Category Archives: Time

That Air Thing Again, And Again

NOT MUCH TO REPORT this side of more music, more music, more music. Some Maximum Rock & Roll cuts from the late 1980s "Not So Quiet on the Western Front". Some decent music, some decent politics. The radicalized Far Left's wail against Ronald Reagan however seems pale today, as we wade into the heated pool of history.

Dissatisfaction with the limited opportunities afforded today's youth in a corporate culture hell bent on exporting American jobs across the globe in the hunt for cheaper labor is one thing, but the vicious anti-Americanism we now see everywhere was just coming of age in the 1980s, and shows itself in all its thunder in the hardcore punk bands making the underground music circuit click and hiss. Separating the wheat from the chaff in this cozy corner of rock music's sniveling subculture can be difficult, but is a task worth the effort.

Once Radio Scenewash has been fully realized, we shall be able toundertake a closer look into the politics of these bands and their music. Stay tuned.

Since no one has staked a commercial claim on the air in my lungs, and noting the work of the butterfly on Julius Caesar’s last gasp, I hereby claim ownership of the oxygen on this planet, plant my invisible flag, and extend my grasp to the perennial rays of the sun.
I have been a registered as an Independent most of my adult life. Let me state for the record in case someone is having trouble comprehending my criticism that American democracy and capitalism are the best things going in this sad vicious world. In fact, let me be clear: I believe American capitalism to be the purest form of communism ever practiced on the world stage. But if the runaway thieveries and market consolidations by these castle-building moguls (from rock stars to athletes to talking head bean counters) of every dominant stripe are not reeled in, the regis of European-style socialism will continue to look better and better to those minions who can't muster a say or a stake in the present system. After all, to have a system based on the apotheosis of grandiose winners, there must be lots of penny ante losers. In the pages of his recent book—The Crisis of Global Capitalism—noted Wall Street Wunderkind George Soros has clearly seen the writing on the wall, and this book was released just BEFORE the recent Enron, WorldCom, Global Crossing, and similar scandals hit the fan.

The antics of the hard to crispy LEFT and the hard to steely RIGHT continue to amaze me. Neither side speaks anything close to the whole truth, and neither brigade recognizes the grains of truth the opposing army brings to the battlefield. I heard recently, a pundit from the crowd of usual suspects remark on the "mushy middle" which decides this nation's national elections. This insulting characterization of the "cautious, thinking independent" is typical of the demagogues on both boilerplated shanks of the political spectrum.

ross perot
Ross Perot
My involvement with the 1992 Ross Perot presidential campaign did little to convince me that third parties for their own sake are the answer. In Perot's DC office operating in full bloom was politics as usual. At some point as it became evident that Perot was not going to win but was too embattled with conspiracy theories aimed at his family, all but an annointed handful were "locked out" of the offices, literally. Meetings were held to determine why, but the core players suddenly would have nothing to do with the grass roots folks.

Now that California has possibly supplanted Florida as the laughingstock of American politics, there is once again increasing chatter fearful of the possible emergence of a viable third party and equal player on the American political landscape. Some even sense a growing taste for the broader appeal of the parlimentarian system many other nations prefer in their own experiments with democracy But any political groupies who value their own voice should distance themselves from this misplaced anti-Americanism that flows eagerly off the tongues of many safely sheltered within the elite classes with all their pretty ribbons and bows, posturing leathers and torn cotton tees.

With this nation and much of the West now in the hair-trigger scopes of religious and anti-religious fanatics alike, blood-thirsty agitators and aspiring titans who would like nothing better than to disrupt, conquer, and rule this country with an iron fist unlike anything this nation has ever seen, including the eighteenth century Redcoats, these idealist lefties need to refine and clarify their stances, and thereby earn its mantle as the outcast prophet crying in the wilderness.

