on trashing Mother

Please, patriotic citizens of America, please take a moment, at some point during the day today, to consider just how much we litter in this land. For all of the bluster and fuss about everyone being patriotic and waving flags and hanging them from cars and homes and businesses, we show great disrespect, even outright hatred, for the motherland – she who is fair Columbia – by disposing of our trash in inappropriate places. Fast food cups fill meadows and ditches; plastic take-home containers tumble in breezes; and our parks and forests are strewn with waste large and small, tin cans and candy wrappers and all sorts of other items discarded carelessly and without a moment's humble consideration. To claim patriotism is a poor and hollow substitute for acting in such a way as to cause as little harm, and as little disruption, to the natural condition of the many wild areas with which we as a People are blessed. (It is a unbearably shameful that we stole these lands from the First People tribes who lived here first, and that we murdered them gleefully and treated them as if they were worth less than beasts, but that is beside the point of this article.)

Beyond the more visible forms of litter, the byproducts created by the explosion of gasoline inside a car's engine – particulate matters, soots, and noxious gases – are all forms of litter; therefore, it is important for everyone who is capable to ride a bicycle and to avoid driving as much as possible. The true patriot does everything in her power to minimize the harm her actions cause the motherland; just as she would not stuff handfuls of empty candy-bar wrappers into her biological mother's vagina, so she does not toss them heedlessly into her local rivers. Just as she would not douse her birth-mom with a gallon of spent engine-oil, so she avoids dumping any fluids other than water directly into the curb-side drainage pipe.

It would seem, perhaps, that this article covers things that people already know, that it would be unthinkable to imagine that there are individuals in this land who are such tremendous assholes that they would pour our their waste, discard their trash, and flick their cigarettes butts onto the first available natural surface, but it is true. We are a nation of individuals seduced by the notion of a false convenience, tricked by advertisers, pastors, and politicians into thinking that our daily actions do not amount to much, that things shall soon get better. America is great because of industrious, positive individual effort, but our negative, careless individual efforts are costing her dearly, and leaving her stained, tainted, and diseased. So, please, dear friends, please pack out anything you pack in, leave your surroundings better than they were when you found them, and nourish a love for Mother earth as vast as is the love you feel for yourself.

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on trucks, ravens, and NOTW

Recently, while going somewhere atop my velocipede, I was passed by a pickup-truck driven by a solitary individual. Affixed to the back of this vehicle were two stickers, one reading “Ravens – Relentless,” the other, “NOTW.” While it will not shock this website's regular readers that I am once again writing about the idiocy of the loose affiliation of non-earth-bound, religiously-fanatical individuals who see themselves as being Not Of This World (NOTW), the dichotomy of the aforementioned stickers was, at the time, quite striking.

For starters, Webster's New Collegiate Dictionary from 1961 defines relentless as: “Mercilessly harsh, stern.” If anything is to be gleaned from the teachings of Yeshua (also known as Iesu, or Jesus), it is that one should – always, and without fail – be compassionate toward others, and that one should honor and love others as one would honor and love oneself. The teachings of this wise man focus, perhaps more than on anything else, on becoming a merciful and generous person whose only wish is to serve the lowly, to assist the meek, and to aid the disenfranchised. According to the Christian bible, the only time that this Yeshua acted in a truly harsh or stern fashion was when he drove – by whipping them with chains – money-lenders from temple in a brazen (yet obviously unsuccessful) attempt to rid faith of finance.

Next, the compassionate individual cares for the Earth and for Nature; he wishes to shelter and to promote the growing and the teeming things, no matter their size, shape, or color; the last thing that the true believer in the message of Yeshua would do would be to burn crude oil in an unnecessarily large (and lifted, or modified to ride higher and with inferior aerodynamics) truck by driving himself around the countryside in his two-ton vehicle at high speeds, to mow through clouds of insects, crushing them against the front of his car, or to live in such as way as to make any form of driving a (supposed) necessity. The last thing he would do would be to allow himself to become so engrossed in a foreign-born game that he would go out and purchase a sticker for his car instead of using that money to support efforts aimed at environmental conservation and the preservation of the myriad species.

