Solipsistic Schemata

Never Gone Fishing

Khepher678 — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 02:46:37 GMT

Some psychologists say that relationship patterns form early in life. These patterns are deeply influenced by our parents’ relationship. So I can only imagine that my father’s absence instilled in me a need for male approval and a penchant for choosing partners who would somehow never be fully present or available to me. The sting of unrequited love is so biting because it often hearkens back to a prior time in our lives. Perhaps it’s a derivative of the Oedipus or Electra complex; the heartbreaking moment a child realizes the love for father or mother cannot be all-consuming. I can certainly see the similarities between the relationship I had with my father and the sensations evoked by my first gay crush. It was autumn of 1992. My freshman year of high school had just begun. Ever present, were the leagues of driven young adults traipsing across the courtyard of Martin Luther King Magnet School under the burdensome weight of way too many books. New clothing from the trendiest shopping malls adorned their bodies. In the crowd I glimpsed a familiar face here and there and marveled at the miracles Nature performed over summer vacation: longer limbs, taller gaits, wider hips, larger cup sizes and the oh so dreaded four–letter word: acne. I walked along the freshly shellacked hallways with the false-confidence of someone too cool to be concerned with juvenile interests, such as who had the nicest shoes or what car mommy and daddy purchased them over the holidays. My mind was occupied with other things. Over the summer, a surge of hormones flooded my biology, turning my formerly baby smooth complexion a most disheartening pattern of ruddy brown mottled with reddish spots. The insecurity I felt was overwhelming. I sure hoped no one would notice. During the summer vacation, I also was able to view a rerun of Oprah. Suddenly I became aware of how devastating my father’s absence from my life had been. Feelings of inadequacy and grief penetrated the core of my being. That’s when my light began to dim. My adolescent ego became even more fragile. The school was still under renovation as it had been for the previous two years. I gasped as I caught a whiff of new paint mixed with the chlorine-like smell of dishwashing sanitizer. At least the cafeteria was still operational. Then suddenly it happened; my peripheral vision narrowed and like a heat-seeking missile, I locked onto an unfamiliar target. “Who’s that in the hallway talking to my friend, Adrian?” I wondered. He was tall and tan with sandy brown hair and the most sparkling olive green eyes I’d ever seen. Well-defined calves jutted from beneath his blue shorts ending solidly in a pair of fashionable cross-trainers. Oh and what a sly grin he had! Intrigued, I felt propelled forward by some unseen force. Strange sensations coursed through my body, my face became hot and sweat trickled from my left armpit down the side of my rib cage as my heart palpitated. “Oh why did I have to wear this silk shirt today?” I scolded myself. This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t be… a gay crush! As I entered their line of sight, Adrian said, “Hey Tehran!” to which I replied with an awkward, “What’s up, Adrian!” quickly making a beeline to homeroom, under the pretense of having something important to do. Rewind to the summer of 1978---the year of my birth. Among all the new sights and sounds, there was one shadowy figure that would prove to be prominent in my life by his absence. I recall lying on the couch at my grandmother’s house. The door opened to reveal an amorphous figure. He was tall and dark with broad shoulders nearly touching both sides of the door. Instinctually I knew this man to be my father. Like an apparition, he vanished as quickly as he appeared. The sun never shone brightly on the relationship between my father and I. Our relationship would be filled with haze and ambivalence from that moment on. Let us return to my freshman year of high school, once again. Just like my relationship with my father, my desire to be closer to Jeremy was overwhelming. Days and nights were spent in intense longing; however, I always maintained a safe distance. The air was different when Jeremy was around. Each moment was saturated with such intensity. Oh how I wanted to disclose myself and reveal my true feelings. Whether in the cafeteria or on the field, we were always aware of one another’s presence. My new beau was a succulent peach and I a weak fruit fly trying to resist my natural impulses. Occasionally, Jeremy and I would steal away for innocent moments of interaction. This was awkward adolescent flirting at its finest. There would be surreptitious knee bumps under the table followed by eye contact which lingered far too long to be merely platonic. The school year continued in this way; a series of hits and misses. I enjoyed every moment though. It was such an exciting and adventurous time. I felt like Jason in his adventure for the Golden Fleece. Suddenly, it was summer again. Dragonflies zipped through the air while hummingbirds savored the nectar of a willing hibiscus. At the end of the school year, everyone bid their goodbyes and promised to stay in touch. I was saddened by the notion of not seeing the object of my affection for such a long time. I consoled myself with the knowledge that it would be time well-spent. Over the summer, I would spend nights strategizing and planning our next rendezvous. I vowed to be more bold and confident when Jeremy and I met again. I ran through the door after tennis practice that afternoon. My mother told me there was a message on the machine. Lo and behold, it was from Jeremy and some other kid. Oh my! What a fortunate turn of events. The voice that emanated from the box invited me to come with them for a camping and fishing adventure. Yes! Oh no… they left no return number. How incredibly cruel! How in the heck was I supposed to call and confirm, if there was no callback number? This was before caller id became a staple in nearly every household. “Wait just a minute! Was that hint of laughter I detected in his voice?” I thought. Could this be just a silly prank? I quickly dismissed such negative thoughts and returned to the land of optimistic delusion. The agony of our failed camping trip subsided while I continued to plan what I would do when we met again. Sophomore year began in 1993. How excited I was. I had on my newest clothes and looked around in anticipation for his arrival. Maybe it would be like it was in the movies. Jeremy and I would make eye contact in a crowd and run towards each other in slow motion while a sappy love song plays in the background. The first day was a bust. He was nowhere to be seen. I looked everywhere. Perhaps, he was still on vacation and would be returning the following day. Days came and went still with no sign of him. Reality dawned upon me when I learned through the grapevine that he had transferred schools and would not be coming back. A lump developed in my throat and my heart sank to my stomach. No one would be the wiser. I couldn’t let it show that I was devastated. All of my plans would not bear fruit. What was a lovesick boy to do? How would be go fishing now? The patterns of relating to Jeremy and my father, McDonald, were similar in many respects. I would wait around longingly for some sign of affection. The smallest indication was all I would need to blast off into reverie. I recall one spring day waiting for my father to come and take me fishing. He had called my mother and made the arrangements. I waited at my grandmother’s for his arrival. The clock ticked as I sat at the kitchen table looking through the window. Any moment now his car would pull up. I just knew it. The clouds floated lazily in the sky. The rays of the sun continued to shift casting shadows on the tree I was using as a sundial. I waited. And I waited some more. My father never came. We would never go fishing; yet, he and I would eventually dine at Uncle Bud’s over a dinner of catfish and other southern delicacies. It simply was not to be. I should just accept it for what it was: a fun infatuation. Secretly I hoped he would call. He never did. I last saw him when I was working at Wal-Mart. Jeremy’s appearance hadn’t changed much. He was still in great shape and wore dark slacks and a white dress shirt. He pushed a shopping cart while self-assured young woman was in the lead. I don’t remember much about the woman since I was focused solely on him. While I never got a close enough look to see whether we wore a wedding band, I had the distinct impression they were married by the hopeless look now cemented on his once care-free face. I wonder to this day if he ever thinks back to the fall of 1992 and regrets having not gone fishing with me.

My own personal comeback

Khepher678 — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 17:36:08 GMT

Today marks the beginning of my return to university. Upon reading the course syllabi, my immediate reaction was "What the hell have you gotten yourself into?!" That's when I remembered that God won't put more on my plate than I can manage. So I move forward on this journey with courage. After more than a decade, I am finally back on track. With the support of my love, family, friends, and spiritual allies, I am assured of a positive outcome. I truly hope all is well in all of your lives. It's been a long time since I've posted. I suppose I've spent too much time on Facebook playing games. :) Speaking of facebook, if you wanna connect with me there here's my link: http://www.facebook.com/montrobia I've missed reading everyone's blogs and will try and stay in better contact. Regards, Mo

Baucus to meet with single payer advocates | Stand up to corporate power in Washington, DC for real healthcare for all

Khepher678 — Mon, 01 Jun 2009 23:02:49 GMT

This is a wonderful new development. America's dissatisfaction with the broken health care system has reached a fever-pitch. Corporate greed and political lip-service will no longer suffice. Single-payer health care is the humane and ethical solution to an unjust system which places profits before people. Please show your support now by sending a message to Senator Baucus and the Senate Finance Committee. It's quick and easy.* xoxo Mo *Just select the "Click Here To Take Action" link beneath the Youtube to send a message. The direct link is: http://salsa.democracyinaction.org/o/1312/t/9277/campaign.jsp?campaign_KEY=27348

Portrait of An Artist...Thornton Dial

Khepher678 — Mon, 18 May 2009 04:03:26 GMT

I saw a great documentary about the modern artist, Thornton Dial. I must say I was deeply moved by his works. The sincerity and sheer genius with which he created art, is nothing short of inspirational. I, too, would challenge the elitist art world's insistence on classifying Mr. Dial's works as "outsider" or even folk art. As mentioned in the documentary, Pablo Picasso was also a self-taught artist yet many consider creations to be high-art. Hmm... Mainstream art world myopia, notwithstanding, Thornton Dial's artwork speaks to the heart. It possesses you and stirs the depths of your being---transporting you to an alien yet parallel place. If you meditate gently on his work, you'll begin to notice the faint smoke of the cast-iron stove greeting your nose as you cross the threshold into the world of the deep south. In this liminal space, you can virtually feel the red dirt between your toes. A place where ancient voices still blow in the wind, whistling through the trees on which bottles of assorted colours hang.

