Foto by tgw, New York City, November 2010
--Say Goodbye to a Unique Man: George Anderson
Sparky Anderson, 76, American baseball player and manager (Cincinnati Reds, Detroit Tigers), member of Baseball Hall of Fame, complications from dementia
--Say Goodbye to a Unique Woman: Shirley Verrett
Shirley Verrett, 79, American operatic soprano, heart failure.
At the Mad Hatter's Tea Party
I'm content. Contented as one of those old Carnation cows. Love has contented me. I'm so in love I can harbor no hatred. Not even a hatred for the approaching dictatorial storm cloudy face of Lord Chaos I'm facing...the Savior (Messiah) who arrives through the parting of thunderheads saddled up on a cold-black steed. Entangled in legends. Legends of explanation. Legends which don't explain anything just give us clues as to how to bravely face the extreme renderings to which this fresh young planet subjects us glorified monkeys. We fight back with our binary-math reasoning powers. We create superthings. Like our coal corporations can easily blow skyhigh Appalachian mountain tops--fuck the tops, they can blow whole mountains down. But even with all these engineering abilities, we still can't top Nature when it comes to blowing down mountains, changing the course of rivers, either raining too much or not at all, or shaking the timbers of the earth--I mean look at the job Nature did with Mount Saint Helens. Through Katrina look at the job Nature did to old New Orleans. Look at what devastation that one giganto earthquake brought to the good folks of Haiti--300,000 human monkeys swallowed up by their own earth, their end of the island they share with the Dominican Republic, which was, ironically, spared by the earthquake. Yet, we keep trying to conquer the World!
I'm drawn to skies. I see so many different skies out my apartment windows. I photograph the more exotic of them. Using my obsolete Toshiba digital camera, my trusty extension of my seeing and how that seeing gives me a thrill as it soars me up into the clouds or the clear skies or perhaps offers me an Icarus chance to ride my steed (my obsolete Toshiba camera) directly into the Sun's (Ra's) eye. I like lassoing these exotic skies with my old camera. I'm from a black & white 8 x 10 glossy photographic time. Color photography to me is unreal. Natural colors to me become unnaturalized in color photographs; whereas, I can easily understand black & white scenes. I remember things from childhood for instance in a black and white manner. Yet, when I'm photographing these skies, then I switch on my color consciousness. My favorite skies are the skies that burn with the fiery colors of the prismatic rainbow.
The skies out my window are always changing. They can change many times a day. From crisp bright and cool-blue inspiring to sudden grimacing darkly threatening. I sit and write, the window to my left, it faces deep south, down Manhattan Island, down the 11th and 12th-floor open levels down the island with still a broad canvas of sky open to me and my old Toshiba digital camera. My heart is in the skies. They are my highlands. And that's a very strange story, William Saroyan's "The Man With the Heart in the Highlands," from which he developed his first successful play, My Heart Is in the Highlands. The tale is about a old actor from the old folks home who plays a bugle and goes about playing it in the street for bread saying he's thousands of miles from home, the Scottish Highlands. "Bread" he declares is worth more to him than money. He's hungry all the time. The father in the story is a poet. He knows about hunger. So he sends his son, who's really the protagonist in this tale, down to the grocer's to beg food. His son is tricky with the conversation and every time he approaches the grocer for some food on credit and the grocer says no food until he pays the family bill he just continues twisting the conversation in his favor until the grocer caves in and lets him have more food on credit--the son first finagles the grocer out of some stale French bread and a pound of cheese, which he takes back home and watches as his father gives it to the bugle-playing old actor whose heart it is that is in the highlands. Then the people from an old folks home come and take Mr. MacGregor (the bugler) back to the home with them. When the old man is gone, the boy's father decides they need more food so he sends the boy to the store to try and grovel up some grub. This time the grocer is adamantly against any further credit until the old credit is paid off. He asks the boy what his father does for a living that he can't afford to pay off his debts. The boy says his dad is a poet. Does he make money writing poems? the grocer asks. The son explains that even though his dad works harder than any man alive, determinedly working at writing his poetry, but, no, he doesn't make any money--only the satisfaction of his hard work and the poem that comes or doesn't come from it. This time again the grocer gives in to the son's finagling except all he gives the boy this time is a box of bird seed and some maple syrup. The boy returns home with the "food." The father looks at the bird seed and says, "I can't write poetry on bird seed."
