08 August 2020

Enough Rope

And in the news I see that the Republicans remain devoted to their political game-playing even while going eye-to-eye with the disaster now bearing down on them. Determined to deny necessary aid to cities and states that have elected Democrats to office rather than do-nothing (and flatly insane) Republicans, they have elected to scuttle a bill that might help save their own hides from overwhelming defeat and salvage the party from immediate ruin.

This is policy, needless to say. The present Republican party has made no secret of its hatred for American values, and has made it clear that it will burn the country down rather than permit Americans such luxuries as a living wage, medical care, or hope for the future of their children. This is not a conservative agenda, by the way—it is simply the embodiment of the greed of the ultra-wealthy class—a class that doesn’t give a shit how the people that serve them live, so long as they can pile up more and more possessions and power for themselves. It is high time that these blood-sucking parasites be smashed, along with their dependents, hangers-on, enablers, and dupes.

I have no doubt that that will happen someday or other, but nothing will fundamentally change. The consumers of Fraud and Fakery—the swillers of future Fox News and the like—will elevate new parasites to sit on the vacated thrones of the old, and life will go on. It’s the civilized way, after all.

07 August 2020

Cosmic Park (from Cellophane Visions, 7 August 1982)

[Passage from Cellophane Visions, as it stood 7 August 1982.]

In the beginning there was the egg

And the egg was with God

And the egg was God

And the egg cracked

Hey man, you know, I mean, like—Cosmic Park’s like a state of mind, you dig? It’s like a consciousness, a level of higher consciousness, you know? I mean, it’s a place to hang out, but it’s more. It’s like Mohammed and the mountain. You don’t have to be in Cosmic Park to be in Cosmic Park. Right? You see that? Dig it—the mountain can come to Mohammed

complaints from nearby residents about drug dealing and alleged incidents of public nudity in the park, but police have proved powerless. “Frankly, we’re scared shitless to go in there,” said one officer, “The only way would be with a TAC squad in full force.” Many neighborhood residents have said that if this is what it would take to clear the park, they would fully support it. “This public immorality has got to be stopped,” Mrs. Wormwood, leader of the neighborhood coalition said. “All day long we have under our eyes the most disgusting acts of flagrant public behavior imaginable.” Mrs. Wormwood lives a scant two miles from the park. “We aint hurting no-one,” replied a long-haired denizen of the park. “so what if we like to come here and kick back? Where’re we supposed to go, anyway? Asked why he picked Cosmic Park he cited such factors as pleasant surroundings, a like-minded crowd, and he claimed that the park was in easy walking distance from his residence. “It’s like our back yard, you know?” So the controversy

Aint no pigs in Cosmic Park—dig that.

We are struck by the supreme irony of this week’s news. At a time when our boys are fighting one of the bloodiest battles of the war, at a time when “Hamburger Hill” has just been taken at a frightful cost in lives and property, the Supreme Court of the very nation these men have shed their blood for has struck from the hands off the law one of the most potent weapons available against those who promote the values of idleness and hedonism. The ruling which came down Monday in favor of the Apostle of LSD—Timothy Leary—is a major set-back ion the war for the minds and bodies of our young people. It is difficult to feel much sympathy for those who are put between a rock and a hard place by the provisions of the Marijuana Tax Act. That to comply with it requires self-incrimination by the criminal is obvious—and is the point of the law. No conflict with the Fifth Amendment is involved—the convoluted and twisted reasoning of the Court notwithstanding—and if any conflict is involved, then the Constitution should yield. Certainly the Founding Fathers never intended that this amendment shield criminals from

Hey man, you wanta know what’s wrong with the park? You really want to know, man? Like, it’s all these fucking hippies or whatever they are, they Haight crowd, you know?, moving in. They’re bringing down the whole scene, you know? Let ’em do their own thing, okay?

Mrs. Kent, a nearby park resident, reports that the park has changed since the summer of 1967. “That’s when it began to get bad,” she said. “That’s when all the loud music and group sex started.” But others disagree. Mrs. Emily Gordly told us that the situation was no better before the so-called “hippies” began to

Lot of shit, you know? Lot of fucking shit, that’s all I got to say. The park belongs to the people, and what the people want to do is

talked with Brant Colburn, a leader of the self-styled Park Peoples’ Committee, and we asked what he thought of the Wormwood Coalition.