OMG! I knew I recognized Jake Shears

Khepher678 — Sun, 17 May 2009 21:52:37 GMT

(he's the 4th guy from the left) Ok..Jake Shears is a lead vocalist of the group Scissor Sisters. I'd always recognized his face but couldn't quite put it together until today. I was watching Logo and there was a special about the Pet Shop Boys---whom I adore, anyways this guy was talking and his mannerisms and accent and face all sounded familiar like we'd met before and I couldn't figure it out. I was wracking my brain trying to piece it together. Well what do you know. later on this afternoon, there is a Scissor Sisters special and I see his face again and I'm like , "I fucking know this guy" so thank god for Google. Jake Shears (born Jason Sellards) was a member of my freshman class at Occidental College (Oxy). We hung out in the same circles and had a good time...but I recall thinking at the time. "Oh my god, he's like SO gay and such an attention-whore!" so I was a little stand-offish. Needless to say, I had issues at that time with my sexuality. I was out you know...but I couldn't quite get the effeminate chaps. I think he helped me get over that and I am grateful for that experience. And to be honest, I think I was more than a little jealous of his self-confidence and general comfort in his skin. Jason definitely "too cool for school". Anyways, it seems he's doing well.I can't say that I am at all surprised where Jason's journey has taken him. I wish him and his band mates continued success!

Monogamy...what's that all about?

Khepher678 — Thu, 14 May 2009 03:38:04 GMT

-----------Journal Entry------------------ Monogamy How vital is monogamy to a healthy relationship? Not every enduring relationship has such a commitment and they appear to be fine...so it must not be a requirement for happy relationships. I've been on both sides of the fence regarding the issue of faithfullness. Maybe it's all a crock of shit. I recalled listening to a radio show discussing the idyllic romanticism of Bollywood movies. The speaker commented that monogamy and the supreme virtue of chastity was created by the lesser desireable men. Women would naturally gravitate toward the younger, richer and more virile of the male species. If not for the monogamy thing, ugly guys would be left out in the cold. Memes are incredible when you think about it. Anyways, this subject has hit close to home now. It has been officially 3 months since I've been with my boyfriend and it is difficult for the both of us to be without a physical relationship. So we've got to decide how to deal with the situation. I suppose most of the evils in love come down to insecurity and wanting to possess another entirely. I must admit the idea of merging with another soul is intoxicating----something I've experienced regularly before. I suppose this only reinforces the idea of separation which is anti-thetical to my vision of oneness and unity. So I can always love on myself. It's usually quick and easy. ;-) So until Marco and I discuss this topic in the future, I will simply allow my inner mind to mull it over. In the meantime, I'll begin reading a book entitled, "The Dangerous Passion- Why Jealousy Is as Necessary as Love and Sex" by David M. Buss, Ph.D. It looks like it will provide interesting reading. I know some folks are into the whole polyamory thing which I never quite understood. Although I must admit, I've never given it much consideration. I'm more of the merging with one soul kinda guy ---must be my Cancerian moon. In my youth, I was incapable of separating sex and love. This tendency led to quite a few disappointments. As I've matured, I've been able to distinquish between the two. Although I generally prefer the love+sex combo over just sex. I recognize how it's difficult being apart for so long. It certainly wasn't the plan however, circumstances have made it so. I, too have wondered how long I'd last without physical contact. I'm just ....you know...unable to articulate the feeling really. There's a pain inside...a lonely space. It's gotten smaller through the years. At least I hope so. I've tried so hard to be strong and not be needy or weak but ... Maybe it's part of the human condition----this longing for one's other half. Although my intellect can't stand such sappyness. I'm so much more comfortable with reason and logic....when it comes to the emotions it can seem overwhelming. Yet I do cry in real life and when watching tv and movies...which makes me wonder about people who are cry at the drop of a hat during movies and commercials but seem incapable of doing so in real life...with a flesh and blood person not reading from a script. Hmm...interesting. ---to be continued---

Show Your Support for Single Payer Health Care Today.

Khepher678 — Mon, 11 May 2009 19:03:57 GMT

This coming week, Florence Nightingale Week, will include the largest push for a single payer national health care plan in the nation's capital. The Senate Finance Committee is seeking to draft health care reform by May 22 and the House hopes to accomplish the same by the end of the month. The nurses are leading the charge this week, joined by doctors and concerned citizens. Prosperity Agenda will be there, I hope you can join us. My arrest with seven others last week has helped to spark the single payer movement to a new level of activity. The best television coverage was by Ed Schultz of MSNBC http://www.prosperityagenda.us/node/73 Now, join us for the next steps. If you can make it to Washington, DC below is the schedule. Whether or not you will be in Washington, DC please, take this action today: LEAVE A VOICE MESSAGE AND SEND A FAX FOR THE SENATE FINANCE COMMITTEE, THE PRESIDENT AND YOUR REPRESENTATIVES: Call the Health Justice hotline to have a message delivered directly to your Senator, Representatives and the President. When you call this number 1-800-578-4171, state where you live and that you want a single-payer expert in the Senate Finance Committee Roundtable on May 12th and that you support a national single payer health care plan. The messages will be delivered as voice messages but will also be transcribed and delivered by fax. Call NOW! 1-800-578-4171. Today, President Obama is highlighting the promise of the health insurance and pharmaceutical industries to slow the growth of the cost of health care. Can we trust these corporations that have been health care profiteers? Even if there promise were true - something the White House admits they cannot enforce - it would still mean nearly a $2 trillion increase in the cost of health care over the next decade. Their reduction is insignificant in comparison to the projected increase in costs. And, this is a promise from an industry that has not shown itself to be too concerned with the concerns of consumers. We need real reform not promises from those who have caused the health care crisis. Please take action today. Sincerely, Kevin Zeese Executive Director

Fearless Heart

Khepher678 — Tue, 21 Apr 2009 01:36:25 GMT

The courage to trust oneself. Oh how much courage it takes to trust oneself, especially when you have spent the greater part of your life avoiding responsibility for your life and your decisions. Oh how much easier it can be to remain quiet, rather than buck the fray. Oh how much simpler situations go when one abdicates one's power for the opinions of others, however well-intentioned they may be. There is some "expert" for virtually every area of one's life. This world is full of information and it's coming fast...all day every day. Sometimes we just need a time out. A time to simply tune in to the real expert within. Who's been waiting all along for you to just ask. It's amazing how one's words can mask the genuine intent. That's the power of communication and words. They can be used to clarify and conceal meaning. Imagine trying to get the point across to one's lover that you were in fact "right" about a previous issue. It's not so much about being right by making the other person wrong. It's more about seeking your lover's approval and acknowledgment. Oh how nice it would be to hear, "yeah, you were right!" in an enthusiastic tone. Your main underlying motivation is to celebrate a small victory---an acknowledgement that your inner guidance system was correct. It's nice to receive confirmation about one's intuitions and one's knowledge. Particularly, if you had a tendency of not listening to that voice and not trusting it---often with disastrous results. Somehow, the words don't come out right and the conversation turns into a verbal match of who's right and who's wrong. Then you decide that maybe a break is needed by both parties. Nevertheless, it's good to come home to oneself. The joy that wells in your heart upon sliding into this fleshbot called you and truly inhabiting it....deeply. My heart is opening like a bud in spring. Oh and it feels so nice to love myself and give myself the approval I had been seeking from another. This sensation is overflowing at times; perfuming my awareness with the most sublime fragrances. My eyes welled with tears....initially out of pain, shock, fear and anxiety...but now my eyes water with the simple recognition that I am home. I know it is cliche but home is truly where the heart is. What once was a massive chasm has now become a mere hairline fracture. That disconnect between my heart and head (And trust me guys. The head is good!) has begun to mend. *Deep inhale*.....ahhh....that feels good....breathing all the way from the top of the head down to the toes. I now offer gratitude to the Creator, my Se, my ancestors, voudun, orixas and spirit guides as a brand new world opens before me. A voice inside shouts triumphantly, "I may not be where I thought I would be, but goddammit at least I ain't where I used to be!". That recognition alone, is reason to celebrate. I encourage everyone to take the time everyday to send love and approval to themselves and celebrate the small victories. One, Mo