And, finally, the true believer in Yeshua's message would not to spend his time watching, discussing, thinking on, or musing about the intricate details of such a decidedly earth-bound and petty thing as American football – the true believer would spend his time discussing, thinking on, and musing about how best to give to the poor, to help the needy, to uplift the downtrodden, and to live in such a way as to cause as little negative impact as possible to the health of this, our only planet.

To attempt to love Yeshua, football, and pickup-trucks at the same time is akin to trying to walk while sitting and standing; please, dear friends, remember the lessons of humility and mercy, and cast aside the creeping doubt of relentless and unbridled passion.

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on our common Nazi heritage

(I had begun to write a piece lambasting Americans for our shameless and widespread use of technologies developed and perfected by the Nazis, until I realized that every person living in today's industrialized societies benefits from the murder, chaos, fear, and hatred perpetuated by those horrible people; this article has changed significantly since its inception.)

As persons living in this modern world, we benefit from and use a variety of methods and technologies that were discovered by persons known as Nazis. Many of the advances we so readily use and accept today would be impossible without the wars fought during the 20th century, wars fought specifically to counter the threat posed by the Nazis and their allies. Therefore, any individual using and otherwise benefiting from such things as highly mechanized production, the use of electric-hybrid batteries, the interstate highway system, and air-conditioning (without which neither jet-flight nor high-rise buildings would be feasible), such persons are accomplice to every atrocity and horrendous action (including the genocidal bombings at Nagasaki, Hiroshima, and Dresden) that made that technology possible. Those people who jettison from their lives all vestiges of this modern world, who live, wear, and eat only such things as grow in Nature, or those who kill themselves outright, these people are free of the shameful burden of Nazism; the rest of us live with the blood of thousands of innocent people on our hands. I, the author, am just as guilty as the rest of mankind.

Without the Nazis, our modern world would not amount to much. (I applaud the efforts put forth by the brave and industrious women and men in America and her allied countries who worked on and mastered the methods and ideas – rocketry, the use of mass media in propaganda, diesel engines – pioneered by Germans during the 1930s and 40s; a spade, however, shall be called a spade.) American astronauts traveled to the moon on rockets designed and built by Werner Von Braun, who was a card-carrying member of the NSDAP, and a slave-master at Peenemünde. Without Nazis, the citizens of the world would not enjoy the privilege of traveling rapidly, and comfortably, in jet-powered aircraft, nor would we likely have developed radar or sonar technologies, without which air and naval travel become frightening and inefficient. If not for the Nazis, Albert Einstein's course in life would have been slightly altered, resulting in unknowable changes to the space-time-continuum (if, of course, one believes in such nonsense as the space-time-continuum), and he and his ideas may have benefited some country other than this, our own. And, to conclude this stress-inducing and poorly-argued piece, without the Nazis we would not likely have allowed nationalistic, fear-mongering, borderline-racist politicians such as Rick Perry, Michelle Bachmann, or Sarah Palin to gain such prominence on the national stage, and we would likely have found it far harder to neglect and to ignore our shared, common virtues of generosity, humility, and kindness, virtues that counter-act feelings of self-loathing, hatred, contempt, and dissatisfaction.

There is nothing more evil than hatred, and there are few dangers as great as to rely solely on mass media for one's daily news. Therefore, please turn off your TV, switch off your radio, burn your morning paper, and spend some time enjoying life's simple pleasures, such as breathing. If we are not careful, however, that too may soon join the growing list of Things Only Terrorists Do.

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regarding victory gardens

Friends, citizens, patriots: Please join the nationwide movement for greater self-sufficiency and improved life satisfaction by planting a victory garden. In the past, during episodes of perpetual war and stagnant economic possibility, our parents and grandparents rolled up sleeves and sunk fingers deep into the cool and blessed soil. They did not moan, they did not wail, they did not complain – they planted victory gardens.