thegrowlingwolf Turns on President Obama
President Obama's reaction to his being Swift Boated into a dunce corner by Karl Rove and Evil Ed Gillespie, the Neo-Con resurgence forces, the Dick of Dicks, Dick Armey's revengeful nature, and the now primping and posturing idiot Congressmen like John Bonehead and Pissed-off Mitch McConnell. Obama's reaction to this alley-thrashing he got? Holy Christ, the dumb bastard. God-damn him, he's still trying to gain these assholes's respect! Why? And I'll tell you why, because Obama is a fucking fool himself. He is an idiot. And why do I say this? Because of his keeping referring to Ronald Reagan as a great president with great ideas, especially economic ideas. Holy Christ, I growl. Holy fucking christ! I mean, come on, the stupidity of our current leaders and their leaning fully toward out-and-out corruptive ways of dealing with our problems--our economic problems--really BIGGGG SUPER economic problems, with our financial institutions--still all totally running wild and unregulated--running out of control and ruining everything they touch in their wild desires to OWN the world!
We the People of the USA are now under the rule of Lord Chaos. Lord Chaos promotes a "fuck the torpedoes, full speed ahead" way of solving problems--an explosion-like way of happenstance and hit and miss--like you have an old skyscraper standing in the way of your urban gentrification scheme--what do you do? Do you restructure the standing building--gentrify the building itself? NO, the new method demands the old building be imploded and in its place a whole new edifice arises...a NEW WORLD edifice. Away with the old and in with A new.
What am I leading up to? Think Leo Strauss. Think Milton Friedman. Think Paul Wolfowitz. Think Dickless Cheney. Think Karl Rove. Think Donald Rumsfeld. Think John Ashcroft. Think G.W.H. "Pappy" Bush. Think the Carlyle Group. Think about Pappy Bush not only being President--and a lousy one he was--but Pappy was also an oil man; a part of his family was in the banking business (they managed Hitler's money in WWII); he was Ambassador to China; he was head of the CIA. Think of George Soros. What! you're railing at me. George Soros is a humanitarian. No, he isn't, he's a fucking foreign exchange money pirate. He makes his billions off buying up countries's money supplies. Aha. You getting the picture here yet?
Ben Bernanke, a Bush goon who President Obama courteously left in charge of our money supply when in fact this crooked little bastard should be doing jail time, today announced that HIS Federal Reserve (and it is a private corporation--not a part of the Federal Government) is going to print up 600 billion more worthless US dollars in order to stimulate OUR economy. BULLSHIT, BULLSHIT, BULLSHIT, BULLSHIT! Did you know that our Federal Reserve is shipping these pallets of fresh printed good ole worthless US dollars--this stimulus--not to We the People, but directly to the fucking banks! Check out the stock market the rest of the week. It's goin' wild. You're crazy if you don't sell your house, car, dog, children, and put all you're worth into the stock market (the casino of the rich), especially into banks, insurance companies, oil companies (BP, that miracle of a corporation, just reported billions of dollars of profits this quarter, back on the profits track so quickly after almost being reduced to a bankrupt piece of crap--but NO, this company is sanctified, I tell you--also, take your money out of savings accounts--you ain't getting dick shit in terms of interest on your money while these foreign exchange chiselers are making big bucks off using your savings account money (in the form of bank capital) to trade on the overnight exchange market, the electronic market in which you simple push the Enter key to make a billion-dollar deal).
