

2005-07-03T12:56:00.000-05:00

Is the beer supposed to make me like the death threats. What is this nasty tasting/smelling drug supposed to do? Is it supposed to make me think that someone who would drug me against my will and lie to me about it like I'm Autistic would never harm me much less kill me? You looked like you were choking on your own vomit when you came up the stairs. Part of my delusion is that I'd like you more if you were a better liar. Now tell me that's normal.

Please don't misunderstand me.

2005-07-03T03:56:00.000-05:00

Please don't misunderstand me. I am grateful for the food even though its all been drugged. I could have not eaten at all. And I am grateful for "My Drink" as you call it; we just call it Drug Juice; you could have just left me to lap out of the toilet. How much does it cost to buy all those drugs? I suppose I should be grateful that you cared enough to go through all the trouble. I doubt that your bright enough to recognize sarcasm, so I'm telling you now...

We can only hope that my poor spelling does as much harm to you as your stupidity has done to me.

How do you rationalize the death threats?

2005-07-03T03:44:00.000-05:00

How do you rationalize the death threats? Do you think I imagine them all? Has Bob denied the fish we found on the doorstep? Did the FBI say they never got any messages from me or placed calls to my home regarding those messages? How many times does it have to happen before you take it seriously? So many people "only joking" about killing me. So many people who have so many reasons for grinding my life to dust. There's always some special reason I don't have the same rights as other people.

I'll make you a promise, no one is ever going to kill me. But you are making me nervous.

You always fool me

2005-07-01T15:07:00.000-05:00

You always fool me, but that's because I'm a better person than you. Its also because I don't have any choice in the matter. You should listen to your own warnings. I hope its true that people always get what's coming to them, because that means that you have a long fall coming, my friend. You remember that man you saw on TV today who you said looked pathetic. You look just like him. Just as cocky, just as ignorant. I guess you've been lying about the money too. "We" don't live like this, "I" live like this because you feel like I deserve to. Everyone does, and I'm not allowed to know why. If I could I'd spend as long hurting you as you've spent hurting me. Don't forget that.

I don't understand why you keep laughing

2005-06-28T20:50:00.000-05:00

I don't understand why you keep laughing. I'm actually exhausted from hunger and trying to think of things and ways to eat that won't be drugged. All my anger and misery and frustration amuse you so much that you can barely help laughing right in my face.

I don't get what's funny about it. I've known every time you've drugged my food and drink. There's nothing I can do about it, but I've known. The fact that it makes you twist in your seat and twist your mouth with glee just makes you look more pathetic than you already do. I hadn't thought it was possible, but you have made it so.

Does it make you feel good about yourself? Do you believe you are smart or clever? What is it that makes you feel like you are right? It can't be too compelling or you'd throw it in my face with the same glee that you twist in your seat with. That's what I mean when I say the fact that you have to hide proves you're wrong. You are getting away with it, but you're not right.

What is so funny about the fact that I have no privacy? Don't you understand its part of what keeps us together. I don't want to be here anymore than you want me here. But of course, you don't understand, or I'd be gone already.

I'll tell you something else I know. There are people who understand it very well, my friend. The Matrix has you, not me.

I'm pathetic

2005-06-17T18:09:00.000-05:00

Its never ending. No matter how much I confront and question you lie and deny, and insist that everything I say is proof that I'm mentally ill, which I suppose is the reason you're secretly drugging my food anyway. I'm the only one its secret from, clearly.

Here's the thing that's been bothering me lately. You weren't trying to convince me by making that phone call the other day, and as I look back it seemed before that your performances weren't meant for me. Who are you doing this act for? Suddenly you're too frail to watch the Pianist without covering your eyes. The first time we watched it you didn't have any problem, but last week you couldn't take it. Who are these performances for? They're not for me. You were a military nurse during Viet Nam. I know that you're not faint of heart. I can remember you telling stories of treating soldiers who had been burned with phosperous bombs. Must have been ugly and bloody, much more so than the Pianist. Yet, suddenly my pain and anguish is the only sort you seem to be able to witness without flinching.

The shrink keeps calling saying he's returning my call. Am I supposed to believe that I am asking for help without knowing it?

In the meantime I'm still the worst person that anyone has ever met on or offline, and considered completely incompetent in every respect. Since our last confrontation I all but pass out between ten and midnight and my bowels have become as solid as potters clay. I can still feel the drugs in the food and the toothpaste. I can actually taste the drugs in the toothpaste. That and the fact that you never use it anymore is a pretty big tip off. Where are you keeping your toothpaste?

You know we could resolve the whole thing by just putting all the cards on the table. For whatever reason you don't want to do that. What possible reason could you have for wanting me to not be able to work, or go out? I guess I'm just too pathetic.

There are Drugs in the Food

2005-06-13T04:53:00.000-05:00

That's like calling Michael Jackson to ask him if he noticed you acting funny around the kids at the last sleep over. Congratulations, you are officially worse than your ex husband.

the changes

2005-06-10T07:43:00.000-05:00

There was a carton of vanilla yogurt that had been drugged. When I started to complain about the smell it disappeared. The pepper grinder on the stove has drugs in it, at least one of the bottles of the ketchup and the toothpaste in the bathroom.

You would pass the same scrutiny that I go through. You have to keep it secret because you're wrong.

Grinding away

2005-05-25T23:55:00.000-05:00

Well now we've sat down and had our little chat, about everything except the issues I write about here, as usual. And we've had food, which I'm reasonably sure isn't drugged, but there's still more I'd like to share with you.

Its not all smoothed over for me. The cigarettes are the only cigarettes I have and the drug they're laced with is the one that makes me soil myself. Its the same drug that is in my skin cream, which I wish you hadn't drugged because I really needed that cream. When the weather started turning warm I slathered it on my feet and put on some sandals and now every time I wear those sandals I can feel the drug. I taste it in my mouth and it makes my lips numb and my stool loose, occasionally very loose. It also makes my scalp, lips and hands tingle. Its very uncomfortable, and clearly not natural. Its obvious that I'm being drugged and frustrating is a very tactful way of describing my experience dealing with it.

The drugs in my drinks make me sleep. Sometimes I sleep 18 hours a day, which wouldn't be so frustrating if it wasn't obvious that you are frustrated with my sleeping all the time. I think your plan is that I'll sleep at night and be awake during the day, but that hasn't panned out yet.

I'll tell you something else I know. Whoever is helping you with this, putting the drugs in the bottles of beer and packaged foods, has a plan too. Their plan is that sooner or later I'll get so frustrated that I'll kill you, and in the meantime they'll have a good laugh.

This is stupid. It wasn't working last year. Its not working this year. Its never going to do anything but make things worse. Stop it.

Back to the grind

2005-05-25T22:08:00.000-05:00

Back to the messages.

All the food and drink in the house is drugged.
All the beer that I buy is drugged.
Now you've started drugging my cigarettes.
I can't work.
I can't go out.
No one will admit that this is happening, and most thinks its kind of funny.
Talking about any of this is just proof of my anger problem or other mental illness.

So you're either just stupid or you're waiting for me to crack so you can do whatever it is that you really want to do. I told you a few weeks ago I don't actually believe that any of the people around me are as stupid as they pretend to be.