We – you, I, and all of us – currently endure wars on multiple fronts, wildly fluctuating food prices, foodstuffs genetically modified and contaminated with pesticides and petroleum-based fuels and chemicals, and environmental degradation caused by poor political policies and by short-sighted agricultural and business practices. With the global food-supply-chain growing ever less sustainable, and with food manufacturers seeking to maximize their profits at all cost by saturating their products with fillers such as salts, sugars, and fats, now is the time, and today is the day, to take fate into your own hands and to sew for yourself the seeds of a brighter and more independent future. (Solar, wind, or water generated electricity used to run a water pump or the like can be stored in 12 volt, direct-current batteries, which can themselves be tapped to heat water, to cook, and to recharge the batteries of cellphones, netbooks, headlamps, and tablets; renewable resources abound, coal or crude oil do not.)

Anyone, anywhere, of any age and activity level, has the capacity to plant a garden, and, thereby, to liberate her own little slice of America from self-imposed reliance on foreign food producers, corporate farms, and plasticized, processed foodstuffs. For persons living in urban areas: Research square-foot-gardening (or square-meter-gardening); for persons living anywhere: Research methods of gardening using raised-beds; for persons with available acreage: Research closed-cycle systems, hydro-culture, drip irrigation, and methods for feeding hydroponic crops from a Tilapia pond's runoff. Tips and strategies for planting a victory garden of your own can be found motherearthnews.com, freecycle.org, or at many other gardening, off-the-grid, and self-sufficiency websites.

We cannot wait any longer to free ourselves from our current slavery to petroleum products, corporate farms, corporate food processors, the idea that things are easy, or the idea that someone else must grow our food for us. We must act now, each one of us breaking a single chain in the ever-tightening, ever-restricting bonds of the capitalism-driven enslavement of hard-working, crop-producing people around the world; building a victory garden on your balcony or in your backyard is an easy and fun first step in the process. So join us, fellow Americans, join us, and celebrate increased food Safety and greater personal Happiness by living, and eating, well.

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on the use of eyes in street art

(reasons, questions, and motives)

Stroll through downtown Los Angeles, up New York's Broadway, or along the avenues of Philadelphia's Center City, and look in the forgotten, in the grimy, and in the underused places. With a keen glance and a bit of luck, you will witness the riotous beauty known as street art. Oh, what a profusion of style and color, of shape and size, of message and image, all blending into a whole that, if viewed from afar, resembles little more than visual clutter; but get in good and close, and follow the guidance of your peripheral vision, and your most tender of sphincters will drink invariably of the intoxicating power of street art.

But why do we look? Why are we powerless against the urge to sweep our gazes into worn and sticky places and up onto soot-covered utility poles? Eyes, my friends, we look at graffiti because it is full of eyes (and not just any type of eyes, but human eyes). Perhaps they stumbled upon the technique accidentally, perhaps they copied it from advertisers, or maybe they just plain Knew to tap into one of mankind's most primal and deep-seated fears, but, however it occurred, street artists employ one of the most basic methods for getting people to look at something – to give it eyes.

Since our time as forest-creeping, prairie-running, skull-bashing troglodytes, the species homo sapiens has developed the uncanny ability to recognize the shape of the eye even if it should be obscured by layers of seemingly random patterns. While experts may argue whether this ability is restricted merely to recognizing the human eye, or if it applies to the eyes of all of our former predators (think bear, cougar, coyote), few persons dispute the fact that our brains are really good at figuring out if someone, or something, is looking at us. Advertisers exploit this evolutionary adaptation to our status as Top Predator Of One Another by blanketing the phaltscape with pictures of pretty people who nearly all happened to have been staring directly at the camera's shutter when it opened. (Now, however, instead of our powers giving us the upper hand in a fight-or-flight situation, they allow us to be convinced that we need that new and re-formulated cucumber body scrub; woe be unto mankind.)

All quasi-scientific, pseudo-evolutionary nonsense aside (I am not a scientist, nor am I particularly intelligent or well-versed) – why do graffiti-writers use so many eyes in their designs? Why in the name of Beelzebub do they wish for people to look at their works of art, and to what purpose do they make use of our aforementioned ability to pick eyes out of the ether? As the SDUBS (self directed urban beautification specialist) is wily and suspicious by nature, and since she maintains a level of honor, decorum, and discipline so profound as to make inquiry into her personal matters a life-threatening endeavor, these questions shall likely go unanswered for many generations to come. For now, however, please enjoy the street-side galleries of free-to-the-consumer art wherever you may be, and rest easily in the knowledge that, by looking back at eyes that look at you, you are merely executing a deeply-ingrained survival reflex that is as natural to humans as is laughter. Never forget, however, to keep an eye out for your fellow man, he who has been hunting you for longer than you shall likely ever know.

