Pre-Launch for IS SHE AVAILABLE?, an Original Collection of Poetry, Art, Animation and Music Based on the Poetry of Igor Goldkind
OK, YOU LUCKY M*****F*****S!,
Here’s your chance to get on the ground floor of my book PR.
We’re doing this through you, my reader and hopefully my customer. Tell your friends, get them on board with this old wine in a new bottle: poetry for people who don’t think they like poetry. Poetry for people who hate poetry. Art, Music and Multimedia for people who can only access literature through a screen.
Tell your friends, there are amazing prizes to be won:
all for the price of a hardover and/or paperback.
The bus is leaving on July 23rd, get you can get your ticket now.
Be a Bozo but don’t make a fuss, just get on the bus! ;~)
(Image is strictly Copyright WENDY FARROW 2014 and is not to be used or reproduced in any manner without the written approval of Wendy Farrow.
First day of work starting at my new job at Starbucks in South Park on the corner of 28th and B. Somehow it seems fitting that I would wind up working in a Starbucks in the South Park part of San Diego. All the people are cartoons here which makes life amusing.
So what do I do at Starbucks? What’s my job title? Am I management or dog’s body?
Not your run of the mill, life changing, reality shattering like a broken mirror Englightenment, mind you. None of that crap. You want the whole sky is falling, death in your right shoulder, everything is really an illusion palava, you got to go mediate on a mountain, stop spending money and polluting the planet or go take LSD for that particular trip.
Me, I’m more with the practical enlightenment department. Like pointing out that your shoe laces are untied and that you might trip over them. That’s the kind of essential information we need to get by day to day. It’s the Practical Application of Englightenment to Every Day Life. Another tidbit is how to get a call center worker to do what you need them to do without shouting.
I admit that so far it’s an unpaid internship at Starbucks but I’m meeting good people, making great connections and the exposure for my career is just incomparable to working a real job. I mean, someone’s bound to notice me here at this Starbucks in South Park, in San San Diego, Southern California, USA, Planet Earth. I mean this is where I am, afterall.
Then there’s the hot tip of not listening too closely to what your friends say because they’re usually just talking about themselves, but smiling and nodding allot so that they feel affirmed. Another is always keeping in mind what it would be like NOT to be with the person you’re with, the love of your life, etc. First of all because it will probably transpire that you won’t be with them at some point and secondly because imagining your life without the person you love in it makes you important that person really is in your life. And you treat them that way.
I’m just full of little aphorisms and glimpses of practical enlightenment…Enough to, wait a minute ……get a book out about it?
Thank you for sharing in my process, writing random meanderings on FB has led me to an idea for a non fiction book:
THE PRACTICAL APPLICATION OF ENLIGHTENMENT TO EVERY DAY LIFE.
I wonder what the cover price for the hard cover should be?
My publisher Amy is a very powerful woman.
She has very powerful, wealthy connections.
She raises money on Kickstarters like she was playing at a church bingo parlour every other Friday night.
Amy is publishing my book IS SHE AVAILABLE? on July 23rd.
That’s when the electronic version comes out that will be available FREE for download from Amazon, iTunes, Borders, Chameleon and SUBVERSIONfactory websites.
That’s right, absolutely FREE for download. All my poems, all of Gilad’s music, all the over a dozen paintings, illustrations and even a sculpture that some of the ost talented artists in the world have produced to interpret my words. This has been an awesome adventure; a high speed motocycle race at times; a cross country IT’S A MAD, MAD, MAD, MAD, MAD, MAD WORLD remake but for real!
A bad then good acid trip.
A series of happy and unhappy coincidences all leading to one eruption of creation: my books
Wait for it, it’s free.
So back to Amy my publisher who I call the Janis Joplin of genre publishing (that’s SF, Fantasy, Horror and Comics, do you), because she’s a smart talking, hard driving, hard drinking woman who’s seen enough to know what’s right and what’s wrong. But amy is very powerful and she intimidates me. It’s Amy who wants to coin me THE NAKED POET and warned me that I had to stay single for my image: that f a broken hearted poet who still believes in Love. Thst’s me alright but what scares me is that that Amy would order me to stay singler but that she could coordinate with every other woman on this sweet Earth to guarantee I remain single.
How the hell does she pull that off????