Find this

2005-05-14T02:13:00.000-05:00

She logged into her oh so public blog
And check the box "Remember Me",
And I did and I will for the rest of my life.
So many things make me want to cry now
That I can never tell which one is welling me up
When. I'm sure all of this is true
And I hope whatever I'm doing is helping
Her as much as she's helped me.
I didn't know.
I'm sorry.
I hope you find this.

Sharon Stone Nude!

2005-05-06T21:48:00.000-05:00

OK enough with the individual messages. They only seem to make my intimate circle of friends better liars.

On a completely different note, I was able to weekend with someone who has one of those crazy dish television services and I came across a movie called Â“The Last Picture ShowÂ”. I had heard of the movie from different sources before, but this was my first viewing. The movie stars Cybill Shepherd, among others, whom my unconscious mind apparently confuses with Sharon Stone and I spent days telling everyone I talked to about this great Sharon Stone movie I had just seen. Its also a period film, but the entire time I watched it I was sure it was made in the late 50Â’s or early 60Â’s, but when I finally got back to my computer to look it up it turns out it was made in 1971. Still pretty early for most of the stars of the film.

The film is beautiful. Its filmed in black and white with no sepia filter, which I think can be condescending depending on the script. The copy I saw wasnÂ’t letter box, but considering how it looked full screen the letter box version can only be better. All of the costumes and sets seem more than authentic and lend to sucking the viewer into the story.

The plot is set in a small town in Texas in the 50Â’s and follows the lives of an ensemble of characters as they cope with their circumstances and each other. Reading reviews on the IMDb, people seem a little put out by the sexuality in the movie but you can take this one from old Al. Any director who includes a sex scene with Cloris Leachman in his movie isnÂ’t trying to sell his movie with sex, but I did think that scene was kind of sexy.

YouÂ’ll recognize a lot of the stars in the movie, at a time when they were all unknown. Bizarrely, Cybill looks almost exactly the same. Buy it, rent it, pirate it, steal it from the library; whatever it takes.

For the record, I tried to tell you I was onto you. I'm not sure if you noticed, but just in case I'm leaving you this note,

2005-03-24T22:26:00.000-06:00

... which I'm sure you'll read. I can't believe you were able to choke out all of that flattery. I could barely tell how difficult it was for you. You do some of the same things Sydney did. Do they send you guys to a special class?

I've said this before in this blog, but children usually need to hear things a few times before it sinks in. Has it ever occurred to any of you that if you had a leg to stand on you wouldn't need all this secrecy? You need the secrecy because what you're doing is wrong. But then that's the problem; you don't know the difference between right and wrong. You also don't know the difference between secrets and privacy.

There's not even any point in insulting you, so I'll make this easy to understand. Everything you do proves you're wrong.

If they have any confidence in their ability, no writer would write in these conditions. They might as well hide a map to buried treasure on a whore's back.

Harrison Bergeron by Kurt Vonnegut (1961)

2005-03-18T04:19:00.000-06:00

The Year was 2081, and everybody was finally equal. They werenâ€™t only equal before God and the law. They were equal every which way. Nobody was smarter than anybody else. Nobody was better looking than anybody else. Nobody was stronger or quicker than anybody else. All this equality was due to the 211th, 212th, and 213th Amendments to the Constitution, and to the unceasing vigilance of agents of the United States Handicapper General.

Some things about living still werenâ€™t quite right, though. April, for instance, still drove people crazy by not being springtime. And it was in that clammy month that the H-G men took George and Hazel Bergeronâ€™s fourteen-year-old son, Harrison, away.

It was tragic, all right, but George and Hazel couldnâ€™t think about it very hard. Hazel had a perfectly average intelligence, which meant she couldnâ€™t think about anything except in short bursts. And George, while his intelligence was way above normal, had a little mental handicap radio in his ear. He was required by law to wear it at all times. It was tuned to a government transmitter. Every twenty seconds or so, the transmitter would send out some sharp noise to keep people like George from taking unfair advantage of their brains.

George and Hazel were watching television. There were tears on Hazelâ€™s cheeks, but sheâ€™d forgotten for the moment what they were about.

On the television screen were ballerinas.

A buzzer sounded in Georgeâ€™s head. His thoughts fled in panic, like bandits from a burglar alarm.

â€œThat was a real pretty dance, that dance they just did,â€� said Hazel.

â€œHuh?â€� said George.

â€œThat dance â€“ it was nice,â€� said Hazel.

â€œYup,â€� said George. He tried to think a little about the ballerinas. They werenâ€™t really very good â€“ no better than anybody else would have been, anyway. They were burdened with sashweights and bags of birdshot, and their faces were masked, so that no one, seeing a free and graceful gesture or a pretty face, would feel like something the cat drug in. George was toying with the vague notion that maybe dancers shouldnâ€™t be handicapped. But he didnâ€™t get very far with it before another noise in his ear radio scattered his thoughts.

George winced. So did two out of the eight ballerinas.

Hazel saw him wince. Having no mental handicap herself she had to ask George what the latest sound had been.

â€œSounded like somebody hitting a milk bottle with a ball peen hammer,â€� said George.

â€œIâ€™d think it would be real interesting, hearing all the different sounds,â€� said Hazel, a little envious. â€œAll the things they think up.â€�
â€œUm,â€� said George.

â€œOnly, if I was Handicapper General, you know what I would do?â€� said Hazel. Hazel, as a matter of fact, bore a strong resemblance to the Handicapper General, a woman named Diana Moon Glampers. â€œIf I was Diana Moon Glampers,â€� said Hazel, â€œIâ€™d have chimes on Sunday â€“ just chimes. Kind of in honor of religion.â€�

â€œI could think, if it was just chimes,â€� said George.

â€œWell â€“ maybe make â€˜em real loud,â€� said Hazel. â€œI think Iâ€™d make a good Handicapper General.â€�

â€œGood as anybody else,â€� said George.

â€œWho knows betterâ€™n I do what normal is?â€� said Hazel.

â€œRight,â€� said George. He began to think glimmeringly about his abnormal son who was now in jail, about Harrison, but a twenty-one-gun salute in his head stopped that.

â€œBoy!â€� said Hazel, â€œthat was a doozy, wasnâ€™t it?â€�

It was such a doozy that George was white and trembling and tears stood on the rims of his red eyes. Two of the eight ballerinas had collapsed to the studio floor, were holding their temples.

â€œAll of a sudden you look so tired,â€� said Hazel. â€œWhy donâ€™t you stretch out on the sofa, soâ€™s you can rest your handicap bag on the pillows, honeybunch.â€� She was referring to the forty-seven pounds of birdshot in canvas bag, which was padlocked around Georgeâ€™s neck. â€œGo on and rest the bag for a little while,â€� she said. â€œI donâ€™t care if youâ€™re not equal to me for a while.â€�

George weighed the bag with his hands. â€œI donâ€™t mind it,â€� he said. â€œI donâ€™t notice it any more. Itâ€™s just a part of me.