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on graffiti in Philly & LA

(or, a whorphan's take on the street art scenes of two fine American cities)

At first glance, street art in Los Angeles has much in common with that in Philadelphia. In each city, the graffiti is vibrant, irreverent, daringly-placed, socially-critical, and to be found in most neighborhoods regardless of their social status or overall character. Certain designs by well-established artists appear in both cities, proving that the SDUBS (self directed urban beautification specialist) likes to travel, that he knows not to change a cunning or successful design, and that his art is relevant in any asphalt-landscape, or phaltscape. As in LA, it is nearly impossible to see anyone in Philadelphia actually applying street art – as this is done generally at night or during periods of inclement weather – a fact which points to the wily and suspicious nature of the street artist as well as to his desire to stay anonymous and to attract as little attention to himself, and as much to his work, as is possible. In both cities, SDUBS utilize such self-adhesive mailing labels as are available free-of-charge at branches of the United States Post Office; I found it far more daunting a task, however, to find such stickers on the East Coast than it is out West, where they seem to abound. In Philadelphia, I noticed a greater number of pieces stuck up by apparently classically-trained artists seeking perhaps to spread the word about their abilities by going rogue; in Los Angeles, the street art that survives not only the rigorously brutal meritocratic evaluation process as done by the street artists themselves but also removal or destruction by the city's own Artwork Desecration Teams tends to be of a more gritty and distorted nature than some of the abstract – even gallery-worthy – pieces as are found in Philly.

In LA, street art is removed or painted over continuously – sometimes daily – whereas in Philadelphia, pieces can stay up for months, even years (see the dusty, weather-beaten FRESH sticker on the rear of a ONE-WAY sign on the north side of Arch Street, near the Troubadour). This can have a stagnating effect on the street art scene, with the best spots dominated by the more aggressive, tenacious, or merely lucky SDUBS, while in Southern California the best spots are constantly painted over by roving bands of the city's own counter-vandals, people who seem to hate beauty, creativity, and any artistic expression other than that found in for-profit art galleries. The riot of different styles and slogans and symbols found in LA trumps the scene found in Philly, which, upon closer inspection, appears to be dominated by a mere handful of artists who nonetheless pursue their Happiness with youth-like vigor and obvious zeal. Furthermore, I noticed in the City of Brotherly Love and Sisterly Affection a tendency toward cute designs with anime-style eyes and slightly distorted bodies; in Los Angeles, any and every imaginable style, color-palette, medium, and subject-matter is on display, twenty-four hours a day, in miles of street-side, no-cost-to-the-consumer art galleries.

In all, however, I must applaud Philadelphia's street artists for pursuing their Happiness with fortitude and vigor, for affixing their pieces to unconventional and hard-to-reach spots, for working tirelessly to enliven the phaltscape with bright and flashing colors, and for spending their own time and their own money on the materials needed to beautify their drab and conformist surroundings. That a city a fraction of the size of such a sprawling and surface-filled metropolis as that western behemoth can produce and maintain such a lively and compelling street art scene bodes well for the town that birthed our Independence. Mahalo, friends, and aloha.

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on the SDUBS codex

Street artists have a method, yet they have no known method; they follow a code, yet they follow no known code. There is a rule and a measure to the business of graffiti, a codex of unwritten, non-binding, and unspoken rules that are themselves constantly in flux, and always changing. As it would be foolish to attempt to capture these rules or to try to fix them in ink and in time, and as few who dare write about them live to tell the tale (let alone receive any sort of respect from their peers), let us examine a few of the more apparent entries in the SDUBS codex, or the Self Directed Urban Beautification Specialist's rulebook.

