Mortaljive: The Rest is Silence

There is no still point in all the Universe, and that is the rock upon which I stand

Wednesday, August 31, 2005

WE ARE DANCING IN THE WATER IN NEW ORLEANS

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I saw all the looters running in the streets
I saw the busted Superdome
I saw where the levee just gave away
It's like the last days of Cajun Rome

I saw those poor people in Biloxi
I saw that man cry in pain
I saw the waters rising in America
It went to hell at the end of the rains

(chorus)
Oh, the mask is slipping at the Mardi Gras
Oh, the jig is up and gone
We are dancing in the water in New Orleans
And the water rises more at dawn
We are dancing in the water at dawn

The Big Easy, well it ain't so easy now
Ain't no Satchmo, ain't no Jellyroll
They drank all the Bourbon on Bourbon Street
And there's no other place to go

I saw all the people on the interstate
Seeking refuge from the sea
Salt water headin' up the Mississippi
Headin' north where a slave can be free

(chorus)
Oh, the mask is slipping at the Mardi Gras
Oh, the jig is up and gone
We are dancing in the water in New Orleans
And the water rises more at dawn
We are dancing in the water at dawn

Some guy on the television started talking
Wondered where was the National Guard
Seems he's been living in a cave for a couple years
Didn't know they were off in a war

The hurricane blew in and then blew out
The way hurricanes often do
And just like a party that went too far
It left behind a bill that's due

(chorus)
Oh, the mask is slipping at the Mardi Gras
Oh, the jig is up and gone
We are dancing in the water in New Orleans
And the water rises more at dawn
We are dancing in the water at dawn

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Image is from here.

123.21 Capture of New Orleans, c1863, by John S.C. Abbott, The History of the Civil War in America & Naval and Military Engagements, Vol. I, Springfield, Mass

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Tuesday, August 30, 2005

TIME TO DO SOMETHING NON-PARTISAN

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Louisiana, Mississippi & Alabama bore the brunt of Hurricane Katrina: who will bear the brunt of providing aid?

Kevin Drum lists a number of disaster relief organizations here.

Give money or time or talent. Just give.

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Image via the Washington Post from Getty images.


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SLOW DANCE AT SUMMER'S END

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George Bush: Murderer. Thief.

Karl Rove: Treason. Betrayal.

Donald Rumsfeld: Architect of Pain.

Dick Cheney: Other Priorities. Last Throes.

Scooter Libby: Dog Food.

Grover Norquist: Sesame Street For The Damned.

Paul Wolfowitz: Comb Licker.

Richard Perle: Rat Fucker.

Ann Coulter: Friends Don't Let Friends Touch Her.

Condoleeza Rice: The Angry Inch.

Phyllis Schlafly: Oh Gawd.

Rick Santorum: It Knows Best.

Bill O'Reilly: Because Gas Hurts.

Tucker Carlson: A Regrettable Accident.

Judith Miller: Mums The Turd.

Colin Powell: Dish Rag.

David Brooks: Who Cares, Little Man?

Tom DeLay: O, Craven Toad!

Rush Limbaugh: Chortle, Chortle, Snorfle and Spew!

Drudge: Dread.

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Image from here.

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Sunday, August 28, 2005

WHO WILL SIT WITH JESUS?

Jesus Christ in heaven
Sometimes he gets real low
But then he turns on his television
And he feels the magic glow

He watches all the people
Who support the killing ways
He shakes his head and wonders
Some debts are never paid

Jesus Christ in heaven
Has been told he shouldn't roam
He shouldn't get too upset
He should just stay close to home
And he cries at night, alone

(chorus)
Who will sit with Jesus
And make him understand
That killing must be defended
The Empire is at hand
Who will sit with Jesus
And look out upon the land
Who will taste the tears of Jesus
Who will take him in their hands?

When the older gods
Were buried in the sun
They slept in golden caskets
Made by the new god's son

Jesus Christ in the doorway
Standing there in silhouette
Jesus Christ, surrender
In the darkness, circumspect

Now Jesus Christ is bleeding
In every wound of hate
He must bleed and bleed forever
It is his godly fate
And he cries at night, alone

(chorus)
Who will sit with Jesus
And make him understand
That killing must be defended
The Empire is at hand
Who will sit with Jesus
And look out upon the land
Who will taste the tears of Jesus
Who will take him in their hands?

Be born again, dear Jesus
We need you here and now
Be born again, dear Jesus
You know the secrets how

Come to us in visions
Come to us and say
We are the chosen people
We know the one, true way

Jesus, why so silent?
Jesus, help us win
And when it's all over
Wash away our sin
And he cries at night, alone

(chorus)
Who will sit with Jesus
And make him understand
That killing must be defended
The Empire is at hand
Who will sit with Jesus
And hold his Jesus hands
Who will taste the tears of Jesus
Who will take him in their hands?

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These lyrics were originally posted at Jesus' General.

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Friday, August 26, 2005

GOIN' TO THE MAC DOCTOR

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(sung to the tune "Chapel of Love")

Oh, yes I'm
Takin' my iBook G4 to the doctor and it's
Gonna get worked on 'cuz it's
Acting kind of freaky and I
Can't afford a new one
So I'm takin' my iBook G4 to the doctor who's nearby...
I'm goin' to the Mac Doctor now...

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No posting for a little time. I recommend...

Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster

Jesus' General

Corrente

Crooks and Liars

Huffington Post

Whisky Bar

Juan Cole at Informed Comment

Sadly, No!

The Rude Pundit

Tons more out there! Enjoy!*

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*If I am taken away by the Flying Spaghetti Monster, to blog no more, remember that I love all of you, and don't forget to burp the baby!

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WHO DO YOU HAVE TO INVADE TO GET A DRINK AROUND HERE?

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George W. Bush remains an untreated alcoholic. The untreated alcoholic who has simply stopped drinking treats anxiety as an enemy. Bush’s current enemy, the primary cause of his anxiety, is Cindy Sheehan.

So says Justin Frank. This idea has been floated before, but whether blended or on the rocks, it leaves us thirsty for more information. Denied his fermented medication, how can a non-selfreflecting trog find a purchase on the rocky wall of life?

I like to think our President wakes up agitated, afraid, shaking--why should I be the only one? During diplomatic lunches, let his eyes linger on some Frenchperson's white Bordeaux, or let him scan the room looking for feral olives and fading paper umbrellas and the sound of stirring swizzle sticks. The real boilermaker here, the foam you can hitch your keg to, is that once a day our President is at peace, happy, drunk. Oh, wait, he doesn't drink anymore. Shit, better give him his tab and send him out: he could blow any second...

More of Justin Frank's article here at the Huffington Post.

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SOUVENIR

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There was a story some years ago 'bout some guy named Donald, picking up souveniers at Ground Zero and in Baghdad. He must have been a looter or something. Anyway, I wrote this song, which was originally posted at Corrente. It was inspired by a Warren Zevon song (Mr. Bad Example), a song prescient and precise in describing out present leaders.

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There upon the mantel
Lies the dust of the war dead
Mingling in a golden light
That shines inside my head

I wonder, just like Shakespeare
Where all japes and jests must flow?
I wonder for a second,
Then I pick them up and go

I am The Donald Rumsfeld
God of War and Loot
I reach into disorder
And stash it in my boot

Hey - life is messy, so messy and unkind
I like to think I clean it up
With each bone-chip that I find

All hail The Donald Rumsfelds
All hail The Gods of War
Invite them to your house, my friend
But frisk them at the door
Always frisk them at the door...