â€œYou been so tired lately â€“ kind of wore out,â€� said Hazel. â€œIf there was just some way we could make a little hole in the bottom of the bag, and just take out a few of them lead balls. Just a few.â€�

â€œTwo years in prison and two thousand dollars fine for every ball I took out,â€� said George. â€œI donâ€™t call that a bargain.â€�

â€œIf you could just take a few out when you came home from work,â€� said Hazel. â€œI mean â€“ you donâ€™t compete with anybody around here. You just set around.â€�

â€œIf I tried to get away with it,â€� said George, â€œthen other peopleâ€™d get away with it and pretty soon weâ€™d be right back to the dark ages again, with everybody competing against everybody else. You wouldnâ€™t like that, would you?â€�

â€œIâ€™d hate it,â€� said Hazel.

â€œThere you are,â€� said George. â€œThe minute people start cheating on laws, what do you think happens to society?â€�

If Hazel hadnâ€™t been able to come up with an answer to this question, George couldnâ€™t have supplied one. A siren was going off in his head.

â€œReckon itâ€™d fall all apart,â€� said Hazel.

â€œWhat would?â€� said George blankly.

â€œSociety,â€� said Hazel uncertainly. â€œWasnâ€™t that what you just said?â€�

â€œWho knows?â€� said George.

The television program was suddenly interrupted for a news bulletin. It wasnâ€™t clear at first as to what the bulletin was about, since the announcer, like all announcers, had a serious speech impediment. For about half a minute, and in a state of high excitement, the announcer tried to say, â€œLadies and gentlemen â€“ â€œ He finally gave up, handed the bulletin to a ballerina to read.

â€œThatâ€™s all right â€“â€� Hazel said of the announcer, â€œhe tried. Thatâ€™s the big thing. He tried to do the best he could with what God gave him. He should get a nice raise for trying so hard.â€�

â€œLadies and gentlemenâ€� said the ballerina, reading the bulletin. She must have been extraordinarily beautiful, because the mask she wore was hideous. And it was easy to see that she was the strongest and most graceful of all the dancers, for her handicap bags were as big as those worn by two-hundred-pound men.

And she had to apologize at once for her voice, which was a very unfair voice for a woman to use. Her voice was a warm, luminous, timeless melody. â€œExcuse me â€“ â€œ she said, and she began again, making her voice absolutely uncompetitive.

â€œHarrison Bergeron, age fourteen,â€� she said in a grackle squawk, â€œhas just escaped from jail, where he was held on suspicion of plotting to overthrow the government. He is a genius and an athlete, is underâ€“handicapped, and should be regarded as extremely dangerous.â€�

A police photograph of Harrison Bergeron was flashed on the screen â€“ upside down, then sideways, upside down again, then right side up. The picture showed the full length of Harrison against a background calibrated in feet and inches. He was exactly seven feet tall.

The rest of Harrisonâ€™s appearance was Halloween and hardware. Nobody had ever worn heavier handicaps. He had outgrown hindrances faster than the Hâ€“G men could think them up. Instead of a little ear radio for a mental handicap, he wore a tremendous pair of earphones, and spectacles with thick wavy lenses. The spectacles were intended to make him not only half blind, but to give him whanging headaches besides.

Scrap metal was hung all over him. Ordinarily, there was a certain symmetry, a military neatness to the handicaps issued to strong people, but Harrison looked like a walking junkyard. In the race of life, Harrison carried three hundred pounds.

And to offset his good looks, the Hâ€“G men required that he wear at all times a red rubber ball for a nose, keep his eyebrows shaved off, and cover his even white teeth with black caps at snaggleâ€“tooth random.

â€œIf you see this boy,â€� said the ballerina, â€œdo not â€“ I repeat, do not â€“ try to reason with him.â€�

There was the shriek of a door being torn from its hinges.

Screams and barking cries of consternation came from the television set. The photograph of Harrison Bergeron on the screen jumped again and again, as though dancing to the tune of an earthquake.

George Bergeron correctly identified the earthquake, and well he might have â€“ for many was the time his own home had danced to the same crashing tune. â€œMy God â€“â€� said George, â€œthat must be Harrison!â€�

The realization was blasted from his mind instantly by the sound of an automobile collision in his head.

When George could open his eyes again, the photograph of Harrison was gone. A living, breathing Harrison filled the screen.

Clanking, clownish, and huge, Harrison stood in the center of the studio. The knob of the uprooted studio door was still in his hand. Ballerinas, technicians, musicians, and announcers cowered on their knees before him, expecting to die.

â€œI am the Emperor!â€� cried Harrison. â€œDo you hear? I am the Emperor! Everybody must do what I say at once!â€� He stamped his foot and the studio shook.

â€œEven as I stand here â€“â€� he bellowed, â€œcrippled, hobbled, sickened â€“ I am a greater ruler than any man who ever lived! Now watch me become what I can become!â€�

Harrison tore the straps of his handicap harness like wet tissue paper, tore straps guaranteed to support five thousand pounds.

Harrisonâ€™s scrapâ€“iron handicaps crashed to the floor.

Harrison thrust his thumbs under the bar of the padlock that secured his head harness. The bar snapped like celery. Harrison smashed his headphones and spectacles against the wall.

He flung away his rubberâ€“ball nose, revealed a man that would have awed Thor, the god of thunder.

â€œI shall now select my Empress!â€� he said, looking down on the cowering people. â€œLet the first woman who dares rise to her feet claim her mate and her throne!â€�

A moment passed, and then a ballerina arose, swaying like a willow.

Harrison plucked the mental handicap from her ear, snapped off her physical handicaps with marvelous delicacy. Last of all, he removed her mask.

She was blindingly beautiful.

â€œNowâ€� said Harrison, taking her hand, â€œshall we show the people the meaning of the word dance? Music!â€� he commanded.

The musicians scrambled back into their chairs, and Harrison stripped them of their handicaps, too. â€œPlay your best,â€� he told them, â€œand Iâ€™ll make you barons and dukes and earls.â€�

The music began. It was normal at first â€“ cheap, silly, false. But Harrison snatched two musicians from their chairs, waved them like batons as he sang the music as he wanted it played. He slammed them back into their chairs.

The music began again and was much improved.

Harrison and his Empress merely listened to the music for a while â€“ listened gravely, as though synchronizing their heartbeats with it.

They shifted their weights to their toes.

Harrison placed his big hands on the girlâ€™s tiny waist, letting her sense the weightlessness that would soon be hers.

And then, in an explosion of joy and grace, into the air they sprang!

Not only were the laws of the land abandoned, but the law of gravity and the laws of motion as well.

They reeled, whirled, swiveled, flounced, capered, gamboled, and spun.

They leaped like deer on the moon.

The studio ceiling was thirty feet high, but each leap brought the dancers nearer to it. It became their obvious intention to kiss the ceiling.

They kissed it.

And then, neutralizing gravity with love and pure will, they remained suspended in air inches below the ceiling, and they kissed each other for a long, long time.

It was then that Diana Moon Glampers, the Handicapper General, came into the studio with a double-barreled ten-gauge shotgun. She fired twice, and the Emperor and the Empress were dead before they hit the floor.

Diana Moon Glampers loaded the gun again. She aimed it at the musicians and told them they had ten seconds to get their handicaps back on.

It was then that the Bergeronsâ€™ television tube burned out.

Hazel turned to comment about the blackout to George.

But George had gone out into the kitchen for a can of beer.

George came back in with the beer, paused while a handicap signal shook him up. And then he sat down again. â€œYou been crying?â€� he said to Hazel.

