tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-232857242024-02-28T10:52:24.393-05:00chomsky in chainsTerry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.comBlogger171125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23285724.post-1150092329243348602014-08-08T12:33:00.001-04:002014-08-08T12:36:14.938-04:00<a href="https://www.desmos.com/calculator/4s4kw1mkcl" title="View with the Desmos Graphing Calculator"> <img height="200px" nbsp="" src="https://s3.amazonaws.com/calc_thumbs/production/4s4kw1mkcl.png" style="border-radius: 5px; border: 1px solid #ccc;" width="200px" /></a>AT the link, click on the "a" button on the left hand side to see an animated unit circle.Terry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23285724.post-19065224527024274892012-12-18T05:14:00.002-05:002012-12-18T05:23:21.585-05:00Unicide<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 15.454545021057129px;">There's a line I'm rather fond of, by the American philosopher Richard Rorty: "thinghood itself is description-relative."</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 15.454545021057129px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 15.454545021057129px;">We have no assurance that our words "cut nature at the joint."</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 15.454545021057129px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.727272033691406px; line-height: 15.454545021057129px;">There has been a good deal of international comparison going on of late concerning things like homicide rates, in which case, the United States looks rather dire, provided of course that you restrict the conversation to "developed" countries.</span><br />
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<br />
I think it is at least worth considering the possibility that the words "homicide" and "suicide" are, following Rorty, one "thing." (a suicide is a homicide where the perpetrator and the victim are one.)<br />
<br />
Looked at through that lens, international comparisons yield a very different picture. Japan, which gets a lot of attention for having a low homicide rate, actually has a high suicide rate. So much so that it exceeds the combined total of US murders and suicides.<br />
<br />
I'm not suggesting that this way of looking at things is "true," certainly not uniquely true. But I will suggest that it is worth considering things from this perspective for a while, to so how that world looks.</div>
Terry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23285724.post-66078207686383060952012-10-21T15:43:00.001-04:002012-10-21T15:43:14.545-04:00<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 17.600000381469727px; text-align: left;">I just did some back of envelope rough estimate calculations to get a sense of how much CO2 emissions each of us is in some sense "entitled" to.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 17.600000381469727px; text-align: left;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 17.600000381469727px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 17.600000381469727px; text-align: left;">With some admittedly highly suspect rules of thumb, I came up with an equivalent of an annual driving distance of 11,500 miles, ie. that is assuming that all you did was drive (no heating or cooling your home, no air travel, or train travel, no cooking o</span><br />
<div class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 17.600000381469727px; text-align: left;">
f meals, no electric lights.)<br /><br />I started with the assumption that all human beings should be individually entitled to an equal share of CO2 emissions. Also based on a rather optimistic estimate of 50 miles per gallon. This is so rough that I may have lost a factor of 10 somewhere, but this is a kind of tangible estimate that I have not seen before.</div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 17.600000381469727px; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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<div class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 17.600000381469727px; text-align: left;">
Based on the following data/assumption/estimates:</div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 17.600000381469727px; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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<br />
<div class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 17.600000381469727px; text-align: left;">
<span id=".reactRoot[7].[1][2][1]{comment494232687268230_5774529}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[0]" style="background-color: #edeff4; font-size: 11.199999809265137px; line-height: 11.199999809265137px;"><span id=".reactRoot[7].[1][2][1]{comment494232687268230_5774529}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[0].[0]">30 gigatons of CO2 emissions in 2011 </span><br id=".reactRoot[7].[1][2][1]{comment494232687268230_5774529}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[0].[1]" /><span id=".reactRoot[7].[1][2][1]{comment494232687268230_5774529}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[0].[2]">3 pounds CO2 emissions per pound of gasoline</span><br id=".reactRoot[7].[1][2][1]{comment494232687268230_5774529}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[0].[3]" /><span id=".reactRoot[7].[1][2][1]{comment494232687268230_5774529}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[0].[4]">6 billion people</span><br id=".reactRoot[7].[1][2][1]{comment494232687268230_5774529}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[0].[5]" /><span id=".reactRoot[7].[1][2][1]{comment494232687268230_5774529}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[0].[6]">5 tons per person per year</span><br id=".reactRoot[7].[1][2][1]{comment494232687268230_5774529}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[0].[7]" /><span id=".reactRoot[7].[1][2][1]{comment494232687268230_5774529}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[0].[8]">2.5 tons target (assuming 50% reduction target)</span></span><span id=".reactRoot[7].[1][2][1]{comment494232687268230_5774529}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]" style="background-color: #edeff4; font-size: 11.199999809265137px; line-height: 11.199999809265137px;"><span id=".reactRoot[7].[1][2][1]{comment494232687268230_5774529}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]."><br id=".reactRoot[7].[1][2][1]{comment494232687268230_5774529}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[0]" /><span id=".reactRoot[7].[1][2][1]{comment494232687268230_5774529}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[1]">.8 tons of gasoline (to produce the .8 tons)</span><br id=".reactRoot[7].[1][2][1]{comment494232687268230_5774529}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[2]" /><span id=".reactRoot[7].[1][2][1]{comment494232687268230_5774529}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[3]">1600 pounds</span><br id=".reactRoot[7].[1][2][1]{comment494232687268230_5774529}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[4]" /><span id=".reactRoot[7].[1][2][1]{comment494232687268230_5774529}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[5]">7 pounds per gallon</span><br id=".reactRoot[7].[1][2][1]{comment494232687268230_5774529}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[6]" /><span id=".reactRoot[7].[1][2][1]{comment494232687268230_5774529}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[7]">230 gallons</span><br id=".reactRoot[7].[1][2][1]{comment494232687268230_5774529}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[8]" /><span id=".reactRoot[7].[1][2][1]{comment494232687268230_5774529}..[1]..[1]..[0].[0][2]..[3]..[9]">11,500 miles (at 50 miles per gallon)</span></span></span></div>
Terry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23285724.post-32686963166349598912012-08-31T12:07:00.000-04:002012-08-31T12:07:16.785-04:00Dave SnodgrassMy friend Dave Snodgrass has graciously consented to have me publish his poem about the Golden Plowman. <br />
<br />
Dave was a huge presence in the Cleveland performance poetry scene when I first became involved with it back in the very late '90s. For his own reasons, he has removed himself from it, much to the community's impoverishment.<br />
<br />
I don't think Dave ever made much effort to publish his poems, seeing them as more oral/aural and performance events. But he is/was a wonderful writer.<br />
<br />
Hope you enjoy this.Terry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23285724.post-72682036974051987642012-08-31T12:00:00.004-04:002012-08-31T12:13:59.232-04:00A Hymn of Praise to the Golden Plowmanby Dave Snodgrass<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There ain't no life, 'cept the
one life you get;</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
That's what you think about when you
sit way up high and it sure ain't July</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It resembles December, when the gods
have a temper</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
and your prayers are as empty as your
pockets.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Let me be more specific:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The closest approximation to a drunken
