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.

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