Mortaljive: The Rest is Silence

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

Friday, June 27, 2008

Six Degrees of Southern Secessionary Pride

I need a little help with a problem I've been having. I have tried to convince some doubting Obamases that when we Southerners display the Confederate flag it is done not out of racism but out of pride for all that the South means to us. Being that I'm from Southern California many in the "other south" question my creds, but that is neither here nor there.

Now, when someone claims that the Confederate flag is merely a sign of pride about the South and not a symbol of racism what I want to know is this: what is there about the Confederate South that is a point of pride that is not connected, directly or indirectly, to slavery? The Old South's genteel ways were made possible by slave labor. The antebellum mansions, the plantations, agriculture, art, literature: do any of those aspects exist without slavery or the (subsequently) codified racism that came riding hard after the Civil War? Is there anything in the South to be proud of that doesn't have a whip cracking somewhere in the background, a human in bondage bent over in the field, a dark look of misery at its core?

There is no such thing as the Confederacy without slavery in the story, and I contend there is no celebrating the Confederate flag today without racism in the fibers of that flag as well, unless slavery somehow makes racism vanish. Someone from the South will tell me why I am wrong, but that's okay. I'm always wrong about something.

This July 4th I would like very much to unfurl a flag bearing the image of the United States Constitution, which to me is the idealized symbol of this country that I love and often despair for. It was so big that we have had to make ourselves bigger to fit in it: it is so small that we tear it easily if we are not cautious. Right now there are people who would divorce "We, the People" from that document, who would close the doors of personal liberty in a heartbeat if such a denial served their political purposes. We are, in effect, still fighting the Civil War, and we are still fighting the battles that nearly eight hundred years ago compelled a King to sign the Magna Carta across the sea. It's called Tyranny (with a Capital "T") and it is why We, the People remain a danger to those who benefit from controlling the board, the fields, the waters and the skies.

The Confederate Flag is only one part of an ancient tradition of finding some meaning or pride in an object, a pride colored by ad hominem emotions that get stirred up in our forgotten depths, those places beyond the daylight world of reason and justice. I only ask that we, at long last, get around to "knowing that which we do." Once that is accomplished, we might then seek to do no harm. Imagine that.

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Crossposted at Jesus' General.

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Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Chauncy in Portland



if you doubt
that life has meaning
howl tonight
into your ceiling


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Monday, June 23, 2008

That Night

I saw the lights go on outside
After the sun just up and died
I saw everybody crying
That night

The streets were filled with wanderers
Moving in waves, decorated dancers
We held a flame aloft
That night

(chorus)
Heaven is a ghost town
Not even ghosts around
Just some guy with a badge
And a rodeo clown
Goodbye heaven
Come on down

I saw angels descending
I saw people’s arms extending
Please, please take me up
That night

The angels fell into the ocean
We all followed with the motion
The tide just ebbed and flowed
That night

(repeat chorus)

We saw the angels sailing
We all stood against the railing
And waved goodbye
That night

We turned into the darkness
Searched for lovers we could kiss
We put off bliss no longer
That night

(repeat chorus)

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lyrics by mjs

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Moondoggies Gone Wild

Stay the fuck out of Malibu, Lebowski!

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Friday, June 20, 2008

Progressives: A Song for Obama vis a vis FISA



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Thousands of Graves to Take This to



Via TPM

We're fighting them over there so we can out our agents over here...

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Wait, I Remember the Punchline

From CNN:
LAKEVILLE, Minnesota (AP) -- A Lakeville man says he feels violated after two police officers woke him up at 3 a.m. to tell him his door was unlocked.

Their surprise visit was part of a public service campaign to remind residents to secure their homes to prevent thefts. Usually, officers just leave notices on doors.

But they went further in Troy Molde's case on Thursday. Police entered the house where four children under 7 were having a sleepover, and then went upstairs to Molde's bedroom.

The officers told Molde his garage door was open, the TV was on, the keys to his truck were left in the ignition and the door to his house was ajar.

A police spokesman says the intrusion was justified because the officers' initial door knocks went unanswered, and they wanted to make sure nothing was wrong.

He says the kids inside -- Molde's two sons and two nephews -- were afraid to wake their dad, so the officers went upstairs.


I think the punchline used to be: "...you can tell when (so-and-so) broke into your house because the dog was pregnant." That's all I remember.

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Speaking of jokes, this one reminds me of the Bush Administration:

While driving along the back roads of a small town, two truckers came to an overpass with a sign that read: CLEARANCE 11'3."
They got out and measured their rig, which was 12'4" .
"What do you think?" one asked the other.
The driver looked around carefully, then shifted into first. "Not a cop in sight. Let's take a chance!"

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Thursday, June 19, 2008

Zen Moment Thereof



in the dream
the trees walked away
all that was left
soon followed


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Giant Galactic Vaginas Attack Christian Anuses

I just like that headline.