elephant ballerina on roller skates</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
in this man's workin' world</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
is a fully-loaded flatbed on a highway
incline</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
at the point at which H<sub>2</sub>O
becomes H<sub>2</sub>OOOOOOOOOOOO shit!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Let me tell you from experience:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
With ten tons of tool-steel in a
top-heavy truck, it's terrifyingly tough,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
to tip-toe through the two-lanes with
tenderness and tenacity, it tends</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
to make a man count his sins …
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
just in case.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
For further illustration, an episode:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Halfway home to work I was,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
on a December evening when it seemed
that Apollo's chariot blew a spoke;</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
and I'm steering between the flakes...</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
White above, white to each side,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
fightin' twenty thousand pounds of
feisty, frisky ferrite,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
strapped to the back of a six-wheel
toboggan,
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
momentum my master, inertia my icon,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
and Slippery Rock ain't my college, but
I'm takin' a schoolin' nonetheless...</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm like a rat ridin' a rhino</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
over streets that would skid a
spike-foot snowmobile like soap in a shower-stall,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And, just as I'm about to lose it
entirely,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
go ass-under-tailpipe into an
unscheduled and unavoidable road-side rest stop,
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
wait …..............</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In the rearview mirror, a flashing
light,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
a keel of steel, a wake of white, and
Salvation,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
like I'd ordered it from a good-luck
menu …</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The Golden Plowman, and his
Yellow-Queen Limousine,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
comin' to chop a foot off the top, and
give the rest a hefty dose</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
of the salt of the earth,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I drop down two gears, tip my hat as he
passes,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
and slide in ten Toyota-lengths back
for respect;</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Respect, because he (or she, who can
say) is my king, my savior, and my best</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
friend,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
and I will follow him everywhere.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I will buy every coffee, fix every
tire,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
suck-siphon every spare drop of diesel
from these tanks, because without him,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
it'd just be me, and my air brakes,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Those Westinghouse wonders that only
work three ways:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Every which way,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Get-the-hell-out-of-my-way,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And no way at all;</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
No more jokes about ODOT being the Ohio
Department of Taking our Time,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
No more cussin' the extra
lane-closures,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'll buy him a brand-new shovel to lean
on nine months out the year if he wants,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Hell,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'll leave a box of fresh donuts on
every orange barrel
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
from Willoughby to Westlake, and Maumee
to Marietta,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
for he gives me the road, to have and
to hold,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
'til dock do I park.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
No, there ain't no life, 'cept the one
life you got,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
and the Golden Plowman helps you keep
it</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
when no one can even get out their own
front door</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, Respect,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
to the drivers of ODOT, and their
Yellow-Queen Limousines.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
May the roads rise well to meet you,</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
until the plows come home.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
Terry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23285724.post-52605203497925463502012-02-21T06:00:00.002-05:002012-02-21T06:03:55.766-05:00Maj RagainMy friend the poet Maj Ragain has been a huge influence on poetry here in Northeast Ohio. It occurred to me the other day that he is under-represented online. So I asked him if I might publish one of his works here, and he graciously consented.<br /><br />This is an old favorite.Terry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23285724.post-46286836378897145052012-02-21T05:58:00.003-05:002012-02-21T06:15:20.333-05:00Grab a Giblet/InaMae Bagwellby Maj Ragain<br /><br />In Olney, Illinois, the hillbilly ghetto, about a four block square, is named Goosenibble. Everybody in town knows the name; nobody knows where it came from. Except that the area, just south of the B&O tracks, has always had to do with poultry. The Kralis chicken processing plant was there for years, up through the late '70's, shipping noodles and broth to Campbell's. The plant moved to Arkansas, and Goosenibble slid a little closer to the edge. Most folks went to work down on Boone Street. That's where the unemployment office is. Say where you workin'? Down on Boone Street. For 26 weeks or so. Sign up every two weeks. Money comes in the mail.<br /><br />But now there is hope in Goosenibble. A new turkey processing plant is open this week in the old Kralis building. And everybody knows turkeys are a step up from chickens. Truckers will haul thousands of turkeys into town, whole cities of Thanksgiving stacked crate on crate. The local poultry joke is that when they get someone new on the killing line, the old timers, washed in the blood themselves, pull this one: Now, the best way to make money here is to work fast so when the plucker gets done and hands you the turkey, you take your bare hand and shove it in the turkey's behind. It won't feel like it'll go, but keep tryin'. Run it all the way through 'til you get ahold of his neck, then jerk him wrong side out. Just dump the guts in the bucket and hand the turkey on down the line. Used to be a one-armed man here named Clint who could make a hundred dollars a day just like that, piecework, and never drew his knife. The whole plant would shut down to watch that green boy do his first turkey.<br /><br />These aren't your Honeysuckle, all breastmeat, primetime turkeys, with the built in little red flag that pops up when they're done in the oven, not the one the rosy cheeked, smiling grandma serves at the Thanksgiving groaning board. These are what they call spent turkeys, too old to lay, too tough to bake, too gone to celebrate with. These are the ones you find in your bowl of soup, the noodle, the dumpling, the meltdown they call broth. This is where the turkey stops.<br /><br />I did know a woman who worked at the Kralis plant. She'd walk up the tracks, two blocks, to the South End Tavern and drink Black Velvet. Usually she woudn't wash up either, wore her blue rubber boots and hard hat and long green killing coat. She was six feet tall, skinny enough to walk on air, ski footed, a voice that clanged. InaMae. One word. InaMae Bagwell. If I were making this up, I'd go ahead and say that she wrote poems in chicken blood on the restroom walls and that she carried a coatpocket full of chicken hearts and dropped them in the drinks of the unbelieving. But I am trying to tell the truth here.