There upon the mantel
Lies the dust of the war dead
Mingling in a golden light
That shines inside my head

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Image from here.

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Thursday, August 25, 2005

RUDOLPH, DER BATSHIT NAZI

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Jesus' General, run by the Proud, Erect & Manly General JC Christian, has found some dynamic footage of boisterous, fermented Teutonic Republicans singing a grand and Master Race love song to liberty and smashing enemies in the name of drinking.

I was so moved by this melodic Rosetta Stone of GOP trans-Bavarian Fundamentalism I wrote a song combining the best of American Holiday Music with the daring exploits of Rudolph Hess, Master Parachutist and Ian Fleming foil.

RUDOLPH, DER BATSHIT NAZI

Du kenst Rommell und Goebbels und Panzer und Eichmann
Borman und Goering und Streicher und Heydrich
Jetzt kenst dich Zurückrufung Der berühmteste Nazi von allen?

Rudolph, der batshit Nazi, gehabt eine sehren seltsame idee, er hat gefallschirmen nach in Britain, vielleicht zur machen “a kind of deal”
Alles der Fuhrers Freunde hatten auf die Straße gesungen,
Würde armes Rudolph spiele in irgendeinen nazistischen Spielen nicht lassen

Dann einen nebligen Heiligabend ist Hitler gekommen, zu sagen:

"Rudolph mit ein Fallschirm, werden Sie
meinen gemutlich Dritt reich führen?"
Dann, wie das Reichstag ihn geliebt hat,
Als sie aus mit Schadenfreude geschreien haben,
"Rudolph der batshit nazi, werden Sie in der Geschichte hinabgehen".

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AMERICA, WHERE THE HEART OF THE FATHERLAND TAKES A LICKING BUT KEEPS ON TICKING!

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Image of Pagan-Teutonic Forest Reindeer Rankin/Bass Wannabees from here.

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YEA, I SPOKE UNTO THE PEOPLE ON A SUMMER'S DAY

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In August of 2002 I gave a guest "sermon" at a UU church my father and mother attended in Poway, California. It is the only time I have spoken in a church. Here are the words I read in that church:

DR. STRANGEGOD, OR: HOW TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE THE UNIVERSE

Thank you for having me here today!

Garrison Keillor, creator and chief occupant of Lake Wobegon, speaks of the unfailing politeness of Lutherans--how, when assembled inside the gates of heaven, they linger near the gates. When St. Peter beckons to them, saying, "Come on in, celebrate and bask in the beatitude of the Lord," they are too polite to accept: "Oh, we don't want to be a bother. Besides, we can't stay, got a casserole in the oven and all..."

The Unitarian version goes like this: After St. Peter invites the assembled Unitarians in "to enjoy and bask in the divinity of the Lord," they respond, "That is so sweet of you, but we just don't have the time! You see, this is our third heaven this morning, and after lunch we were hoping to squeeze in two more..."

So goes this saying:

Before studying Zen a mountain is a mountain, while studying Zen a mountain is no longer a mountain--after achieving Zen (if you could call it that), a mountain is once again a mountain.

I believe that the world religions, at least the three great monotheistic traditions that come from the fertile crescent of the Middle East--I believe that they have been stuck in "The mountain is not a mountain" for over 2,000 years.

What little I knew about the "Biblical Supreme Being" struck me as a raging dysfunctional father; violent, threatening, removed, arbitrary, needy, insecure and very, very dangerous. A strange god, a Dr. Strangegod, if you will. Religion comes from the root word "religio" which means "to link back." I was looking backward, but what I wanted was a "Link-with." Alan Watts said that when you look at a boat moving on the water, you see the wake left behind by the boat--it's not the wake that causes the boat to move--the wake is what's left behind. The Past didn't cause now, Now causes Now. There is only Now, there has always only been a "Now"--and that is our participating point, experienced temporally, in Eternity. Question: Was this Old God someone who was left behind, a God in the Wake, but did not know it, and still thought he moved the boat?

I don't think I can describe my life in my late teens and then in my twenties in any meaningful fashion except that before the prodigal son returns he must travel way the freak out there. But at the back of my back-less mind I thought about the meaning of existence, and 'What is God'? Life seemed too big to fit in catalogues and on television. Seemingly well intentioned God-Peddlers would come to my door and my blood pressure would rise up at the preposterousness of anyone dropping in to insinuate their religious fantasies upon me, or to show me "the one true way."...But I actually had precious little to say--what can you say to a true believer? Alan Watts said that you can't have a very good discussion with a devout Christian because they set themselves up as both advocate and judge. I found out during these years something important: that it's not that people know what they like, it's that they like what they know, and I try to remember that when engaged in discussions. Best thing I ever learned was it was okay to shut up and listen--this is a fairly recent development, as my wife Donna can attest to.

In the "back then" I was trying to find my way in the world, the way to myself, a way to living in this life--and a way of coming to terms with matters that were beyond all daily terminology--"Isn't it amazing to be alive?" When my son was maybe five or six he asked me about magic--I said to him, "Lift your arm," which he did. I said, "Amazing--how did you do that?" "I told it to," he responded--"that's not magic!" It's the most normal, everyday thing, and yet to me it is quite beyond remarkable. I didn't know it at the time, but I was ready for Joseph Campbell.

In 1988 I turned on PBS and saw Bill Moyers talking to this erudite man who spoke with such relaxed authority on timeless issues--he was someone who made me lean forward, and people like that are rare. He spoke of Comparative Mythology, of the various religious systems from all over the world, of the meanings of world myths--the Mono Myth...

"The truth is one, the sages call it by many names."

I bought and read his book "The Hero With A Thousand Faces" and I was off and running. My library grew with more and more books by the now deceased Campbell, who died before the series aired.

Joseph Campbell's amazing news was: you don't have to be a member of one sect or cult or fixed system of thought to connect in a meaningful fashion to the mystery and essence of your being. It was there for anyone who wanted it. Said Campbell:

"Having your image of God--the most intimate, hidden mystery of your life, defined for you in terms contrived by some council of bishops back, say, in the fifth century or so: what good is that?"

This was big stuff--I expected the whole of Mankind to respond with a great flowering!--Campbell was lighting candles everywhere with which to see! He emphasized over and over the Gnostic Gospel of St. Thomas, from the Coptic texts unearthed in the middle of the last century:

"When it will come it will not come by expectation. It will not be 'See it here, see it there'. I tell you, the Kingdom of Heaven is spread upon the face of the earth and men do not see it."

This is big news! "It" is not somewhere else, "It" is here! We are in the garden, we are of the garden, we are the garden! I walked out into the world to see the effect of this marvelous revealing--After the series aired I thought there should be parades, bells ringing in the town squares, the masses rejoicing!--But when I looked outside I was looking upon an unchanged world. I realized I had to scale my vision of mass Nirvana down a bit. Many, many people heard Joseph Campbell's words and bought his books, and connected with his ideas, but the metaphysical foundations of the dominant world religions did not alter, and heaven was not yet democratic. I was reminded that in the 1960's, when so many young men grew their hair long, wore beards, donned sandals and spoke of Love a lot of older people freaked out--they loved the idea of Jesus but didn't really want a bunch of Messiahs mucking about in their neighborhood.