Escape from the Zombie Food Court by Joe Bageant

Khepher678 — Sun, 12 Apr 2009 21:41:33 GMT

I didn't expect to wake up this Easter Sunday and have my mind blown, but this is exactly what happened. Joe Bageant writes with such insight. Finally, a reason to toss out this worthless television---a decision I've contemplated for nearly a year now. I am struck by the immediacy of his writing and his genuine love and concern for America and humanity in general. While reading this, the temptation to jump ship; go somewhere remote and live off the grid, became overwhelming.I'm not the type to back down though and put my head in the sand (at least not for long). The ironic thing is that I am currently editing an essay I wrote for a scholarship about the "American Dream". Yes, I am finally taking that step to complete my undergraduate education---with intentions to major in psychology, of all things. The following work made me question (again) my reason for resuming my studies. Is it because of an intrinsic desire to learn and grow? Is it because of a desire to increase my skills and therefore make myself more marketable and profitable to the corporate machine? Or is it some combination of both? Ultimately it doesn't matter at the end of the day. Life is to be lived and I've sat on the sidelines for way too long. I encourage all of you intrepid souls who are ready to have your eyes opened and assumptions questioned, to read on. It's a lengthy post but worth the time. be well and be blessed, Mo ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________ April 03, 2009 Escape from the Zombie Food Court Joe Bageant recently spoke at Berea College in Berea, Kentucky, Eastern Kentucky University at Lexington, and the Adler School of Professional Psychology in Chicago, where he was invited to speak on American consciousness and what he dubbed "The American Hologram," in his book, Deer Hunting With Jesus. Here is a text version of the talks, assembled from his remarks at all three schools. By Joe Bageant I just returned from several months in Central America. And the day I returned I had iguana eggs for breakfast, airline pretzels for lunch and a $7 shot of Jack Daniels for dinner at the Houston Airport, where I spent two hours listening to a Christian religious fanatic tell about Obama running a worldwide child porn ring out of the White House. Entering the country shoeless through airport homeland security, holding up my pants because they don't let old men wear suspenders through security, well, I knew I was back home in the land of the free. Anyway, here I am with you good people asking myself the first logical question: What the hell is a redneck writer supposed to say to a prestigious school of psychology? Why of all places am I here? It is intimidating as hell. But as Janna Henning and Sharrod Taylor here have reassured me that all I need to do is talk about is what I write about. And what I write about is Americans, and why we think and behave the way we so. To do that here today I am forced to talk about three things -- corporations, television and human spirituality. No matter how smart we may think we are, the larger world cannot and does not exist for most of us in this room, except through media and maybe through the shallow experience of tourism, or in the minority instance, we may know of it through higher education. The world however, is not a cultural history course, a National Geographic special or recreational destination. It is a real place with many fast developing disasters, economic and ecological collapse being just two. The more aware among us grasp that there is much at stake. Yet, even the most informed and educated Americans have cultural conditioning working against them round the clock. As psych students, most of you understand that there is no way you can escape being conditioned by your society, one way or another. You are as conditioned as any trained chicken in a carnival. So am I. When we go to the ATM machine and punch the buttons to make cash fall out, we are doing the same thing as the chickens that peck the colored buttons make corn drop from the feeder. You will not do a single thing today, tomorrow or the next day that you have not been generally indoctrinated and deeply conditioned to do -- mostly along class lines. For instance, as university students, you are among the 20% or so of Americans indoctrinated and conditioned to be the administrating and operating class of the American Empire in some form or another. In the business of managing the other 75% in innumerable ways. Psychologists, teachers, lawyers, social workers, doctors, accountants, sociologists, mental health workers, clergy -- all are in the business of coordinating and managing the greater mass of working class citizenry by the Empire's approved methods, and toward the same end: Maximum profitability for a corporate based state. Yet it all seems so normal. Certainly the psychologists who have prescribed so much Prozac that it now shows up in the piss of penguins, saw what they did as necessary. And the doctors who enable the profitable blackmail practiced by the medical industries see it all as part of the most technologically advanced medical system in the world. And the teacher, who sees no problem with 20% of her fourth graders being on Ritalin, in the name of "appropriate behavior," is happy to have control of her classroom. None of these feel like dupes or pawns of a corporate state. It seems like just the way things are. Just modern American reality. Which is a corporate generated reality. Given the financialization of all aspects of our culture and lives, even our so-called leisure time, it is not an exaggeration to say that true democracy is dead and a corporate financial state has now arrived. If you can get your head around that, it's not hard to see an ever merging global corporate system masquerading electronically and digitally as a nation called the United States. Or Japan for that matter. The corporation now animates us from within our very selves through management of the need hierarchy in goods and information. As students, even in such an enlightened institution as this one, you are being subjected to the at least some of pedagogy of the corporate management of society for maximum profit. Unarguably your training will help many fellow human beings. But in the larger scheme of things, you are part of an institution, the American Psycho-socio-medical complex, and thus authorized to manage public consciousness, one person at a time. Remember that the entire pedagogy in which you are immersed is itself immersed in a corporate financial state. Even if some of what you do is alternative psychology, that is a reaction to the state, and therefore a result of it. It's still part of the financialization of consciousness. And, I might add that none you expect to work for nothing. This financialization of our consciousness under American style capitalism has become all we know. That's why we fear its loss. Hence the bailouts of the thousands of "zombie banks," dead but still walking, thanks to the people's taxpayer offerings to the money god so that banks will not die. We believe that we dare not let corporations die. Corporations feed us. They entertain us. Corporations occupy one full half of our waking hours of our lives, through employment, either directly or indirectly. They heal us when we are sick. So it's easy to see why the corporations feel like a friendly benevolent entity in the larger American consciousness. Corporations are, of course, deathless and faceless machines, and have no soul or human emotions. That we look to them for so much makes us a corporate cult, and makes corporations a fetish of our culture. Yet to us, they are like the weather just there. All of us live together in this corporate fetish cult. We agree upon and consent to its reality, just as the Aztecs agreed upon Quetzalcoatl and the lost people of Easter Island agreed that the great stone effigies of their remote island had significance. ----More @ : http://www.joebageant.com/joe/2009/04/escape-from-the-zombie-food-court.html

Winter Musings

Khepher678 — Tue, 02 Dec 2008 05:32:57 GMT

While I spend 14 days back home here in the U.S., I have taken the time to catch up on American television. The initial reaction was jubilant glee at the assortment of channels and familiar television mainstays---all but “Two and a Half Men” which seems to haunt me everywhere I go. The show certainly has its funny moments, but the laugh track really gets my goat. Oh and those sticky-sweet E-Harmony ads! If I see another, I think I will gouge my eyes. Those commercials remind me of a cloying, artificial rose perfume. The effect is immediate and intense ---hitting me right in my limbic brain. What follows is a intricate chain of chemical events which eventually lead to an overwhelming urge to vomit in my mouth. What the hell’s up with those folks? “Everything we do is fun!” …we paint on a canvas together…blah blah blah. Hee hee hee. I know I sound just a tad bit bitter or jaded but I swear I’m not. (EFT and Sedona Method work wonders!) I just feel on edge…perhaps some of y’all can relate. It’s like I’m extra-sensitive. Everything in life seems to be on full volume and I can only take it in small doses. For a moment, I thought I was just out of touch with public media consciousness OR perhaps they’re the ones out of touch. Maybe I’ve just been watching too much TV lately. One of the most interesting and life-changing times of my life occurred when I was living in L.A. and my ex and I decided to cancel the cable service. Ah! What a relief having to find creative ways of entertaining ourselves and passing the time. A television blackout is certainly something I will implement upon my return. There are some shows I enjoy and don’t want to miss, but I won’t spend hours in front of the tv. To further illustrate my concern, there’s this study which cites that unhappy people watch more television. Hmm, is it a causal factor or side-effect? I don’t know and it doesn’t really matter I suppose. The bottom line is that my suitcase will be loaded up with books on my return to Montreal. I’ve just decided to live my life, e-ay, e-ay, e-ay. Damn, that TI song featuring Rihanna is quite catchy. Now on to the music industry…. …You know there really ain’t much more to say. Y’all all know what I’m going to say and most of you have been saying it for years. It’s the same shit on every station all day and night. Poor Britney is staging a “comeback” with her Circus album which was quite painful to hear at times. I truly wish her well and hope she gets better management and has to courage to venture out from the formulaic pop which made her famous. Beyonce is making the rounds in the media promoting her music, discussing her marriage, all the while making English majors cringe with her grammatical blunders ---“If I Were a Boy”. If you want a real treat and to discover new aural vistas, turn on public radio. That’s where it’s at. Now I’ll highlight some of the more interesting musical artists out there. First, there is the largely ignored and underrated “Overpowered” by Roisin Murphy. Grace Jones recently came out with “Hurricane” which blends seamlessly with her best work with Sly and Robbie and the Compass Sessions. All without sounding dated. Of course, Portishead’s “Third” is a visceral masterpiece, although it took repeated listens before I was able to appreciate it. So far these are predominately female artists….I guess that’s just how I jive. No men immediately come to mind, although Lil’Wayne is incredibly talented. I’m tempted to go get that Robin Thicke record “Something New”. Mmmm….I know it’s probably light fare, but I could use a lil sweet cream on my apple tart! Thicke….damn I like the sound of that..and it’s just how I like my men. Oh and the intrinsic gayness of professional wrestling is unmistakable. The primary target audience consists of males with latent homosexual tendencies who get off on seeing brawny nearly-naked men in boots grappling one another, but are too chicken shit to rent a Titan or Raging Stallion video. What else is there to gripe about!? Lol…damn it’s been a while. I’m like Oprah---“I’m unleashed!” damn I’ve watched entirely too much tv. (maybe there’s a rehab for me) This post began as an attempt to see if anyone else out there related to the sensation of life seeming much louder and grating. Then it morphed into a bitch-fest about all the things that have been swimming around in my subconscious taking up precious space. I would continue on with a social criticism of the film industry but it’s late and I’m tired. But before I go, I’d like to recommend you go and see “Benjamin Button” if you have the time. (I’ve not seen it) But I hear that Brad Pitt actually displays acting ability in this film. And there’s even early talk of an Academy Award as a reward for this extraordinary feat. There just seems to be a lot of noise everywhere. Or maybe it’s only me. A sensory-deprivation device sure would be nice, but then again the sheer shock of returning to the world would probably thrust me directly into a padded room. I hope the tone of this post isn’t too choleric. But I guess I am angry and bitter at myself---for not living my life for nearly a decade. Watching from the sidelines while others lived theirs and feeling unfulfilled with the perpetual stream of shit being passed off as entertainment, but not taking the step to do something---the classic personality of a critic. This shall be changing…actually it has changed. 100% living…it’s time to shake off my winter raiment and emerge into the springtime of my life. Hell, it’s damn near ‘09 and according to some people we only have 3 years to go. Ha! I don’t buy that though….y’all got me once with that Y2K bullshit. See ya on Dec 22, 2012! I’ll conclude this lengthy post with a quote I read today: "Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self." --Cyril Connolly --Post Script-- I have since learned that Beyonce is in fact correct in her usage of the subjunctive tense. I stand corrected. :-)