<br /><br />She had an old man, a real old guy who rode a bicycle with a rusted wire basket. He leaned it against the front of the South End Tavern. He couldn't get his InaMae to come home after work. Every night, he'd have to go to the bar and haul her skinny butt home. It was a scene nobody liked. One night, he'd had enough. He drug her out of there and because InaMae was too drunk to go any further, he left her on the back steps of his house. He went and got a shovel and a fifty pound bag of Sakrete concrete mix. He dug a hole, stuck her feet in up to her knees, mixed the Sakrete with water and poured it in. He went to bed with a satisfied mind, the concrete was setting hard and InaMae was passed out, a prisoner of sweet love.<br /><br />When he checked on InaMae an hour later, she was gone. He tracked her as far as the South End Tavern, peered through the front window and there she was, wearing twenty pound concrete boots and trying to dance with a glass of Black Velvet.<br /><br />He didn't even bother to go in. The war was over for him. I heard that he passed away a year or so later. I haven't seen InaMae in a while. If she is still in this world, she'll be working at the turkey plant in Goosenibble. On the line.<br /><br />Next time some smart guy pulls my sleeve to tell me that Love is two solitudes protecting, touching and greeting each other, that Love is the drama of completion, I'm gonna nod and say you got that right, brother. I'm not gonna try to tell him about InaMae Bagwell, spent turkeys, concrete and how hard it is to hold onto a woman.<br /><br />(This poem was published in the "Fresh Oil, Loose Gravel", by Maj Ragain, Burning Press 1996.)Terry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23285724.post-60948229954786483932012-01-08T21:19:00.002-05:002012-01-08T21:23:26.967-05:00Hitting the Hegel on the NagelI vaguely recall reading somewhere in Hegel "There is no freedom from law, only freedom through law."<br /><br />I can't find any sources for this, but it sounds very Hegeley. (I know Hegelian would be more orthodox, but I'm aiming for a little more intimacy.)<br /><br />An interesting sentiment whatever the origin.Terry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23285724.post-56385912978776599342011-12-25T07:28:00.001-05:002011-12-25T07:30:22.892-05:00Rhyme as MetaphorGalton marks.<br />Print dust.<br />Chalk dust of 10 million algebra classes.<br />White cliffs of Dover.<br />The late cretaceous.<br />Crispy critters.<br />Critical theory.<br />Critical mass.<br />Mass defect.<br />Lie detector.<br />She was watching the detectives.<br />All along the watchtower.<br />Jimi Dylan.<br />Dill pickles.<br />Don Rickles.<br />Hammers and Sickles.<br />Armand Hammer.<br />I’d rather be a hammer than a nail.<br />Anvil breaking a hammer.<br />Her water broke.<br />Broker than the 10 commandments.<br />Stock broker.<br />Hammer lock.<br />Lock box.<br />Boxers of briefs?<br />Amicus brief.<br />Brevity is the soul of witlessness.<br />Witless protection program.<br />Protection racket.<br />Racketeering prosecution.<br />Elocution lessons.<br />Execution by electrocution.<br />The body electric.<br />Eclectic.<br />Elenctic.<br />Enclitic.<br />Analytic.<br />Anadiplosis.<br />Anna Karenina.<br />Caryatid.<br />Cary Nation.<br />Cary Buck.<br />Buck v. Bell.<br />The Bell Curve.<br />“You can ring my bell.”<br />The chimes of freedom flashin’.<br />Flash mob.<br />Flash in the pan.<br />Pangloss.<br />Glossal stop.<br />Full stop.<br />Fullback.<br />Full frontal.<br />Weather front.<br />Weather underground.<br />Worm food.<br />Crude oil.<br />Crudite.<br />Animal, vegetable, or mineral?<br />Twenty questions.<br />Questionable call.<br />Call of the wild.<br />Idlewild.<br />American Idlewild.<br />Ugly American Gladiator’s aviators.<br />Quadrumanous gladhanding Gladstone.<br />Casting the first hand that Rockefellers the cradle.<br />Diego Rivera hangin’ round Orson’s inkwell.<br />All’s well that ends wealthier than Orwellian.<br />There is no wealth but a life sentenced to death taxes to please love and be wise-ass.<br />Mandatory health insurance agent 007.<br />I double-owe my soul to the company’s double-blind double crossing double-indemnity enmity.<br />Now-and-thenmity<br />The committee to re-elect the president really creeps me out.<br />While my guitar gently weeps its willowy brook trout.<br />Moldy bathroom tile grout and shower-curtain grommet rust.<br />Chrono-synclastic trust-fundibulum.<br />Somnambulant funambulist’s ambulance’s mirrorshrift.<br />Queer theory getting queerer and queerer theory and practice on a blind date.<br />Date rape.<br />1492.<br />Scene of the crime.<br />The myth of fingerprints.<br />Galton marks.Terry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23285724.post-4961273521386715302011-12-12T09:30:00.003-05:002011-12-12T09:40:13.931-05:00An Uncountable Infinity of OrgasmsMy chapbook "An Uncountable Infinity of Orgasms" was published a few days ago by NightBallet press.<br /><br />Many thanks for the diligent efforts of my publisher, Dianne Borsenik.<br /><br />NightBallet is one of the few places you can get a copy, they are located <a href="http://nightballetpress.blogspot.com/">here</a>Terry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23285724.post-55089018042039173012011-08-19T21:35:00.002-04:002011-08-19T22:01:33.803-04:00Following postThe following post is just a bunch of links to Google image pages for different kinds of flowers referenced in a poem by Philip Levine, <a href="http://www.bu.edu/agni/poetry/print/1999/49-levine3.html">"Keats in California"</a>. You might want to read this in one tab, and then go to the flower links in another.Terry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23285724.post-14839695004680211732011-08-19T21:15:00.002-04:002011-08-19T21:30:33.292-04:00Levine flowersFlowers
<br /><a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=wisteria&oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&ie=UTF-8&tbm=isch&source=og&sa=N&hl=en&tab=wi&biw=853&bih=398">Wisteria</a>, <a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=wisteria&oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&ie=UTF-8&tbm=isch&source=og&sa=N&hl=en&tab=wi&biw=853&bih=398#um=1&hl=en&client=firefox-a&rls=org.mozilla:en-US%3Aofficial&tbm=isch&sa=1&q=plum+trees&pbx=1&oq=plum+trees&aq=f&aqi=g5g-m5&aql=&gs_sm=e&gs_upl=78556l82050l0l82882l10l10l0l1l1l0l255l1590l0.5.4l9l0&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.&fp=982cef3652e0804b&biw=853&bih=398">plum trees</a>, <a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=wisteria&oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&ie=UTF-8&tbm=isch&source=og&sa=N&hl=en&tab=wi&biw=853&bih=398#um=1&hl=en&client=firefox-a&rls=org.mozilla:en-US%3Aofficial&tbm=isch&sa=1&q=almond+blossoms&oq=almond+blossoms&aq=f&aqi=g3&aql=&gs_sm=e&gs_upl=182287l186357l0l186885l15l15l0l5l5l0l243l1920l0.4.6l10l0&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.&fp=982cef3652e0804b&biw=853&bih=398">almond blossoms</a>, <a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=wisteria&oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&ie=UTF-8&tbm=isch&source=og&sa=N&hl=en&tab=wi&biw=853&bih=398#um=1&hl=en&client=firefox-a&rls=org.mozilla:en-US%3Aofficial&tbm=isch&sa=1&q=iris&oq=iris&aq=f&aqi=g10&aql=&gs_sm=e&gs_upl=60233l60752l0l61391l4l4l0l0l0l0l216l794l0.2.2l4l0&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.&fp=1bde6d56994148f5&biw=853&bih=398">iris</a>, <a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=wisteria&oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&ie=UTF-8&tbm=isch&source=og&sa=N&hl=en&tab=wi&biw=853&bih=398#um=1&hl=en&client=firefox-a&rls=org.mozilla:en-US%3Aofficial&tbm=isch&sa=1&q=roses&oq=roses&aq=f&aqi=g10&aql=&gs_sm=e&gs_upl=68529l70754l0l70932l6l6l0l0l0l0l224l852l0.4.1l6l0&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.&fp=982cef3652e0804b&biw=853&bih=398">rose</a>, <a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=wisteria&oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&ie=UTF-8&tbm=isch&source=og&sa=N&hl=en&tab=wi&biw=853&bih=398#um=1&hl=en&client=firefox-a&rls=org.mozilla:en-US%3Aofficial&tbm=isch&sa=1&q=tulips&oq=tulips&aq=f&aqi=g10&aql=&gs_sm=e&gs_upl=51617l52512l2l52985l6l5l0l0l0l0l201l785l0.4.1l5l0&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.&fp=982cef3652e0804b&biw=853&bih=398">tulip</a>, <a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=wisteria&oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&ie=UTF-8&tbm=isch&source=og&sa=N&hl=en&tab=wi&biw=853&bih=398#um=1&hl=en&client=firefox-a&rls=org.mozilla:en-US%3Aofficial&tbm=isch&sa=1&q=poppy+hillside&oq=poppy+hillside&aq=f&aqi=&aql=&gs_sm=e&gs_upl=52702l55685l4l55847l14l14l0l2l0l0l243l2002l0.8.4l12l0&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.&fp=982cef3652e0804b&biw=853&bih=398">poppy hillside</a>, <a href="http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&cp=7&gs_id=p&xhr=t&q=lupines&qe=bHVwaW5lcw&qesig=Zq8Dw8OLtKuBfaNhZgcX_A&pkc=AFgZ2tmBr_wiEuoWFUTLxWXuHYzH0qCHsuS3ReNroJG76x0MSoTIhOg9ZciytqZyd1uUuHFoXSrWdlvgzsdwth7Rdr2ofPCKbA&gs_sm=&gs_upl=&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.&biw=853&bih=398&um=1&ie=UTF-8&tbm=isch&source=og&sa=N&tab=wi">lupine</a>, <a href="http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&cp=7&gs_id=p&xhr=t&q=lupines&qe=bHVwaW5lcw&qesig=Zq8Dw8OLtKuBfaNhZgcX_A&pkc=AFgZ2tmBr_wiEuoWFUTLxWXuHYzH0qCHsuS3ReNroJG76x0MSoTIhOg9ZciytqZyd1uUuHFoXSrWdlvgzsdwth7Rdr2ofPCKbA&gs_sm=&gs_upl=&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.