â€œYup,â€� she said,

â€œWhat about?â€� he said.

â€œI forget,â€� she said. â€œSomething real sad on television.â€�

â€œWhat was it?â€� he said.

â€œItâ€™s all kind of mixed up in my mind,â€� said Hazel.

â€œForget sad things,â€� said George.

â€œI always do,â€� said Hazel.

â€œThatâ€™s my girl,â€� said George. He winced. There was the sound of a riveting gun in his head.

â€œGee â€“ I could tell that one was a doozy,â€� said Hazel.

â€œYou can say that again,â€� said George.

â€œGee â€“â€� said Hazel, â€œI could tell that one was a doozy."

Apparently the subtleties of my blog, and our very direct indirect discussions have eluded you, so allow me to be blunt.

2005-03-12T21:20:00.000-06:00

The drugs you are putting in my food, and put in my drink tonight don't help me relax. They only make me more tense and very, very angry because I DON'T WANT TO BE DRUGGED AGAINST MY WILL. I don't know how much clearer I can make this message. Fucking stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

Hysterical Paroxia

2005-03-09T02:05:00.000-06:00

I observed in an earlier post that when a woman masturbates its considered a moment of self discovery, and when a man masturbates its an act of loneliness and desperation. I've always wondered why this is and finally this evening I find out.

Apparently as early as the first century AD Doctors had been masturbating women to orgasm to treat them for what we would call sexual frustration, but was then referred to as "hysteria, pelvic hyperemia, or congestion of the genitalia". Symptoms of the disorder seem to have been vague. One web page lists mental or emotional distress, lassitude, irritability, depression, confusion, palpitations of the heart, headaches, forgetfulness, insomnia, muscle spasms, stomach upsets, writing cramps, ticklishness and weepiness. My guess is that today we would call that PMS.

From the original article,

"I'm sure the women felt much better afterwards, slept better, smiled more," said Dr. Maines. Besides, she added, hysteria, as it was traditionally defined, was an incurable, chronic disease. "The patient had to go to the doctor regularly," Dr. Maines said. "She didn't die. She was a cash cow."

The first vibrator was invented in the late 19th century as a tool for doctors who had till then been performing the procedure by hand.

Not exactly an explanation, but it does shed more light on the cultural context. I looked for information on male masturbation but didn't find nearly the quality of content as on female masturbation. If you're interested here's a link. I only started reading, but it looks like good material.

Again

2005-03-06T11:28:00.000-06:00

I woke up in a good mood. No, I woke up in a great mood and within a few hours you dashed that to the rocks. Your snide comments, your calculated hidden derision wear at me like a fine sand paper. There is no talking about it beyond talking about talking; what is mean, what really happened, what is laughing. You are protected at my expense, and you ask why I don't trust you. And lets not forget the drugs in the food. And more and more and more.

My goal is always to love you in the same way you love me. I fail, but i persist.

Why Death is no Big Deal

2005-03-02T03:24:00.000-06:00

I'm on a roll tonight. Many people I have regular online contact with will find this article interesting, and possibly insulting if they're smart enough, which I smugly doubt. I'm posting this article in its entirety. If you were planning on sending me a boat load of money to let me know how much pleasure you've gotten from reading my blog, please wait a few days to avoid the appearance I've profited from someone else's work. If you are the author and have some other protest to my posting your work please contact me as soon as possible. I probably won't delete the article, but I like your writing and would be excited to be contacted by you.

Why death is no big deal

AL Kennedy
Wednesday March 2, 2005
The Guardian

I lost a friend last week. These things happen - I'm bad at people, after all - but I can't say I'm not pissed off. Last week I also talked to a nice lady who was great at describing loss, the details of loss, the amputated future, the lack of company. Because I'm bad at people it took me a long time to remember she was so well-informed because her husband died a while ago. I mean, ages ago, but she hasn't forgotten him. Which is odd, isn't it ? She wants to be able to talk to her husband, I want to be able to talk to my friend - but we shouldn't. We should be over it.

How do I know? Because I should be caring about how a bony tart and a petulant clothes horse choose to christen their spawn. I should be fretting over whether a lack of established royal precedent at Windsor register office will cause Camilla to spontaneously combust. I should want to see more and more and more of Jimmy Carr. Then I would be part of the real world, the things that matter, the questions that deserve every scrap of media attention they get.

Particularly, I should keep away from anything to do with unpleasantness, injury, or loss - they have no place in a modern media environment. Take Lance Corporal Andres Raya. I shouldn't think about him. He's dead now. He made it through Iraq, went home to California and couldn't take it. He committed suicide by cop in a three-hour gun fight. But he doesn't matter. Or Baha Mousa, he's never going to get the kind of headlines he might if he'd shagged Jordan, or shat himself in a celebrity detox special. He's dead now. Our troops killed him. But if that matters at all it's as an indication of how stressed war can make the modern soldier. His brother Ala'a misses him, but he probably lacks perspective.

Abdul Wali, he's dead now. He died after being interrogated by a CIA contractor in Afghanistan, but so what? Then there's Zaydun al-Samarrai. He's dead now. His cousin Marwan Hassoun is upset about this, but you can be sure he's overreacting - after all Sgt Tracy Perkins, one of the people who drowned al-Samarrai in the Tigris, was only given a six-month sentence, so it can't have been a big deal. Hanan Saleh Matrud, she's dead now. After they shot her in Basra, the British army paid her family Â£390 compensation, which is fair enough because she was only eight and might not have amounted to much.

Hussain Adbulkadr Youssouf Mustafa says he had a stick shoved up his rectum by US troops at Bagram air base in Afghanistan and he has the gall to complain. Didar Khalan says he was tortured for a week by the Patriotic Union of Kurdistan until he finally gave false testimony against Mullah Krekar, testimony that was later presented as a valid basis for prosecution by US authorities. He claims his arm was broken and that he was made to stand in a freezing room without clothing and sit on blocks of ice. Which would have made a terrific reality special, but sadly, no one thought ahead.

Wesam Abdulrahman Ahmed Al Deemawi was at Bagram, where he was threatened with dogs, stripped, photographed in obscene positions and placed in a cage with a hook and a hanging rope. He's not happy, either, when surely he should just be glad nobody killed him.

If either of them actually wanted the public's attention they should realise that having Kelly Osbourne shove a stick up their arse would have done it, or having someone, you know, attractive in those obscene photos. Think of how popular Hugh Grant's arrest snap still remains, and that barely suggests the erotic action that preceded his bust.

Surely, if we've learned nothing else from fusiliers Kenyon, Larkin and Cooley, it's that people really don't want to look at tubby, petrified Muslims trying to fake sodomy. We like our soft porn nipped and tucked. Or if it has to be ugly, it should involve paparazzi shots of stars that everyone is tired of, such as Mickey Rourke or Dirty Den.

Army specialist James Kiehl, he's dead now. He was killed in the same attack that won Jessica Lynch so much air time, but that wasn't enough to make him famous. Lance Corporal Shaun Brierley and Lt Philip Green, they're dead now. They died for Mr Blair, but that doesn't mean anyone should have heard of them. Peter Mahoney, he fought for Mr Blair, too. He's dead now. Killed himself. But that was last year - his wife and four children will be fine.