Signs of Intelligent Life part 2

Khepher678 — Thu, 16 Oct 2008 00:05:22 GMT

**The first entry was swallowed by the instability that is tribe.net. I am trying one more time. ** What do you do when love dies? The Dusty Springfield song refrain now plays in my head. Can love really die? Maybe it's only an illusion that love is dying or doing anything at all. Love just---is. Sure, passion and interest can wane, but love, in my experience---remains. Haven't been sleeping well lately. Much of this can be attributed to becoming sober again. (non-smoker) This time around it was easier to stop and remain stopped. The fact I couldn't afford it, also played a role in my decision. Certainly once this tough part is over and I make it to 21 days, things will be much more free and settled. At least Mercury will no longer be retrograde which is an improvement in itself. I'm a Gemini....Sun and Ascendant..so communication is SO important to me...however, small talk and frivolous conversation has never been a strong suit. It's just doesn't satisfy. Sure I can indulge in it from time to time---when circumstances favor the shallow at the sole exclusion of depth or true intimacy. But I cannot subsist on it alone. It's like trying to live on a diet gruel. It may keep the basic biological functions working, but one certainly can't gain any new muscle or thrive. I'm starving for intellectual stimulationship, companionship, a debate, a logical argument...a heartfelt moment the engages the whole being. I recognize the role I play in this entire mess. The separation and self-imposed isolation. The desire to live a life more intensely beckons and challeneges the status quo. Yet, reminders of past disappointments surface and then I choose to remain in the comfort and safety of my own world. Even though it's incredibly boring and I'm not nearly as fascinating as I used to think. It's incredible actually. How I complain about lack of emotional/intellectual connection but when push comes to shove, I choose the superficial. It's time to get out and do something and meet up with some kindred folks. So this weekend I'm going out...don't know where ...but I'm going. There's supposedly this cool spoken word joint on the western (English-speaking) side of Montreal so that's where I shall head. That's another thing too...I just don't fucking feel like learning French right now. I knew a little bit before, I'm actually surprised by how much I retained. But learning another language just isn't a priority right now. The main focus is to get a life and make some paper. I usually go for the Fire types...particularly Leos. The flame mixes well with my combination of air/water. Making for intense albeit brief encounters. Steamy, hot and wet---like the thick air in interior of a Jeep cherokee parked alongside a deserted road. It's well after dark and you're exploring the body of this hot soldier. His sweat trickles down upon your face and your abdomen. The windows are fogged naturally. It's not so easy to breathe, but your don't care----so enraptured you are in this moment. The spell is briefly broken by the glare of the headlights in the rearview mirror. You're having a blast, and your lover is as well which is exemplified by the warm, sticky liquid which now fills your belly button and oh so slowly glides down your abdomen, mixing with your perspiration until it disappears between your right inner thigh. Thus the love affair ends as it began; you in your bedroom alone with your thoughts and fantasies, constructing an imaginary world of possibility. The bygone kisses of distant lovers wafts through your awareness intermixing with a positive expectancy of what is to come. He did say he loved you, so giving in to sexual advances on the first date is okay. Love (or the promise of such) can unlock many doors. You come to learn in time that guys will say many things in order to get a taste of your hot chocolate. Some stick around for a while, pop in a few marshmallows....gently blow on the milky head. While others burn their mouths due to lack of preparation Or even worse, some try and put in some ice cubes to make your more palatable. Deception, of which you'd never partake doesn't cross your mind since you inhabit a world in which everyone is open and honest, and says what they mean and never lies or cheats. However, you're not totally green. You've initiated your share of indiscretions and infidelities---however justified they seemed at the time. In time you will discover the illusions that permeate your experience and cloud your vision. Neptune conjuncts the Descendant which opposes the Sun. The steam in the Jeep wasn't steam at all but instead the glamourous and obscure fog of Neptune. Another classic example of the need for clarity in interpersonal relationships---particularly romantic ones. You find yourself in unfamiliar territority. The abundance of earth in your partner threatens your lightness. Air/water combine with earth to create mud or maybe it's clay. The likes of which becomes beautiful works of art in the hands of skilled potters. Even so, fire is still a requirement in order for the clay to solidify into something substantial and enduring. **Actually, I'm going somewhere today. Taking the bus and getting lost somewhere. Gotta do it. I'm losing my mind here. and I'm tired of picking fights. I have a tendency to do that when my urge to communicate is not being channeled constructively. Relating and sharing ideas is SO important to me and I didn't realize it before now. Usually an intellectual connection is the first requirement or step for any type of long-term romance. And if the verbal communication was so so....then usually the sex would make up for it. Yep, I like my sex vocal as long as the topic is appropriate...no conversations about what you have to do next on the agenda. Just be here now. Hmm...what's going on? Maybe I'm much shallower than I would believe and I'm being challenged to bypass the initial flash, fire and passion and instant rapport for something that requires effort or dare I even say, hardwork! bleh... ahgh...the challenge of relating to another as a full human being rather than immediately moving on to the next novel experience. I must be growing up and finally am ready for mature love.

Innocence (Naturalness)

Khepher678 — Mon, 22 Sep 2008 15:12:56 GMT

Hexagram 25 is a recurrent fixture in my life. I think there's a message somewhere in there. :-) My god, I can be SO dense at times, in spite of my intellectual acumen---or maybe it's because of it. Life and love, in particular, cannot always be reasoned and dissected and understood. Sometimes, you've just gotta live it. The ivory tower in which I lived is being eroded. It's been an ongoing process....years actually. At least a decade or hell maybe even a whole lifetime. I've gotta be real and natural and forgive myself....anchoring in my inner being...the portion that is unmoved by the flotsam and jetsam. The lighthouse illuminating the path home. Y'all I've built up this wall....through the years. This armor and life has consistently chipped away at the finish. some gaping holes here and there, which I would begrudgingly patch. Now I think I should simply let it go...drop the armor...drop the sword...expose my soft underbody. Cancer moon symbology is so appropriate right now. And here in Montreal, my ascendant has shifted to Cancer as well. Ahhg...what is this. I'm all about being true and real, but I'm not ready to become a crab cake. Listening to Sarah McLachlan now...oh man, it's been ages since I've done that. She's the only artist to move me to tears. I'm not talking about the cute kinda crying...with a lil tear trickling down a cheek. I'm talking about crazy, Michael Jackson fan kinda crying. I was actually shocked when it happened. It was years ago in Los Angeles at the KROQ Acoustic Christmas when they had a female artist evening and a male artist one. This was well before Lilith Fair...anyways, there I was with my friends crying like a baby while she sang. The particular song she was singing, escapes my memory at the moment. But I'm meandering now. Bottom line I've got work to do. Actually it's not work...it's more difficult to maintain illusion, tension and distance than it is to be natural. I'm gonna go now and show my pain-body some love. Stay warm and stay afloat, Mo

Wherever You Go, There You Are

Khepher678 — Thu, 10 Jul 2008 16:32:22 GMT

This is the title of one of my favorite books of all time. I remember reading it for the first time while I was a teenager. The wisdom expressed by Jon Kabat-Zinn really struck a chord in the neurology of my impressionable young mind. This marked a turning point in my life---I could no longer retreat into the ignorant patterns of seeking happiness through external accomplishments. I would falter from time to time, yet the practice of mindfullness would return whenever the road of life got too bumpy. It was about this time, that I had a life crisis. In my all too common manner of taking things to their extremes, I began to question all of my assumptions, goals and ambitions. "If money, fame, success and relationships don`t bring one happiness, then why bother to do anything at all?" Fast forward some 10 years later and I`m still vacillating....trying to commit to something, all the while knowing that no matter what I accomplish, it won`t augment my happiness---at least not for long. I am here in Montreal now; arrived on June 23. My boxes are still delayed in Canadian customs but I`m beginning to see some progress and hopefully they will be released this week and I`ll have them the following week. My guitar, which I checked on the plane, arrived with a broken neck. (which I only discovered 10 days later, when struck by the urge to play). It`s amazing how "things", particularly their loss and absence, can put a damper on one`s mood. Jupiter is on the rise for me in Montreal, yet I`ve yet to experience the magical quality I had so eagerly anticipated. Instead I was filled with an intense resentment and resistance. A void created by what I had given up; an emptiness gone unfilled. My rhythm was off...surrounded by a foreign environment, language, laws and customs. Slowly but surely,a new beat is emerging as I let go of my conductor's wand and surrender to the Divine Orchestra. It ain't easy though. I now know what illegal immigrants must feel like: little grasp of the language and no green card. It does limit one's options quite a bit. No worries though, Marco and I have some business plans in the works...plus I have an opportunity to help his friend Sylvie make jewelry for her business. I'm not really feeling inspired to write lately. It's unbelievable how difficult it has been for me to simply discover what I enjoy doing. Marco always reminds me, "you never know until you try." And I do see the truth in what he's saying. Nowadays, there are SO many choices and options, how does one go about choosing one? I could go through each one in succession, but I`d really hate to end life as a jack-of-all trades. So my goal is to spend some time clearing my head and remembering and re-embodying my passions---those activities that make time stop fiilling my being with an indescribable expansiveness while my heart skips a beat. I do recall that feeling well. But at this point, I would be content with simply cracking an innocent child-like smile.