&biw=853&bih=398&um=1&ie=UTF-8&tbm=isch&source=og&sa=N&tab=wi#um=1&hl=en&tbm=isch&sa=1&q=gorse&pbx=1&oq=gorse&aq=f&aqi=g10&aql=&gs_sm=e&gs_upl=40468l41106l0l41466l5l3l0l0l0l0l215l555l0.2.1l3l0&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.&fp=982cef3652e0804b&biw=853&bih=398">gorse</a>, <a href="http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&cp=7&gs_id=p&xhr=t&q=lupines&qe=bHVwaW5lcw&qesig=Zq8Dw8OLtKuBfaNhZgcX_A&pkc=AFgZ2tmBr_wiEuoWFUTLxWXuHYzH0qCHsuS3ReNroJG76x0MSoTIhOg9ZciytqZyd1uUuHFoXSrWdlvgzsdwth7Rdr2ofPCKbA&gs_sm=&gs_upl=&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.&biw=853&bih=398&um=1&ie=UTF-8&tbm=isch&source=og&sa=N&tab=wi#um=1&hl=en&tbm=isch&sa=1&q=wild+mustard&oq=wild+mustard&aq=f&aqi=g8&aql=&gs_sm=e&gs_upl=55582l57926l0l58647l12l11l0l2l2l0l313l1814l0.4.4.1l9l0&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.&fp=982cef3652e0804b&biw=853&bih=398">wild mustard</a>Terry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23285724.post-53157544089855747862011-08-05T08:24:00.001-04:002011-08-05T08:24:43.484-04:00Annual VietnamAt its peak it was an annual Vietnam in America: 50,000 dead. In a year.<br /><br />And on an exponential growth curve. I think the hardest thing to recover now is that sense of the exponential growth. One had reason to be frightened over where this thing was heading.<br /><br />There are people in their twenties now who have no idea.<br /><br />And everyone who got it died, and died quickly, and nothing seemed to help. Nothing. There was one poison (and yes I'm talking about AIDs) AZT, that seemed to slow the descent ever so little, rather like holding an umbrella when you've fallen off a cliff. And that was it.<br /><br />And then somewhere in the mid-90s, protease inhibitors came along. In a two year period, the number of deaths was cut in half. The epidemic ceased. The disease stopped being an instant death sentence.<br /><br />This came about six months too late for Robert.<br /><br />My partner's brother, the nearest person to me to ever have or die from the disease.<br /><br />Two things seem worth holding onto at this remove: how suddenly the fatalism of the situation vanished, and how suddenly the euphoria over its vanishing vanished as well. And a third thing: how the happy ending is less than perfectly happy.<br /><br />Even though it had really only entered mass consciousness in the early 1980s, AIDs had taken on the aspect of permanence we associate with cancer, or Alzheimer's. How swiftly learned helplessness is learned! Which is what impelled me to write this: to capture how suddenly the unchangeable, can change, and how quickly people accept something as unchangeable.<br /><br />The most relevant analogy in my own life at the moment is my father's confrontation with Alzheimer's. I am like a lot of people I think in gradually resigning myself to the irreversible course of his disease.<br /><br />But there is nothing to prevent the next protease inhibitor (or the next Salk vaccine, or the next penicillin) from arriving, miraculously, tomorrow. <br /><br />It is very easy to mistake the unprecedented for the impossible. <br /><br />My point is David Hume incarnate.<br /><br />But we would be far more proficient in anticipating the remarkable were we to linger on the history of the remarkable. The sheer joy of the Salk vaccine, how seldom we recall it: the joy of parents, the purposeful columns of exuberant school children awaiting salvation in a sugar cube.<br /><br />Nearly everyone old enough to remember Nixon has had abundant opportunity for the concrete of their cynicism over the war on cancer to solidify. Appropriate to the metaphor of war, vastly inappropriate and expensive weaponry has achieved only the most illusory of progress, while an aristocracy of vampires has entrenched the existing order. We resign ourselves to what 'must' be. But we cannot know that things cannot be otherwise.<br /><br />Which brings us to the reality of happy endings: for more than a decade after the discovery of the remarkable healing powers of penicillin, it was hugely expensive and so, hard to come by. After decades of widespread use, it has lost much of its effectiveness.<br /><br />With protease inhibitors it has been much the same, as vast numbers of people with AIDs in lesser- developed countries are unable to afford them. <br /><br />We do well to remember both that the impossible is often possible, and that it is always short of Utopia.Terry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23285724.post-60055574446864064802011-03-06T07:40:00.001-05:002011-03-06T07:40:55.570-05:00Thank a LIBERAL philosopher"Christians" like those of the Westboro Baptist Church should recognize they are allowed to spew their hateful anti-gay rhetoric only because some 18th century liberal philosophers of the enlightenment first recognized that freedom of speech was a freedom worth having.<br /><br />LIBERAL philosophers.Terry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23285724.post-66375267505753109812011-03-04T08:10:00.000-05:002011-03-04T08:11:00.361-05:00Permanent MagicAlmost<br />gone the days of your childhood, <br />almost gone,<br />the wonder-eyed youth,<br />when each minute reveals permanent <br />magic, and nothing but fails <br />to improve.<br /><br />The stardust that blesses your slumber,<br />and guards against waxing concern,<br />runs low as the days start to number,<br />filled with lessons you'd sooner unlearn.Terry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23285724.post-65220600983193780002011-02-11T14:37:00.000-05:002011-02-11T14:38:31.068-05:00Rushmore, Reagan, and Mary ShelleyThey want to put Ronald Reagan on Mount <br />Rushmore. Ronald <br />Reagan <br />on Mount Rushmore.<br />Ronald Reagan on Mount Rushmore?<br />I mean, isn't that like <br />just exactly the opposite of what <br />Mount Rushmore is there for? I mean, <br />isn't Mount Rushmore supposed to be reserved <br />for the Greatest (think here of Muhammad <br />Ali) the Greatest of presidents?<br /><br />People like George Washington, the father of our <br />country, and Abraham <br />Lincoln, the freer of the slaves, and Thomas <br />Jefferson the father of our Independence<br />declaration, and Theodore Roosevelt, the father of the,<br />the father of the, <br />OK well, <br />so I'm not so sure what he's even doing up there, but Ronald<br /><br />Reagan? Ronald Reagan? <br />Why do you want to honor the guy who sent Donald Rumsfeld to make <br />nice nice with Saddam Hussein? Why do you <br />want to honor the guy who created Al <br />Qaeda by getting the CIA to train<br />Islamic fundamentalist terrorists in <br />Pesha-war to go fight a terrorist war in <br />Afghanistan? Twenty years later<br />and we're still cleaning up the big old messes he left us,<br />the two Great Frankenstein's <br />monsters he created in <br />Saddam and Osama. <br /><br />Which is not to mention the people hacked <br />to bits in El Salvador, Guatemala, and Nicaragua, <br />the thousands and thousands of people raped, <br />beaten, tortured, dismembered and mutilated<br />all with the training, assistance, and "material support"<br />of the Boland-Amendment-violating CIA. Or the way he <br />dismantled the constitution so he could sell <br />missiles to the terrorists in Iran, or the way he <br />helped Nicaraguan terrorists to smuggle <br />cocaine into the US --- like starting a crack <br />epidemic was some kind of urban <br />enterprise zone for South Central LA. He was <br />so horrible, so-o horrible, why would anyone want to<br />honor him? Why would anyone want to put him right <br />there <br />up beside Washington, <br />and Jefferson, <br />and Lincoln and Roosevelt?<br />And that's when it hit me.<br /><br />Didn't Washington send out what he <br />himself called "scalping parties" during the French <br />and Indian War back when he was still fighting<br /> for the King of England? Didn't he <br />deploy them with explicit <br />orders to kill <br />civilians? Wasn't the father of our <br />country really the founding father<br />of American terrorism?<br />Didn't he steal colossal <br />tracts of land from native Americans,<br />and foster a climate of genocide against them?<br />Didn't he own a lot of slaves and so,<br />wasn't Abraham Lincoln really<br />at war against him?<br /><br />And didn't Jefferson, wasn't he not only <br />the owner of slaves but a slave <br />raper?<br />Didn't he rape Sally Hemings? <br />I mean, seeing as he owned her,<br />seeing as she was a piece of his property,<br />she didn't really have any right to say no,<br />and so isn't it rape where the <br />thing you are <br />fucking does not give <br />her consent because she has no consent <br />to give?<br /><br />And as for Lincoln, didn't he <br />start the bloodiest war in American history,<br />didn't he shut down the press and, sans <br />habeas corpus jail his <br />own people for voicing dissent? And didn't he <br />support slavery if it preserved the union?