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Tuesday, June 17, 2008

A Fraction of an Instant



the world is blurry
when we move
it is silent
when we howl


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Monday, June 16, 2008

We're All Voting Republican!



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Sunday, June 15, 2008

The Marriage of Heaven & Hell

"Here at Apostolic, you are blessed to worship in a house that has been founded on the rock of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior."

Barack Obama
June 15, 2008

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Barack was the featured speaker at Apostolic Church of God on Chicago's South Side on Father's Day.

When you're a preacher you can say any crazy thing you like. But Obama is a politician, so he can say any crazy thing he likes and if you don't want McCain in November you have to eat it like all the rest of the shit you've had to eat.

Fuck this.

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Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Mortaljive's Impression of the Catholic Church



This video is also an homage to Art Metrano, who invented/created the "magical fingers" act.

From wikipedia:

"In the early 1970s, he frequently appeared on The Tonight Show as a "magician" performing absurd tricks (such as making his fingers "jump" from one hand to another) while constantly humming an inane theme song (named "Fine and Dandy", an early 1930s composition by Kay Swift)."

So, mortaljive imitates Art!

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Friday, June 06, 2008

Thank You, Masked Man



Lenny Bruce? Now there was a funny man. The so-called authorities told him he couldn't cuss on stage and he told them to go fuck themselves. Oy!

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We Are Alive

i walked a lonesome road, lonesome for a time
until i saw that what i sought was already mine
i was hoping to get some answers to all this mystery
i turned around a corner and came face to face with me

what is it i'm seeking, what is there to find
grasping for a reason, looking for a sign
i reached for something vanishing, quite beyond my grasp
if i could but hold it maybe then it just might last

we are the universe
we are the song
we are the witnesses
so many had it wrong
we are delivered
we have arrived
we are the mystery
we are alive

i wandered in the desert, the wind caressed my skin
the sky was like an open door into all that did begin
i made it to the mountains, and then down to the sea
i wandered in this paradise and in eternity

i saw there was another, a face of grace and bliss
i forgot just who i was and fell into a kiss
we danced beneath the full moon, made love into the night
i and me just disappeared and we took off in flight
we took off in flight

we are the universe
we are the song
we are the witnesses
so many had it wrong
we are delivered
we have arrived
we are the mystery
we are alive

i walked a lonesome road, lonesome for a time
until i saw that what i sought was already mine
i was hoping to get some answers to all this mystery
i turned around a corner and came face to face with me

what is it i'm seeking, what is there to find
grasping for a reason, looking for a sign
i reached for something vanishing, quite beyond my grasp
if i could but hold it maybe then it just might last

we are the universe
we are the song
we are the witnesses
so many had it wrong
we are delivered
we have arrived
we are the mystery
we are alive

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Thursday, June 05, 2008

What Obama Said to Lieberman



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I Loves Me Some French



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The Bad Magician and the Net of Gems



The Bad Magician is two months shy of his tenth birthday. He is in a kitchen of the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. Bobby Kennedy lies on the floor, bleeding, dying; the kitchen lights are dark stars and the floor is the bottom of the night. One almost got through, almost touched The Everything, but the Universe was having none of it.

The Bad Magician sits for forty years in that kitchen. Everything that followed led ineluctably to the shattering of forms.

Daylight. The shamans are silent, the crows drunk. You can hear the cars, the trucks, sirens, but cannot see them. Motorcycles take to the air. Helicopters bend down to pick up quarters. The Bad Magician turns to leave the kitchen but finds only walls. A man with a camera becomes sick and grows bacteria on his hands. Get me out of the kitchen. Bobby Kennedy twitches, stands up, combs his hair across his forehead: I'd love to hang out with all of you but its on to... He can't remember where he's on to. He looks down at his corpse-like body and bows his head. This is the black hole of America, where gravity runs the primary; hard boiled eggs explode on the line. I am, he is, you are...the walls rumble, shake, vanish.

Bobby Kennedy emerges from a tidal pool. The Bad Magician peers at the creatures moving and swaying among the rocks, revealed by the receding water. The backwards crabs take time away and leave bottles of fiction in the sand. Bobby Kennedy walks into the ocean, over and over and over.

One almost got through. One almost got through. One almost got through.

The Bad Magician points to a captain's map of all the lights in the world and blinks. We were here and now we are here. The warships see Bobby on the shore and aim their canons, the titan drums thunder in the hollow, and the shells come flying. "And now it's on to Andromeda!" says Bobby, remembering. The Net of Gems washes up on shore. A busboy finds a starfish stuck in the weave and gives it to Bobby. A salad sits on the counter, uneaten. The tangerines are Vietnam, the shallots Africa; Ronald Reagan retches onto the plate.