I Stand Corrected....

Khepher678 — Sun, 15 Jun 2008 17:16:25 GMT

It looks like I'm the one who needs to choke on a fat one! There's some nefarious shit going down. I always suspected this was the case. I just didn't know how far it would go. It looks like the adversary is trying to take this all the way. While not being one to sound the alarm, I am just awaiting further instructions. Y'all keep ya head up! much love, Mo

It's Official..I'm 30!!

Khepher678 — Sun, 08 Jun 2008 19:49:12 GMT

Yay! Yep..that's right...no longer a young pup or spring chicken and that's actually fine with me. I've actually not felt better in quite some time. I'm also officially moving to Montreal to be with my love...my main squeeze...the man of my dreams. :) My departure is only a few weeks away and there's still much more to do. Moving---ah, what a beautiful drag....I'm embracing the process though. Like a copperhead molting its outworn skin, I too am stretching and releasing symbols of my former life (e.g. garments, books, music, stuff). Traveling light is a challenge and a blessing. The weather's lovely here. My eyes have cleared and it's like witnessing life for the first time. Colors are more vibrant...the sky is the most beautiful azul with lovely white puffs of clouds interspersed. The grasses are green and fresh---providing a welcome invitation to bare feet. At night deep in the indigo stillness, the fragrance of honeysuckle and magnolia blossoms fill the air. mmmm....these experiences are what I cherish. much love, Mo

How the hell is everyone!

Khepher678 — Wed, 21 May 2008 23:35:16 GMT

What's up folks? It's been a minute since I took the time to write. I've been busy as of late---working for the man...9 to 5...hell..I even have to wear a shirt and tie! What's really going on? ha...it's not a bad gig though...I'm kinda bored with training but that's to be expected considering my attention span and learning curve. Anyways, things are good on this end. Making plans to move on up and out! It's time. Can't believe I'm gonna be 30 this year...I'm excited actually. None of that depressing bullshit. I'm actually looking forward to my 30's and onward. The 20's have been incredibly challenging, interesting, and wild in many ways. Suddenly I feel like I've come full-circle in a sense...back to my center...my self. Gone are the days of trying to figure out who the hell I am and trying to put myself in a box for the convenience of other folks. I'm just me...flaws and all. Yet this doesn't begin to come close to the totality of who I AM...and who WE ARE...so I'm just taking it in stride. I've got a great man and for that I'm incredibly grateful. I love him more and more each day. So how the hell are y'all? It is my intent to catch up on emails today. We may not chat frequently, but trust that you're all in my thoughts and I wish you the best. So be well and be blessed. until soon, Mo

Forsaken

Khepher678 — Sat, 26 Apr 2008 18:01:38 GMT

Beneath a mountain there lies a grotto The once-thick underbrush has long since been cleared away In hopes of extending an invitation A welcome resting place for some weary traveler, spiritual seeker or the occasional wild beast Peering inside one notices the soothing warmth---with just enough moisture to labor breathing and form beads of sweat along the brow Venturing in deeper one can hear the whirling of a stream---ever so distant Yet the constant aqueous hum beckons you deeper promising refreshment and respite from your laborous journey The air is much cooler within and lightly fragranced by rare gums and spices combined with the woody aroma of torches long extinquished Through the passing of ages, the mountain reminisces and finds solace in the treasured souvenirs---petroglyphs left behind by the bold, daring and passionate ones They were not always the most respectful, however the mountain was more than accomodating---sensing the tenderness beneath brusque exteriors and calloused hands often groping in the dark There is one whose light shines brighter than most So lumionous, in fact, no lantern is needed Yet he steps gingerly around the mouth The heat of his body---his essence--saturating the cavern ---------------------- Aghgh!! I can't do this anymore. I am SO frigging horny right now. This mountain cave needs some deep exploration....some hard, penetrating spelunking action!

Ahh. I'm back in Nashville!

Khepher678 — Tue, 22 Apr 2008 16:25:53 GMT

Firstly, I'd like to thank all of you for the kind words and encouragement. You guys(and gals) rock my world! You're awesome! Yes Montreal was fabulous and tres gay..ha. I'll write more about it later. Imagine a full moon weekend in a home of mentally-disabled persons---just imagine! My boyfriend is fantastic. Marco's truly a good guy with a great heart. I can't wait to return to be with my love. Also I've gotta get him down to see my folks and my neck of the woods. Being French-Canadian, he don't know much about good 'ol down-home soul food! Oh and I just have to mention what a fabulous cook he is...mmm. Anyways, my wanderlust has come to a close for the time being. Now I must focus on mundane matters such as, working. *ick* I'll reply to all of your emails/comments soon. much love, Mo

Greetings from the Mental Home

Khepher678 — Mon, 14 Apr 2008 16:45:27 GMT

I`m currently in Montreal visiting my boyfriend, Marco. He lives in a mental home at the moment...he`s not a patient though, just a caretaker! ha. It`s one of these assisted-living residences. Staying here has been rather interesting. You have 7 guys here of varying ages, with the youngest being 17. There issues run the gamut from autism to down`s syndrome. It was a little disconcerting at first. It has been a while siince I`ve been in such close proximity to those with developmental disorders. I`ve discovered this situation to be very helpful in developing more compassion and understanding.---recognizing the Divinity in ALL persons. I like to say that God don't make mistakes. And in spite of the clients' apparent lack of ability in many areas, I am certain they have augmented abilities in other areas. For example, most of them are fantatastic bowlers! I mean like in the range of 150 per game. While I managed to squeak by (with the help of Marco) a score of about 40 to 50! lol I've never been much of a bowler anyways. Anyways, I'm here until Sunday and look forward to returning in a couple of months. I'm in love. Yep...I truly am. I've found someone who gets me and with whom I feel safe. wishing you all the best, Mo

I Love Y'all

Khepher678 — Sat, 29 Mar 2008 08:20:46 GMT

And I mean ALL of y'all. I just needed to get that off my chest. :-) In life it seems there are two (of many?) directions acting upon us: vertical and horizontal. I am feeling the vertical at the moment and must say...my my my. How wonderful the view is from here. It's a scene of wonder and complete awe at the comedy and tragedy that life is. lol...it really is a deliciously scripted game. How utterly clever we were when we created this world (universe) with all the sights, sounds, and phenomena. Somewhere along the way many of us got lost and trapped in the game and started to believe it was real. Some of us on the "other side" saw this and decided to come back and try and wake up the others---many of them too got trapped in the game and believed it to be real...BUT that was the risk they knew they were taking when they decided to return. Yet they came anyways...such was there love for their other selves. The time is approaching when many of them are awakening and catching glimpses of truth (that which is unchanging). I just had a glimpse of such a reality. I have to paraphrase now but it's the recognition that the one who I thought offended me never did...umm....let me see...it's as if the offense never really happened. you dig? Cuz in reality it didn't. The illusion of separation is what maintains this world and all the things good, bad and indifferent. Separation from your neighbor, boss, sister, mother, lover, enemy, God, etc...that's like one of the final tests..although I can't say it with the utmost certainty. It's like when you get to this point, God or whatever you wanna call it asks you "Do you wanna keep going?" and you have a choice to continue the vertical ascent or stay around a little longer. I have to admit this game we call life is very tempting. In this very moment in your heart of hearts, if you could let it ALL go and be ONE, what would you do? IF that meant no more wars, famine, murders, mayhem and illness AND also no sunsets, lovers, milkshakes, walks along the beach, flowers or moonlit evenings. Would you blissfully float into oneness? Or turn back to show others(your selves) the way? OR even try and create a heaven on Earth? I actually think this is what got us all in this mess to begin with...trying to create a heaven on earth. Heaven on earth may not be possible(or maybe it is) but at least we can choose to create a world with MORE heavenly moments. It's our choice. Then again, what would be the impetus to ever return to our source, if there were no hellish moments? That's the cycle of creation and the way it's always been. The pain and trauma encourages us to look within to the Source and transcend the world. Everything in this world can be a motivation to wake up when you look at the world with that intent in mind. Ahh...what am I saying. I should have just stopped at "I LOVE YOU" and left it there...but this ego LOVES to expand and extrapolate. Words are its favorite tools. All I can say is that I can see why there are countless rebirths...it's hard to leave ALL of this stuff behind. The good thing is that the option is always available. {I've written enough. I really just wanted to record a testament to this wondrous blissful state I'm in---just in case I should come crashing back down.---A souvenir of sorts) I desire to remain awake and enjoy this moment for as long as it lasts. :) I do love YOU -----------post script-------- Simply put: Just go within. The external world is merely a reflection of our inner. If there is something "out there" that you don't like, go to that place within your SELF and let it go. Let go of the desire to make it real. Say you don't like the war in Iraq. Don't just stop at letting go of the war in Iraq...but let go of the tendency to be warlike. (whether it is a war against your body, your disease, your neighbor, your emotions, your past, the boss at work, that jerk who cut you off on the freeway, etc.) For if that tendency didn't exist, there would be no more war.