<br />Didn't he continue <br />slavery, in the very text of the Emancipation Proclamation,<br />didn't he continue slavery in the four so-called<br />border states, the slave states that never joined<br />the Confederacy? Which then leaves <br /><br />TR. The <br />star of San Juan Hill, back in a war we <br />started,<br />for empire. The man who continued <br />the slaughter in the Philippines: 200,000 dead in a war of<br />imperial conquest. 200,000 dead in a racist war for white <br />supremacy.<br /><br />And so looking at Mount Rushmore with its <br />quartet of murdering, raping, conniving, torturing, <br />genocidal terrorists and thinking about the real <br />Ronald Reagan, I came to realize<br />he belongs there just fine. It's just <br />we need to change the way we<br />see the place, from a place of heroes,<br />to a place of demons; maybe by changing <br />the name from Mount Rushmore<br />to Mount Frankenstein. Mount Rushmore to Mount <br />Axis of Evil.Terry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23285724.post-42002484887149692142011-01-22T08:07:00.001-05:002011-01-22T08:09:16.351-05:00Consolations for a Cleveland WinterWhat would I do with all that<br />prodigal sunshine,<br />day after changeless day, and the way it<br />bleaches unliving colors<br />to pastel? Far better to<br />dwell here,<br />in wired concrete igloos,<br />parked in the arctic precincts of a<br />supposedly temperate<br />climate, where the dense gray<br />perpetuity of cloud<br />supersedes shade and curtain, where<br />no luminous nuisance trespasses in the sky,<br />opacifying the lenses of your eye with the<br />glare of film noir third degrees.<br />Where you can sleep for weeks without missing a single<br />shadow. How reassuring,<br />not to have to worry about the cat<br />exploding in the unvented four-door.<br /><br />And then, there are the economic benefits;<br />the costly, sloppy stickiness of the<br />sunscreen you won't be needing,<br />the money unspent on the darklensed<br />fashionstatements you won't sit on<br />entering the car, the superfluity of<br />bikini waxes beneath layer upon layer of<br />goose down, wool, velcro, Gortex and Thinsulate.<br />None of the wastefulness of frozen-drink<br />parasols: instead, the allegory of marshmallows<br />melting in hot cocoa, the music of<br />whistled steam gossiping about the impending<br />arrival of scalded pots of tea.<br /><br />Who would knowingly trade the<br />palping rapture of cashmere<br />coiled in gentle neck-snug, for the<br />goo gunk of tropical crotchfunk, and<br />swampheated<br />pitstench? And then there’s the boon<br />to marital fidelity, the erotic temptations<br />of fishnet nymphettes<br />preempted: the very thought of provocative textiles<br />foreclosed by the horripilant chill-threat of<br />bristle-hair gooseflesh. No apocalyptic water bugs<br />skittering eerily from<br />unknown places, just a preternatural<br />feeling of brotherhood<br />for the lonely burdens of prehistoric<br />glaciers, and sympathy for the fate of naked<br />graveyard statuary.<br /><br />Far better to start each morning with the discourse of<br />shovel's-edge rasping flagstone or blacktop, even<br />the cranky percussion of twostroke engines chuting<br />geysers of crystal into driveway-lining<br />ridges of freeze-dried sky-squeeze.<br />Listening to the sizzle-hiss of woodfire, its<br />narrative about the liberation of stored<br />sunshine, how preferable this to the trademarked<br />thrash-ratchet of idling middle-aged stockbrokers.<br /><br />Needless to say,<br />mountainside fiberglass waterslides<br />rank a very distant second to<br />the doorstep thrill-ride of each morning,<br />as, improvising your way along the<br />newly arrived canyons of spontaneous<br />car-devouring roadcrumble, you<br />fishtail through slushstreeted<br />rush-hours. And there can simply be<br />no moral comparison between the<br />generosity of the snowplow rock-salt<br />that leaves the entire northeast<br />corner of the state saltier<br />than a frozen-margarita rim,<br />and the isolating managedcare selfishness<br />of tinted-power-windows and factory-air.<br /><br />There is nothing in the radiant scorch<br />of hot sun on tanned skin<br />to make you desire anything<br />but escape; nothing that<br />remotely begins to compare with the way that,<br />numbing your extremities, a Cleveland winter<br />lectures about how you have stopped<br />feeling, and long<br />to feel<br />again.Terry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23285724.post-11475540980960183942011-01-14T09:46:00.002-05:002011-01-14T09:49:58.894-05:00Tomahawks(Generally speaking, cliches are to be avoided like the ... H1N1.<br />But especially when you mean something as a song, they're actually better than originality. I hear the following as a song, and to hear my own dubious attempts to capture this, you can check out Chomsky in Chains, the <a href="http://zinnzen.podbean.com/2010/01/15/tomahawks/">podcast</a>.)<br /><br /><br />Been a war every day of my forty-four years.<br />Been a war every day of my life.<br />Been a war to show everyone killing is wrong.<br />Been a war to prove killing is right.<br />Been a war to keep dangerous secrets.<br />Been a war to make some secrets known.<br />Been a war of defensive invasions,<br />in the name of protecting our homes.<br />In the name of protecting our homes.<br /><br />Been a war to make everyone sober.<br />Been a war to get everyone high.<br />But the truth is that war is a banker,<br />selling peace for a lucrative lie,<br />trading peace with a lucrative lie,<br />while the Tomahawks litter the sky<br /><br />And I been wondering why-hy,<br />murder's wrong but murderers rule,<br />spend one day honoring Martin,<br />three-hundred-SIXty-four like he was a fool,<br />and I been wondering why, why, why,<br />peace is always being denied,<br />peace is a classified secret,<br />but we treat war like it’s our national pride.<br /><br />Been a war while the guns have been firing.<br />Been a war while the guns have grown cold.<br />Been a war for the wealthy and greedy,<br />to take the whole world for their own.<br />Been a war for the lies that they're screaming.<br />Been a war to cut out the truth's tongue.<br />Been a war to profit the rich and the old,<br />fought by the poor and the young,<br />lose their lives for a lucrative lie,<br />while the Tomahawks litter the sky<br /><br />And I been wondering why-hy,<br />murder's wrong but murderers rule,<br />spend one day honoring Martin,<br />three-hundred-SIXty-four like he was a fool,<br />and I been wondering why, why, why,<br />peace is always being denied,<br />peace is a classified secret,<br />but we treat war like it’s our national pride.<br />And I been wondering why.Terry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23285724.post-39097164236472323762011-01-05T13:55:00.001-05:002011-01-05T13:55:25.062-05:00New Year's Day on MarsWhen, in the year 1000,<br />the year 1000 was celebrated,<br />it marked only a century or two<br />of reckoning dates from the birth of Yeshu<br />(the Aramaic correlate of the Greek 'Jesus'.)<br />Technically,<br />it was not the year 1000 of course<br />since Fibonacci had not yet (until 1202)<br />introduced the Arabic numerals into Europe<br />(which he at least, having studied in Tunis had<br />the good grace<br />to call<br />the 'Hindu' numerals.)<br /><br />It was the year 'M'<br />that being in Roman numerals<br />the symbol for 1000,<br />the Latin for 1000 being 'mille'<br />from which<br />the English<br />'mile', 'million', and 'millenium'.<br /><br />Although it was a Roman<br />numeral, and the Aramaic speaking Yeshu a<br />Palestinian subject of the Romans,<br />that Roman numeral was not the Roman year, which,<br />reckoned A.U.C.<br />(anno urbis conditae, from the founding of the city)<br />was 752 at Christ's birth<br />(ignoring an apparent four year error),<br />and so the year M would have been<br />1752 according to the<br />Romans,<br />whose numerals,<br />designated it.<br /><br /><br />On a recent trip to Thailand<br />(which they,<br />ungenerous to English sensibilities<br />insist on calling Muang Thai),<br />I discovered that the Thais,<br />having generously adopted a twelve month<br />solar calendar beginning on our January first,<br />still date their calendar to the birth of the Buddha<br />(the number of their year being 543<br />greater than ours ( and dare I mention<br />the twenty years<br />gone missing<br />from the Indian<br />tradition?))<br /><br />The Muslims,<br />by many accounts the most numerous<br />religious group in the world,<br />start their calendar with the flight (hegira)<br />of their great prophet Muhammed<br />from their most holy city, Mecca,<br />in fear of his life (not,<br />of Jews, Christians, Romans, or Persians but<br />of fellow Arabs from the same clan),<br />about our year 622<br />(with the exception that the Muslim calendar<br />gains a year<br />on the Gregorian<br />once every 22 1/2 years.)<br /><br />Jews in the East had<br />for many centuries<br />used the Seleucid calendar<br />that began in 312 B.C. when,<br />in the ninth century,<br />European Jews began dating<br />'anno mundi',<br />to the beginning of the world,<br />or 3761 B.C. in Gregorian terms.