Bobby Kennedy opens a door in the shallows as mortar fire vanishes the self. He pours in and is always returning to his pool of blood at the Ambassador Hotel. He asks "Is everybody all right?" The Bad Magician is stuck on the beach, shaking his fist at the warships: Yadda-yadda, warden. Yadda-yadda.

Forty years ago a young boy was trapped at the end of someone else's dream. He almost got through. He almost got through. He almost got through.

Waves crash in the parking lot of the Ambassador Hotel. Seagulls flood the dining room and send the guests into the hurly burly. Cracks everywhere. The Bad Magician circumnavigates a large fissure, takes a deep breath of air and swims down Wilshire Blvd. He carries Bobby Kennedy's goodbye and holds it, at last, like a precious bird.

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This was originally posted at Correntewire in 2006. I have changed "38 years" to "40 years" to bring it up to 2008. We are eternal, but our address changes.

The New York Times has Remembering Our Father up at their website, wherein three of RFK's children share their memories and thoughts about Bobby.

Image of Robert F. Kennedy's grave is from here.

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Wednesday, June 04, 2008

A Secret About a Secret



A photograph is a secret about a secret. The more it tells you the less you know. -Diane Arbus

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Image by mjs

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Kill 'em: We're On a Clock Here, People!

A man described as "mentally ill" was shot to death by police in New Orleans.
Police fatally shot the mentally ill occupant of a federally supplied trailer early Wednesday, ending a nearly 10-hour standoff in one of the neighborhoods hardest hit by Hurricane Katrina.
Further:
Rosemarie Brocato, who lives about a block away from the house, said the trailer was occupied only by Eric Minshew, who grew up in the house next to it. Brocato said she had told police, "He's sick. Please don't shoot him. He needs help."
Remember: we're fighting them over there because...we're killing them over here.

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Tuesday, June 03, 2008

Paging Douglas Adams

“In spite of the fact that you are liable to spend the rest of your lives measuring stuff that won’t tell us what we want to know, you should keep doing it.”

Lawrence Krauss
Case Western Reserve University

Quoted from After Years of Effort, Dark Energy Still Puzzles Scientists as found in the New York Times, a semi-fluidic non-transcendent fizzle-drip of errata and glorious dactyl wagging.

I wonder if that which cannot be imagined has already existed. Up, up and away!

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Come Harvest the Dead With Jivester & Son!



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Monday, June 02, 2008

Dick Cheney Declared Shogun



The offspring of centuries of inbreeding and lip snarling, Richard "Penis" Cheney* was formally declared "The American Shogun" and given the Western United States as his own to rule as he sees fit. Nicknamed "Watch Where You're Aiming That Cheney" he rose in national politics above all other contenders to steer the country away from the abyss of reason and sustainability, and towards the glory of massive short-term profits and lawyer face pocking. Little known fact: Mr. C routinely had his hand so far up President Bush's ass he could tickle George's front teeth with his thumb!

*Collect all of the Cheney Family Cards series! Win a flask of bourbon! Gain a chance to go human shooting with America's Vice President, the Ruler of the World! Eat of his flesh and despair!

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Women Are the Cigarette Sex

women are the cigarette sex
a delivery system quite beyond vex
they don't carry nicotine
into the bloodstream
they carry the little lives to die next

no war could be fought without the ladies
we need them to conjugate the babies
the eggs that they will hatch
will be another batch
of souls to scream and burn in hades

(chorus)
so deep, so deep inside
those cells, they do divide
gestating genocide
let it ride
let it ride
it's soup for suicide
for the dearly blushing bride
making babies, making babies
to die

the contract with life is an old one
a warrior's life is a bold one
noble, the tribe to save
a life beyond the grave
first with rocks, then the arrows and gun

please show me the enemy now
the poor man who screams and who howls
i came to his land
with a bible in my hand
and a gun and a tear and a scowl

(chorus)
so deep, so deep inside
those cells, they do divide
gestating genocide
let it ride
let it ride
it's soup for suicide
for the dearly blushing bride
making babies, making babies
to die

i dreamed i saw the mothers as one
burning their eyes in the sun
they held up their hands
and fell in the sand
the game was now over and done

a man crept a shadowy stair
and told me to shoot over there
his suit was of gold
but his heart was so cold
no more soldiers to kill anywhere

(chorus)
so deep, so deep inside
those cells, they do divide
gestating genocide
let it ride
let it ride
it's soup for suicide
for the dearly blushing bride
making babies, making babies
to die

women are the cigarette sex
a delivery system quite beyond vex
they don't carry nicotine
into the bloodstream
they carry the little lives to die next

no war could be fought without the ladies
we need them to conjugate the babies
the eggs that they will hatch
will be another batch
of souls to scream and burn in hades

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