Tell the truth and shame the devil!

Khepher678 — Fri, 28 Mar 2008 03:06:25 GMT

Here's another on point commentary by Tim Wise about the (white) media's current fascination---and utter shock with Rev. Jeremiah Wright's grossly misinterpreted sermon. Tim Wise has to be the blackest-white man I've ever come across. It's disturbing in a way----the honesty and skill in which he is able to encompass the experience of people of color. This double consciousness----the dexterity with which one is able to navigate his or her 'real world' all the while functioning in the 'white world', is not something readily seen in white folks. This condition that was so eloquently presented in WEB Dubois' <<The Souls of Black Folk>> is the way of life for most persons of color. While I am aware that Mr.Wise's view may be unpopular, particularly nowadays when there is a rabid obsession with universalism. I have to agree with the man. Don't get me wrong now. I fully embrace the notion of moving beyond the barriers of ethnicity and culture in theory, however I feel it's incredibly premature and disingenuous. As long as we continue to deny the experiences of ALL people, then there will never be true healing. This is something I've struggled with for some time. Intellectually and spiritually, I recognize that I am more than this body---with its accompanying memories, fears, hopes and thoughts--- yet I cannot help feel on a visceral level the struggles and injustice that persons of African descent have endured and continue to experience. I may have past-life memories of being other than "black", however, I have chosen this lifetime and background for a purpose and remaining "whitewashed" is not one of them. As I write, the tears flow from my eyes as I notice my ancestors in the periphery cheering me on....encouraging me to wake up. So while some of you's are waiting for the mothership to land in 2012, I'm getting back to work. Perhas there are reptilians in government (hahaha) OR perhaps the Masons are trying to take over the world! I don't know and frankly I don't care anymore. To me these thoughts can be likened to New age messianic call---those vestigial beliefs of Armageddon die hard. They no longer serve me and are merely distractions from my true destination. Even if this be the case--- cuz I've seen an alien or two in my day--I ain't worried cuz my brothers and sisters from Sirius B will fo sho be coming around my way. Well I should get going now. I've already severely limited my television intake since most of it---dare I say 90% of it is utter bullshit. To think I was at one time relieved when BET finally started airing in New Mexico. I ain't no sucka...I recognize that BET is NOT the answer. And I look forward to the day when there are more persons of color on the tube (red, yellow, brown and black). But until that time, my television set is going to be off, except for a few shows that I deem entertaining and of course the Cartoon Network. A media blackout is definitely in order. Surely, I cannot be the only one who has noticed how incredibly transparent and pathetic the motivations of those media conglomerates have become. So as the say on the mother of reality shows, MTV' s ever-relevant and ubiquitous "Real World", "it's time to get real." ...Fo rilly doh. There is so much unlearning to do and miseducation to deconstruct. Power to the people! Hahaha...I've said enough. ::drum roll:: AND NOW THE MAIN ATTRACTION: Of National Lies and Racial Amnesia: Jeremiah Wright, Barack Obama, and the Audacity of Truth By Tim Wise March 18, 2008 For most white folks, indignation just doesn't wear well. Once affected or conjured up, it reminds one of a pudgy man, wearing a tie that may well have fit him when he was fifty pounds lighter, but which now cuts off somewhere above his navel and makes him look like an idiot. Indignation doesn't work for most whites, because having remained sanguine about, silent during, indeed often supportive of so much injustice over the years in this country--the theft of native land and genocide of indigenous persons, and the enslavement of Africans being only two of the best examples--we are just a bit late to get into the game of moral rectitude. And once we enter it, our efforts at righteousness tend to fail the test of sincerity. But here we are, in 2008, fuming at the words of Pastor Jeremiah Wright, of Trinity United Church of Christ in Chicago--occasionally Barack Obama's pastor, and the man whom Obama credits with having brought him to Christianity--for merely reminding us of those evils about which we have remained so quiet, so dismissive, so unconcerned. It is not the crime that bothers us, but the remembrance of it, the unwillingness to let it go--these last words being the first ones uttered by most whites it seems whenever anyone, least of all an "angry black man" like Jeremiah Wright, foists upon us the bill of particulars for several centuries of white supremacy. But our collective indignation, no matter how loudly we announce it, cannot drown out the truth. And as much as white America may not be able to hear it (and as much as politics may require Obama to condemn it) let us be clear, Jeremiah Wright fundamentally told the truth. Oh I know that for some such a comment will seem shocking. After all, didn't he say that America "got what it deserved" on 9/11? And didn't he say that black people should be singing "God Damn America" because of its treatment of the African American community throughout the years? Well actually, no he didn't. Wright said not that the attacks of September 11th were justified, but that they were, in effect, predictable. Deploying the imagery of chickens coming home to roost is not to give thanks for the return of the poultry or to endorse such feathered homecoming as a positive good; rather, it is merely to note two things: first, that what goes around, indeed, comes around--a notion with longstanding theological grounding--and secondly, that the U.S. has indeed engaged in more than enough violence against innocent people to make it just a tad bit hypocritical for us to then evince shock and outrage about an attack on ourselves, as if the latter were unprecedented. He noted that we killed far more people, far more innocent civilians in Hiroshima and Nagasaki than were killed on 9/11 and "never batted an eye." That this statement is true is inarguable, at least amongst sane people. He is correct on the math, he is correct on the innocence of the dead (neither city was a military target), and he is most definitely correct on the lack of remorse or even self-doubt about the act: sixty-plus years later most Americans still believe those attacks were justified, that they were needed to end the war and "save American lives." But not only does such a calculus suggest that American lives are inherently worth more than the lives of Japanese civilians (or, one supposes, Vietnamese, Iraqi or Afghan civilians too), but it also ignores the long-declassified documents, and President Truman's own war diaries, all of which indicate clearly that Japan had already signaled its desire to end the war, and that we knew they were going to surrender, even without the dropping of atomic weapons. The conclusion to which these truths then attest is simple, both in its basic veracity and it monstrousness: namely, that in those places we committed premeditated and deliberate mass murder, with no justification whatsoever; and yet for saying that I will receive more hate mail, more hostility, more dismissive and contemptuous responses than will those who suggest that no body count is too high when we're the ones doing the killing. Jeremiah Wright becomes a pariah, because, you see, we much prefer the logic of George Bush the First, who once said that as President he would "never apologize for the United States of America. I don't care what the facts are." And Wright didn't say blacks should be singing "God Damn America." He was suggesting that blacks owe little moral allegiance to a nation that has treated so many of them for so long as animals, as persons undeserving of dignity and respect, and which even now locks up hundreds of thousands of non-violent offenders (especially for drug possession), even while whites who do the same crimes (and according to the data, when it comes to drugs, more often in fact), are walking around free. His reference to God in that sermon was more about what God will do to such a nation, than it was about what should or shouldn't happen. It was a comment derived from, and fully in keeping with, the black prophetic tradition, and although one can surely disagree with the theology (I do, actually, and don't believe that any God either blesses or condemns nation states for their actions), the statement itself was no call for blacks to turn on America. If anything, it was a demand that America earn the respect of black people, something the evidence and history suggests it has yet to do. Finally, although one can certainly disagree with Wright about his suggestion that the government created AIDS to get rid of black folks--and I do, for instance--it is worth pointing out that Wright isn't the only one who has said this. In fact, none other than Bill Cosby (oh yes, that Bill Cosby, the one white folks love because of his recent moral crusade against the black poor) proffered his belief in the very same thing back in the early '90s in an interview on CNN, when he said that AIDS may well have been created to get rid of people whom the government deemed "undesirable" including gays and racial minorities. So that's the truth of the matter: Wright made one comment that is highly arguable, but which has also been voiced by white America's favorite black man, another that was horribly misinterpreted and stripped of all context, and then another that was demonstrably accurate. And for this, he is pilloried and made into a virtual enemy of the state; for this, Barack Obama may lose the support of just enough white folks to cost him the Democratic nomination, and/or the Presidency; all of it, because Jeremiah Wright, unlike most preachers opted for truth. If he had been one of those "prosperity ministers" who says Jesus wants nothing so much as for you to be rich, like Joel Osteen, that would have been fine. Had he been a retread bigot like Falwell was, or Pat Robertson is, he might have been criticized, but he would have remained in good standing and surely not have damaged a Presidential candidate in this way. But unlike Osteen, and Falwell, and Robertson, Jeremiah Wright refused to feed his parishioners lies. What Jeremiah Wright knows, and told his flock--though make no mistake, they already knew it--is that 9/11 was neither the first, nor worst act of terrorism on American soil. The history of this nation for folks of color, was for generations, nothing less than an intergenerational hate crime, one in which 9/11s were woven into the fabric of everyday life: hundreds of thousands of the enslaved who died from the conditions of their bondage; thousands more who were lynched (as many as 10,000 in the first few years after the Civil War, according to testimony in the Congressional Record at the time); millions of indigenous persons wiped off the face of the Earth. No, to some, the horror of 9/11 was not new. To some it was not on that day that "everything changed." To some, everything changed four hundred years ago, when that first ship landed at what would become Jamestown. To some, everything changed when their ancestors were forced into the hulls of slave ships at Goree Island and brought to a strange land as chattel. To some, everything changed when they were run out of Northern Mexico, only to watch it become the Southwest United States, thanks to a war of annihilation initiated by the U.S. government. To some, being on the receiving end of terrorism has been a way of life. Until recently it was absolutely normal in fact. But white folks have a hard time hearing these simple truths. We find it almost impossible to listen to an alternative version of reality. Indeed, what seems to bother white people more than anything, whether in the recent episode, or at any other time, is being confronted with the recognition that black people do not, by and