CULTIVATING LIBERALISM
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Best of Blogs Round-Up: Tuesday, February 21

Non-disclaimer: We're liberal to the core, but we include in this daily blog review the political, the social, the cultural and the undefinable from the left, the right, the in-between from all over the globe. And we're suckers for good writing regardless of ideology. Clicking the link will take you to the original post.

 

Featured Blog I: Fervid Crescent
Evil Ideology 101

A friend of mine read all the anti-Muslim-Crusader-Christofascist hate crap years ago and we fell out for a while about it. My friend asked me what many people are asking even more vocally today. "Will the real Islam please stand up". My friend was years ahead of her time. It's very easy to get online and fill your head with lies. They're everywhere. And from a certain point of view, they are credible pretenders to truth. The real issue is one of context, framework and reference. Ask the right questions, then you have a chance of getting somewhere. Where is the real Islam? Everywhere. In every city, in every country, in every sphere of life. We're a billion plus and growing fast every day. Why doesn't The Real Islam speak up? It does damn it, every single day. But no fucker really wants to hear what we have to say. It doesn't make for good news for a start. Papers don't sell on harmony, they sell on fear, hatred and crass pop-clebrity-worship-culture. Read the rest at Suspect Paki...

Featured Blogger II: Trailer Brash
Anti-Americanism Made in America

When I hear about the bad things happening to American competitors in the Olympics it makes me glad. Any time I hear bad news about America it makes me feel better. I routinely without thinking root against them no matter what is taking place and I support the opposition, almost regardless of their intentions whenever it comes down to America and anybody else. And I am, or I was born, an American.

I want America broken and humbled. I want America to taste what they’ve been dishing out for so many years. I don’t need to hear about World War One and World War Two and what heroes we were. I’ve got my own take on those conflicts as well. I’m one of those people that study events; I don’t just swallow the common line. I don’t wave flags and I hate marching bands; any marching bands… but most especially those playing Onward Christian Soldiers. Christian soldiers are demons in self righteous permanent press. Of course they are hypocrites and murderers too but I haven’t the space at the moment to list all the fine qualities of the Christian soldiers.

When I think of America I think of the Native Americans and the railroad labor and slavery and the fat cats with the cigars that were always popping up on Marxist posters. I’m no Marxist though. I suppose I’m a Libertarian Socialist if such a thing could exist. Mostly I’m for the fulfillment of the power of cosmic justice and I include myself among the recipients for better or for worse- all things (actually) being equal as regards their irrelevance and impermanence.

When I hear the war is going badly for America it lifts my spirits. Any time I hear bad news about the economy, or some new political scandal, or anything that reflects badly on that nation of whores, alcoholics and international arm-twisting pederasts I think to myself, ‘it’s going to be a good day.’

I’m not into fooling myself that America is going to do a turn around. I can’t imagine who would be in charge of that. There’s that nation of “I fucking want it now and I don’t care what it takes.” And some imply that it’s going to turn into the P.R. version we keep hearing about that country; openhearted, generous, competent, brave and whatever else they like to say about themselves as opposed to fat and lazy, greedy and selfish, wasteful and wasted and the like.

America is a department store with a parking lot and housing attached. That’s all it is. It’s a megaphone of sanctimonious religious types with bad hairdo’s running the Elmer Gantry con with one hand in your pocket and the other on your thigh. I don’t ever expect to run into the Jesus they keep screeching about and it’s a sure bet they aren’t going to run into any version of the real Jesus should that be an option.

America is a nation of child-molesters on the make for their children’s school chums. It’s an amusement park of pornography where the most explicit features are associated with things besides sex and where the fucking they are giving is nowhere near as good as the fucking they are getting.

When I think of America I think of United Fruit and all the good little efforts made by America in the hot-lands to the South. I think of Vietnam and napalm and I think of Falujah and napalm too. I think of the scientists at Proctor and Gamble working on new ‘and improved’ Napalmolive Soap. I think of all the weapons industrialists and their cluster fucks with the Defense Department. I think about Iraq and Iran and whomever else is in the crosshairs so that a nation of fat, stupid, willful little (not so little actually) pigs can drive their SUV’s two blocks to the 7/11 for the Big Gulp in the fifty gallon drum.

I think of rapid deterioration and epidemic diabetes. I think about what it’s going to be like when the fabric breaks and bands of rampaging lunatics move through the urban jungles of inbred decadence and luxury junkies in high rises. I think about the complete loss of manners and spatial awareness. I think about how glad I am that I don’t live there any more.