Campbell made the word "Myth" come alive--he spoke of how it puts you in touch with a plane of reference that goes past your mind and into your very being, into your gut. In my journey, Campbell was the helper, the wizard or teacher who appears and gets you on the road to undertake that journey.

Campbell got me to think about what happens when symbols are read as literal facts--you end up with people killing each other for a few acres of sand. He did not use kid gloves when speaking of the bible as:

"...Like a dead weight. It's pulling us back because it belongs to an earlier period. We can't break loose and move on into a modern theology."

He spoke of the biblical Creation story, beginning with page one, with unconcealed disdain:

"The feminine aspect had been reduced to an element: water."

My library of books by Campbell, and the VHS tapes of his appearances on PBS and of his college lectures, I will treasure always--he got me started.

"God is an intelligible sphere whose circumference is nowhere and whose center is everywhere."

That's as close to what I feel in my bones as anything I've ever heard.

Many religious leaders insist on the importance of a Transcendent Cause of life. Campbell pointed out that in the West the image of Eden after the Fall was of two cherubim with flaming swords, spinning this way and that, standing guard at the gates, (making open houses a tricky business)--the way to the garden closed off to mankind. But in one Eastern tradition, Buddha sits cross legged in "the garden," with one hand held aloft--fear not, and one hand touching the ground--the ground of being, of your being. Outside the garden, defending the gates, stand horrible beasts snarling at you, but Buddha sits serenely and invites you to get past the demons (which you have responsibility for--your fears, your attachments)--he invites you to come on in anyway, come on into the garden. The garden is a state of mind--it is attainable by all--it is immanence itself. That theme ran through all of Campbell's teachings, and I think of that image often, the offer of participation, in the here and now, in the garden within. It beats Prozac.

Campbell led me to Carl Jung, whom he quoted often. I delved into Jung's arcane (to me) world--and found a generous helping of the sublime. I was now solidly with my second teacher, the Alchemist of the Self, the Poet of the Psyche. Of all his writings I became most interested in a long essay entitled "Answer to Job" written after he had suffered through a severe heart attack, and was therefore infused, at least according to one critic, with an intense and overarching passion. I realized for myself that I did not have an educated history with the Old Testament deity Yahweh, nor with his mellower and more removed self in the New Testament, and yet this Tribal Lord out of the Middle East had impacted just about my entire society. "One Nation Under God"--ahh!! Jung looked at the phenomenon of Yahweh as a psychological event--something was happening in the Collective Unconscious, something that happens over and over in the Temporal world, but only once in Eternity. Time does not permit me to go on at length today, but upon reading "Answer to Job" I understood why the Old Testament Deity needed a change--now remember, I am thinking of Yahweh, this Middle Eastern God, as a psychological phenomenon, not a literal, physical truth. Prior to the episode with Job, Yahweh's bipolar behavior towards mankind wreaked havoc and caused massive suffering in the world he created--he lacked any ability to participate in that suffering, to understand what suffering was, to empathize with humanity, routinely breaking his own commandments with alacrity. In "Without Conscience" criminologist Robert Hare identified the key emotional traits of psychopaths:

"The inability to feel remorse, a grossly inflated view of oneself, a pronounced indifference to the suffering of others and a pattern of deceitful behavior."

On Earth As It Is In Heaven Indeed!

From the East Buddha said,

"All life is sorrowful, therefore be compassionate in all things."

Yahweh, like a shark on Wall Street, did not tie his actions to any moral compass. According to Jung all that changed after the incident with Job--as a result of this warrior god's violent and bizarre series of actions where Job is visited with all the horrors that a good theme park can offer--with god against a good and honest man --well, after that episode, God decided to become Man, to have a new relationship with Creation, to become fully conscious in man: Our ancestors were ready for a revealed truth--

"Tat tvam asi: Thou art that--I and the Father are One."

Jung saw the Job episode as the precipitating event that led to Christian mythology--God would become mankind, and mankind would become god, a kind of correction, if you will. Religious leaders got nervous as to how this might affect receipts, so instead of a new dawn of enlightenment, mankind was left out and only one "God-Man" made the final cut: the Holy Ghost ended up as a bit player on the Scooby Doo show, Christ was kicked upstairs so as to not interfere with the weekly Church services, and the West missed a chance at Identification with the ultimate source of being. But read the essay. Though not raised as a Christian or Jew or Muslim, I needed a kind of therapy session with this deity--before I could say goodbye to Yahweh, I had to first say hello. I have since freed this deity from the half or ill-formed prison as I understood it--the submerging of the feminine aspect, the gross and simplistic personification of eternal energies, the chains of all categories of thought about that which is beyond all names and forms, the mistaking of metaphor for literal facts. I used to think that man was in an existential prison constructed by a God, but it turned out to be the other way around.

Belief is like a jailer
Who offers you a key
To free you from a prison
The jailer built for thee


How does one have a living, breathing religion that is not just a reaction to the inanities of pre-existing or prevailing religious cults, dogmas, etc. How do you have a path all your own? Be open, and Jung opened me up.

Finally, a quick look at the third member of my teaching trinity, the late Alan Watts, who spoke often at Unitarian Churches in the fifties, sixties on up until his death in 1973. I was introduced to the words of Alan Watts via Public Radio--as I drove home late at night KPFK in Los Angeles broadcast many of the recordings of the countless lectures given by Alan Watts, and I was hooked--he was bright, he was rascally, and he had a great English accent--I've always enjoyed those blasted English accents. And though Watts did not suffer the foolishness of the monotheistic religions lightly, it was he who helped me to escape a trap laid by so called "Science and Reason."

It goes like this: Watts pointed out that the Old Testament creation story consisted of what he referred to as a "Porcelain Model" of the Universe and of mankind--this personality creator god, this Strangegod, acting upon lifeless dust, like a potter at his wheel, making something that wasn't him--the first man.

You know that if Sophia, the powerful yet hidden feminine aspect as pointed out by Jung and others, had come forth as a bride (a second wife!) she would have inquired of her husband, Yahweh, what it was he was making...

"What have you got there, darling?"

"Nothing..."

"Oh, come on--let me see--ahh!--isn't that nice. You made a doll!"

"It's not a doll! This is...an action figure! I'm thinking of selling them..."


So God, who is not Nature and is not man, sits upon a throne--Watts liked to point out that if you lived in the United States it was a way of saying you believed Democracy was the best form of government, but if you were a Christian you were essentially a spiritual monarchist--we are contradictory beings, after all.

Now leap forward to the age of reason, and the fashioning of ever larger lenses for our eyes to look out into the cosmos--The lens got bigger until it was a telescope, and the farther into the sky we peered the more heaven receded--later on, when electron microscopes arrived, the ultimate building blocks of the material world became smaller and smaller until we discovered there was practically nothing there at all. Watts said that the Universe likes to run away and hide, because the game would end if we discovered everything.

If one could prove by logic
Everything there is to prove
The game would all be over,
Words would hang inside the Louvre
And all our clever banter,
Soaring concepts, fancy flights
Would fall like silent ashes
And no poets would delight.