How do I know? Because that's the way the real world works. Remember all those poor, dead 9/11 victims we're supposed to be avenging? Many of their fragmentary remains have been dumped in the Fresh Kills landfill without even a memorial. Because we're over them. We can get over anything. It's the only way.

comment@guardian.co.uk

Metafilter

2005-03-02T02:43:00.000-06:00

Now that I've added a links list I feel obligated to search out some links. In reality I never read blogs, but since I'm now writing one and may have started another I've been looking about.

I'm always reluctant to post links to pages I've found on Google since I figure if anyone reading were really interested in the subject they would have found that site themselves. However if you're like me you end up doing the same search several times because you never bookmark anything because you so rarely use the hundreds of bookmarks you already have. To that end I will include a link to a site that list blog sites by rank. I'm so isolated that reading what other people are writing about the goings on of the world wouldn't hurt, and somehow the local and national media just doesn't seem to fill that need.

The first Blog that I've come across that I liked reading filled that need quite readily. In their own words

"Metafilter is a weblog (what's a weblog? | comprehensive history of weblogs) that anyone can contribute a link or a comment to. A typical weblog is one person posting their thoughts on the unique things they find on the web. This website exists to break down the barriers between people, to extend a weblog beyond just one person, and to foster discussion among its members."

On its face it seems a great place to start if you, like me, don't know anything about Blogging. It kind of reads like what the Yahoo Message Boards would read like if all the racist and whackos would drop dead tomorrow leaving us to mediate what little ignorance we have left.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

2005-03-01T12:07:00.000-06:00

Blogger has been changing, evolving beneath me, so I've made some changes too. Inspired by the link list I saw on The Bunny's Blog, I've created my own. I've also seen some work by other Bloggers. Apparently its customary to have several Blogs divided by subject. We're gonna try that. My guess is it will be harder to undo than it is to do, but it may not come to that.

In the meantime I'm looking for a counselor today.

From our good friends at the CIA

2005-02-27T19:01:00.000-06:00

The US has the largest and most technologically powerful economy in the world, with a per capita GDP of $37,800. In this market-oriented economy, private individuals and business firms make most of the decisions, and the federal and state governments buy needed goods and services predominantly in the private marketplace. US business firms enjoy considerably greater flexibility than their counterparts in Western Europe and Japan in decisions to expand capital plant, to lay off surplus workers, and to develop new products. At the same time, they face higher barriers to entry in their rivals' home markets than the barriers to entry of foreign firms in US markets. US firms are at or near the forefront in technological advances, especially in computers and in medical, aerospace, and military equipment; their advantage has narrowed since the end of World War II. The onrush of technology largely explains the gradual development of a "two-tier labor market" in which those at the bottom lack the education and the professional/technical skills of those at the top and, more and more, fail to get comparable pay raises, health insurance coverage, and other benefits. Since 1975, practically all the gains in household income have gone to the top 20% of households. The years 1994-2000 witnessed solid increases in real output, low inflation rates, and a drop in unemployment to below 5%. The year 2001 saw the end of boom psychology and performance, with output increasing only 0.3% and unemployment and business failures rising substantially. The response to the terrorist attacks of 11 September 2001 showed the remarkable resilience of the economy. Moderate recovery took place in 2002 with the GDP growth rate rising to 2.4%. A major short-term problem in first half 2002 was a sharp decline in the stock market, fueled in part by the exposure of dubious accounting practices in some major corporations. The war in March/April 2003 between a US-led coalition and Iraq shifted resources to the military. In 2003, growth in output and productivity and the recovery of the stock market to above 10,000 for the Dow Jones Industrial Average were promising signs. Unemployment stayed at the 6% level, however, and began to decline only at the end of the year. Long-term problems include inadequate investment in economic infrastructure, rapidly rising medical and pension costs of an aging population, sizable trade and budget deficits, and stagnation of family income in the lower economic groups.

More and more and more

2005-02-22T17:18:00.000-06:00

Our recent conference call didn't go well. I didn't know you were listening at the time, but I do now. How many people were on the line I don't know.

If we had to boil this whole thing down to a few phrases I'd have to say that firstly, as long as you feel like you have to treat me for a disease or disorder that you can't confront me about you're wrong. Secretly treating someone for paranoid delusions without telling him that you're treating him is the fucking dumbest idea I've ever heard of. Anyone who thinks that makes sense if a fool.

You secretly decide that I have schizophrenia and then secretly treat me for schizophrenia and then somehow everyone "accidentally finds out" that you are secretly treating me for schizophrenia. How can you treat a person for paranoid delusions when everyone around him is sneaking around, lying and trying to prove that person has paranoid delusions. If you can't see the circular stupidity of that then you shouldn't be secretly doing anything at all.

Yes there were drugs in the food. Actually, I think it was the beer which is even a bigger problem because I have no clue how you did that. I am currently eating a sandwich that has been "dosed" with something. Its not my paranoia its real.

You are right about one thing. If this goes on for much longer I'll probably kill myself or hurt someone. Stop it.

The Drama Continues

2005-02-20T23:29:00.000-06:00

My chat logs have been edited, and my copies removed. We are really pushing the limit here.

A few days ago the chatters had started accusing me of baiting people into arguments in chat. Now I see why. I haven't looked at the entire log because its over a thousand pages long but from what I've seen so far all offensive comments and indirect jokes have been edited out leaving it looking as if I just come in to chat rooms and start bitching for no particular reason at all. Its endless.

How much more

2005-02-16T16:45:00.000-06:00

The quesiton is how much more of this do you think I can take. No matter what I try to eat its drugged. The constant barage of staged lectures about what a lazy abusive loser I am. The constant suggestion that if i worked hard enough this would all be over, or a cake walk, or whatever you're implying. How much longer is this supposed to go on before something gives? It will most likely be me.

Is that your big theraputic plan? "Lets isolate and harass him until he has a real psychotic break and then we can prove that he's a nut case and make him do what we want."

We'll never know because you'll never come out with it. You'll never come out with it because you can't really back up your accusations or suspicions. It doesn't make you right. In fact it makes you more wrong.

2005-02-16T11:59:00.000-06:00

I originally ran across this wine while I was living in the Finger Lakes region of New York state in the early 90's. Its a very tasty wine, and in an industry where quality and competition are high, having a good story to go along with your product doesn't hurt.

I was reminded of the story recently and thought I'd share

For your eyes

2005-02-10T15:24:00.000-06:00

When a woman mastrubates its a momment of self discovery. When a man mastrubates its an act of lonliness and desperation.

Questioner: When one encounters those who are caught up in the collective thought and mass psychology which are responsible for much of the chaos and strife around us, how can one extricate them from their mass mentality and show them the necessity of individual thought?

KRISHNAMURTI: First extricate yourself from mass psychology, from collective thoughtlessness. This extrication of thought from the stupidities of ages is a very difficult task. Thoughtlessness and stupidity of the mass exist in us. We are the mass, conscious of some of its stupidities and cruelties but mostly unconscious of its overpowering prejudices, false values, and ideals. Before you can extricate another, you must free yourself from the great power of those wants and fears. That is, you must know for yourself what are the stupidities, what are those values which condition life and action. Some of you are conscious of the obviously false values of hatred, national divisions, and exploitation, but you have not discerned the process of these limitations and freed yourselves from them. When you begin to perceive the false values that hold you and discern their significance, then you will know what a tremendous change takes place in you. Then only can you truly help another. Though you may not become a leader of great multitudes, though you may not accomplish spectacular reforms, if you really grasp the significance of what I am saying, you will become as an oasis in a burning desert, as a flame in darkness.