To celebrate the glories of socialism, the SDUBS applies her artwork primarily to public property such as street signs, USPS mail boxes, pavement, asphalt, utility poles, subway and light-rail cars, city buses, and to any otherwise unadorned surface located in or on local, state, or federal government buildings. (Graffiti will find its way onto privately-owned property, but if it does, it more than likely belongs on whatever boring and otherwise unadorned surface the vandal decided to deface.) Since she cannot hope to please all persons who might cast eyes upon her labors, the SDUBS works to satisfy her own artistic sensitivities and not those of anyone else. As her work is constantly exposed to external and internal criticism, she allows her natural abilities to flourish ceaselessly, and strives to make her artwork more vibrant, more colorful, less oppressive, more daring, less confusing, and more dastardly than all the rest; it is her goal to criticize those things as she sees wrong with the society in which she lives. Driven by a righteous purity that even she cannot quite explain, she is always on the move seeking out virgin surfaces upon which to display her talents. A creature of deep serenity and pervasive inner calm, she goes about the business of graffiti accompanied only by her own steadfast conviction, never hesitating in the application of her work, never fearful of the potential consequences of her actions, never glancing about to see who might be looking at her; she is a seasoned operator who cares about little but the task at hand. She does not linger near the applied work, nor does she deviate from her course any longer than it might take to stick up her dearly departed piece. And, finally, she experiments with any and every conceivable style of artwork creation and application until she has found the mixture that suits her best: Hereby, she avoids frustration, plays to her greatest strengths, and stagnates neither in style nor in daring.

The author hopes that this brief but poorly-worded and insufficiently-researched list might help the uninitiated to gain a better understanding of street art, of the street artist, and of the goals and aspirations of these strange and wonderful persons. To the night-crawling, alley-lurking, pride-swallowing, risk-taking SDUBS of the world: May your pens not leak, your nozzles never clog, and your hearts stay free of pride and malice. Mahalo, friends, mahalo.

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nos somos todos Mapuches

on the slave's chariot

Oh, how much we Americans suffer for our petty conveniences, and how terribly we abuse the Earth to maintain them. It is not entirely our fault, perhaps, that we lock ourselves in shiny metal boxes whose insides are constantly exploding – in part, our opinions have been shaped by a century of false intelligence that touts the benefits of the automobile and its socialist highway network while obfuscating the true cost of motor-vehicle ownership. Imagine someone today describing the car's negative effects – suburban sprawl, pollution, high maintenance costs, the alienation of the individual from society – and imagine your reaction. Would you jump for joy? Would you sign up at your local dealership in order to spend a year's salary on a combustion-driven steel battering-ram that is lined with miles of tiny wires and sensitive rubber hoses? Would you say, “Of course, Mr. Ford, Toyota-San, Herr Benz, of course I shall take on that second job so that I can drive to work, to school, to the store, to the post office, back to the store, to school a second time, perhaps to a publick-house, and then to my home?” If you are an clear-thinking and self-respecting American living today, your answer may not be the resounding Yes issued by previous generations.

One of the main reasons that we mere three hundred millions of Americans use more gasoline than billions of other people combined is that we have transformed our society into one that is wholly dependent on the automobile – we wantonly waste petroleum and wage war over oil because we choose to perpetuate self-enslavement to the notion that one's body can be moved around through space-time without expending much physical effort rather than to accommodate and promote the frugal and simple life of the bicyclist.

Compared to the slave-charioteer, the smog-rider knows how hard it is to move her body around, and that certain things take time, and that certain things take effort, and because she knows these things, she plans ahead and maintains time discipline while seeing to her own physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being. By liberating herself from the artificial demands of a lumbering blunderbox filled with volatile chemicals, she keeps her soul free of sadness, discontent, and desire. By fixing her bicycle and keeping it road-worthy for an entire year for less cost than a single oil change, she spends her resources wisely. Her mouth, not a twisted metal pipe, is her exhaust port; her beating heart, not a cast-iron maze of tubes, is the motor that drags her across the phaltscape; her legs, not a row of oil-drenched, whirling plugs, are the pistons that turn the crank that sees her on her way.