The RIGHT needs to reread and practice the light revealed in its own holy books, the US Constitution and the Bible of their forefathers. The radical middle needs to get its individual heads out of its collective ass, stand up for what it believes, or else indeed be considered "mushy" and unworthy of its gift of superior but understated intelligence. Blaming today on yesterday won't get us very far tomorrow.

Okay, here's a gamer. Since no one has staked a commercial claim on the air in my lungs, and noting the work of the butterfly on Julius Caesar's last gasp, I hereby claim ownership of the oxygen on this planet, plant my invisible flag, and extend my grasp to the perennial rays of the sun. Therefore, ALL HUMANITY, must now pay tribute to my nifty little corner on the market, validated by this capitalist system I embrace with muted reservations. Any refusal to do so will result in charges of conspiracy to commit unrepentant communist acts and/or criminal intent to steal and utilize for purposes beyond the scope of fair use those raw materials and products associated with human breathing and sight, the sustenance of all life, not to mention those vital rays of redemption all subsequent intellectual composition requires.

Unless one is properly licensed to use these rather valuable properties of oxygen and sunlight, its is forbidden to engage in any activity which requires them. In short, I own you, you silly humans, rich or poor, cute or ugly, beast or priest. Pay up my darlings, or forever be branded as thieves and liars, subject to the whims of MY judicial system.

Whole Grains of Salt

Cracking Surface
Cracking Surface
DATELINE MARCH 29, 2004. It was bound to happen. It was bound to happen to me. After three and a half years of critical stagnation, or seven, if you count the ego-soaked swillibuster era—after compiling thousands and organizing hundreds of spewing streams of political, artistic, and theological treatise, essay, opinion, oddball blasphemy, jack wrong nonsense, half-baked curds and whey rolling up the sleeves of the duly infatuated—in a single absent-minded act of accidental shredding, the work that had filled my long gaps of inactivity has finally vanished. If I were more the conspiratorial flogstaff, I'd swear that old bean sprout leftie Len Bracken had something to do with this tragic miscue. Just yesterday, he had me worried that he wanted me to yank up some old 1994 manuscript files of a book I'd typeset for him. I still had them sitting on my drive, but wasn't anxious to go digging for them.

This was my first mistake. I'd boasted instead of keeping my own counsel. And as is nearly always the case, I soon paid the price for my bravado, always finding new and ingenius ways to suffer the consequences of ego. Here's my crash report to Bracken this morning:

Thanks again for the editor's copy of your movie. I think I will take a few breaths before watching it again. In a completely unrelated event last night, I trashed and shredded my entire Scenewash Project, losing forever some 800 MB of text and graphics I had been collecting and coordinating as reference material for both the web site and my own stalled writing career, such as it is. Attempts to recover the data netted only about 200 MB of the original gigabyte of material including what was backed up by virtue of sitting on the webserver already in play, so that's one small consolation. Bad news is that among the 800 MB was your entire archive of Guy Debord - Revolutionary, the cover I designed, the original typesetting, et cetera, all of which has been lost.

Young Guy Debord
A Young Guy Debord
The only remains of Len Bracken on my system are those web pages I created, and whatever is posted to the web site in the Situationist section where other "conspiracy" material was archived. Of course, I had the whole mess backed up on the wife's machine, until I dumped it clearing out space in which to edit —yep, you guessed it—The Lazy Ones not so long ago you may recall. Now isn't that a striking irony.

Apparently when I was thrushing out the the weeds I (or some ghost in the machine) managed to drag the entire Scenewash folder containing all these working archives into the trash, and when prompted to empty I noted the size of the dump was rather high for what I presumed was in the trash by choice, but failed to follow up my suspicion with a quick peek of the contents. Result was instant disaster and chaos, regrets in a handbasket.

Bowing to fate, all this so-called scholarly work has been lifted off my shoulders, for better or worse, for the foreseeable future. The weight has lifted. One day I will regain my strength to sort through what little I was able to recover, and merge them with my paper files, and perhaps only then be rightfully prepared to sculpt a work of art worthy of all those keystrokes and hours lost in sitting. Time will always kill a mockingbird.