This one’s for Amy and her NAKED POET
THE NAKED POET
I’m just a man
Chiselled with flaws
Cracked with imperfections
Who likes drinking and fucking
And riding fast
On my bike
Down a steep hill
When you are in transition, you find out who your real friends, your real family is.
People like to use the word ‘love’ allot, they like to say ‘I love you’, because it makes them feel good to.
They feel that the word accomplishes the deed.
These same people tend to be duckers, avoiders, they say that they are kind and simple people, whilst all the while hiding in the shadows from anything real, anything that confronts their delicate sensibilites. These people don’t love anyone except themselves.
They use the word Love to pass themselves amongst us undetecting their crippled empathy.
Love isn’t just a word, it’s a deed. And I know the love of others from the deeds that they do; not just for me, but for the people around them, the people they are connected to. I am so fortunate that they choose to feel connected to me and connected to my destiny. They’ve been helping me, helping me cope with this radical change, this transculture shock, this adapting to a world ruled by dollar and motorised vehicle. It’s taking me time. I’m sometimes lost and confused and I don’t really know the people here at all. Do they ever keep their word in California or are integrity and Truth old world conventions? I honestly wonder that.
Anyway, here is a poem I wrote this morning for the deceased daugher of a mother who barely knows me, having only met me twice before and yet when she heard I was in need, she knew I had been a friend to both her daughters, she opened her home to me. She’s lonely and lacks the company so now I ma beignning to understand how life fulfills needs, sometimes effortlessly, by side stepping our intentions and connecting us to where we belong.
When Daisy offered to put me up for a couple of nights, she hadn’t heard what had recently happened to me; getting mugged in NYC, having my ex step mother pull the rug out from under my accommodation, closing my bank account without my knowledge. Then the ever uncertain apartment in La Jolla. Never sure as to the availability or the date of access. An apartment I haven’t even been permitted to see but must be paradise just because it is in La Jolla. “Do you know how much it costs to rent an apartment in La Jolla?!” Is the monotoneous refrain I’m greeted with whenver I question the eccentricity of the complex. I guess I’m supposed to shut up and be impressed.
When Daisy heard about what was happening to me, how my friends were treating me upon my return from nearly 40 years away, (berating me for not driving!), she opened her heart and offered me her dead daughter’s, my high school friend’s room for as long as I needed it.
That, my friends, is Love.
Daisy doesn’t have to say anything, she doesn’t have to use the word.
She just does it.
So this one’s for Daisy, who knows what the word ‘Love’ means and for Meryl, who died too young.
Meryl, we called you Zelda
after Zelda Fitzgerald.
Who you were like,
and now like her,
You are dead.
No more lion’s mane
flipped in perpetual disdain.
No more dietary restrictions
Or hypochondriac fits.
You are beyond that now.
You are beyond all of us.
No more smoking cigarettes
propped on the curb of our high school years.
You were plump then and kind
When you fancied me you held my hand
Softly on that curb.
But then you were thin
and I never had enough money for you.
Meryl, you were a bitch
the way you treated some people
like your sister, like your mother,
All who loved you.
Who wouldn’t not love you?
A single, scarlet California poppy
standing like a nun in a field.
Who couldn’t love Zelda Fitzgerald?
None of us never could.