The velocipedist, her heart buoyant and her soul aroused, lives the life of honest and healthy labor, while the car driver, that poor wretch sitting in his glass prison of perpetual payment, lives the life of one enslaved to the demands of a hardwood-accented beast. His mount of choice requires specialized and costly repairs, whereas the cyclist can pinpoint and fix problems easily and while on the go; his conveyance is the nation's problem, the bicycle, it's solution. Therefore, dear reader, please consider switching from a high-cost slave's chariot to a low-cost wire horse, and rejoice as your spirits, and your savings, rise.

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from Common Sense, by Thomas Paine

“Society in every state is a blessing, but government even in its best state is but a necessary evil; in its worst state an intolerable one; for when we suffer, or are exposed to the same miseries BY A GOVERNMENT, which we might expect in a country WITHOUT GOVERNMENT, our calamity is heightened by reflecting that we furnish the means by which we suffer.”

on luxury & comfort

This morning, while waiting for father sun to awaken, I heard on the radio an advertisement for a new motor-vehicle made by Lincoln. In this commercial, the company touted the vehicle's salient features, among them “organically tanned leather from Scotland, French stitching, and Moroccan (or Algerian) wood accents.” Beyond my abject loathing for a supposedly American company that pays non-Americans to make pretty, expensive cars for gullible Americans to buy, I find myself seething with rage at the notion in this country that we deserve things such as finery, luxury, and comfort.

If while growing up the the writers of the Declaration of Independence had been told that they deserved luxury, that comfort were their ultimate goal, that it were acceptable for them to let their guards down and to relax in a plush and reclining chair, they would not likely have had the stones to rise up and to spit in the faces of their foreign slave-masters. If the frontiersmen had grown up convinced that luxury and comfort were things they deserved, they probably would never have withstood the privations and hardships associated with crossing continents. If Abraham Lincoln or Martin Luther King Jr. had become accustomed to soft and easy lives, they would likely have changed neither history nor the fate of millions of otherwise down-trodden and wretched souls.

Attention, citizens of America: life is not comfortable, easy, or luxurious. There is no reason you cannot be Happy in your life, or Safe (these being the primary purposes of government, according to the Declaration), but please do not allow yourself to become addicted to the notion that it will be convenient, plush, or pillow-topped. The more one's supposed luxury, the more one has to lose when one's house burns or floods or gets crushed by falling trees; the more one relies on comfort, the greater will be the fall when hardship returns; the more one believes in the lies spewing from the twisted suck-holes of advertisers, the less likely one is to be able to make do with less; and the more one denigrates oneself by driving a car, the longer one is trapped inside a glass-walled, cash-guzzling, burning metal box.

Today, our nation faces trying times: our people lack above-poverty-level employment, our corporations maximize profits at any and all cost to the worker and to the environment, our politicians have been corrupted by Special Interest, half of our “representatives” in the legislature are millionaires, and our government is a tyrannical juggernaut that wages war upon the Liberty of its own citizens. This is not the time to seek comfort, or luxury – this is the time to batten down the hatches and to prepare for the worst (while still keeping a song in one's heart). The underlying reason for the focus on luxury and comfort of late is that these foul conditions trick the person into thinking that she can rest, that she has done her duty to herself and to humanity, that she deserves certain things that only money can buy. Money cannot buy Happiness, nor can it buy Safety, but it can be used as a tool for self-enslavement to supposedly necessary external conditions. Therefore, the patriot relies on nothing but her bright and bursting spirit; she needs nothing but the calluses growing on her strong, slender hands. Rise up, my fellow Americans: shake off the cruel yoke of luxury, and discard the rusty chains of comfort, because your nation, and Honest Abe, need you strong, sane, and self-reliant.

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on America's legal numbers racket

Attention lottery-loving citizens of America: stop playing the lottery. Before the federal and state governments confiscated the system from organized crime, the lottery was called the numbers racket; then, as now, it is a crooked game run by crooked scum that hoodwink financially destitute, money-obsessed, weak-willed people into forking over their hard-earned cash for a return of roughly ten cents on the dollar.