large, see the world like we do; that black people, by and large, do not view America as white people view it. We are, in fact, shocked that this should be so, having come to believe, apparently, that the falsehoods to which we cling like a kidney patient clings to a dialysis machine, are equally shared by our darker-skinned compatriots. This is what James Baldwin was talking about in his classic 1972 work, No Name in the Street, wherein he noted: White children, in the main, and whether they are rich or poor, grow up with a grasp of reality so feeble that they can very accurately be described as deluded--about themselves and the world they live in. White people have managed to get through their entire lifetimes in this euphoric state, but black people have not been so lucky: a black man who sees the world the way John Wayne, for example, sees it would not be an eccentric patriot, but a raving maniac. And so we were shocked in 1987, when Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall declined to celebrate the bicentennial of the Constitution, because, as he noted, most of that history had been one of overt racism and injustice, and to his way of thinking, the only history worth celebrating had been that of the past three or four decades. We were shocked to learn that black people actually believed that a white cop who was a documented racist might frame a black man; and we're shocked to learn that lots of black folks still perceive the U.S. as a racist nation--we're literally stunned that people who say they experience discrimination regularly (and who have the social science research to back them up) actually think that those experiences and that data might actually say something about the nation in which they reside. Imagine. Whites are easily shocked by what we see and hear from Pastor Wright and Trinity Church, because what we see and hear so thoroughly challenges our understanding of who we are as a nation. But black people have never, for the most part, believed in the imagery of the "shining city on a hill," for they have never had the option of looking at their nation and ignoring the mountain-sized warts still dotting its face when it comes to race. Black people do not, in the main, get misty eyed at the sight of the flag the way white people do--and this is true even for millions of black veterans--for they understand that the nation for whom that flag waves is still not fully committed to their own equality. They have a harder time singing those tunes that white people seem so eager to belt out, like "God Bless America," for they know that whites sang those words loudly and proudly even as they were enforcing Jim Crow segregation, rioting against blacks who dared move into previously white neighborhoods, throwing rocks at Dr. King and then cheering, as so many did, when they heard the news that he had been assassinated. Whites refuse to remember (or perhaps have never learned) that which black folks cannot afford to forget. I've seen white people stunned to the point of paralysis when they learn the truth about lynchings in this country--when they discover that such events were not just a couple of good old boys with a truck and a rope hauling some black guy out to the tree, hanging him, and letting him swing there. They were never told the truth: that lynchings were often community events, advertised in papers as "Negro Barbecues," involving hundreds or even thousands of whites, who would join in the fun, eat chicken salad and drink sweet tea, all while the black victims of their depravity were being hung, then shot, then burned, and then having their body parts cut off, to be handed out to onlookers. They are stunned to learn that postcards of the events were traded as souvenirs, and that very few whites, including members of their own families did or said anything to stop it. Rather than knowing about and confronting the ugliness of our past, whites take steps to excise the less flattering aspects of our history so that we need not be bothered with them. So, in Tulsa, Oklahoma, for example, site of an orgy of violence against the black community in 1921, city officials literally went into the town library and removed all reference to the mass killings in the Greenwood district from the papers with a razor blade--an excising of truth and an assault on memory that would remain unchanged for over seventy years. Most white people desire, or perhaps even require the propagation of lies when it comes to our history. Surely we prefer the lies to anything resembling, even remotely, the truth. Our version of history, of our national past, simply cannot allow for the intrusion of fact into a worldview so thoroughly identified with fiction. But that white version of America is not only extraordinarily incomplete, in that it so favors the white experience to the exclusion of others; it is more than that; it is actually a slap in the face to people of color, a re-injury, a reminder that they are essentially irrelevant, their concerns trivial, their lives unworthy of being taken seriously. In that sense, and what few if any white Americans appear capable of grasping at present, is that "Leave it to Beaver" and "Father Knows Best," portray an America so divorced from the reality of the times in which they were produced, as to raise serious questions about the sanity of those who found them so moving, so accurate, so real. These iconographic representations of life in the U.S. are worse than selective, worse than false, they are assaults to the humanity and memory of black people, who were being savagely oppressed even as June Cleaver did housework in heels and laughed about the hilarious hijinks of Beaver and Larry Mondello. These portraits of America are certifiable evidence of how disconnected white folks were--and to the extent we still love them and view them as representations of the "good old days" to which we wish we could return, still are--from those men and women of color with whom we have long shared a nation. Just two months before "Leave it to Beaver" debuted, proposed civil rights legislation was killed thanks to Strom Thurmond's 24-hour filibuster speech on the floor of the U.S. Senate. One month prior, Arkansas Governor Orville Faubus called out the National Guard to block black students from entering Little Rock Central High; and nine days before America was introduced to the Cleavers, and the comforting image of national life they represented, those black students were finally allowed to enter, amid the screams of enraged, unhinged, viciously bigoted white people, who saw nothing wrong with calling children niggers in front of cameras. That was America of the 1950s: not the sanitized version into which so many escape thanks to the miracle of syndication, which merely allows white people to relive a lie, year after year after year. No, it is not the pastor who distorts history; Nick at Nite and your teenager's textbooks do that. It is not he who casts aspersions upon "this great country" as Barack Obama put it in his public denunciations of him; it is the historic leadership of the nation that has cast aspersions upon it; it is they who have cheapened it, who have made gaudy and vile the promise of American democracy by defiling it with lies. They engage in a patriotism that is pathological in its implications, that asks of those who adhere to it not merely a love of country but the turning of one's nation into an idol to be worshipped, if not literally, then at least in terms of consequence. It is they--the flag-lapel-pin wearing leaders of this land--who bring shame to the country with their nonsensical suggestions that we are always noble in warfare, always well-intended, and although we occasionally make mistakes, we are never the ones to blame for anything. Nothing that happens to us has anything to do with us at all. It is always about them. They are evil, crazy, fanatical, hate our freedoms, and are jealous of our prosperity. When individuals prattle on in this manner we diagnose them as narcissistic, as deluded. When nations do it--when our nation does--we celebrate it as though it were the very model of rational and informed citizenship. So what can we say about a nation that values lies more than it loves truth? A place where adherence to sincerely believed and internalized fictions allows one to rise to the highest offices in the land, and to earn the respect of millions, while a willingness to challenge those fictions and offer a more accurate counter-narrative earns one nothing but contempt, derision, indeed outright hatred? What we can say is that such a place is signing its own death warrant. What we can say is that such a place is missing the only and last opportunity it may ever have to make things right, to live up to its professed ideals. What we can say is that such a place can never move forward, because we have yet to fully address and come to terms with that which lay behind. What can we say about a nation where white preachers can lie every week from their pulpits without so much as having to worry that their lies might be noticed by the shiny white faces in their pews, while black preachers who tell one after another essential truth are demonized, not only for the stridency of their tone--which needless to say scares white folks, who have long preferred a style of praise and worship resembling nothing so much as a coma--but for merely calling bullshit on those whose lies are swallowed whole? And oh yes, I said it: white preachers lie. In fact, they lie with a skill, fluidity, and precision unparalleled in the history of either preaching or lying, both of which histories stretch back a ways and have often overlapped. They lie every Sunday, as they talk about a Savior they have chosen to represent dishonestly as a white man, in every picture to be found of him in their tabernacles, every children's story book in their Sunday Schools, every Christmas card they'll send to relatives and friends this December. But to lie about Jesus, about the one they consider God--to bear false witness as to who this man was and what he looked like--is no cause for concern. Nor is it a problem for these preachers to teach and preach that those who don't believe as they believe are going to hell. Despite the fact that such a belief casts aspersions upon God that are so profound as to defy belief--after all, they imply that God is so fundamentally evil that he would burn non-believers in a lake of eternal fire--many of the white folks who now condemn Jeremiah Wright welcome that theology of hate. Indeed, back when President Bush was the Governor of Texas, he endorsed this kind of thinking, responding to a question about whether Jews were going to go to hell, by saying that unless one accepted Jesus as one's personal savior, the Bible made it pretty clear that indeed, hell was where you'd be heading. So you can curse God in this way--and to imply such hate on God's part is surely to curse him--and in effect, curse those who aren't Christians, and no one says anything. That isn't considered bigoted. That isn't considered beyond the pale of polite society. One is not disqualified from becoming President in the minds of millions because they go to a church that says that shit every single week, or because they believe it themselves. And millions do believe it, and see nothing wrong with it whatsoever. So white folks are mad at Jeremiah Wright because he challenges their views about their country. Meanwhile, those same white folks, and their ministers and priests, every week put forth a false image of the God Jeremiah Wright serves, and yet it is whites who feel we have the right to be offended. Pardon me, but something is wrong here, and whatever it is, is not to be found at Trinity United Church of Christ. http://www.timwise.org/

In praise of stopping to smell the flowers

Khepher678 — Tue, 11 Mar 2008 23:23:08 GMT

There truly is a beauty and an order to life, if one stills one's self in gratitude and the present long enough to recognize it. There's a guiding force of love gently coaxing us forward...en(coeur)aging us to blossom into our highest expression---ever so gently like the fragrance of jasmine gliding on a nocturnal current. Can you see it?