(From a Facebook thread regarding my witnessing of 3 racist attacks in Oxford, England within one 6 week period before my departure from the UK and the continuing focus my English friends have on my account of those incidents that transpired back in late March, 2014.I answer one such detractor in the following thread reproduced here wherein I analyze the character of the English and why they are so insecure and yet defensively aggressive when it comes to their national identity).Although I dispute about a third, of what you [the critic] assert and I resent your implication that I have been ‘evolving’ or embellishing my accounts as you are clearly accusing me of misleading my readers; I assure you, that I am reporting the truth of what I experienced.I worked for 5 years as a foreign correspondant for Pacifica News Wire in Paris and trust me, I know how to report a story as well as how to fact check.You may take issue with my conclusions from my experiences or the generalisations about the English character that I am self aware of procuring from those experiences, but if you doubt the veracity of my accounts, then we really have no progress to make here.As with Dennis Harrison and Sarah Gallespie, your focus is on the refutation of my integrity as a way of dodging the content and conclusions I am suggesting. This is really a form of cultural self-denial and national defensiveness.You feel attacked by my logically and factually derived generalizations, so you attack the witness rather than debate his conclusions.But what really gets a rise out of me; as with Dennis and Sarah:YOU WEREN”T THERE and I WAS.Opinions do not have the same rhetorical weight as first hand accounts.Unless of course the English have alos derived different rules for rhetoric. Perhaps one in which only English people have the right to pose an argument and the rest of us are inhibited by our foreign handicap.Those who deny the evidence of my own eyes and would prefer to cast aspersions on my integrity and reliability as a witness to my own experience rather than either confront the conclusions I derive from my experience or even logically refute them are disingenuous and self-deluding. They mistake their own opinions for facts and confront the reporting of facts as if they were a matter of opinion.So much for English education.The reason I bother to write this at all, is that inspite of the nationalist, reactionary reflex I have provoked, I do detect some attempt to at least appear to weigh the evidence, and my conclusions about the evidence, against your own sense of Englishness and England. It is through that dark, narrow opening of self consciousness that I attempt to pass through with a flash light, trying to shed a little light and appealing to submerged English traits of a desire for fairness, justice and the desire for the truth, no matter how uncomfortable it turns out to be.In witnessing of all 3 racist incidents, all within the same 6 week period prior to my departure from Oxford, corroborated by witnesses, the other targets and the police; I had no choice but to conflate the 3 different events into one pattern meaning. The UK has grown much less tolerant and much more aggressively resistent to foreigners. Anyone who has passed through Heathrow immigration recently can tell ou that. I’ve been passing back and forth for over 30 years and it used to be a 5 minute mini interview as a tourist with a one way ticket in.Then when I achieved permanent residency, the time would be 10 minutes because the immigration official wanted to know HOW I had received permanent residency. In the past 7 years the time I spend at Heathrow immigration, WITH a permanent residency stamp is closer to an hour and at least 40 minutes as untrained, quite stupid immigration officials carry out the government’s policies as supported by the Daily Mail to harrass and dissuade foreign residents from coming into the country.I have had to on 3 occasions resort to asking the pompous immigration official to call my lawyer in the UK as their inane and unwarranted detention was compromsiing my metting my daughter or my freinds at the alloted time. In each and every case I have been admitted into the UK but not until after I have asserted my rights loudly as a citizen and a foreign resident. Shyer people than me are not so lucky and that is why I shout: for those who cannot. That is why I raise my voice: for those who are to timid or scared to. My voice carrys. It is loud and my bellowing is always heard. Yes, it irritates, it annoys, it’s the kind of voice that makes the neighbours look to move; but my voice serves a purpose that your politesse can’t even fathom.The only people who have cast doubt on my integrity and the accuracy of my accounts in the past 4 months are white English people who weren’t actually there and as I said, have other nationalist fish to fry. They don’t like hearing foreigners complain about ANYTHING English. This is in sharper contrast with say, the French (a country I lived in for 8 years), in which MY EXPERIENCE was that if you ever complained about some aspect of French society, either social or political, a French person who inevitably utter a deep sigh and respond ‘man, you don’t know the half of it!’ and proceed to inform you of even