This post is republished from the Project Scenewash archives.

Judgement Furniture: Time Itself

Four score and seven years
ago . . . an idea took root.

These rather mundane but highly charged words have echoed across the American mindscape . . .

Freedom's just another word for nothing else to do . . .

In the evolution of man's flight from the biocriticisms of nature, only a few governments in the history of the modern world as we know it has ever been founded upon the premise that all men are created equal, and they have each according to its own nature, proved that embracing the convenient lie is a stronger impulse than weathering the persistant struggle of the truth.

The lemon tree does not compare itself to the pine tree in terms of equality, and neither should humanity pine for such terms nor grow sour to its own promises.

Cindy Sheehan
Cindy Sheehan, anti-war activist...

the human spirit throughout history has been shown to struggle in rising above these awkward limitations, despite a persistant weakness for oppression and folly.

Freedom of opportunity does not include molecular bias, suggesting a nod to the a priori, rather than to the revolutionary moment.

Revolution is the first resort of scoundrels and sly misanthropes, and the last resort of still honest chainthinkers who treasure today's fleeting moment rather than yesterday's sandbagged rubble or tomorrow's sloganeering turned soon against themselves.

Military and articulative might is a time-worn eye for eye approach to keeping the peace in a world of chaotic and delusional equations. Turning the other cheek is axiomatic to early blindness for the many, while bringing light to the few. One must pick one's poison, knowing you will never cheat infinity.

Envy is the cardinal regret in this knotted world of appropriation. Self-contentment is never attainable while still attached to how others may compare to one's own stability. After the Industrial Revolution brought on rapid development and nearly everyone's lives improved with relation to leisure time and creature comforts, so has our lust for competition and greed among our neighbors.

Work is nothing but an attempted escape from idleness. Numbers suggest many succeed and find happiness. The idle rarely stretch beyond the strains of envy. Those who do, find happiness. Is there room for both clienteles in a single worldview. Of course.

Many concern themselves with public image. While not the costliest of resonances, this public mirror of the soul cannot but reproduce a skewed version of the individual at war with himself. A man not at war with himself is either a brute or a flicker of transparency. No proverb can capture the entirety of a persona, and yet, no proverb has ever been proven completely false, despite the deflection artistry of the politically correct.

After all is said and done . . .
we will never cheat infinity.

 

There is but one approach in examining one's life, and that is under the microscope of universal slavery. . .

Freedom is not separate from responsibility . . .

Conflict is in the untrained or overstrained eye of the beholder still a hostage to wandering irresponsibility while freedom is self-evident, encouraging, and harmonious . . .

The primary mote of conflict is "Me first!" While the cruelest season of freedom is "You too!"

Obedience to one's thirst is not necessarily the quencher, if one's pail belongs to another, or has been shot full of holes by one's own conflicted handiwork . . .

The entire history of humanity is written in the soul of every newborn child. Unfortunately, man rushes in to burn those books and youth revokes itself. . .

author
Gabriel Thy, author
Many appear who speak in the name of freedom and claim to possess the message which will unlock the shackles of the mind and free the flesh.

      These new jailers are bleeders of time and are merely seeking to herd you into their private cave for a short while. Beware of these roaring lions and strip searchers. They want something you can't give them if you value the freedom they are selling.

Commerce is not as evil as the lie that commerce is the only good.

One lad's rebellion is another lad's herd instinct. Neither lad is ever completely free from, nor completely included into any herd definition. This is self-evident. Why do the heathen rage so in suggesting otherwise?

The language of knowledge is alphabet dirt. It can neither oppress nor elevate without an accompanying conspiracy of oppressors and flatterers working an organizing grift. Evolution of language is a natural phenomenon as a byproduct of freedom. Codification of language is a welcomed conspiracy with commerce but its oppressive tact along the rules of exclusion is a ruthless agenda. This is not freedom but an unnatural stratafication of freedom.