<br /><br /><br />What was God thinking when,<br />in his infinite wisdom,<br />he decided<br />to make the period<br />of the earth's revolution<br />a non-integer multiple<br />of its rotation?<br />Perhaps he meant it<br />as a WPA for astronomers.<br /><br />It was left to the infallible<br />Gregory XIII (although this does beg<br />the question about Gregory's XII and XI)<br />acting on discrepancies found<br />800 years earlier by the Venerable Bede,<br />to set things straight<br />by declaring<br />the day after October 4, 1582,<br />to be October 15, 1582.<br /><br />Poof.<br />Ten days,<br />up in smoke.<br />Amazing the things<br />you can make happen,<br />if you happen to be Pope.<br /><br />But perhaps this too is a bit<br />simplistic, since Protestants,<br />being what they are,<br />protested<br />against a Pope's having the gall<br />to be accurate.<br />And so whereas<br />the appropriate days disappeared<br />in Spain and France,<br />they took two years to vanish<br />in Luthered lands.<br /><br />The British government,<br />being what it is,<br />cherished recalcitrance<br />until, in 1752,<br />September 2nd was followed by<br />September 14th,<br />throwing in the change of New Year's Day<br />from March 25th back to January 1st.<br /><br />Recent cosmological data suggest<br />that the universe is<br />3 thousand million years newer<br />than previously thought,<br />perhaps<br />only 10 thousand million years old.<br /><br />2000 approaches though 1000 never happened.<br />It reminds of the singer Prince ---<br />'Tonight I'm gonna party like it's 1999'.<br /><br />Why not?<br /><br />It is.Terry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23285724.post-83854583691252802022010-12-10T06:21:00.002-05:002010-12-10T06:25:12.708-05:002010 Terror for Christmas(Since the true spirit of Christmas is rabid consumption, I tend to think of the holiday starting on Black Friday, and extending to the 25th. Also, the "terror alert" level seems to rise around now, for some, strange, reason. That said, this is dedicated to Jdimytai Damour, the man trampled to death in 2008, in a Wal-Mart Black Friday sale stampede.)<br /><br />Well the terror alert had been raised to high,<br />so our F-15's were patrolling the sky.<br />Keeping us safe, keeping us free,<br />protecting the homeland security.<br />Every day of the week, every week of the year,<br />we're armed to the teeth so we got nothing to fear---<br />except maybe,<br />fear itself.<br />Except maybe,<br />fear itself.<br /><br />The kids were asleep all snug in their beds,<br />while visions of Predators shot through their heads.<br />They were slaughtering badguys like you wouldn't believe,<br />with their Hellfire missiles there on Christmas Eve.<br />They were pint-sized heroes in an army of one,<br />and for Jesus's birthday all they wanted was guns;<br />guns for Jesus,<br />and fear itself.<br />Guns for Jesus,<br />and fear itself.<br /><br />Well the terrorists are always around,<br />so you better never lower your guard.<br />So while we celebrate the baby Jesus,<br />you know they're trying extra hard.<br /><br />It was just after midnight and NORAD radar<br />showed that something big was coming in fast.<br />There was no time to think, and no time to argue,<br />act now or it might just be your last.<br />And they mighta thought twice,<br />and they mighta thought better,<br />but the terror was already so high,<br />well that was the night that the US Air Force<br />blew Santa Claus outta the sky.<br />We blew Santa Claus outta the sky.<br /><br />And it was raining bits of blown up reindeer<br />for hours and hours on end,<br />and none of our jets,<br />and none of our missiles<br />could put Santa back together again.<br />And though fear and hate,<br />may keep you safe,<br />from everything the enemy sends,<br />the problem with answering fear with guns,<br />is that you're gonna end up killing your friends.<br />The trouble with answering fear with guns,<br />is that you always end destroying your friends.<br />With nothing to fear,<br />and nothing to love,<br />except maybe<br />fear itself.<br />Except maybe,<br />fear itself.Terry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23285724.post-71026252800466522322010-11-20T11:03:00.001-05:002010-11-20T11:03:38.414-05:00Fix the RoofThe other day my friend DJ observed that in general it was not a good idea to run a deficit, and he felt like the federal government really needed to cut spending. I fumbled through a response which mentioned the words “Paul Krugman”, but I felt hopelessly inarticulate.<br /><br />I have reflected on this a fair amount since then, and have tried to formulate what it is I think I have garnered from repeated consideration of Krugman’s work, and the most apt summary I’ve been able to come up with is what follows.<br /><br />My wife is the executor of her recently deceased father’s estate. It is not a large estate, and was fairly low on cash at the time of my father-in-law’s demise. The principle asset is the family home.<br /><br />Now suppose the roof started leaking. It would make a great deal of sense for the estate to borrow money in order to fix the roof. Not fixing the roof would cause irreparable damage to the house, and the house could not otherwise be sold because it could not pass inspection.<br /><br />The point here is that the value of a productive asset stands to be destroyed unless money can be borrowed to shore up its value.<br /><br />In this case it would be idiotic not to borrow the money.<br /><br />Viewing this as allegory, the house is the American economy. The leaking roof is the Great Recession. Borrowing money to fix the roof is federally funded economic stimulus. The value that stands to be destroyed is the wasted productive lives of unemployed human beings like you and me.<br /><br />Every allegory simplifies, and every simplification is an oversimplification.<br /><br />One concern is whether or not the estate can find a lender. In this case, the allegory tells us that lenders are abundant and willing to lend at interest rates so low that they are without historical precedent.<br /><br />Another concern suggests that the money has already been borrowed and has failed to repair the roof. Here the allegory tells us that not enough money was borrowed to fix the roof, but only to put a stop-gap patch on the roof. The patch is already showing signs of imminent failure. <br /><br />If we fix the roof, the patch will prove to have been worth it. <br /><br />If we don’t, the trillion dollar patch will prove a worthless boondoggle. The decision is in the balance, as are the productive lives of unemployed human being who in their humanity, if not in their employment status, are just like you and me.<br /><br />Now, frankly, I have somewhere very close to zero credentials as a professional economist: I try to make sense of the few economists I trust, and make no effort whatsoever to credit economists in the employ of corporations who are legally obliged to lie when lying is profitable. It seems to me there are all sorts of factors that neither I nor the most recognized economic theorists can justly consider. <br /><br />Yet, the decision is up to us. <br /><br />Just remember, this is the family home.Terry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23285724.post-24518916193283357012010-11-10T21:45:00.001-05:002010-11-10T21:47:01.462-05:00Power Makes Stupid_________________________________________<br />-----------------------------------------<br /><br />English, Hamburg, Lehman, Schenk,<br />Darden, Johnson, LaRocco, Rosty.<br /><br />Rosty?<br /><br />Yeah, Rosty baby,<br />Danny Rostenkowski.<br />You remember him, they indicted his ass<br />on more counts than Bill Bennett's got virtues for.<br /><br />Anyway, where was I?<br />Long, Smith, Glickman, Barlow, Bilbray,<br />Bass, Klein, Hochbrueckner.<br /><br />Hochbrueckner?<br /><br />Yeah, Hochbrueckner baby, New York's first,<br />the one and only, in New York anyway,<br />one in the first, ain't that cute.<br /><br />What in the hell are you talkin' about?<br /><br />Me? Me?<br />Surely you know I'm just readin you a list,<br />and I'm talkin about politics,<br />congress to be exact, congressional politics.<br />It's the Republican revolution,<br />and I am just listing, in order, alphabetized by state<br />and district number<br />the complete list of all the incumbent Democrats<br />who lost their re-election bids in the <br />great Republican landslide of '94.<br />I counted 32 of them, but I'm not quite sure<br />because I had to count them myself for reasons<br />we'll get into later.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />But wait a minute, wait a minute man.<br />I said WAIT A MINUTE;<br />I thought this was supposed to be poetry or something;<br />I thought you were trying to write a poem.<br />You can't just go reading some random list of names<br />that no one's ever heard of.<br /><br />Yeah, yeah, I heard you baby,<br />and I couldn't agree more;<br />you can't write a poem like that,<br />and this isn't poetry.