“Hey, we don’t know anything about it. Who is this Wormwood lady, anyway? She doesn’t hang out here, that’s for sure.”

“Many people would say that that’s exactly the problem here—”

“Yeah, well, many people would say that that’s exactly a load of * * * *”

“But people are afraid—”

“Hey man, nobody’s afraid in Cosmic Park. Nobody. You dig it? We’re like all together here, we’ve got it together in a solid thing, okay? Your capitalist trip is, like, dead, you know?, and, it’s like falling apart around you—”

But the problems persist. Pastor Bonkers of the First Telephone Church has observed

“These hippies and other flockers to the banner of what they call the new morality—which is nothing but the old immorality—think that they can enjoy the fruits of the labors of others without first laboring themselves. This is the whole root of the Cosmic Park Mentality. But there is no reason whatsoever why these vandals should be sheltered at public expense.”

And so the controversy refuses

clash today in Cosmic Park, when members of the Wormwood Coalition, armed with a Park Commission Permit, attempted to remove a number of structures which recently have sheltered Park residents hey were opposed by members of the self-proclaimed Park Peoples’ Committee, who resisted

fact of the matter is, Cosmic Park has been underfunded for more than a decade. We’ve had to depend mainly on volunteer labor to keep the park in any kind of shape. Several of the old buildings, including the Otway and Farnham cabins, have been preserved only through the efforts of

disagree over the effects of the Park People on the historic cabins in the Park. “The Park People’s Thing has helped preserve the buildings,” observes Professor Arthur Klein of Foxe University, but Robert Kilpatrick of the Cascadia Historical Society counters, “The deterioration over the past twenty years has been frightful, simply frightful. Whether the Park People indeed can be credited

disgraceful. These people are absolutely destroying the park, without regard for the comforts of others when

these Wormwood people are, but they’ve got nothing going for them, nothing—you dig? All they’re into is destruction, and that aint where it’s at at all. If

interview with Peter Farnham, a Park resident. We asked him about the efforts of the Wormwood Coalition to clean up the park.

“What efforts? The so-called Wormwood Coalition—which is really a bunch of neighborhood busybodies with too much time on their hands—they aren’t doing anything for the Park.”

But Park Commissioner Tsoraga disagrees:

“The marked deterioration of the old cabins and sheds, together with the abuse they have received from these young people who are coming here, has necessitated their removal, and this

06 August 2020

Following the Blind Fischer

John: I may be broke, but I don’t want his crooked money! I always wondered how he could travel around Europe on a bank janitor’s salary.

Blanche: He isn’t a bank janitor at all. He’s one of the shrewdest manipulators in Canada. How do you think he got his title?

John: What title?

Blanche: You know as well as I do my uncle was knighted for his operations in the stock market.

John: It was the black market! And he wasn’t knighted, he was indicted!

Blanche: Well, whatever it was. He’s got money, and that’s all that counts.—The Bickersons

Clueless as ever, the Archbigot Brian Fischer is once again sounding off on topics way over his head and infinitely beyond his pay grade. Somehow he’s got it fixed in his little head that there’s a quick fix for the current pandemic, but sinister phantoms are keeping it from us. According to the Archbigot the Virology Journal—which he falsely claims is “the official publication of Dr. Fauci’s National Institutes of Health”—published in 2005 an article showing that hydroxychloroquine “functions as both a cure and a vaccine” for the present coronavirus. True, it wasn’t hydroxychloroquine but chloroquine, and it wasn’t COVID-19 but SARS, but those are just details. “While not exactly the same virus as SARS-CoV-1,” the Archbigot airily assures us, “it is genetically related to it, and shares 79% of its genome, as the name SARS-CoV-2 implies.” About as close as human beings are to cows, therefore. And likewise hydroxychloroquine and chloroquine are related, but hardly identical.