The abolition of conflict is not as desirable as the identification and clarification of freedom in its most solid or acute states.

Preferring to accept without retaliation the premise that it is quite self-evident to the honest mind that the flesh does indeed inform the spirit as does the spirit inform the flesh far beyond the powerful intrigues of rote socialization, should we ask and thus expect to quantify this quality of physical nature? Is true androgeny and one unvaried race the sole solution to what ails the human species at this very critical time of its departure from a bloody past our ancestors and our peers have left us?

Is anyone truly prepared for the centrifugal forces of the 21st century as things gear forward leaving far behind this bloodcurdlin' past, or is our quandry just a long fillibuster aimed at delaying the inevitable yawn, making haze as Dylan now puts us, travelin' on a slow train with a long time to go yet before we ferry out of steam, blow ourselves extinct, or finally realize our best bet is to muster enough strength to simply say to ourselves what the commoners say, that we must keep on keeping on because none of us is gonna change soon enough to make that much a difference except as bit players on a rugged landscape made of mind and mischief, merriment, moxy, mules and mediocrity.

But such is time and perfect timing, off time, under time, in time, time and time again, sloppy time, never time, Miller time, tea time too. Neat time, time in a bottle, my time, the time of my life, time to shape up, time to get a job, all the way to the point where it's time to get married the fifth time.

      Shallow time. Shag time. Sane time. In the time it took to drive a bus off the cliff on a Seventies cop show, that's show time. Time to go to the bathroom. Time this. Time that. Time warp. Time tunnel. Time is where the heart is. Time enough to think of a good response this time. Time to grow up. Time to eat and run. Time to suck him off. Time to beg the difference. Time to cut the mustard. Time to pick out a receiver downfield. All the time in the world. Time to wipe my ass. Timex time. Time to cash a cheque. Time to win the battle but lose the war on drugs. Time it took four angry women to satisfy each other in a dark room nearby. Time to write a novel. Time to brush her hair the same way her sister used to brush her own. Time to draw a conclusion at the bottom of the class. Time to mark a certain number of correct answers to the questions with a number two pencil. Time to give up a lost cause. Time to shut down the chicken farms along that river. Time to read the classics in their original language. Time to make lunch bags before the children race off to school. The time it takes to build a universe only to have it collapse in your face is nothing like the time I helped Aunt Mardis rip through a chocolate cake in the olden days of French ascendency. It takes time to learn to ride a bicycle. Time to reap what one sows. Or maybe not. Maybe that time is instantaneous time, time accurately remembered. Time to sing before she swallows. Time to harvest a generation. Time to swallow before you hang ten. Time to look before you cross. By the time it took to dig the Erie Canal times had changed. It's not about time, it's about attitude. By the time I get to Phoenix many husbands won't have time to take out the garbage. The driver swore to the witness that he didn't have time to stop. Time takes a holiday but time never vacates the premises. Time laughs at odd moments but time never bargains with leftover sandwiches. Time is that which doesn't kill you. Time kills that child inside only to seemingly reappear later. Time is a long, cool woman in a black dress. Time is kinky. Time paints by numbers. Time is a disease of the pancreas. Time is a heart-shaped tattoo on Wendy's breasts in the window in Times Square. Pi is a timeless equation. Time understands all wounds. Time wounds all heels. Time is an asset. Time is a pain in the ass. Time is only as good as your next biological movement. Time is the needle in the haystack. Time is secondary but don't tell her that. Nothing like a good time in the sack to make time fly. Time has no fear of flying, but Erica and Henry both knew what having a good time was about, and it was not about time, but the enjoyment of time. Grown-up time. There is no such thing as time travel today, but recordings keep time in ways none of us truly understand past its fetish draw, but time was when a fine time was had by all, double time, life plus time. Time the unfortunate child born without legs who beats a faster smile than you do. Observe that same child pursue the purses some fancy to trick time into measuring time with old technologies in a world that presumes time can't reverse itself while it can so readily repeat itself dipped in statistics. Time is a two-way mirror. Time is a dirty joke flooding the muddy Missisippi. Time is nothing but what you in coveralls or somebody else makes it, but it's time you don't try to tell me about how much time it would take to make the timeless world safe for plastic people most suffering a bad sense of timing. Of course, there's never enough time to transcend one's station, especially when mobile. Time is far too formidable a friend on feverish afternoons to let stand in the cold rain. Without time on my side I perish with the daffodils. Time is a time-honored sport everyone must play in order to graduate. Time forgives. Breaking rules for time is not always bad timing, or timing it just right. Time scars. Scabs grab the moment to make time while others bargain, losing time to others, until another time comes. Time is a stiff upper lip in a compromising position. Time defers to gravity, but for one writer, time is nothing but a madcap schemer bought and sold on the installment plan, money paid back over time, but then two-timing Old Doc Celine didn't live in San Francisco during the beat era among hipsters who liked to mix up time. Time is a nightmare to Klaw's girls who prefer time raw and risky than their less time-tortured sisters. Time dresses up for special guests. Time is the major importer, exporter of stolen goods across state lines in situations where time is barely legal. That's time standing in the shadows, losing her shirt to timeless romance. Time is nobody's business but the rates are skyrocketing. Time is colorless, odorless, tasteless. Time left is time right on time. Time left to itself is useless. Time blows tall buildings to the ground. Time grounds water tables and small asterisks into dust bowls older than TIME ITSELF because time is the wind in the sails of marginality itself.