<br />And that's the great thing<br />because this isn't politics,<br />this isn't democracy,<br />this isn't no two party system ---<br />I'll give you the two, but what I wanna know is<br />where's the party baby?<br />And so the two are kind of made<br />for each other.<br />Poetry that isn't poetry,<br />and politics that isn't politics.<br /><br />And really, I couuldn't have said it better myself, <br />no one's ever heard of these guys.<br />They're simply 32 of the 535 <br />most powerful people in the most powerful country<br />in the history of the world,<br />and nobody's ever heard of them.<br /><br />Well ain't that cute.<br /><br />And let's try a little channel surfing<br />and see if we can find some <br />American Gladiators somewhere.<br /><br />And nobody's ever heard of them<br />---- except for Rosty of course, <br />but that's like Lou Reed said,<br />"Does anybody really need,<br />another crooked politician,<br />caught with his pants down,<br />and money stickin' in his hole?"<br /><br /><br /><br />Lancaster, Price, Mann, Strickland,<br />Fingerhut, Mezvinsky<br />--- but cutting to the chase a bit,<br />the way I've got it figured,<br />and if you get my point I've had to get down <br />to the bedrock of the names and I've had to figure for myself,<br />86% of incumbent democrats were re-elected in '94.<br />86%<br />Which is to say that even in the midst of<br />a Republican 'revolution',<br />nearly nine out of ten democrats were re-elected.<br /><br />Revolution; Republican; change.<br />Yeah, the more things change.<br /><br />Which added to the 100% of Republican incumbents<br />who were re-elected<br />amounts to well over 90% of all incumbents<br />returning to Washington.<br />(And a lot more if you count lobbyists.)<br /><br />This, folks, is a revolution;<br />90% stasis, and 10% change.<br /><br />And you are quite right, absolutely right,<br />you can't talk about percentage points in poetry,<br />I mean it just isn't poetry when you get done,<br />and that is my point exactly.<br /><br />It's like what the president said,<br />the president of the United States, Mr. President<br />William Jefferson Clinton;<br />"We're all Eisenhower Republicans and <br />they're Reagan Republicans."<br /><br />I'm not making this stuff up, <br />and if you want to check it out all you have to do is <br />hop in your car and drive down to Yale<br />and wait 40 years for them to release the documentary evidence<br />Bob Woodward deposited there for his book "The Agenda"<br />under stipulation that it not be released for 40 years.<br /><br /><br /><br />40 years.<br />40 years.<br /><br />Go ahead, have a cup of coffee,<br />you've got time.<br /><br />This Woodward character, what a trip.<br />Yeah, that's right, Redford played him in "All the President's Men".<br /><br />Redford.<br /><br />Well if I remember correctly that was a little bon bon<br />called Watergate,<br />and there was this guy,<br />what was his name,<br />yeah, Nixon, I think --- well and didn't he have<br />something to do with Eisenhower at some point in time?<br />All in the family,<br />all in the family.<br />Yeah, Julie and David; how's that for closure?<br />Eisenhower to Clinton to Woodward to Nixon to Eisenhower.<br />Around the horn.<br /><br />Well anyway, Redford, I mean Woodward, <br />is playing intellectual footsy with the librarians down at Yale,<br />and it's all so god damn cute that I'm just<br />dying to know<br />who Deep Throat was<br />(remind me to ask Justice Thomas if you can get that on video) ---<br />and I'm not even talking about Linda Lovelace and Harry Reims.<br />And he is so far into the woodwork at the White House<br />that sometimes you think he is in Clinton's<br />god damn boxers (kudos to MTV for that one.)<br /><br />Anyway,<br />they call this power.<br />They call this control.<br />They call this politics.<br />Change. Revolution.<br />And all the time the poor bastard can't find a measly billion<br />for 'putting people first.'<br />Sure, it sounds like a lot but it is less than one tenth<br />of one per cent of a <br />1.5 trillion dollar federal budget.<br />One tenth of one per cent.<br /><br />Okay, okay. If you can't talk about percentages in poetry<br />you certainly can't talk about tenths of a per cent.<br />I mean, what is this, some kind of god damned mathematics treatise?<br /><br />Alright, alright, I apologize, I apologize.<br /><br /><br />The point is that here is the most powerful man,<br />in the most powerful country,<br />in the god damned history of the god damned planet,<br />elected on a verbal barrage of rhetoric about change,<br />prostituting every last principle he ever dreamed to hold dear,<br />working day and night with the energy of a Kerouac benny addict,<br />a god damn Rhodes scholar <br />(yeah baby that's the Rhodes who used to harpoon niggers down in South Africa),<br />with a brain the size of a planet,<br />----and he can't change one single mother swiving god damned thing.<br /><br />NOT ONE THING.<br /><br />Let's stop on a dime here and take a little cross product<br />into a new dimension.<br />We can do that you know because our minds are agile,<br />and we don't have to just think in one direction<br />like some idiot machine.<br />A sweetness of directionality that is melodic,<br />poetic, rhapsodic.<br />What I want to do is to mention my old friend Nietzsche,<br />Fred, or Friedrich if you prefer ---<br />(and that whole Nazi anti-semite rap just doesn't stick.)----<br />and his dictum "Power makes stupid."<br /><br />Power makes stupid.<br />And what really could be the point of power<br />if not stupidity?<br />I mean where do you go from here?<br />Once you've got all the power,<br />and all the control,<br />and all the money,<br />and you own the lawyers,<br />and you own the courts,<br />and you own the universities,<br />and you collect royalties on freedom of thought,<br />what then?<br />Whatta ya gonna buy then baby?<br /><br />It's like what Adam Smith said in "Wealth of Nations",<br />the whole point of all production whatsoever is consumption.<br />Consumption.<br />And what is consumption but taking it and wasting it,<br />squeezing the thing for all it's worth<br />and throwing it all away.<br />And that is about as stupid as stupid gets.<br />And that, then, is the point.<br />Power makes stupid.<br />And so,<br />super-power makes super-stupid,<br />and we're the world's sole remaining superpower.<br /><br />It's like what Kissinger told Oriana Fallaci<br />(and she can give me some Oriana Fallaci any time she wants to<br />I mean she is seriously hot in those Italian leather miniskirts);<br />'Intelligence is not all that important in the exercise of power.'<br />That's first hand experience talkin' huh Mr. K.?<br /><br />And now you see we are finally at the point<br />where we can start 'Bringin it All Back Home.' Okay.<br />And I know that this has been a long time coming,<br />and that poems aren't supposed to be this long,<br />and that even this apology is making the whole thing longer,<br />but just try to hang with me a little while longer,<br />cause we are almost there.<br />(I feel like a god damned dentist sayin' this shit.)<br /><br />I've always felt that Kissinger's whole life was ruined <br />when Peter Sellers beat him out for the lead<br />in "Dr. Strangelove."<br />It's just like what the President Sellers<br />told George C. Patton and the Russian guy,<br />"Please, gentlemen, we can't have people<br />fighting in the war room."<br />So Kissinger did the next best thing <br />and started having 'secret bombings' and 'secret wars.'<br /><br />What the Fuck is a 'secret bombing?'<br />I'll tell you one thing baby,<br />it ain't no fuckin' secret to the people being bombed.<br />"Mein Fuhrer."<br /><br /><br />I don't know exactly why it is,<br />but Allen Greenspan has always reminded me of Kissinger.<br />I think it's the wrinkled skin and the coke bottle glasses,<br />and the fact that they were both there in the Sellers<br />uh, the Nixon Whitehouse back in the days of <br />non-denial denials, when bloody Agnew was still taking cash bribes from the Baltimore bagmen at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.<br />And so here is Alan Greenspan,<br />seat A6,<br />February 17, 1993<br />on all four major networks,<br />seated between the new Eisenhower Republicans<br />--- Hillary and Tipper.<br />(Protect our youth from dirty lyrics Tipper.)<br />And where does the White House beat end Andrea,<br />and the Federal Reserve beat begin?<br />And Woodward has gotta be lookin' over his shoulder<br />at Kissinger and Oriana saying that power<br />is the ultimate aphrodisiac,<br />the secrets locked like Deep Throat in the archives at Yale.<br />It's only money, but while your at it,<br />who owns the Federal Reserve?<br />'The buck starts here.'<br /><br /><br />It's the Grammy award ceremonies<br />coming at you live via satellite<br />with all the slickly marketed <br />superficial importance that modern technology and <br />creative hair dressing know how to manufacture.<br />It is 1991, and among other things<br />they are giving a lifetime achievement award to Dylan.<br />DYLAN, baby.<br />That's right, Dylan.