Here's how this Federal Reserve printing up of worthless money is really suppose to work. Economic stimulus. Bullshit. They are not stimulating our economy. What they are doing is issuing all this worthless money to the banks in order to keep interest rates the lowest in our history. Of course, any sensible economist knows they should be raising interest rates, but sensible economists (like Michael Hudson or Joe Stiglitz) aren't listened to by these Bullshit Boyz in the District of Corruption, so they're going to keep interest rates at their weakest levels. Now, here's their scheme: keeping the interest rates low allows banks now to...WELL, hell, here's how it works. Say you have a million bucks of loose money in your savings. So what you do is, you go to the bank and you use your million to borrow 99 million at 1% interest. Then you take that 100 million you now have and you don't invest it in the USA. Hell no, you invest it in the foreign money market. You buy Brazilian money, Chinese money, Third World money. Then the IMF steps in and orders these countries to raise the value of their money--holy shit, your 100 million is soon worth say 120 million--you've made 20 million bucks--you've paid back your 99 million-dollar loan at 1% interest--what's that $999,000? Chicken feed. You can still buy that Lamborghini and also afford another mistress. (All of this low-interest foreign exchange money market information is per Michael Hudson.)
What else is the Fed up to? This whole scheme is to bail out the US real estate markets (again Michael Hudson)--to give the banks huge profits with which to buy up foreign land cheap while at the same time raising the prices of housing in the US back up to falsely high levels--the goal is to steal as much of We the People's income as they can--eventually forcing us to pay out 40% of our earnings on housing; 15% for paying off credit debts; 10% for healthcare; 15% for FICA...leaving We the People with only 20% left to spend on consumer goods, which includes food, clothes, gas, oil, utilities, etc.
These men should be arrested and put in prison: Ben Bernanke, Timmy Geithner, Hank Paulsen, Allan Greenspan, Robert Ruben, Larry Summers--hell, why not Bill Clinton? G.W. Bush? Pappy Bush? Marvin Bush? Jeb Bush? Neil Bush? What's the daughter's name--put her in jail, too. Put George Soros in jail, too, fuck him.
Obama never intended to make the changes We the People who elected him thought he meant. We thought he was gonna stop the bail outs, take back G.W. Bush's tax breaks from the fucking over-rich, give us single-payer health insurance--lowering the age citizens can get on Medicare back to like 62 or even 57--use generic drugs in the Medicare formularies--end both those totally wrong no matter your morals wars. Obama never had any intentions of changing the game. For instance, he never explained what he meant by change--not really. If We the People had read his book, he told us in there that Wall Streeters were his heroes. He told us in that book that he admired two presidents more than any others, Abraham Lincoln and Ronald Reagan. He told you in his book that he didn't know his father and was raised by his White mother and his White grandparents and that his politics were totally right of center--even in terms of We the People's civil rights. But we were all buffaloed by his charm, by his glorious speeches, by his confidence and macho. Women were tumbling over themselves to see Obama as their dream man. I have to admit I was trick-bagged by him--from the time he emerged in Iowa until that hugely expensive inauguration. It was during the Inauguration that I suddenly realized Obama was a phony--he was a two-faced White/Black man--confused--from a horribly split Black/White family background, a pseudo-hippy mother who worked for the Ford Foundation and little Timmy Geithner's father in Indonesia--Geithner's family's fortune comes from their family's Ford Motor Company involvement.
I stop in my wolf tracks. Like the Father in Saroyan's tale, I can't write poetry on bird seed.
We look to the sky for either our salvation or our doom. Either a Big Daddy God will come blowin' in the wind to transport us all off to another Eden planet--that kind of celestial-city salvation or we'll be the target of a bull's-eye-intent meteor--perhaps it's out there now collecting speed so that when it hits us, like the dinosaurs, we'll be turned to powder--only our dead's buried bones will be preserved for future beings to dig up and ponder over and hypothesize over. I look to the skies out my window for mysteries. For resurrections, for insurrections, for directions. In the sky is the earth's breath...it's vapor its speaking to us--a clear sky means there's no crying going on in our atmosphere--a rampantly cloud-packed sky means there's anger, wildness, perfidy, power, and warning. The earth like everything, has two sides to its personality. I look to the skies out my apartment windows for the temperature.
for The Sky's the Limit Daily Growler