Pictures from Costa Rica

Khepher678 — Thu, 21 Feb 2008 18:32:58 GMT

http://www.flickr.com/photos/monty678/ I finally uploaded some pics from my trip. Fond memories flooded my being...I'll probably return in the future---just not for 6 weeks.

American Airlines made me cry!

Khepher678 — Mon, 18 Feb 2008 03:12:50 GMT

Well not exactly...but it sounded good. Playing the victim can be addictive! :-) I just arrived home back in Nashville today around 2PM. I was supposed to be here last night at midnite but there were some ...um..complications. After a 3hr shuttle ride from Quepos/Manuel Antonio to San Jose, I arrived at the airport. It was approximately 11:40am at this time...more than enough to make my 3:10p flight to Miami. I enter the airport and go immediately to my right to pay the airport tax. Afterwards I embarked to the other side of the airport to obtain my boarding pass and that's when I discovered the line...this was no ordinary line...this was a line of epic proportions. The queue extended all the way out the doors of the airport and onto the sidewalk. My initial thought was, "oh man, what the fuck!...I hate long lines". But I still wasn't worried since I had plenty of time to make my flight. Two(2) hours later I make it to the ticket counter and obtain my boarding pass and that's when I'm informed that my flight to Miami has been delayed until 4:50P, which is still no big deal to me since my connecting flight from Miami to Nashville was at 10:10pm. I'm now ecstatic to be free and that's when I approach the security checkpoint. It actually wasn't that intense...just removed my shoes, belt and miscellaneous items from my pockets (I inadvertently removed my lighter and it was confiscated!) So I asked the security guy if there was a smoking area and how was I to light my cigs. I was able to muddle enough Spanish to figure out that there was a smoking bar below which had a lighter...much to my relief. I'm now in the terminal and discover that my flight is now delayed until 5:30p...so I'm like..hmm...what the hell is going on? Bear in mind that it is not only my flight that has been delayed...nearly EVERY American Airline flight was delayed. I watched CNN on the TV monitors interspersed throughout the airport to see if there was bad weather, a terrorist plot or whatever...something to explain what was going on. Of course the AA staff was less than forthcoming with the reasoning behind the delay. Later on in the afternoon I was to discover the real reason for all the delays. One after another, my flight was delayed...6:30 and finally 6:40...I was still not worried at this point since the flight to Miami was a little over 2 hrs...so I would still theoretically have time to make my flight to Nashville. But in the back of my mind I thought "oh please God, I don't want to be stuck in Miami tonight!" ...I just wanted to be home...in my bed...with my computer...my car...and my family. I was talking with a gentleman from Brooklyn who mentioned a food voucher he had received and I was like "hmm...food voucher? why haven't I heard of this yet?" Since that would help me decide what to do regarding last minute souvenir shopping in the airport because I only had about $31 to my name. So I approached the senorita at the customer service desk to inquire about my meal voucher...that's when I was informed that my flight to Miami would be boarding in 15minutes so I'd better hurry. I grabbed the voucher and ran up stairs to decide where to go and finally decided on Burger King...moments later I rush back to the gate and there's a line again and no one seems to be knowing what the hell is going on. (This is a common phenomenon apparently)... So the plane arrived earlier than I anticipated so I only had time to grab something to eat. (In spite of the fact I wasn't very hungry at this time.) I generally don't eat much on days that I fly...probably nervousness. Anyways, I was gonna spend that $10 voucher no matter what. But the plane's arrival didn't leave me any time to go back to those stores and buy the last minute gifts....shit! Oh well...at least I was leaving soon...and I had already purchase numerous things so it should be a problem. To make a long story short, the flight finally took off and I made it to Miami at 10:05pm...yeah...with 5 minutes to make my connecting flight. SO naturally I was frantic...like oh my god...oh my god...I don't wanna stay here...I wanna go home...hurry up man...get outta my way... (The flight was quite nice and smooth by the way) Anyways, I disembark and make it through the maze that is MIA and realize that I have to go through Customs first. (WTF!!) Isn't there a CUSTOMS in Nashville? Oh well...SO once again I'm waiting in another line. Muthafucka!! I'm SO like not feeling this entire experience at this point...It's late...I've only eaten half of my Whopper and I just wanna get outta there...plus the Valium and Gravol I took has me very groggy. This is probably why I didn't freak out much more. Oh I failed to mention that at this point I saw the flight schedules and noticed that my flight to Nashville was delayed and not scheduled to depart until 10:40pm...whew! That's a relief. (or so I thought) I finally make it through Customs and rush towards the final check point where I am informed that I have to get my luggage from baggage claim. hmm...that's puzzling...usually when there's a connecting flight the luggage is automatically routed to the appropriate plane. Muthafucka!! SO I go back to baggage claim just in time to see my two check pieces coming around the conveyor. I snatch them and begin my trek back to the checkpoint...thinking that I still have a possibility of making my flight to Nashville. wrong! I finally got to the ticket counter to re-check my bags and that's when I discovered my flight was gone...it was 10:53pm. I just couldn't contain it any longer and I broke down and started crying...NOT wailing or deep sobs....the tears just started flowing and I couldn't turn them off no matter how hard I tried. To their credit, the staff was very friendly and empathetic. One of the ladies asked, "What's wrong?" to which I shakily replied, "I'm just tired." They offered me several options...one was to take a flight with Delta which left at 8:00am ...at this point it really didn't matter since I came to the crashing realization that I was not leaving Miami that night. Under different circumstances, spending a Saturday night in Miami ain't that bad! But when you're tired and have like $26 to your name...the options are somewhat limited. There would be no parties or clubs this night. So they put me up in hotel...which was nice and provided another meal voucher so that I could grab something to eat. I went to this Cuban restaurant and ordered a chef salad...yeah that's right a chef salad. The girl behind the counter was a little shocked to by my culinary choice...but at this point, I still wasn't terribly hungry but I knew I should get something for later and I simply didn't want anything greasy or hot. To make a long story short, I spent the night in Miami...slept comfortably and awoke around 7:15am. I caught the shuttle back to the airport and arrived around 10 o clock. Whew...it's almost over! yay! ...well sort of....there's another goddamn line on the inside...for people checking their luggage and I couldn't find the self-service check in for the life of me.....I was like , "this is bullshit!" so I went back outside and waited in a significantly shorter line to check my bags curbside. Finally, my luggage was checked and I was free to go back inside and wait in another enormous line for the security check. When I finally got through I immediately went to the Bacardi Rum bar and payed $10 for a Cuba libre with a double shot! I needed it...at this point all I had consumed was 2 cups of coffee, several cigarettes and now a rum and coke. I still had another meal voucher to use for breakfast but I simply wasn't in the mood to eat. So I just had a drink and listened to some music and awaited my departure to Nashville. Thank God the flight was on time and we made it there in good time...like 45 minutes early. Throughout this entire ordeal, I thought to myself..." I don't think I wanna fly anytime soon..at least not internationally...maybe never again". It's sort of like the way one feels after a night of heavy drinking and awakens with a massive hangover---"I'll NEVER drink again" Anyways, it's so nice to be around familiar things...and especially to sleep in my own bed again!!!! ahhhhh....Well I'm gonna decompress and debrief for now... until soon xoxo Mo PS. I almost forgot to tell you why all the American Airline flights were delayed. It was something involving unions...legality and overworked flight attendants and the airline was forced to give them breaks or something...so that's why there were so many delays! hmmm....I can't wait to write a letter to the airline explaining my plight. Hopefully, I get a free ticket out of it or something. Hell, I had to pay nearly $500 for missing my flight to Costa Rica due to oversleeping....I'm sure I'll convince American Airlines to do the right thing and compensate me for their error.

I'm on my way home!

Khepher678 — Tue, 12 Feb 2008 16:52:14 GMT

I'll be returning to the States Saturday, February 16th. Oh how time flies. So much to understand and put into perspective. I look forward to getting back to the life I know so well...yet I am a little sad to leave Costa Rica. Oh how conflicted I must be..lol...numerous times I was like "what the fuck!...get me outta here!" and then I would get a realization that I was exactly where I was meant to be. SO this has been about being present and not running away. A great lesson to learn. I've also come to the conlusion that it's time for me to "get real" and be honest with myself and others. Reminds me of the Kurt Coabain quote "I'd rather be hated for who I am, than loved for who I am not." That is my mantra these days. So there will be some noticeable changes upon my return...once I'm able to put things in perspective. I miss y'all and wish you the best. I hope life has been treating you kind. xoxo Mo