--Watts spoke of "The game of Black and White": We in the West want up without down, yes without no, crests of waves without troughs, yin without yang--profit without loss (ah, bookkeeping), light without dark, life without death...If you take away down, there is no longer an up, if you take away dark you wouldn't know what light is.

Emptiness is frightening to many of us in the West--the chasm, the void, the Great Nothing--If you don't believe me, just look at a television executive--if his or her Tuesday night lineup suddenly vanished, leaving only a blank television screen, the executive would fast look like the Edvard Munch painting "The Scream." Movies with empty streets auger danger, not serenity. An empty parking space is okay, but an empty parking lot suggests desolation.

And yet the Tao, and Watts spoke often of Taoism, talks of emptiness as the most normal and essential of qualities:

Thirty spokes converge on a hub, yet it is in the space where there is nothing that lies the usefulness of the cart.

A room has four walls, a ceiling and a floor, yet it is in the space where there is nothing that lies the usefulness of the room.


Well, about the time rational men slipped the bonds of the literal creator god, the personality deity, Dr. Strangegod or Yahweh or what have you, many thinking people let go of that God but kept the Porcelain Model of the Universe--this according to Watts--the automatic model, the measurable yet spiritless world of gross matter. Science can do much, but it cannot tell you what a flower means. Rational men and women are indeed very bright, but did not know to look more closely at the sub-basement of all very basic assumptions, the foundations of such ridiculous ideas as "Man is separate from Nature" or "Man against Nature"--Man is Nature. Thought is an outgrowth of Nature! Even our domiciles--when we see a termite mound we think "Ah, natural" but when we see a split level ranch house we think "Not natural, man made." What is man? Most unnatural? The homes we build?--A more complex version of termite mounds complete with government inspectors. The Porcelain God still infuses much of our everyday thinking, man against nature, or man separate from nature, which is only to say nature separate from nature. When you begin to let go of these informing principles, the mountain starts to become a mountain again.

Read "The Book On the Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are" by Alan Watts.

There is much more to share, but not enough time in one afternoon to share it.

--It is time for me to summarize: Campbell, Jung and Watts are headliners in my spiritual revue, in my journey to "See it here and now." All three would agree, I think, that grown men who can steal with ravenous glee from company employees, purloin the pockets of small investors as though they were bears fishing for salmon--these captains of industry are not affected, in any meaningful way, by the religions that they often espouse as their rock, their guiding light, their moral model. Men and women who can profit from the exportation of death and cancer and yet attend church and bow their heads with all sincerity--what is it that their religion is saying?

Before I was able to move on spiritually, I had to visit the god I could not believe in, and set him free--free to be male and female, and free to be neither, to be immanent and transcendent, and to be neither. To free this overworked and mis-constructed and misconstrued Old World God from belief, from fear, from personality, from the blandishments of praise, from the cage, the prison of limitations, from rationalism and irrationalism, from form and non-form, from the coincidence of opposites, from heaven and hell, from being and non-being, from the temporal to the eternal, from Job to Jesus, from Mecca and from Jerusalem, from all categories of thought, all places, all times. God cannot be portioned, there is no wall in god--there is not a single particle of the Universe that is not what I feel to be, for lack of a better word, this substance that is no substance that is God. The reason I assert this is not because I know what I like, it's because I like what I know.

Earlier we heard "Into My Arms" written and sung by Nick Cave--the song is a reminder to me that no matter how high one climbs, how far one's mind and spirit travel, it is how we treat each other right here, how we cherish each other everywhere in the world - that is the proof in the pudding of a life well lived, of a sweet, cradling and realized heart--

"All life is sorrowful, therefore be compassionate in all things..."

The mountain is simply a mountain, but isn't that just grand?--Isn't it amazing?

Thank you for letting me go blah-blah-blah...Thank you!

**As spoken by MJS to the Chalice UU Congregation on 8/ 4/02.

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Wednesday, August 24, 2005

WE MUST FIGHT FOR THOSE WHO FOUGHT

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The President is now making the point that we should continue "the fight" because to not do so would dishonor "the dead."

Joe Conason gives the details.

RECAP:

We invaded Iraq because Saddam Hussein had weapons of mass destruction (related activities update), for to wait for a mushroom cloud would show us to be fools. We then remembered that we invaded Iraq to liberate Iraqis and bring them democracy and freedom, which currently looks like we have helped create an Islamic state in what had been run as a secular country, and millions of Iraqi women have lost their rights to be treated as equals--now we're pretty sure we're killing people in Iraq because our soldiers are dying over there--that's right: we're killing because we're dying. And as an extra-added bonus: we destroy troop morale if we talk about the war in anything other than glowing terms. Tell you what: send me a big, fat check and I'll forget the whole thing and move to New Zealand.

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Tuesday, August 23, 2005

GIFTS

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When I was a lad of four an old man told all of us neighborhood kids to come by his garage: he would be giving away free rubber balls (about the size of baseballs) to everyone who came over. I headed over to his place when I heard about it and there was an absolute mob of kids yelling and grabbing and reaching out for the now highly prized free balls. Bedlam, chaos, social darwinism, and before you knew it all the balls had been given out, and there I was crying on his driveway, for I had failed to get one. As a matter of fact, I am not a big fan of crowds to this very day, which is why I am sitting alone typing, but then you, the reader, may already have surmised that. But I digress.

I returned home that sad day, ball-less, and somehow word got back to the old man of where I lived and what had happened, because a week or so later, on my birthday, this elderly stranger shows up at our front door with a gift-wrapped present for me. I hung back from the front door, shy, afraid, nervous and hopeful. Encouraged to see what he had brought me, I went forward and unwrapped the coolest, most perfect leather kickball in the history of civilization. In my memory I cannot see that old man except as a benevolent shadow, a smile and a thought and a saint. I am four years old, and the Buddha laughed.

Many years later I was shopping with my wife while on vacation in Lake Tahoe. We were in the checkout line at a grocery store, and a little girl was asking her mom if she could have a package of stickers. A quick look told me these were not wealthy people, and the mom tried to hush her daughter softly as she returned the stickers to the display. There was a kind of dry pain to it all. My wife, having seen the entire affair, quietly asked the woman if it would be okay if she were to buy her daughter what can be described as a trifle, a small bit of nothing on-your-way-out silliness for kids. The woman gave permission, and when our purchases had finished being rung up, my wife turned to the little girl and said, "Here, this is for you." This little girl, kind of dull and chubby, made a face that grew and shone and lit up the world, and over nothing, over a trifle. Arthur Miller might have written "Attention must be paid this little girl" and he would have been right. What really catches me is that, when we step out of our own thought bubbles and make the slightest effort, the world gushes forth as if held back by mere strands of hair.

Every gift I give is a kind of echo of that kickball I got when I was four, and every child I see is that slightly goofy girl in line at a grocery store high in the mountains, her face a golden display of happiness and wonder. My wife and that old man live in my heart because they are the ones who remind me that I have one.

+++

THE BAD MAGICIAN CRAWLS INSIDE THE GLOWING BOX

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+++

The Bad Magician climbed inside The Glowing Box and could not see America. He changed his binary code and hopped a cable, then bounced off of a dish, then a satellite. The Bad Magician looked back at earth and found money going east. "I will make a television show about money flowing east," said The Bad Magician. Everybody laughed because he was on a sit-com!