more flaws and weakness in their own society. This reflects a more Cartesian, Gallic interpretation of ‘fact authentication’.The French think in categories of experience, where as the English like to establish rules and then follow them. The English have a much more black and white means of evaluating their phenomenal experience: things aren’t in different categories; rather, things and events either follow certain prescribed rules or they are wrong and must be rejected. This is in no small part due to the English culture and character. The English split the Anglo/Gallic distinction even finer by separating themselves from their ideological cousins, us Americans. Americans share with our cultural cousins, the French the trait of complaint. Americans and the French complain whne something’s not right; that’s how we get things done, we draw attention to an inconsistency, a flaw and injsutice and we complain loudly to the persons responsible until they are made aware and then do something about it. If they become aware and still do nothing about it, we take the streets and protest and if there’s still no response we storm the palace and cut off their fucking heads.The English do not like to complain. Within their rigid social conformity it’s considered rude to complain and remember, in England, being rude is tatmount to child molestation. Actually based on the evidence of recent public criminal information; pedophilia amongst the great and the good is much more acceptable than rudeness; even the Queen tolerates child molestation, having had tea with a pedophile or two, between the blood drinking despots she regularly entertains with her subjects’s purse.What the English do instead of complain is whinge. (definition: complain persistently and in a peevish or irritating way: stop whingeing and get on with it!) The English whinge because that is acceptable within their social stratification. Why one and not the other? Very simple and this points like a bull eye to the inequity inherent in the English social scheme and also reveals exactly why I have been the target of such rapid hostility. The difference between whinging and complaining is that complaining mandates that you register your complaint with those you deem responsible for your complaint: the waiter or chef in the restaurant, the bureacrat, the supervisor, the government official. But whinging on the other hand, as practiced by the English means that you only complain to your friends, your family your colleagues; people who can do nothing about your complaint. So there you have it in a nutshell: the English notion of politnesses, of what is rude or what is acceptable and unacceptable in their ‘polite’ society is rigged to reinforce the most ineffectual behaviour and actually discourage effective social behaviour that might actually do something to improve the circumstance.This is how social politesse and conformist demeanour undermines the needs of people.The suffragettes were rude, the abolitionists were rude, the Jamaican immigrants were rude, the Brixton rioters were rude, the Muslim ummigrants are rude because they’re not Christians and some of their women cover their faces. How rude!The English society reminds of the famous cartoon that appeared in the New Yorker depicitng a man running into a crowed theatre that we can see is on fire and shouting ‘Fire!, Fire!’ while a ‘posh’ bejewelled lady with her back to the man and the fire, proclaims “How rude!”That’s why I find the critics of my reports so amusing: they sit with their backs to thier own society and merely whinge at my ‘rudeness’ for bringin attention to what’s surrounding them. What morally pathetic cowards they are.I am targeted for what is often very personalized disdain, because I do not follow English rules, either socially or rhetroically.You may not like my fiction or poetry but what does your judgment of thier worth have to do with the assertions I make about your culture, (Sarah?). That’s why the accusation of ‘rudeness’ (which I often get), is much worse than calling someone a ‘motherfucket’ in England. ‘Rude’ means you’ve stepped out of the prescribed rules of social strastification which frames the argument to begin with. I think I’ve pointed out here what is fundamental to the Anglo-Gallic divide. Many of my ‘English Friends’ any possible value or empathy for me in my unpleasant experience, because my conclusions contradict your social decorum. I break your rules and are therefore ‘rude’ or my accounts are suspect. Then there’s the constant comparisons to America or other places, such as you contribute. What on the Earth does my witnessing of 3 racist incidents in England within 6 weeks have to do with the demographic of the American prison population?Tu Quoque is a Latin term for the kind of debate you find in children’s schoolyards and my threads on English racism:A type of ad hominem argument in which a person turns a charge back on his or her accuser: a logical fallacy. From the Latin, “you too”
Wilma: You cheated on your income tax. Don’t you realize that’s wrong?
Walter: Hey, wait a minute. You cheated on your income tax last year. Or have you forgotten about that?
Walter may be correct in his counter-accusation, but that does not show that Wilma’s accusation is false.”