The ending of the &'8216;I&'8217; process is the beginning of wisdom which alone can bring intelligent order and happiness to this chaotic world.

Questioner: As a living example of one who has attained liberation, you are a tremendous source of encouragement to us who are still involved in suffering. Is there not a danger that in spite of ourselves this very encouragement might become a hindrance to us?

KRISHNAMURTI: I hope I am not becoming an example for you to follow because I speak of the process of suffering and ignorance, the illusion of the mind, the false values created by fear, the freedom of truth. An example is a hindrance, it is born of fear which leads to compulsion and imitation. Imitation of another is not the comprehension of oneself.

To know oneself there can be no following of another; there cannot be compulsive memories which prevent the &'8216;I&'8217; process from revealing itself. When the mind has ceased to escape from suffering into illusions and false values, then that very suffering brings understanding, without the false motives of reward and punishment. The center of action is ignorance and its result is suffering. The following of another or the disciplining of the mind according to the authority of an ideal will not bring about plenitude of life nor the bliss of reality.

HHDL: Sleep is the best meditation.

Questioner: Is there any way in the world by which we can end the stupid horror which again we see perpetrated in Spain?

KRISHNAMURTI: War is the problem of humanity. How are we going to end mass and individual barbarities? To arouse mass action against the horrors, cruelties, and absurdities of the present civilization, there must be individual comprehension.

Begin with yourself. Root out the appallingly cruel prejudices and wants, and you will know a happy world. Root out your personal ambitions and subtle exploitations, acquisitiveness and the craving for power. Then you will have an intelligent and orderly world. As long as there is cruelty and violence in the individual, collective hatred, patriotism, and strife must continue.

When you realize your individual responsibility in action, then there will be the possibility of peace and love and harmonious relationship with your neighbor. Then there will be the possibility of ending the horror of strife, the horror of man killing man.

HHDL: There is no need for temples, no need for complicated philosophies. My brain and my heart are my temples; my philosophy is kindness.

Questioner: If I am in conflict with family, friends, employers, and state laws, in fact, with the various forms of exploitation, will not seeking liberation from all bondage make life practically impossible?

We are well acquainted with the obvious forms of exploitation, but there are the many subtle forms of which we are unconscious. If you would really comprehend exploitation in its obvious and subtle forms, you must discern the &'8216;I&'8217; process-that process which is born of ignorance, want, fear. All action born of this process must entail exploitation. Many people withdraw from the world to contemplate reality, and hope to bring the &'8216;I&'8217; process to an end. You should not withdraw from life to consider life. This escape does not bring the &'8216;I&'8217; process of ignorance, want, and fear to an end. To live is to be in relationship, and when that relationship begins to be irksome, limited, it creates conflict, suffering. Then there is the desire for the opposite, an escape from relationship. One does very often escape, but only into a shallow, and life of fear and illusion, which intensifies conflict and brings about slow decay. It is this escape which is impractical and confusing. If you would strip life of all its ugliness and cruelty you must, through right effort, bring the self&'64979;sustaining process of ignorance to an end.

Questioner: How can we solve the problems of sex?

KRISHNAMURTI: Where there is love the problem of sex does not exist. It becomes a problem only when love has been displaced by sensation. So the question really is how to control sensation. If there were the vital flame of love, the problem of sex would cease. Now sex has become a problem through sensation, habit, and stimulation, through the many absurdities of modern civilization. Literature, cinemas, advertisements, talk, dress-all these stimulate sensation and intensify the conflict. The problem of sex cannot be solved separately, by itself. It is futile to try to understand it through behavioristic or scientific morality. Artificial restrictions may be necessary, but they can only produce an arid and shallow life.

We all have the capacity for deep and inclusive love, but through conflict and false relationship, sensation and habit, we destroy its beauty. Through possessiveness with its many cruelties, through all the ugliness of reciprocal exploitation, we slowly extinguish the flame of love. We cannot artificially keep the flame alive, but we can awaken intelligence, love, through constant discernment of the many illusions and limitations which now dominate our mind&'64979;heart, our whole being. So, what we have to understand is not what kind of restrictions, scientific or religious, should be placed on wants and sensations, but how to bring about deep and enduring fulfillment. We are frustrated on every side; fear dominates our spiritual and moral life, forcing us to imitate, conform to false values and illusions. There is no creative expression of our whole being, either in work or in thought, so sensation becomes monstrously important and its problems overwhelming. Sensation is artificial, superficial, and if we do not penetrate deeply into want and comprehend its process, our life will be shallow and utterly vain and miserable. The mere satisfaction of want or the continual change in want destroys intelligence, love. Love alone can free you from the problems of sex.

Me: Yeah, that's it.

2005-02-09T20:26:00.000-06:00

Tonight I am wearing the pants that you made for me. I can remember picking out the fabric, and you making the pattern. Its the only thing that hasn't been taken or destroyed yet. They must like you, or they don't know. Hope you see this.

Weyco

2005-02-08T22:13:00.000-06:00

I guess what I'm saying in this blog is that not only do my own circumstances seem unusually odd, oppressive and down right un-American, but the whole country seems to have gone facistlite. Suddenly rights have become privileges for people, and regulations have become rights for corporations.

The newest story of Weyco telling its employees to quit smoking or find new employment seems to be part of a pattern of the erosion of respect for individual freedom in this country. What's more shocking and depressing is that not many people seem to care. Only three Weyco employees actually left the company after it announced its new policy. While that might be more an indication of the health of the current job market in Okemos, MI it doesn't bode well for a healthy respect for civil liberties in the population in general.

Weyco Inc., claims to be looking at the bottom line. Apparently, cigarette smoking costs the company money in higher health care costs. That point is entirely debatable, but the more germane question seems to be "So what?" Its not as if the health care offered by most companies is actually care. In most instances its cost management for the company, and the individual worker not only does not receive quality health care, but in the event of a serious illness will most likely end up penniless, as well as unable to work. (see Get Sick in the US...)

The quality of health care had been declining for most Americans since the 80's amid claims by employers that they just can't afford the costs. The companies get larger and larger, and it seems the citizenry gets poorer and poorer, and the quality of life becomes less and less. Will we have company curfews next, so that employees are properly rested for work? Will speeding tickets and DUI's become a cause for termination. And again does anyone care?

How much are American's willing to bear for the illusion of human perfection and security?

Monday, February 7, 2005 2:56 PM

2005-02-07T14:56:00.000-06:00

I'm at a loss for something to write about. I think about a topic for a half hour and then think "Who gives a fuck." In my current situation the only reason I write anything at all is to fool myself in to believing someone other than me gives a damn.

You might be able to tell from earlier posts that things where I am suck pretty royally. If you've ever eaten food that has a lot of garlic in it you know how it can linger in your body. Hours after you've eaten it you can smell it on your breath, taste it on your tongue. That's how I feel with the drugs that are in my food. I can smell them, taste them; I can actually feel them in my brain. Today it feels almost like I'm tripping, only its not good or fun or pretty, which tripping can be.