The money was going to Iraq to fund a Reality Series called "Let's Go Kill People And Make Ghosts." The President gave awards to contestants who went and killed people and made them into ghosts. Everybody laughed, then stopped laughing, because it wasn't a sit-com. Everybody changed the channel and watched Seinfeld reruns, and everybody laughed! Everybody was happy again!

The Bad Magician gathered together all the wires in heaven and made a lasso. He whipped them around and around and around and flung them around Washington D.C., and took its essence to a rodeo, and made it climb on his back, and he bucked, and he bucked, and he threw the essence of Washington D.C. onto the dirt, and everybody laughed! It was a sit-com after all!

The Bad Magician cancelled America and replaced it with old movies. It was time for Root Beer Floats and Popcorn and Scary Stories and Funny Stories and Sad Stories.

The Bad Magician fell out of a 19 inch TV in a small diner in Joshua Tree, California. He walked home.

Nobody ever woke up. They all watched TV instead, even though it was past their bedtime. The ghosts are everywhere.

+++

This episode of The Bad Magician was originally posted at Corrente.

Image of "Daylight Television" originally from here.

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Monday, August 22, 2005

A TOAST TO NOBLE CAUSES

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+++

Words are funny, they run and hide
They carry poison, they get you high
Marvelous, but better yet
Words are something
We haven't yet destroyed...completely

Life is funny, full of pride and pain
Happy people, some of them insane
Beautiful, but oh so fleeting
Life is something
We haven't yet destroyed...completely

Raise a glass
To the silent ones
Raise a glass
And look around the room
Raise a glass
And make a toast
A toast to noble causes
A toast to noble causes
To the silent ones

God is love, and surely god is hate
Hire him, he'll jump right out your cake
Mysterious, in the cool of the garden
God is something
We haven't yet destroyed...completely

Ghosts are made, a thousand different ways
Carry them, carry them all of your days
Curious, in the void
Ghosts are something
We haven't yet destroyed...completely

Raise a glass
To the silent ones
Raise a glass
And look around the room
Raise a glass
And make a toast
A toast to noble causes
A toast to noble causes
To the silent ones

Words are funny, they run and hide
They carry poison, they get you high
Marvelous, but better yet
Words are something
We haven't yet destroyed...completely

Life is funny, full of pride and pain
Happy people, some of them insane
Beautiful, but oh so fleeting
Life is something
We haven't yet destroyed...completely

Raise a glass
To the silent ones
Raise a glass
And look around the room
Raise a glass
And make a toast
A toast to noble causes
A toast to noble causes
To the silent ones

+++

This song is dedicated to Cindy and Casey Sheehan.

+++

Image from here.

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Sunday, August 21, 2005

PANTHEISTIC GOSPEL HOEDOWN

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Thank you all for coming, thank you for your time
Refreshments in the back, it’s a very short line
Get yourself settled, I got a tale to tell
Let me weave you a story, let me cast a spell:

Long, long ago in the mists of time
A mystery unfolding full of reason and rhyme
Out of the ashes, sprung from the rocks
Came life from out of nothing, came time to the clocks
Time to the clocks and days to the week
It's a well known secret of which I speak:

We are of the planet
Our mom is the earth
We were not put down here
It was a natural birth
A natural birth
For the children of life
Floating in the heavens
Floating in the heavens
Floating in the heavens
Pretty neat trick!
Floating in the heavens
We are the day and the night

Some folks want to move you around
They know everything that cannot be found
The secrets of the universe for all to hear
Served with a portion of guilt and fear

I’m hear to say we're the moon and the sun
We are the laughter, we are the one
The gods all come and go with ease
We are the life and the wind in the trees

Long, long ago in the mists of time
A mystery unfolding full of reason and rhyme
Out of the ashes, sprung from the rocks
Came life from out of nothing, came time to the clocks
Time to the clocks and days to the week
It's a well known secret of which I speak:

We are of the planet
Our mom is the earth
We were not put down here
It was a natural birth
A natural birth
For the children of life
Floating in the heavens
Floating in the heavens
Floating in the heavens
Pretty neat trick!
Floating in the heavens
We are the day and the night

Thank you all for coming, thank you for your time
Refreshments in the back, it’s a very short line
Get yourself settled, I got a tale to tell
Let me weave you a story, let me cast a spell:

Long, long ago in the mists of time
A mystery unfolding full of reason and rhyme
Out of the ashes, sprung from the rocks
Came life from out of nothing, came time to the clocks
Time to the clocks and days to the week
It's a well known secret of which I speak:

We are of the planet
Our mom is the earth
We were not put down here
It was a natural birth
A natural birth
For the children of life
Floating in the heavens
Floating in the heavens
Floating in the heavens
Pretty neat trick!
Floating in the heavens
We are the day and the night

(softly)
I’m hear to say we're the moon and the sun
We are the laughter, we are the one
The gods all come and go with ease
We are the life and the wind in the trees

+++

Image from here.

+++

Saturday, August 20, 2005

HORROR OF SEPTEMBER 11TH SET TO ATTACK AGAIN

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CALENDAR SCAN IMAGE OF EVIL SEPTEMBER 11th PREPARING FOR YET ANOTHER ASSAULT

From 1010WINS:

As he has before when he has been challenged, Bush invoked the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks in his radio address.
"On that day, we learned that vast oceans and friendly neighbors no longer protect us from those who wish to harm our people," he said. "And since that day, we have taken the fight to the enemy."
The president has been able to rally Americans behind him before by reminding them of the horror of Sept. 11, most pivotally in last year's close election.


In case you're not paying attention: The real enemy here in America is September 11th*. We need to surround it with September 10th on the front and September 12th covering the rear, though even then we can't be sure if it will be fully contained.

As most decent, honest, freedom-loving Americans would agree, you are either with us or you're with September 11th. I have seen photos of September 11th participating in secret meetings with December 7th (sorry, no link) and was shaken down to the core of my Blackberry, which is surprising because I don't own a Blackberry.

We who love and respect calendars will not pressure our President and Chief Day Planner to give in to that evil day, nor do we dare ask that an exit strategy at 12:00 a.m. of September 12th be implemented--such a plan would only give hope to other evil days who would destroy what we hold dear. September 11th will not vanish just because the clock keeps ticking: it will only recede, regroup to return yet again and again, and for that reason we must continue to wage war on September 11th for centuries. We didn't ask for this endless cycle of conflict, but by golly we will fight it until the bitter end.

*The rumors that September 11th has attemtped to take over December 25th and July 4th have yet to be substantiated, but are probably true, so don't ever, ever relax. Channukah need not worry because its days change every year, an option not yet available for Xmas.

+++

Original story from Americablog.

+++

WAR AGAINST SHARDS OF BROKEN GLASS "NOBLE" DECLARES PRESIDENT DURING INTIMATE RECYCLED NEWS CONFERENCE

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The President of the United States, looking very, very relaxed on his toilet ("vacation time is toilet time") has reiterated his commitment to the Global War Against Shards of Broken Glass by refusing to give in to the big three "Shurds, Shardites and Shardunnis" who make up 96% of a larger, unknown number. "It's simple, really," said the President as he tore off an ivory ream of toilet paper and began to wipe his asshole rhythmically, almost hypnotically, to a song only he could hear. This was not nearly as discomforting as the little hand-clapping business he performed when he "flushed nacky bye-bye."