If you play this state-run racket thinking that you are doing the right thing, if you participate in this legalized crime hoping to strike it fabulously rich, then you shall lose more than just money – you shall lose the last, fraying shreds of your dignity. If you are hoping for wealth, all you shall get is sadness. If you think that maybe, just this once, it will be you announcing to the world how fantastically wealthy you are, then you shall be terribly mistaken. The states that run lotteries are quick to claim that proceeds from their lotteries benefit the infirm, the sick, or the elderly. In truth, however, the very people who can least afford to play the lottery – people on food stamps, Welfare, or fixed incomes, and those who work low-paying jobs – these are the people who grow poorer with each purchase of a lottery ticket. It is upon these people that the state-run numbers racket preys, in part through ludicrous and vile advertising campaigns that tells the lower classes: Today could be your lucky day, so just buy a ticket already – you never know!

Today can be your lucky day, as can tomorrow, because every day spent not obsessing over money is a lucky day, and because true fortune comes by expressing your natural abilities through diligent, focused, and honest labor. Do not play the lottery, because if you do, you will allow an external, fickle, and dishonest source to dictate your Happiness, you will engage in state-sanctioned criminal behavior, you will prove your bovine-like docility by doing anything that the crowd does, and you will show that you are a slave to the shifting winds of chance. Do not be a slave: be a self-reliant, self-respecting citizen. Live simply, live frugally, and steer clear of the crooked numbers rackets.

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on e pluribus unum

Translated from Latin, E Pluribus Unum, America's motto, means: From Many, One. It implies that the purpose of government in this country is to gather together all who dwell here and to mold them into a whole that is greater and more powerful than its individual parts could ever be alone. It does not mean: Make only 0.01% of all Americans fantastically wealthy while the rest wallow in poverty without regular and affordable access to proper health care, well-paying jobs, decent shelter, or healthy, high-quality food.

The robber-baron style, consumption-oriented capitalism currently endorsed and enforced by the American federal government makes but poorly of many, one; we can no longer allow this selfish, short-sighted economic model to poison and destroy the tender, fragile reasons why this nation was formed: to make the people of this land Safe and Happy, and to allow the Blessings of Liberty to rain bountifully upon all, equally. We must change our economic systems, and, if need be, our corrupted and counter-productive modes of government. Arise, patriots, arise as one; read the Declaration of Independence, and fight alongside the indomitable forces of Reason to liberate it from such harsh and heavy chains as those that now imprison it.

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on lacrosse – America's native game

Long have we Yankees watched, celebrated, and played non-native, imported sports. Baseball and ice hockey come originally from Canada; American football derives from British rugby; and tennis, let alone soccer, are European sports dreamed up by tards in the Old Country. (Basketball, as a makeshift sport created in America during the middle of the 20^th century, may well have been invented here, but, compared to lacrosse, too recently to be truly and exclusively American – it is a game for the modern world.) With invasive sports taking over our airways and poisoning our hearts, we ask, Where does it stop? What native-born game shall henceforth entertainment us? To the amateur patriot seeking to wring from his republic every last drop of terrible beauty; to the action lover yearning for the speed of soccer mixed with the crash of football; to the sadist lusting after the sight of blood spurting from well-bruised, moving flesh; to all these people, the game of choice is the game that thrived here long before the white man arrived to rape, to pillage, and to defile the good dark soil with his asphalt and concrete.

Lacrosse – brutal, quick, stunning lacrosse – was played on this continent well before the first paleface made landfall. For centuries prior to the arrival of European settlers, for generations before the white man lied and cheated and murdered his shameful way into the country's vast interior, this harsh sport blossomed amongst the democratic, resource-conscious First People nations in the Chesapeake Bay watershed area, and beyond. What better way to celebrate life than to try to bash one's opponent to death?! What better way to display one's vigor and fortitude than to take one's licks and to charge at the enemy with gentle, heedless rage?! Lacrosse requires hand-eye coordination and upper-body strength similar to that of tennis or baseball, stamina and agility similar to that of soccer, and bodily contact such as that felt in football, with an wholly unusual element: net-topped poles with which a player bashes and strikes at his opposing (ball-handling) player, hitting him anywhere about the upper body (excepting the neck and head area) even when he has fallen and is lying on the ground. (Lacrosse is played by both males and females, from the middle-school level onward.) Lacrosse is not a sport for persons with weak bones, inferior blood-clotting facilities, or a penchant for weeping – it is a sport for hardened operators for whom injury, pain, and deprivation are a way of life.