So, I guess that's a subject I can write about. There are drugs in my food. Your might as why do I eat it if I know there's drugs in it. Well, there is no food in my house that isn't drugged. Once food is bought it is immediately unpackaged and torn to small pieces, drugged, and put in the freezer. Sounds crazy, huh? Try living it. If I had money I might buy my own food, but I can't seem to find a job. My guess is for whatever reason they drug my food they are afraid for me to work with other people.

I actually tried not eating. Its possible that I'm on several drugs because on the second day of my fast I was so constipated it felt like I had a cinder block coming out of me. It took me three hours to move my bowels. As soon as I started eating again things got better. I could actually handle not eating for quite a while, but the constipated is pretty painful to the point that I imagine prolonged periods of it could be permanently disfiguring, so that's out.

I could leave, but where would I go. Without a job or a place to live, the only option is to lay down in the street, and that's not legal here so I'd be in a shelter. If you want I'll tell you some stories about shelters. There's reasons people choose not to go to them, and they are very good.

Probably the worst part is that I have no say at all in what is happening to me. They don't ask or tell, and if I confront them they say I'm crazy. Pretty funny huh? Drug my food and then when I protest say I'm crazy and need to be on drugs. Its the kind of logic that made the Thrid Reich and any number of other fascist regimes.

If that isn't mad twist enough for you the one that gets me the most is the expectation that I be pleasant. That all of this can go on, and more that I haven't written about yet and I am expected to be pleasant. Frankly its maddening, which of course is more proof that I need to be on drugs. But I'm only assuming, because no one ever talks to me about it.

The Buddhism Channel

2005-02-04T23:45:00.000-06:00

The Buddhist Channel (BC) was officially launched on October 25, 2004. The BC is actually a "rebranding" exercise which culminated from the demise of the old "Buddhist News Network" (BNN), which began operations in May 8, 2001. Using the latest web technologies on content publication, the BC remains the world's only dedicated Buddhist news servcies, providing daily updates and in-depth coverage.

From the good people at Wikipedia

Get Sick In The US, You Might Go Bankrupt

2005-02-02T21:21:00.000-06:00

By Staff Feb 2, 2005, 18:14

If you get ill in the United States, you just might go bankrupt. A Harvard University study found that about half of all personal bankruptcies in America are caused by illness and medical bills.

Researchers from Harvard Medical School and Harvard Law School analyzed federal court records of 1,771 personal bankruptcy filers in five American states in 2001. The researchers interviewed 931 of them about their finances.

About half of the personal bankruptcy filers cited illness or injury as the reason for their debt.

"Unless you're Bill Gates you're just one serious illness away from bankruptcy," said lead researcher Dr. David Himmelstein.

More than 75 percent said they were insured at the start of their illness, but 38 percent had lost coverage, at least temporarily by the time they filed for bankruptcy.

The researchers said health insurance policies, with high deductibles, co-pays, and many exclusions, offer little protection.

Among those whose medical bills contributed to their bankruptcy, the study found out-of-pocket costs averaged $11,854. Those with cancer had average medical debts of $35,878.

The study's authors said between 1.9 million and 2.2 Americans experienced "medical bankruptcy" in 2001.

Writing in the journal Health Affairs, the researchers said, "The low rate of medical bankruptcy in Canada suggests that better medical and social insurance could greatly ameliorate this problem in the United States."

Halifax Live

The State of the Union

2005-02-02T20:01:00.000-06:00

I just realized that its supposed to be given tonight, and I know that some of my secret fans are wondering if I'm going to write about it. If you're really a fan you probably don't expect me to. Its not that I'm not political. I probably have an opinion about everything under the sun; even stuff I've never heard of before.

I have opinions about the State of the Union, and of course the President of the United States, but with this particular President in these particular times what's the point of expressing them? Suppose you were to get into an a discussion with a vegetarian; a real reactionary vegetarian who believes that everyone should stop eating meat tomorrow. I'm not a dietician or even amateurishly adept in the sciences but my personal opinion is that if everyone stopped eating meat tomorrow tens of millions of people would die, and all the animals that would supposedly be saved by the sacrifice would die anyway because they're not prepared to survive in any natural setting. Without the income from eating them we couldn't afford to keep them alive. I don't know how to discuss/debate or exchange ideas with a person who doesn't see that stark reality. My opinions about our current political landscape are equally entrenched. Apparently there is a majority of people who think the current administration are doing a great job, and the previous administration was abysmal. As far as I'm concerned they might as well be saying rocks make good pudding.

I won't be watching.

The Soapbox Papers

2005-02-02T19:13:00.000-06:00

The Soapbox Papers - I couldn't resist the urge to post this, and Taran if you come back I hope you don't mind. Taran is the author of KnowProSE and he was kind enough to say hello below. This is his mother's Blog. I'd like to thank both of you. Its nice to know some people are still having normal relationships.

Toynbee Connection

2005-02-02T18:33:00.000-06:00

Just thought I'd post this for my own future reference. For some reason the Toynbee mystery interests me. As far as I can tell these tiles have been found in 10 major cities in North, Central and South America between 1996 and December of last year. Whatever they're made of they can't be removed without digging up the street or sidewalk that they are invariably bonded to. You can surf this stuff on Google, but it won't bring you to any conclusions as to what the messenger could possibly mean, although I haven't read the book myself.

2005-02-01T22:51:00.000-06:00

This is a note to you:

A note that I know you will get even though I'll never send it to you. That's how much I know.

I can feel the drugs you put in my food tonight working in my head, and I know that I'll never be the same again. I just wanted to take this time to tell you, while I'm still relatively myself, what you're doing and have been doing is wrong. What you are doing will add to the scars of my life, not heal them, and I know this is true. I was never sick, but I will be now, probably forever doing the throazine shuffle, and you put the nail in my coffin. Any normal person would be angry about this. God I hate you.

Blogging

2005-01-27T15:26:00.000-06:00

This has actually been good for me. Surfing Blogs has liberated me from a cult of opinion that I've been surrounded with for a long time. There's no age limit to blogging. There's no subject matter. I'm still not at the point where I'm likely to detail the minutia of my daily thoughts and activities, although I'd like a life where I could do that. Don't have one of those so you're stuck with this. Its not so bad is it?

More about Truth

2005-01-27T10:45:00.000-06:00

'Truth is a pathless land'. Man cannot come to it through any organisation, through any creed, through any dogma, priest or ritual, not through any philosophic knowledge or psychological technique. He has to find it through the mirror of relationship, through the understanding of the contents of his own mind . . .

Statement by Krishnamurti in 1981

Its interesting that they post this quote because Krishnamurti's entire life was dedicated to talking to people about the Truth. I think Krishnamurti may have been onto the truth. He may have stumbled on it completely by accident. I once read one of his biographies and it seems that the circumstances were ripe. He wasn't looking for the truth, even when he was heralded as a Savior. He wasn't given any great tradition to follow, and it seems pretty clear that he was vividly aware that his benefactors were frauds. Everyone expected him to know the truth, and he felt like he wanted to find it because he wanted to please them.