<br />Well you know, infinity is definitely going up on trial.<br />The Persian Gulf War has just started,<br />and the Seven Sisters are getting what they paid for,<br />and everyone is getting just a little tired <br />of watching death, live.<br />His is a body of work to fill a lifetime.<br />Dylan, the anti-war troubador.<br />And, after all the video clips,<br />and words of homage,<br />and tribute and honor,<br />the man arrives to play his own song<br />and take a bow.<br />And he is blasted out of his mind,<br />knocked out loaded,<br />stoned, and barely able to walk.<br />And even people who normally love Dylan <br />can barely make out a word he is singing,<br />and all the news reports the next day say <br />that nobody even knew what song it was.<br />But if you listened hard and you already knew the lyrics,<br />you could make it out.<br />It was 'Masters of War' baby, 'Masters of War.'<br />And so here it is,<br />the triumph of a lifetime,<br />surrounded by a generation of millionaires <br />who grew up listening to you,<br />the rich and famous, the glitterati of electronic influence,<br />beamed out to more millions than you can count, <br />over the same satellites that have been beaming in<br />the missile-mounted images of destruction.<br /><br />Success.<br /><br />Got the picture?<br /><br />A generation of revolutionaries.<br />'The times they are a changin.'<br />You know, "I'll stand over your grave,<br />til I'm sure that you're dead."<br /><br />Who could look at the death-crazed,<br />frothy-mouthed, Saddam-hating multitudes,<br />the computerized 'smart' bombs,<br />the sanitized reporting,<br />and think that anything had changed <br />but the degree of war's mastery?<br />Kill more with less risk, less effort,<br />and our side wins.<br />And make millions singing songs about <br />how horrible it all is.<br />The pro-test,<br />is part of the pro-cess.<br /><br /><br /><br />So now I'm thinkin' about another Dylan.<br />Thomas.<br />And the lovers, <br />'their arms wrapped around the griefs of the ages,'<br />and I'm saying that's it.<br />They are all one grief.<br />All the same grief.<br />And they are all as close as the person sitting next to me,<br />or you,<br />it is one person.<br /><br />And so now the world is down off the satellite,<br />and the TV phosphors are that greeny black,<br />and the mikes and the soundstage are all switched off,<br />and we are sitting here clothed in the heat of our own metabolism,<br />and the exigencies of this moment,<br />right here, right now.<br />You know that power is out there,<br />but we've been there,<br />and frankly, it's more than a little too late to go back.<br /><br />So what am I sayin'?<br /><br />No, I'm sorry, I think it's off of me now,<br />and onto you.<br />This burden, this sustaining it,<br />if it connects,<br />it connects into you,<br />right here.<br />And I have got to let go.<br /><br />It isn't out there, and I'm just about out of energy.<br /><br />If I could, I would make you as open as a child's mind.<br /><br />So,<br />how to end, how to end?<br />Eternal life is no great shakes, just ask the Sibyl.<br />I can't help thinking that I want to steal it from Elliot:<br />Da,<br />Datta.<br />What have you given?<br />Does any of us really know how to give?<br />To give?<br />To give?<br />Wrestle with your soul over that one a few times<br />without calling it love.<br />How do I know how to give?<br />What?<br />This crushed heart is so weak --- <br />can it bear even more pain?<br /><br />Open as a child's mind.Terry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23285724.post-24351320600352459782010-11-02T09:05:00.001-04:002010-11-02T09:05:31.906-04:00*---------------------------------------------<br /><br />So the king was really a phony,<br />all those homeruns were only a scam,<br />and Frankenstein needed a needle<br />to build the higher man.<br /><br />The gods of your youth were illusions,<br />and all the old dreams were a lie,<br />caught up in steroids and opiates,<br />was the one thing that money can't buy.<br /><br />Off stage your heroes' allies,<br />all commerce in illegal drugs,<br />while your heroes enhance their performance<br />abetted by criminal thugs.<br /><br />Like jet fighters piercing an Afghan sky,<br />truncating Canada's sons,<br />while opium poppies bloom in Helmand,<br />and amphetamines fire their guns.<br /><br />But what made Barry Bonds do it,<br />or U.S. pilots over foreign soil?<br />For the lord of the Afghan drug rings?<br />Or was it our addiction to oil?<br /><br />Who is the authentic addict?<br />Who the certified chumps?<br />The ones with the go-pills and steroids,<br />or the ones filling up at the pump?Terry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23285724.post-86062050028313741422010-10-22T09:30:00.001-04:002010-10-22T09:31:42.167-04:00Nomenklatura_________________________________________________<br />-<br /><br />Secrecy answered terror with a silent question. <br />What was it? <br />Privacy ceasing to belong <br />to individuals, <br />now the property of the <br />patriotic state. <br />Clearance alone freeing in-<br />formation. <br /><br />Fear named all that couldn't be said, <br />where everything illicit flourished like a bumper <br />of springtime poppies. With security <br />excusing the galaxy of pleasure,<br />however pronounced, if unspoken<br />and in the national interest, profit became <br />a pension fund limitless with loss<br />off the books. <br /><br />Police, crooks alike<br />banked on strategic leaks <br />propagating news. Living seed <br />of truth sheathed <br />in a rubber tomb, safe.<br />From an unmanned drone, <br />evidence of freedom:<br />a video feed encrypted <br />in the no-fly-zone of a <br />trademarked sky, existing <br />only to be forgotten and deeply,<br />classified.Terry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23285724.post-37149583653450153422010-10-15T16:46:00.002-04:002010-10-15T16:49:26.572-04:00Cutting Edge Research, like Columbus Washing up on the Virgin Shores of Intellectual PropertyTotal control led to total cruelty. The Spaniards "thought nothing of knifing Indians by tens and twenties and of cutting slices off them to test the sharpness of their blades."<br /> --- Howard Zinn quoting Las Casas<br /><br />If you want to find drugs in a city you've never been<br />in before, she said, ask for a street<br />named after Martin Luther King. The legacy<br />of civil rights parodied by America's<br />automated response to demands <br />for economic justice; assassinate,<br />commemorate, obliterate. She had been running away,<br />tried every illegal drug<br />she could find; heroin, cocaine, both<br />powdered and crack, PCP, amphetamines<br />she was losing her mind ever<br />since Robert died of AIDS. I remember him<br />joking about the pot he was smoking being the only good<br />that ever came out of the North American Free Trade Agreement,<br />back in the days before marijuana was medical,<br />when the disease still possessed the<br />je ne sais quoi of terror, the fear that it might spread, <br />might not remain just a disease of <br />gay men.<br />There was nothing like it<br />again until a short few weeks in the shadow<br />of the anthrax attacks on Congress<br />when no one knew if there would be enough<br />Cipro to go around, and its German maker Bayer<br />insisted on upholding its patents, its so-called intellectual<br />property rights. There was this palpable fear,<br />it was openly frightening, not just that this <br />new man-made plague <br />was being epidemically spread,<br />but that the heads of business and politics would<br />profiteer on disaster. For a brief time,<br />middle, upper-middle, maybe even some<br />upper class Americans felt a hint of what<br />millions of Africans have been exposed to<br />as the disease that killed Robert devastated <br />their continent, and the multi-national conspiracies we call<br />corporations, continued to press for <br />blockbuster profits from their research<br />investments. Needing to become addicted<br />to live, but denied such addiction by patented <br />science, and its chairman of the board addiction,<br />to cash. Substance<br />abuse, but which substance, and whose? Maybe, <br />maybe, if they promised to become good<br />slaves, very, very, good slaves,<br />we could save their lives,<br />a free trade of intellectual for human<br />property. As if some new middle passage<br />returning to African shores<br />spread the Faustian spores of an <br />ever stranger fruit. This is what America and <br />its hereditary plutocrats stand for; extending the scientific<br />horizons of ownership. Like Columbus washed up <br />on the shores of the new <br />virgin territories of intellectual <br />property (the preferred substance of profitable abuse), <br />conquistadores deploying tactics that remain unchanged: <br />assassinate, commemorate, obliterate.<br />And you wonder why she was running away,<br />trying to find every street named for<br />King, in America.Terry Provosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07273378237742814034noreply@blogger.com0