This is th level of debate that I have encountered with my ‘English friends’ on this subject. In fact, I should thank them for helping me to emerge the definition of ‘English Friends’; those who will smile to your face and claim comraderly common interest until they stab you for breaking their social codes. Not in the back, btw, sometimes in the side.The fact that Americans have more guns or that American police can often be more brutal and injust than the The British is a Tu Quoque argument; a false conscience. I’m talking about your country, man; things that have happened to me in your country for which there are corraboarating witnesses. But because your English society and its deeply imprinted class system; you will not believe or sympathise with my plight. Instead I threaten your class system, therefore I must be rejected, discredited and in some extremes called names and vilified. In many ways, this is precisely the kind of ‘flushing out’ of non racists I wanted to achieve. I wanted to expose how injustice operates: not on the unjust (or insane) actions of a few, but on the social complicity that implictly sustains their actions as more legitimate, because of their birthright, simply because they are English and I am ‘other than’ . This is what unties my opposition and connects you, Dennis, Sarah Gillespie and others (otherwise bright, articulate human beings), who cannot help themselves in their nationalist, knee-jerk response because they feel that fundamentally, I challange and take issue with their way of life, their social ontology.Which of course, I do ;~)This was exactly what I wanted to demonstrate in spending all this time rendering my accounts, and I believe successfully have done so, at least for my American and European readers, who are literally gobsmacked that I would be the victim of a racist verbal assault, that I would be repeatedly called “a Jew” in a public English space and that my white English friendds would then take more issue with me than the perpetrator.This is epitomised by the other principal accusation being hurled at me: that I am arrogant, that I suffer from a blinding arrogance.This is hilarious: English people accusing someone else of arrogance?!? The English who’s cultural arrogance is almost universally identified as an English trait?My American friends find this the most amusing aspect to this unmasking of English character. In contrast, all of the British support and sympathy I have received, by mainly private DM, have been from a non caucasion, British demographic: (afro carribean, asian, east asian, arab).All of whom have expressed sympathy for me because they have shared being on the receiving end of similar racist attacks from nice, polite, English people and have empathy for my upset. They reassure me that not all white English males are shits and that it’s best to suck it and move on. But I’m a writer and social observer who has worked and lived in 6 different countries in my life, in England for the longest. As an outside, I have an outsider’s point of view. I compare English society and reactions to others I have had in other countries. But your mistundersanding of my vantage point is underlined when I am accused of American jingoism, asi if! I left my own country over 35 years ago in no small part due to the leel of social and political injustice there and moved to socialist France under Miterrand …..
It was in a much freer France that I cultivated both a politcal progressiveness and a Cartesian mode of rhetorical expression. Likewise, I embraced the republican, revolutionary ontology (society’s must be actively changed in order to be inproved), which was both in line with my own American post revolutionary values and a direct contradiction of the general English conservatism, desire to preserve the past, hang on to the present and dismiss the possibility of progressive change. My real sin here is not being American, not being a (for chrissakes!), a Jew or even being a foreigner who was never going to be accepted by the English; it’s being a PROGRESSIVE. Believing that social change must be instrumented; that the status quo need be challanged in order to change for the better. A belief in ignoring or breaking the rules when they become irrelevant or in need of change.That’s the real reason I am targeted for discredItting by white, English men and women:I tell them things about themselves that they don’t want to hear.Too bad.As to internal mapping, you only need to look at the recent loss by the GOP of the last Presidential election to understand what I mean: the GOP banked on winning an election. They were honestly shocked that Obama was re-elected because they had lost sight of who the voters were now. They were stuck in a recent, but now displaced worldview that saw America as largely white, male and Protestant. The problem was that America was not. America had beome largely Hispanic and empowered female; very different subcultures cultures than white Anglosaxons.That’s why the GOP lost, they didn’t know who their buyers were anymore, much less what they wanted to buy.
Now look at the current British cabinet, opposition and Mayor of London, in the same light: people who all went to the f*****g high school ! No wonder the British government no longer represents the people of Britain: they are different people. Change in Britain for the better will come fromand it will led by immigrants and the children of immigrants. It will not come from the caucasion Anglosaxon, no matter how educated they think they are; because their investment is in the past, not the future.As long as there are British people in power who operate on the basis of manipulating a nostalgia for the past rather than a look towards the rapidly arriving future, there will be social problems, as in the rise of overt racism I have borne witness to. 4 incidents in six weeks is not an anomaly, it’s a pattern.Racist incidnets and attacks are on the rise in Britain, statistically and from anyone’s observation. To deny that fact or to attack the veracity of those foreigners who inform you of the fact is a nation of ostriches hiding their heads in frakked ground. It is an insult to the legacy of British rationalism to pretend that your problesm are really just the fantasies of a narcissistic, arrgant attention seeker, who just want to disturb your English idyll of watching cricket on your suburban green. Perhaps you need to be disturbed from time to time, eh?Complacency is its own quiet, comfortable prison.This is my experience and the conclusions that I draw. To think that otherwise educated, compassionate Brits would come to the defense of white, institutional racists by focussing on discrediting the response of their targets as the object of derision, speaks volumes. The contributers on this thread have done more to prove my points with their jibes, name calling and attempts at personality assassination, than I ever could.Exposure is the best form of refutation; we can let other observers judge for themselves.