Worse than that, the article did not demonstrate (or assert for that matter) that chloroquine was effective against SARS; it merely pointed to that possibility. And none of this had anything to do with Dr. Anthony Fauci, regardless of the Archbigot’s little song and dance around the topic. In fact none of the eight authors had any connection with the NIH, though Fischer keeps calling them NIH researchers.

So in essence Archbigot Brian Fischer is screaming “FIRE” at the top of his lungs in an overcrowded theater. In a sane society his handlers would discreetly take him away to a padded cell somewhere where he could do no further damage, either to himself or others.

05 August 2020

Waking Up Is Hard To Do (1997)

[Passage from my journal, 5 August 1997.]

Slept badly as things turned out. Woke up about the time my brother came through and I went downstairs and talked with him a bit. Tried to go back to sleep but didn’t make it; I think I started working in here on my May 1974 journal transcript, and watched Newhart, and drifted off to sleep.

Awoke abruptly hearing the dogs barking wildly, and things crashing and falling about. I got up, saw the house was in considerable disorder, and headed downstairs. I wasn’t going fast enough so I leaped up and flew the rest of the way. Somewhere in here it occurred to me that I had to be dreaming, so I made an effort and woke up.

Things looked better this time; things in the computer room were undisturbed though the monitor seemed to be tuned to nothing in particular, as the screen was nothing but static and white noise was coming from the speakers, but I went downstairs anyway; I could still hear the dogs barking. It occurred to me that the dogs shouldn’t be here and that this too must be a dream, so I made another effort and woke up again.

This time the house was silent and empty; no dogs and no sign of any disturbance. I went downstairs and sat down to stare at some tv; maybe I looked at a Brett Butler comedy routine or something. Things get a little vague in here but the next thing I knew people with cameras and lights and wires had invaded the house; they were getting ready for Dana Carvey to host Saturday Night Live from here which was fine with me; I was looking forward to seeing it, but every way I turned there were signs up indicating that each door was an entrance to some set or another, and as I was in my bathrobe I wasn’t too keen on possibly emerging onto national live tv unexpectedly. At this point I woke up to find myself lying on the green chair in the music room, watching a Dana Carvey special on the Comedy channel. I think it was about three in the morning. Went upstairs and got a couple more hours of sleep; I don’t remember any of my dreams. Thank God I think.

04 August 2020

The Second Coming [guest post by W. B. Yeats]

Turning and turning in the widening gyre the falcon cannot hear the falconer; things fall apart; the center cannot hold; mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, the blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned; the best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand; surely the Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out when a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert a shape with lion body and the head of a man, a gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, is moving its slow thighs, while all about it reel shadows of the indignant desert birds. The darkness drops again; but now I know that twenty centuries of stony sleep were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, and what rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

03 August 2020

That Damned Barn Door Again

I  am getting nowhere in trying to get a handle on things. Summer is dying away, much like the American dream, and my getting things done depends on events that will probably not happen in my lifetime—like seeing the libraries reopen.

Don’t get me wrong. I recognize the present necessity. I’m not happy about it, but I do recognize it, however reluctantly. But I can remember when the United States could rise to a challenge, instead of throwing up its hands and conceding defeat even before the race has begun. Was this hideous travesty really the best our country could manage?

I mean, I was just reading a piece about how even a bunch of pig-ignorant rich dilettantes managed to come up with a plan that if followed might have saved a hundred thousand American lives. The Dopey Don of course preferred wishful thinking to taking action—looking the other way and pretending nothing is happening seems to be his forte—but if even these wealthy know-nothings could achieve something, imagine what trained professionals might have done. Suppose we’d had a team set up to deal with just such an eventuality—a pandemic response team, if you will—ready to take action? It’s a reasonable sort of precaution to take, given the inevitability of pandemics.

Well, hindsight is golden, as they say. Possibly the United States should learn a lesson from the present debacle, and prepare for next time. Just a thought, anyway.

02 August 2020

Down the Tubes with sbh

Nothing. That’s what I’ve got this second day of August in the year 12020 of the Holocene Era. And not even choice quality nothing. Just plain gray nothing standard from the box. Earlier I had hoped to write something meaningful—it’s not that I don’t have topics—but as the day progressed I began to hope merely that I would write something. And now even that faint hope has slid from my grasp.

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