Turning his burr-laden ranch ass this way and that, the President pressed up against his bathroom sink and smashed his nose against the mirror, steaming up the looking glass and revealing the porcine cartilage of his "smell holes."

"Look, broken glass, shards, hot monkey sand, whatever you want to call it, it's broken glass in shard formula. It cannot be made not undone. If we stop now in our efforts to infringe on enemy glass shards, the threat of all that glass coming over here cannot be properly ignored. So, we must break glass to bring glass to glass loving glass owners everywhere."

When asked "What the fuck are you talking about?" by his wise-crackin' Man Servant, the President slapped his ass and spit out his nose, then hit his chin on his elbow and collapsed in a ball of twangy laughter on the bathroom floor.

Man, I wish I had a wise-crackin' Man Servant!

After composing himself by twitching every other one of his ligaments (first in one direction around his body and then back the other way) the President laid out his Broken Glass Exit Strategy for the members of the Press who were now preening and cooing in front of the mirror in his fancy shithouse. "When there are no more shardites, when the shards are made again to their rightful post-made state, we will then talk about bringing home the boys--and girlies--from their noble cause action violent shooting killing dying maiming destroying torturing candy thing. And not one bottle less!"

The President's Man Servant signaled to the Press Corps that the good dope was by the pool (finally!), and that was that: we poured out of the crapper like pus from Rush Limbaugh's ass. Looking back, we could see Mr. President wave to us soldier-like, declaring "Mission Almost Accomplished" and then dropping his drawers a second time. Seems he had a little more business to do before the "All Clear" could be sounded. His Man Servant shook his head in that slightly disgusted way professional Man Servants do.

Outside, in the Texas heat, we looked at a row of bottles on a low wall by the cement swimming hole. "Shard Wannabees" we call them, and they mock us with their faux dignity, their haughty ways, their defeatism, their liberal wholeness. They're practically asking to be shot at every day of their miserable lives. Me, I'm just going to kick back at the Millionaire's Club, lift up a glass of Texas Shardonnay, and point my pecker at the setting sun. Hell man, wouldn't you?

+++

Image of broken glass from here.

+++

Friday, August 19, 2005

THE BAD MAGICIAN DANCES ON THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS

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The Bad Magician becomes a child, and makes an army of fingers. On the floor of the desert hands become tanks and troops are deployed. Choosing to become a giant, the Bad Magician fashions a dark covenant; clouds roll by and whisper. The fingers report: "We have danced on the road to Damascus, and made like ants into the sand. We are waiting for the men in suits."

The Bad Magician mixes colors for a special piece of art: the insides of the eyes of the Middle Eastern God are painted to suggest the land of Abu Grahib, and the scarecrow shadows envelop the field of vision, and black birds build nests of bones along the eyebrows. Yahweh lies decrepit, covered in a pale coat of lifeless dust; he tries to rise but breaks in a thousand pieces, like the fracturing skin of a weathered lie.

The Generals turn to see the darkening of the sun and suspect that a cadre of local merchants possess a secret. God is dead in Iraq. Long live God. The Generals lay their men out on white cloth, and put chokeholds on their hearts.

The Bad Magician, in top hat, tails and with an elegant cane, emerges with the ants, the army of the hands of children; the Bad Magician crooks his arms and jitterbugs in the desert, the wind a whirling partner on the road to Damascus.

More soldiers die. More civilians bleed. A child holds his hand up towards the heavy sun, wondering if his fingers will march like the dead. The Generals, sworn to perform their duty, see only shadows in the night. They fear the dance.

+++

Image of Bima, son of the wind god Vayu is from here.


The above text was originally posted at Corrente.

+++

Thursday, August 18, 2005

TRUTH OUT

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Quick Time Video: God loves Texas.


"Victory means exit strategy, and it's important for the President to explain to us what the exit strategy is."
--Governor George W. Bush (R-TX)


+++

PROTEST? ENOUGH-FEST!

Some images from my cell phone taken August 17th, 2005 at the corners of Griffith Park Blvd. and Hyperion in Silverlake, California.

The vigil was set to begin at 7:30 but people began arriving at 7:00.

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Some spoke directly to Cindy...

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Some spoke to the end of war...

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This Grandmother showed me an article written about her in the Glendale News Press...

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The best question of the night: What is the Noble Cause?

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The Goddess as Mother reigns Supreme...

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Hey, we're patriotic!

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Another reminder of Bush's Exit Strategy...

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Tuesday, August 16, 2005

THE PRESIDENT'S EXIT STRATEGY

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Via Lambert at Mighty Corrente.

+++

IN THE TRADITION OF THE WESTERN ETHOS

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DEAD HORSE
(sung to the tune "Old Paint")

I ride a dead horse, I’m bleedin’ in the sand
I’m goin’off to Crawford, and Cindy Sheehan
She stands in the wilds, the wind beneath her hair
Her face is all sunburn, and wrinkled with care

(chorus)
Stand your ground, Mistress Cindy, stand your ground to let us know
For they’re hidin’ and runnin’ from the son you let go

Old George Bush had two daughters and a wife
One went bar hoppin’, the other suffered strife
His gal, she cried in that moment, she was weak
For to now she is crying alone by the creek

(chorus)
Stand your ground, Mistress Cindy, stand your ground to let us know
For they’re hidin’ and runnin’ from the son you let go

When I sing, all the soldiers come to life
Riding dead horses in the deepest part of night
Send my heart off to Cindy, send my soul to her dear son
And we’ll ride to Texas, to see the shadows run

(chorus)
Stand your ground, Mistress Cindy, stand your ground to let us know
For they’re hidin’ and runnin’ from the son you let go

+++

Lyrics originally posted in the comments section of Corrente in response to a posting about "dead horses" "trolls" and the sagacious "tinfoil hat boy."

+++

Monday, August 15, 2005

LEFTOVER JESUS

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I couldn't help but notice
When you tried to demonize
Those who disagree with you
As having Satan's eyes

Like I said, I noticed
You left some Jesus on your plate
I got set to wondering
Was this a trick of fate?

See, I could use some Jesus
The one that helps the poor
The one that says "do not judge"
The one you showed the door

The one who offered comfort
To those in such great need
Since you don't seem to use Him much
I was hoping to set Him free

(chorus)
We're serving
Leftover Jesus, the part that they don't use
Leftover Jesus, the one who has the blues
Leftover Jesus, we took him off the cross
Leftover Jesus, don't forget to floss

Angry, violent Jesus
Can go most anywhere
He can go to Mexico
And wrassle with a bear

He can go to Mecca
And shake an angry fist
He can go to Temple
And then get really pissed

(chorus)
We're serving
Leftover Jesus, the part that they don't use
Leftover Jesus, the one who has the blues
Leftover Jesus, we took him off the cross
Leftover Jesus, don't forget to floss

His followers lost his trail
Way back in way back when
He bodily arose
Into space he went flyin'

But never, every worry
His Words were written down
Some are better than others
And some you just flush down

(chorus)
We're serving
Leftover Jesus, the part that they don't use
Leftover Jesus, the one who has the blues
Leftover Jesus, we took him off the cross
Leftover Jesus, don't forget to floss

I couldn't help but notice
When you tried to demonize
Those who disagree with you
As having Satan's eyes

Like I said, I noticed
You left some Jesus on your plate
I got set to wondering
Was this a trick of fate?