1001 Tales of Purchasing Power

Freedom and personal liberty is rarely lost by a culture in a single blow from an enemy perfected with the arts of permanent destruction, but instead, culture is more often chastised to death by a thousand cuts. Militant Islam, in its natural role, has perfected this latter technique of warfare, using surprise and deception tactics, lies built upon lies, trojan horses and social manipulation, all practiced in the sometimes snarling, sometimes smiling spirit of oppression while busy with the replacement of the host culture in the service of global domination.

Here is an intelligent piece from the Washington TimesThe Camel in the Tent—by Rachel Ehrenfeld and Alyssa A. Lappen on the strategies of power acquisition which is inherent to Islamic fundamentalism:

islamic fundamentlaism
Western stupidity with endgame analysis...
Objections to Borse Dubai's proposed acquisition of 20 percent of Nasdaq last week prompted Massachusetts Rep. Barney Frank to quip, "In the ports deal, the concern was smuggling something or someone dangerous... What are we talking about here—smuggling someone onto a stock exchange?"

It is not "who" Dubai will smuggle into the stock exchange we should worry about. It's the arrival of the world's first Islamic stock exchange exerting unprecedented Islamic influence in the heart of the U.S. and Western economies that should raise our alarm. Dubai's handsomely paid Washington lobbyists see nothing wrong with that. Rather, they claim the deal benefits U.S. financial markets, giving "Nasdaq access to rich Mideast pockets." Unfortunately, the deal also increases the appeal and influence of Islamic financing in the West.

What is "Islamic" finance? Islamic, or Shariah-based finance, is the 1920s invention of Muslim Brotherhood founder Hassan al-Banna. He ordered the Muslim Brothers to create an independent Islamic financial system to supercede the Western economy, facilitating the spread of Islam worldwide. He set the theories and practices and his contemporaries and successors developed Shariah-based terminology for "Islamic economics," finance and banking. Attempts by Muslim Brotherhood members in the early 1930s to establish Islamic banking in India failed. Egyptian President Gamal Abdel-Nasser shut down the second attempt in 1964, after only one year, later arresting and expelling the Muslim Brothers for attempts to kill him. Saudi Arabia welcomed them and adopted their ideas.