The Bullet from My Gun
I am propelled like a bullet from a gun barreling through space,
Through your flesh,
Through the time you have misspent on this Earth now ending,
Too late to regret the bending trigger of my gun.
I penetrate your vagina,
Your sense of inner self,
Tearing through your false resistance like a runaway train.
I cannot stop, I am momentum now.
Ripping through your many lives,
Decimating your hopes for the peace tomorrow that now will never come.
Because my trajectory is certain and yours is a wet pipe dream.
You are obliterated into fragments by the curling of my finger.
Now Isis will never find you.
Fear is a man’s best friend:
And a little pressure goes a long ways.
I’ve grown impatient.
I’ve grown impatient in a few discussions I’ve had with Facebook friends in which accusations of liberalism, leftism, secular, interventionist and that of western post enlightenment bully have been hurled at me. I’ve grown impatient because with the exception of the very last description, I am none of the above.
I suppose I am an ideological bully as well, although I try not to be.
I just find it difficult obeying the decorum of conventional rhetoric when the threatre actually is on fire and if you don’t get out soon, you’re going to be burned alive or suffocated by your own ignorance. I may be a bully-boy for secular rationalism but I have lost patience with decadent partisanship, especially of the Left/Right variety.
I would have at one time described myself as a Leftist, a Liberal. . . . yeah, about 30 years ago.
Allot can change in 30 years. Especially the political topography. I find Left and Right to be redundant terms, moribund, dead. Conservative and Progressive also are beginning to stink of irrelevance. Conservatives these days are more like crypto-fascists, Mussolini like corporatists. And the so-callled Progressives have progressed themselves largely to a surivival mode of whatever works to keep things from declining further. So they act like Conservatives used to act.
No, I definitely don’t buy in to yesterday’s newspapers.
My beliefs are simply that things in general, have gotten very bad (politically and socially), and that things are more likely to get much worse unless citizens start taking responsibility citizenship and start insisting on leadership from their leaders. Politics isn’t fun, it’s not a vocation; it’s a duty, like doing the dishes every day. If you don’t do your dishes, they stack up, become a hazard and eventually someone will come and do your dishes for you. So it is with politics.
I believe that my daughter’s generation is facing a future bleaker in prospect than our own was at the same exact stage of time. Our parents did better by us than we are going to be able to do for our children. And that’s a real tears, crying shame.
This state of things is entirely and directly due to the ongoing consolidation of wealth and power by fewer and fewer individuals of the last 30-40 years. The ideological and value shift debuted with Ronald Reagan and in Europe the Neo-Liberalism of Dame Margaret Thatcher. These two individuals and their buccaneer followers were the primary instruments of the destruction of post modern society. It was their ideologically-driven policies that deliberately re-engineered the political, social and economic sense of our socities. They changed the internalized map of reality for millions, indeed, billions of people.
Unfortunately their map, the Neo-Liberal mapping graph, was not a more accurate reflection of the economic territory it was supposed to navigate through and it failed, badly. This was what we experienced as the global financial collpase and on going recession from 2008. The one that nobody caused, the one that ‘just happened’ the one that we should shut up about and just pay off the banks for. This act of international economic sabatoge unprecedented even by the great Deprssion of the 1920’s was a direct causal result of the Neo-Liberal policies and dismantlement of the public sector state instituted by both Reagan and Thatcher in the early 1980’s.
So this leads us to the state of things now: the state of all things.
In the wake of the economic, political and moral collapse of Neo-Liberalism, there has been a distinct lack of response; like someone caught the pendulum on the other side in theri hand and won’t let go of it to let it swing the other way. The best has been from women and the Latino communities in the US, but although building, they currently lack cohesive momentum to represent one political force. There also needs to be a tighter common cause with the trade unions and the African American communities, who share a first hand legacy of enacting social change in the face of mass market injustice.
England is a disaster, a museum piece of progressive liberalism and social integrity. Once the international leader in post WWII recuperation with the foundation of the NHS, public housing and the rebuilding efforts of a generation, the UK has now receded into an increasingly impoverished nation in the midst of selling off all of its silver and linen in order to afford to pay its heating bills. The Red Cross has opened food kitchens to feed the poor in the Britain for the first time since the war. And no one blinks. While of course, the ministers of government and the uber-wealthy line their pockets with public swag. They literally STEAL people’s taxes and place them in the pockets of their patrons. It is shameless and the British people shuld be ashamed of themselves that they’ve allowed a once world beacon of humane governance descend to such soul wrenchingly low depths of avarice and xenophobic paranoia. Where is British pride in their nationalism now?