See, I could use some Jesus
The kind that helps the poor
The one that says "do not judge"
The one you showed the door

The one who offered comfort
To those in such great need
Since you don't seem to use him much
I was hoping to set him free

(chorus)
We're serving
Leftover Jesus, the part that they don't use
Leftover Jesus, the one who has the blues
Leftover Jesus, we took him off the cross
Leftover Jesus, don't forget to floss

+++

Friday, August 12, 2005

THE BAD MAGICIAN VISITS A TREE TWO MILES FROM A PARTICULAR RANCH IN CRAWFORD, TEXAS

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The Bad Magician made a rope of bones and hair and walked like a spider crab to Texas, where the sun is a powerful ember, burning the eyes. The Bad Magician had to die in a dream of Texas.

The Bad Magician began to collect the debts on the ranch: a thought here, an empty smile, a blade of withered grass, like wheat, like a blonde child. The President hid in a tree and licked his fingers. He was the boy.

Two miles from the President a goddess carries the heart of her dead son inside herself, in her womb. She is constructed daily. The wind picks her up and carries her away, but she does not move. She stands among the ancient stories but cannot be mythologized.

The President sees a tree where the goddess weeps. It won't stop growing, it comes into his life and grows backwards out of his skull. Branches and crows make idle chatter. Bark replaces his tongue. A man from Canada carries away his hands. The goddess does not smile but holds her arms out, she does not ask why but how and for what?

The Bad Magician cannot stand outside the story, and cannot get in the story. The light is bending as the moon waxes in the sky. The President turns and sees his face taken up by lizards and fashioned into parachutes. He has nothing left: his head a crown of thorns growing skyward, he towers achingly, for he cannot exist.

Two miles to go, and the tree replaces his mind with a set of graceful gestures, over and over, in the wind. The goddess releases her dead son into the tree where he lays down and sings about the shadows. The Bad Magician climbs next to the dead soldier and carves his name lamely in the wood.

The President wakes up. His arms are on fire.

+++

*(image of World Tree from here.)

*(The Bad Magician previously existed only as an unannounced guest at Corrente for as to relay his various and sundry Orphic and seemingly abject adventures. I decided to let him out of that box today, hence this posting, originally submitted in the comments section of Corrente)

+++

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

THE RAIN BURNS LIKE INCENSE

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Well, they've proven that people who feel don't matter
they did tests
and nothing mattered
they just kept killing

and they've proven that you can send people to kill
and be killed
and there isn't a goddamn thing you can do about it

and they've proven
that the face of reason is ashen, perturbed, aghast

good work
really good work

Now we track the dead
in a kind of reverse new year's countdown
3, 2, 1...1, 2, 3...
too bad we can't count the living
they hide behind a fucking rhythm
and children and laundry and smoke

poetry at a funeral sucks
but funerals are poetry

the way the earth conjures itself with our atoms
the way that humans remember to decay
the way that all opinion is
beside the point to the dead
these make for colors

My president, the leader of my country
sends people to their death
for 10W40
and no one bats an eyelash
or furrows a managed brow
and we are become nags to repeat it:

we are killers
we are killed
we have killed
we are killed
we have killing
we are killed

and no one can stop it
because our president is a hanging judge
that's right
he is a hanging judge
and rope that burns is fine rope indeed
and bodies that rot need to be buried

Is any fool going to read this lament?

We are not going to stop killing Arabs
We are not going to stop killing people
We are not going to stop burning the sky
We are not going to stop
Until Jesus shows up
And the rain turns to brimstone
And the light goes dark
And every true believer gets a kewpie doll
And the rain burns like incense

Buddha, Allah, Shiva, Jesus
are terrific public speakers
(so I'm told)
but I ain't deaf
and I ain't blind
and I can still fuck
and I can taste America
and nobody can steer this thing
because assholes with lots of money are driving

and your kid has someone walking over his grave
and that someone loves your child not

+++

WE'RE WINNING THE WAR ON HUMANS!

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Each square (see above) represents a civilian or soldier/marine who has been killed or wounded in the war in Iraq.

See how pretty the tiles are? Patterns that turn and change, soft verdant greens, a hint of royal purple, the massage of calming blues...and those lovely greens: the hue of life. So pretty.

If you are having trouble reconciling the actions of the Bush Administration vis a vis common decency and reason, just remember: pretty mosaic tiles.

And if blood begins to bubble up and drip all over the image, just wipe it down. Seriously, a few quick swabs with a paper towel or a rag and the blood will vanish, almost as if the horror never even happened. Isn't that better?

Beautiful, cool, romantic tiles.

We're winning the War on Humans one tile at a time!

+++

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

WE ARE THE GREATEST WAR PEOPLE!

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Let's march to war and to victory
Let's gain the upper-upperhand
Let's show the world what we're made of
Let's hear it throughout this golden land

God bless our really awesome War Machine
God bless the cannon and the gun
God bless the advances in technology
We can kill and never have to run

(chorus)
We are the Warrior People of America
We have a war whenever we like
We like to blow up things into smithereens
We make orphans and widows with each strike
(shout)
Never run!
Never cry!
Never waver!
Never die!
We are the greatest War People!
Only losers ask that stupid question "Why?"
Only losers ask that stupid question "Why?"

Enlistment is down in America
Pay no attention, it doesn't mean a thing
I'm sure some patriotic Americans
Will sign up to help hear Freedom ring!

So wave that precious flag, dear America
Protectors of our democracy
Salute our leader and the one true Lord
'Cuz we're at war for all eternity

(chorus)
We are the Warrior People of America
We have a war whenever we like
We like to blow up things into smithereens
We make orphans and widows with each strike
(shout)
Never run!
Never cry!
Never waver!
Never die!
We are the greatest War People!
Only losers ask that stupid question "Why?"
Only losers ask that stupid question "Why?"

Let's march to war and to victory
Let's gain the upper-upperhand
Let's show the world what we're made of
Let's hear it throughout this golden land

God bless our really awesome War Machine
God bless the cannon and the gun
God bless the advances in technology
We can kill and never have to run

(chorus)
We are the Warrior People of America
We have a war whenever we like
We like to blow up things into smithereens
We make orphans and widows with each strike
(shout)
Never run!
Never cry!
Never waver!
Never die!
We are the greatest War People!
Only losers ask that stupid question "Why?"
Only losers ask that stupid question "Why?"

+++

Monday, August 08, 2005

PATRIOTIC POSTER

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ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.

Poster from MOVEON.ORG Click here for PDF/Acrobat files.