It’s not like America was ever very nice to me when I was there. Every time I opened my mouth and spoke the truth they threw me in jail, or prison or somewhere. If you don’t play the game you need to move under the radar. I was none too bright about those things, then.

I know there are a lot of good people in America. At least, I assume it must be so. Some of my friends live there and they are good people and I’ve observed and heard enough to indicate to me that there is some percentage of decent folk there in the Land of Snakes. Of course there are also a lot of people who are walking backwards into the process of de-evolution and there are a lot of people moving like predators through the metaphorical jungles and the oceans of that land and of course, control of the country is in the hands of some vicious characters who are half-pig, half crocodile and half STD. These characters work for another group of aliens who own corporations and are half-shark, half vampire bat and half shit-eating slug. I’m supposing that this group works for another group whose characteristics I cannot define because you never see them. You just see the wreckage left in their passage.

I’m being truthful here. I’m not sure the truth has been any more helpful or gracious to me than America has and these two things have nothing in common with each other. I guess if you love the truth then you got to take your licks in respect of it. These things don’t need to be said I suppose. I’m not sure why I say them. Maybe it makes me feel good to say them. I’m proud not to be an American. I did leave it because I didn’t love it. I’d rather be a traitor to my country than a traitor to humanity.

Katrina sums up America as it is today. America is a department store with membership privileges that are determined by the quality of one’s membership package. America is the land of “me first, you later, maybe.” America is a land of blood spilling like waterfalls in many parts of the world that aren’t America. America is a nation of gangsters; little gangsters and big gangsters with a gangsta-rap soundtrack. America is a fast food franchise with sick lumpy animals waiting in line for some more hair of the dog that possessed them. America is a bankrupt dot.com that sold a non-existent product to a once human population; “oh beautiful for wasted skies for ample waves of pain, for purple mountain travesties above the looted plain.”

I don’t have a country any more and if I did it wouldn’t be America. Guantanamo is an outreach program and it’s going to outreach until it contains the entire continental stretch. I just want you to know that when I hear about something bad happening to America I get as misty eyed as a flag-waving redneck with a frosty Bud in one hand and the other hand on his dick. When I think of America rushing toward judgment and all the fat-faced fat-cats cheering her on and laughing about collateral damage I start to cheer a little myself. Of course I can see what’s happening so I’m cheering for something different than those who assume they are making it happen. But life isn’t something you happen to. Life is something that happens to you.

Original link at Smoking Mirrors


 


THE DAILY JOURNAL VANPOEM
 

As One Put Naked Into a Cigarette Boat

Continue chiding, since it's part of the new aesthetic,
and parcel to our coming home, as if
we'd disappeared into the burning bush
that calls to those who sit vacantly in parlors
awaiting a fate freighted with song and dance.
I stroll while staring and raging
with difficulty at the stubborn sky.

On my honor I step a little distance
from behind the curtain, only to disappear
the moment no birds sing, which occurs frequently.
Leaves dustier than furniture, the sound
of sleeping grating through the cosmos,
my footstool, my only talisman.
It's been real, arguing on your behalf.
Gray cobweb shadow, falling, floundering,
finding a place to not be shy and think
boldly about the oldness of beauty, a place
to rest its weary insubstantial head.

It may be that I stand on the threshold
of the checkout line, unsure of what
to be impulsive about, which momentous emptiness
to spontaneously identify my alienation with,
what kind of languor to slide into

before being reduced to grubbing for credentials,
locked in that tumid late-afternoon skin,
effervescing in its sea of dreams.
And all the things hearkening back to it,
the boat ride to breaker beach
there at the end of one world
where it paid to rage at the stammering waves
that kicked and screamed solely for my benefit,
staged objections to the inexorable fact of me.

Look: I've installed a turnstile in my kitchen,
so your picture-postcard of desolation has no power over me.
In this doggy-dog world land is made motionless
and the broads are standing on the wharves
with some of that sipping whisky on those silver trays,
which we'd be a bear to pass up. You speak
of the old gods who've washed up on shore,
but I don't see them, don't hear their hue and cry,
though their maze awaits us, will amaze us.
Here, let me get this little rock out of my damn shoe.
Then we can talk about paddling off to parts unknown.

 
Van Foreman
 
 

 


 

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