In 1969, soon after a mentally deranged Australian Christian fundamentalist, Michael Dennis Rohan, tried to set fire to the Al Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem, the Saudis convened the Conference for the Islamic Organizations (OIC) to unify the "struggle for Islam," and have been its major sponsor ever since. The 56 OIC members include Iran, Sudan and Syria.

Most Arab and Muslim states publicly denounced bin Laden. But the impending Nasdaq acquisition, the purchases of over 52 percent of the London Stock Exchange and 47.6 percent of OMX (Nordic exchange) and the vigorous expansion of Shariah financing apparently follow the Muslim Brotherhood-bin Laden script.
Based in Jeddah, "pending the liberation of Jerusalem," the OIC mandates and coordinates actions to "support the Palestinian people, assist them in recovering their rights and liberating their occupied territories." The OIC's first international undertaking was the 1975 establishment of the Islamic Development Bank "in accordance with the principles of the Shariah," marking the beginning of the fast-growing, petrodollar-based Islamic financing market. From 1975 to 2005, the bank approved more than $46 billion in funding to Muslim countries. Since 2000, it has transferred hundreds of millions of dollars raised especially to support the Palestinian intifada and suicide bombers' families—and has channeled United Nations funds to Hamas. Yet the bank received U.N. observer status in 2007.

Overseeing Shariah finance are the 1991-Bahrain-registered and -based Accounting and Auditing Organization for Islamic Financial Institutions (AAOIFI), which laid the groundwork for the global Islamic financial network and the "de facto Islamic Central Bank"—the Islamic Financial Services Board (IFSB), established in 2002 in Kuala Lumpur "to absorb the 11 September shock and reinforce the stability of Islamic finance." Chairing the meeting, then-Malaysian Prime Minister Mohamed Mahathir stated: "A universal Islamic banking system is a jihad worth pursuing to abolish this slavery [to the West]."

According to Saleh Kamel, president of the Saudi Dallah Al-Baraka Group and the Islamic Chamber of Commerce and Industry (ICCI), more than 400 Islamic financial institutions currently operate in 75 countries. They now hold more than $800 billion in assets—growing at a rate of 15 percent annually. All investments with Islamic financial institutions are subject to the minimum zakat (Islamic charitable wealth tax). On April 30, the OIC, the organization that initiated global Muslim riots after the Danish cartoon publications, established the clerical International Commission for Zakat, replacing more than 20,000 organizations that previously collected the money. Islamic clerics' "expert committee" in Malaysia now supervises and distributes those funds. The new committee will shortly distribute to Muslim charities roughly $2 billion collected during Ramadan.

But not all charities are equal. In 1999, Muslim Brotherhood spiritual leader Yousef al-Qaradawi decreed: "Declaring holy war [and] fighting for such purposes is the way of Allah for which zakat must be spent." If past zakat distribution is any indication, all Muslim jihadist-terror organizations (including Palestinian Hamas, the al-Aqsa Martyrs' Brigades, and the many al Qaeda offspring) will benefit.

Shortly after September 11, Osama bin Laden called upon Muslims "to concentrate on hitting the U.S. economy through all possible means. Look for the key pillars of the U.S. economy. Strike the key pillars of the enemy again and again and they will fall as one."

Most Arab and Muslim states publicly denounced bin Laden. But the impending Nasdaq acquisition, the purchases of over 52 percent of the London Stock Exchange and 47.6 percent of OMX (Nordic exchange) and the vigorous expansion of Shariah financing apparently follow the Muslim Brotherhood-bin Laden script.

President Bush on Sept. 25 at the United Nations called on all nations to open their markets. Surely, he did not mean opening the markets to domination by Shariah.
_______________

Rachel Ehrenfeld is director of the American Center of Democracy and a board member at the Committee for the Present Danger. She is also a member of the American Congress for Truth Board of Advisors. Alyssa A. Lappen is a senior fellow at the American Center of Democracy.