The rest of Europe has at least been swayed enough by public disapproval of austerity measures and have made adjustments, mainly funded by Germany. At least Europe has responded to the neeeds of its people. The British government takes its electorate for fools and cattle to be milked and eventually slaughtered; if for example, Boris Johnson the Mayor of London’s request for water cannons in central London comes through. How many burglars or muggers can you catch with a water cannon, I wonder?
I’m fed up with conventional politics and I have greater faith in computer hackers to enforce reasonable moral governance than the government or Google will. I believe in the Open Source revolution, where information is linked and liberated. That data about us, belongs to us. I beleive in Tim Berner-Lee because he never patented html or the web browser or the world wide web; he could of, but he didn’t. Unsound business strategy; sound human being.
I believe our future as a species lies in our machines, not as their servents (or masters, for that matter), but in the same way early Man domesticated the wolves and panthers that crept near his open fires, so we are on the brink of domesticating the strange-seeming powers of computation. We are on our way to using our tools in ways we hadn’t ever even contemplated were possible. We are living Star Trek in our own lifetimes.
I believe that the Net is Us . . .
and that we can prosper by taking a deeper, closer look at ‘Us’.
So it is important not so much to control the digital tools and the tool makers but to make certain that no one else controls them.
That’s what Liberty really is.
And fortunately, the levels of expertise required to be an effective ‘digital warror’ is not only specialised and unique, it tends to come with its own accompanying set of values, derived from the realities (Realpolitik), of developing software applications.
There is an organic sense to coding which requires you to think in other categories and their consequences. These other categories and the walking through them, brings insight on many levels beyond the screen. In the same way that software development has impacted on the way all industries operate and manage themselves, those with the digital savvy understand a dimension to their realm that makes them allergic to traditional means of governance or indeed, the way traditional consumer capitalism works. Hackers don’t do tricks for Scooby Snacks, they tend to work alone and realte to the world as individuals.
Most importantly, like the Occupy Movement (which was not, by the way, a political movement as much as a self-education campaign), there is no central leadership to the hacker community. It is a network based solely on group consensus. It’s structure is like the Al Qaeda without the same agenda. Instead, some of the more Radical affiliates has chose to play moral vigilante on several key businesses and government agencies involved in Congressional re-districting, to redress what they see as the current imbalance in power and democratic representation.
I applaud their efforts not because I’m in favour of sabatoge but because it draws focus to the issues that should be the central focus of any citizen on the planet these days: where is my power to control my own circumstances going? Do I have more or less value in my life compared to a year ago? What lies ahead of me around the bend? What is my level of security and what hopes do I have for a better tomorrow for myself and for my loved ones? And just as important, who is making all the money off of the impoverishment of the majority?
These are Radical questions to be asking and demanding (fist poundingly), a response to.
That’s why I’m not a Liberal anymore.
That’s why I’m a Radical.
Thomas, you were wrong to doubt it:
You can go home again and
Bask in the healing son of Osiris
Having left his lover Isis on the surface above him,
Upon his dissent.
This isn’t home
This is recovery
From the long scurvy of my forgetfulness
I eat limes for breakfast, lunch and dinner; and
My bowels move regularly now.
And I feel Thomas’s Pain
His bursting desire to design the citizen
Not his uniform, but his blood, sinew and muscle.
To the Crown
To the Revolutionary Congress
To the post-Revolutionary French Senat
Thomas and his Pain made the American struggle
A universal fight
The pull of the upright ape on the chains holding him down
Fashioned by the forgetful hairless ones.
We are not revolutionaries!
We are the Revolution.
The evolution of our selves, inner/outer
Into Mindful homage to our Masters and their children:
The ever loving human race.
“The job of an artist is not to give the public what it wants, but what it needs”. Thank you, Alan.
We have already won the revolution.
We have already won the revolution.
2 Shots were fired long, long ago:
In Babbage’s mistress’s boudoir
In Giardano’s spinning memory wheels
In the bit of the apple Alan choked down,
We have already won this revolution