KnowProSE

2005-01-27T10:06:00.000-06:00

KnowPro SE seems to be an interesting blog. I'm not sure I got the name right, but the link will take you there. Apparently the author lives in Trinidad and is prolific as well as skilled in web authoring.

More about Truth

2005-01-26T04:07:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, I was able to share my Absolute Truth post with one of the people I had in mind when I wrote it. She could have continued the discussion here and it could have been very rewarding for both of us. Instead she was privately offended, and elnisted another chatter to flame me. I doubt that real communication is possible; there's only mutual admiration and deferment, or conflict.

Its sad. When I was a kid I was really hurt when adults criticized me for being immature. As an adult I've come to realize that maturity is largly a myth and who you are in middle school is who you will be for life.

No doubt they'll be here soon to delete posts and harass me for disagreeing with them.

2005-01-24T07:12:00.000-06:00

Talk about Americana. I was actually a big fan of cocaine in my day, or "Evil" as we called it. These days I feel the same way about coke as I do one of my favorite sexual partners; if it wasn't so hard to get to her, and the kinds of people I had to deal with once I was around her she'd have been a keeper.

Dirty Tricks

2005-01-22T11:01:00.000-06:00

Dirty Tricks is a political blog. I agree with a lot of the articles that are posted, but I'm more interested in the format. Just collecting some ideas. I'm new to this, can you tell?

Mike's Allotment Diary: Broad Beans & Bottle Cloches

2005-01-20T19:32:00.000-06:00

Mike's Allotment Diary: Broad Beans & Bottle Cloches is a blog about an "Allotment" which seems to be a term for a large garden.

Absolute Truth

2005-01-20T07:03:00.000-06:00

Handbook for Mankind
Principles of Buddhism explained by Buddhadasa Bhikkhu. It is a remarkable fact that in this book Ven. Buddhadasa has explained the meaning of one topic, thereby covering the spirit of the whole teaching or the Tipitaka. He says that Buddhism is the religion which teaches one to know just this much: "what is the truth?". All the chapters in this book dealing with the five aggregates, the four kinds of attachments, intuition in a natural way and other topics all point to "The Truth".

I added this link because I have frequent discussions with other Buddhists about Buddhisms interest in truth. As far as the content of the book goes its not exactly my cup of tea. Recently, someone asked me what exatly is my Buddhist cup of tea. I'm not sure you should be able to enuciate that in a web page, much less an online chat. Isn't that what "the great conversation" is all about; 5,000 years of humans endlessly discussing what a world view could and should be?

I believe there's a moral position that can be taken without becoming a monk or saint. While it may sound selfish to some, I think I should be able to have a beer, get into a thing with a beautiful woman and have it not work out. satisfy my sexuality and basically live a full twenty-first century life, and still be a good Christian/Buddhist/Hebrew/Muslim/Hindu, what have you. What's more, I think that the vast majority of people following any of those traditions would agree with me if they were allowed to.

But that's not why I wanted to post this link. The issue is truth, and clearly this very conservative Buddhist Monk believes that the end pursuit of Buddhism is truth, as do I.

2005-01-18T11:11:00.000-06:00

I know I posted something on this subject earlier today, but I came across another relevant site. This might become a collection for an actual web page, but for now its just links.

Here is another link about the Mob.

2005-01-18T07:32:00.000-06:00

hehehe - Had a little too much fun there. I was having so much fun that I actually crashed my computer. No harm done though. Now then....

I've been a big fan of Rickie Lee Jones since her first album came out. After I got my first copy of Magazine I think I played it everyday until I was about 23. This is the cover art for the rerelease. The original cover was of Ricki wearing a black lace costume with matching hat and gloves very consistant with her image at the time. Inside the album (that's how old I am, it was an album) was a wall poster of her in the same costume which I thumb tacked to the ceiling above my bed. Quite simply I thought she was beautiful.

There is something classic about this time in history for me. It feels as if it was the last time the American marketing machine was willing to make a pretense at taking the buying public seriously. Rickie Lee was, and still is beautiful, but it isn't the glaring glam doll type of beauty that gets produced by the music industry today. For lack of a more appropriate analogy if Rickie Lee is a flowering meadow, Brittany Spears is an astro turffed stadium floor.

If I hadn't been taken by her appearance her music would have still captured my imagination. Not that I'm listening particularly closely, but I haven't heard anything in a long time that is as original or crafted as Rickie Lee Jones' compositions. When I first heard them I thought she was as new and fresh and brave as she apparently thought herself to be at the time, but then times change.

The cover art above is a rerelease. Rickie Lee dropped out of the music scene and public eye. At the time the story was she was raising her daughter, but in later interviews she implies there was another reason. When she returned to composing and performing the Magazine cover was changed and I've never been able to find that cover art again.

I spent all morning looking for this article. Ricki Lee Jones has changed along with the rest of the world, and I'm not sure I think that either has changed for the better. What was once fresh, brave and new, she now describes as desperate and lonely. I'm not an advocate of drug addiction, or heroine use of any kind, yet I can't help but be sad that she is clearly so saddened and ashamed of things that gave me so much joy and peace.

If there is an upside to her big change its that she clearly is as frustrated by the direction our country has been steered in as I am. Its comforting to read her commentary on American politics, and I'll probably own a copy of "The Evening of my Best Day" in the near future. Frankly, I haven't been excited about one of her albums since "Girl in Her Volcano". The interview ends on an optimistic note. My guess is that I'll never see the old album art again, but I hope her feelings on the future are accurate and that something good is going on.

Weeeeeee

2005-01-18T06:22:00.000-06:00

This is so much more fun than I thought it would be. As you can tell, Al has a little too much time on his hands.

BotHq

2005-01-18T06:20:00.000-06:00

BotHq : Apparently this guy is on a tour of China. Its interesting and in English, which is nice. I can't believe how many of these blogs are not in English. How did they get the whole world online in ten years?

LiveMalls

2005-01-18T05:49:00.000-06:00

LiveMalls is a Blog dedicated entierly to Malls in the Carolinas. Go figure.

2005-01-18T05:14:00.000-06:00

Finally, I can get to the article that made me start this Blog in the first place.

In the midst of our battle against terrorism America nurtures and is perhaps driven by its two oldest terrorist organizations; the KKK and the Mob. If you support either of these organizations, even by fondness of thought you are committing treason.

Found on the Web

Yesssssssssss.....................................................................

2005-01-18T05:01:00.000-06:00

What can you say about that other than it looks god damn good? Ok, you could also say it was reasonably effortless. Now we can bookmark and see how much more fun we can have with it.

Hi

2005-01-18T04:37:00.000-06:00

Oooooooo well wow. How much fun is this?

After several hints and some small amount of thought I have created this blog.

Why is it that after you think up a title for one of these web thingys you always think up a better one. Right after I created this Blog I thought of the title "101 Unpopular Thoughts on the Web". Either way you get the general idea and this is my little Blog. I have no clue why people are dropping such strong hints that I should start a Blog. No one is ever going to comment on anything I post here, and a Blog without comments is like a phone that don't ring. Here it is regardless.

Once I finish the rework of the web page I'll work this in some how. Until then you can visit me here. Hey, I just thought of something. Maybe its supposed to work the other way around. Maybe you're supposed to link your web page to your blog. Hell, I don't know. I guess I'll do both. But for now I've got this new thing to play with. :))