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Sunday, August 07, 2005

THE SHAPE OF THE LAUGHTER OF GIRLS

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I just said yes to the universe
I just said yes to my girl
I just said yes to that vendor
Selling mangos and onions and pearls

I float in an ocean of experience
I drown in the substance of me
I wait for the children to reappear
Who sailed far off in the sea

Where is everybody going?
Where is the main event?
Who gets to fashion material
That fashions our everyday world?
I would like to conjure a flying machine
In the shape of the laughter of girls

Deep in the shadows of sunset
A man whispers to the crowd
"Somebody stole my majesty
Some things should not be allowed"

Researchers codify dragon's teeth
Lumber is stacked to the sky
Cities are built in the shape of the birds
Spread all of your wings and then fly

Where is everybody going?
Where is the main event?
Who gets to fashion material
That fashions our everyday world?
I would like to conjure a flying machine
In the shape of the laughter of girls

Put your hand in the dollhouse
Rearrange all the stuff kept inside
Introduce mayhem and wonder
Don't let all the bad people hide

What is the danger of gallantry?
Where are the threads in the seam?
Elusive and perfect and endless
I will dance all my days in the dream

Where is everybody going?
Where is the main event?
Who gets to fashion material
That fashions our everyday world?
I would like to conjure a flying machine
In the shape of the laughter of girls

I just said yes to the universe
I just said yes to my girl
I just said yes to that vendor
Selling mangos and onions and pearls

I float in an ocean of experience
I drown in the substance of me
I wait for the children to reappear
Who sailed far off in the sea

Where is everybody going?
Where is the main event?
Who gets to fashion material
That fashions our everyday world?
I would like to conjure a flying machine
In the shape of the laughter of girls

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Friday, August 05, 2005

TOGETHER AGAIN

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ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.
BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.

By the way, I am a cussing son-of-a-bitch myself!

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Thursday, August 04, 2005

GOD KILLED BY FRIENDLY FIRE

Image hosted by Photobucket.com
Image of God in Happier Times

(JIVE NEWS) In what the State Department is describing as a "regrettable accident" God has been killed in a hail of bullets fired by His own fellow combatants. "We had come up on a volatile warehouse district, suspected of housing enemy insurgents," said Staff Sgt. Michael Wainright, of Bethany Beach, Delaware. "A wall of tracer fire flew up--God was walking back toward us when, in the smoke and flames, He was mistaken for a hostile opponent." This has brought the number of dead or wounded deities to five. Previously Mithras, Adonis, Tammuz and Bird Man had all been struck, either through roadside bombs, suicide missions, or the so-called "Socratic Method" wherein through questions and answers an unprovable construct dissolves in its own illogic.

Authorities were unsure on what to do with the body of the Lord. Sean Murphy, a military analyst and senior fellow at the Brookings Institute, a Washington think tank, started to answer questions on this topic, looked up, got this really bizarre look in his eyes, then ran away from reporters as if the devil himself was in pursuit. An army chaplain who did not reveal his name was overheard speaking to himself, "Holy fucking shit" over and over and over.

If, upon returning to the United States, no one claims the Lord's body, it will be donated to John Hopkins University for medical experiments.

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Wednesday, August 03, 2005

JUST TRYING TO GET IT RIGHT

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Gather round, you little ones
I have a tale to tell
About the origin of life
And why it’s really swell
We know for sure who made this place
The Universe so grand
‘Twas made by God in heaven
All part of Master’s plan

The proof is in the Bible
The Bible is of God
God is of Himself
He trod a path not trod
He made the universe
In six amazing days
But then He got to tinkering
Now he’s in His insect phase

(chorus)
Intelligent Design
Designs Intelligent
He spends most of His time
Down in His own basement
Fascinated with beetles
You'll find Him there most nights
Three hundred and fifty thousand species
Just trying to get it right

The Lord thy God was lonely
In the void and mist
Nothing much to do or say
No neighbors to visit
And so He got to thinking
“Hey, I’ll make a place
Where little versions of Myself
Can start the Human Race”

And so the Lord made Adam
And so the Lord made Eve
And for reasons quite unclear
He made Gary & his friend Steve
And when He had finished
They really pissed Him off
And so He played with beetles
And told man to go fuck off

(chorus)
Intelligent Design
Designs Intelligent
He spends most of His time
Down in His own basement
Fascinated with beetles
You'll find Him there most nights
Three hundred and fifty thousand species
Just trying to get it right

Gather round, you little ones
I have a tale to tell
About the origin of life
And why it’s really swell
We know for sure who made this place
The Universe so grand
‘Twas made by God in heaven
All part of Master’s plan

The proof is in the bible
The bible is of God
God is of Himself
He trod a path not trod
He made the universe
In six amazing days
But then He got to tinkering
Now he’s in His insect phase

(chorus)
Intelligent Design
Designs Intelligent
He spends most of His time
Down in His own basement
Fascinated with beetles
You'll find Him there most nights
Three hundred and fifty thousand species
Just trying to get it right

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Image from here.

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Tuesday, August 02, 2005

YOU’RE BEING USED, KID

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Listen up America, and listen up good
It’s time you came to understand, it’s time you understood
You’ve been played and you’ve been had, you’ve been led right down
The garden path that leads to lives being buried in the ground

The President stands in front of flags and speaks of patriots
Conjuring up images of this land, America
But what he will not tell you, and what you cannot see
The lying and the treason, the waste of liberty

(chorus)
Die for a traitor
Die for a god
Die for America
Die for Allah
Die for Jesus Christ
Die for the choir
You’re being used, kid
Die for a liar

Who can really hurt you? Who can make you bleed?
Those who hold you closest, they know just what you need
The stars that shine up in the sky, the sun, the moon, this life
Gone forever from your eyes while killers turn the knife

When you are in combat, when you are in hell
Think about the soldiers who cover you so well
Think about the backup, and all of those you know
Then think about the traitors who are running this here show

(chorus)
Die for a traitor
Die for a god
Die for America
Die for Allah
Die for Jesus Christ
Die for the choir
You’re being used, kid
Die for a liar

Listen up America, and listen up but good
It’s time you came to understand, it’s time you understood
You’ve been played and you’ve been had, you’ve been led right down
The garden path that leads to lives being buried in the ground

The President stands in front of flags and speaks of patriots
Conjuring up images of this land, America
But what he will not tell you, and what you cannot see
The lying and the treason, the rape of liberty

(chorus)
Die for a traitor
Die for a god
Die for America
Die for Allah
Die for Jesus Christ
Die for the choir
You’re being used, kid
Die for a liar


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Any questions?

ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL.

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Monday, August 01, 2005

THE POLITICS OF HEAVEN

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God ran un-opposed back in November
He won by a trillion stars
There was no paper trail to follow
His opponent was crushed to death on Mars

God has appointed a champion
To the Universe United
He will represent the interests of heaven
All the others can go and bite it

(angelic chorus)
Glory, glory hallelujah
Glory, glory puddin' pie
Climb the ladder up to heaven
Asteroids are standing by
Just waiting to give you a ride
Into the sky

Heaven isn't democratic
You can't vote for what you want
It's assumed you'll get in line there
Or set adrift the universe to haunt

There are no graveyards in Heaven
There are no caskets in Hell
There's just one big long party
And one goddamn awful smell

(angelic chorus)
Glory, glory hallelujah
Glory, glory puddin' pie
Climb the ladder up to heaven
Asteroids are standing by
Just waiting to give you a ride
Into the sky

God ran un-opposed back in November
He won by a trillion stars
There was no paper trail to follow
His opponent was crushed to death on Mars

God has appointed a champion
To the Universe United
He will represent the interests of heaven
All the others can go and bite it

(angelic chorus)
Glory, glory hallelujah
Glory, glory puddin' pie
Climb the ladder up to heaven
Asteroids are standing by
Just waiting to give you a ride
Into the sky

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ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL
ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL. ROVE. TREASON. BETRAYAL

Tomorrow, consider posting these simple, easy to use words
wherever you go on the Many Internets. You'll be glad you did!

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