To the extent that each is a honorable, rugged, unflinching, team-oriented, and hard-hitting individual, the lacrosse player resembles the self-sufficient, resource-conscious American patriot. Watching lacrosse is akin to peering back in time to the days when our problems were solved quickly and according to clearly defined rules, to a time in which decision-makers hashed things out by bashing each other nicely over the head while attempting to pluck from the sky a small, rock-hard, fast-moving round object. Oh, if only the long-silent war-whoops would once again sound from the throats of proud and self-less warriors.

場黑麥 ioanni elymucampus fecit

on the United Slaves of America

Do you often drive to malls and to other places of direction-less shopping, only to buy something you don't really need? Do you buy the newest gadgets just as they are released, spending your hard-earned money without a second thought? Do you while speaking in polite company wax suddenly poetic about television shows, explaining their plot-lines instead of making conversation, speaking emphatically about people whom you do not know personally and who do not actually exist? If you have answered Yes to any of these questions, you are more than likely self-enslaved to conspicuous consumerism, to driving around in your car wasting gasoline without a clue as to your purpose, to accruing superfluous debt, and to staring at the compelling and intricately woven tales that emerge regularly from a flickering plastic box (which you likely bought at high price and labored diligently to mount upon your living-room wall).

Can you imagine living now, today, without electricity? Can you imagine living in a world in which electricity were in sporadic or limited supply? Can you imagine not being able to purchase, at any time of day or night, as much cheap gasoline as you to wish buy at any one of thousands of separate, well-lit retail locations? Do you consider resource-conservation, composting, and recycling to be a waste of time? Have you become so addicted to your pocket computer that your mind has lost its ability to reason, to recall important information, to think for itself, or to keep itself occupied past the setting of the sun? If you see a reflection of yourself in any of these scalding but poorly-worded questions, you are a slave to Big Oil, a slave to your own automobile, a slave to electricity, a slave to your electrical devices, a slave to the white men who own the electrical companies, a slave to the coal that makes the steam that runs the electrical plants, a slave to the railways that transport the coal, and a slave to the whims and fancies of the fat-cat fuckers on Wall Street who trade in and control the price of coal futures (and who, by fiat, trade in and control you and your ability to Pursue your Happiness).

If you are a self-respecting, happiness-loving patriotic American, you would do well to fight self-enslavement to any external thing, person, device, physical condition, and state-of-mind. The patriot is self-sufficient in order to preserve his country's limited natural and national resources and to make sure his (self-imposed) need does not affect his country's ability to provide for the common defence. The patriot does not rest her hopes and dreams on external conditions such as bandwidth speeds or back-to-school-sales – rather, she maintains a pure and loving heart into which and from which all the Blessings of Liberty flow; she keeps her heart in its nebulous state and denies herself all but the basic necessities; she is a tough and hardened operator who minds not cold, heat, nor personal privation – she focuses rather on providing for the general Welfare, on establishing Justice, and on forming a more perfect Union in her own life and, by extension, in the life of her vast and beautiful nation.

A mere one hundred and fifty years ago, we Americans went to war amongst ourselves to battle the evils of slavery (among other reasons), yet now, in 2012, we pay good money to enslave ourselves willingly to TV shows, digital gadgets, internal home lighting, pillow-top mattresses, rich and fatty foods, automobiles, shopping malls, and gyms. One of my ancestor died fighting the evils of slavery, shot by a sniper's bullet during the battle of Vicksburg; by remaining vigilant to the ever-grasping, ever-enticing tendrils of our ridiculous modern society and of their power to destroy my virtue, I shall make sure his sacrifice was not made in vain.

場黑麥 ioanni elymucampus fecit

p.s. the author would like to point that he is no less a slave in these matters than most other Americans living today