Saturday, December 16, 2017

"THE PRESIDENT'S CHAIR IS EMPTY" OR:


 FIVE COROLLARIES TO NAOMI KLEIN'S SHOCK DOCTRINE:

(Opportunist leaders will use any manufactured or natural crisis to create dictatorships.)

Just for laughs let's say none of the dire warnings will come to be:


Edgar Cayce and Nostradamus will be wrong, the West Coast will not be broken up in 2018 into Iceberg size chunks, the scientists who think they can figure the PROCESS called global warming feedback loops with grade school math instead of exponents and "Al Gore rhythms" will be RIGHT (hollow soundtrack laughter), the United States won't go broke on the next few hurricanes, forest fires, wars and earthquakes....hey wait a minute we already can't pay the bill on Puerto Rico and a tax bill just passed that will increase the deficit and finish  turning us into a third world country, and the Pres is driving out productive immigrants, decimating the State Dept and taunting N. Korea to provoke a war that at least will make him a wartime (unimpeachable) president and put us under martial law and more likely, according to Daniel Elsberg, will be a nuclear holocaust ending human life on earth....(what a relief! I don't think I coulda took much more!) But maybe that's just me, just lookin on the bright side.












So let's 

say most of that hasn't already happened AND we dodge ALL THOSE BULLETS AT ONCE! (WOW! BOYS AND GIRLS!) 

Giving you all the above and THEN some! The brokenness of national governance will still be naked (as we are all now one oligarchy naked under the mass of men who lead lives of loud ignorance (sound of Trump-ets) and the dictatorship of dollars with no sense), the effects will still be third world U.S. poverty and an international disaster.  Trump is just a symptom, a DISTRACTION creating more DISTRACTIONS that mask the real problem, the system that enabled the fraud of his hope that springs infernal. Get him out, the damage is done, the myth of the mess of mass of idiots is still in charge, nothing but more sellouts to replace him....

What hope? What refuge? Other than our thousands of years old default position: taking care of each other in small groups and local communities?  Or taking community and government that has been broken from the top down and rebuilding it from the GROUND (of our being and seeing) UP.  

What's "from the top down?" Economic Hit Man:


The list of Mayors and governors affirming their allegiance to the Paris Climate Accords and the Sanctuary Cities movement is in the hundreds and counting, as are small native and citizens groups such as the little Cavalry unit led by Wesley Clark Junior at DAPLE:


Yes it's just ritual, just Theater, but Theater MOVES us to a place where we can SEE. Ritual moves the body to a place where it can MOVE with change. These things help us get rid of our shit so we can go and do and be. 

And citizens' initiatives across the U. S.. Agree. Agree, disagree, the best  argument for survival of government of the people needs to go, is in fact going LOCAL.  Some are suggesting that since net neutrality failed, we need to build our own internet. Or move to municipal internet. Or just move. But where? No more safe places.

So take a stand? Because (Howard Zinn) "You Cant Be Neutral On A Moving Train" and "You gotta stand for some thing or you'll fall for anything." ?

https://www.recode.net/2017/12/14/16779166/net-neutrality-trump-internet-fcc-california-new-york-states-lawsuit

If post-truth stupidity rages like a runaway fire, what are the essentials for a discussion about rebuilding community from the ground up? 

Here followeth Casa Goofy Internationale's corollaries to Naomi Klein's tyranny survival tips: 

FIRST: 
ACCENTUATE THE POSITIVE



(By our License Plates shall yew know & fund the State & us)


REENST8


Have Mayor and Council implement Municipal internet.
Have Governor and Legislature withhold state taxes look into or create  loopholes and dedicate the funds to state healthcare and welfare, Planned Parenthood, any other national services gutted by the tax bill.  
Establish a 501c3 tax deductible fiduciary as a state agency  to receive funds from private donors and then be able to deduct those amounts from any taxes the state owes. Channel these funds also to services to fill the void in National. 

Congratulate yourself on facing facts and then on any little thing you do about them. Don't give up hope. 

NEVER GIVE UP HOPE. Because hope, false or true, broken, borrowed or blue, has kept us alive all these millennia, and I believe our greatest hope comes from:

COMPASSION, as in the "No More Deaths" and Sanctuary Cities movements. What these actions are saying is borders may define the results of war, money and other (negative) power games but love, caring for others, and recognition of other people's common humanity is what defines community.  

If you wanna stay POSITIVE, and Especially in Southern AZ, you gotta hava  SENSA YUMA! GROANNNNN but have fun by makin fun of em! F'm if they can't take a joke. Joke m if they can't take a F (It's what Trump would do.) . FUNNNd A CLOWN SQUAD. (I know one.)


SECOND

ELIMINATE THE NEGATIVE

2 more license plates:

(Construe vanity plate fees as donations to the State 501c3)

NVR2L8.             2CORDN8

(Construe vanity plate fees as donations to the State 501c3)

Use martial arts philosophy. Don't fight harder fight smarter. Agree with the enemy, let them think they are winning (Custer at The Valley Of The Little Bighorn, (Remember?) "Rope A DOPE (Remember?)) " until you can use their energy against them. Reserve violence as the very last resort because it invites & justifies a coup & detainment. Right outa the Nazi playbook, son, son, son right on into jail.   Can you say, "Si se puede." Boys and girls?!  I thought you could. What does this mean in particular? 

City & State hire Auxiliary Legal Team to work with the Attorney General's office to keep the Feds busy trying to justify all cuts resulting from tax bill, all punitive measures & violations of constitutional rights. Bring MULTIPLE SUITS against the National Government. Keep em busy. The best defense is an offense.  (It's what Trump would do.) 

COORDINATE with the hundreds of Mayors & Governors mentioned above. Cite City & State DUTY TO PROTECT the health & Welfare of citizens. 

Establish online COMMONS for submission of on point URLS, articles and discussion. Make role models for our local pols of the members of the Mayors' Alliance, governors, citizens' groups and individuals who DON'T take Trump's media algorithm derived bait of bread and circuses and generally JUST DO everything the Fed should have been doing the past century.  Make lists with addresses, contact them. HOLD OUR LOCAL OFFICIALS TO THEIR STANDARD! Give us rooftop gardens, and solar, and feed the homeless, take care of the sick and needy. Tell them:  YOU HAVE ONE JOB: the health and welfare of the community (which is part and parcel of the community of nature).


THIRD

Another license plate:

CMUNIK8

In any disaster, (interior or exterior, current or INCOMING!!!) communication is key to restoring community. First you have to get REAL QUIET. Then words might have a chance of meaning something. I haven't been a good example lately, but I think you can start with the bare basics of communication, first COMMUNICATE within: ignore DISTRACTIONS and those so called leaders who manipulate them. Stay focussed on the consciousness that's important to you, that's spiritual survival. Next focus on those people closest to you and move outward from there. 

Ignore yo mama, DO talk to strangers, but carefully, start with weather, garden, pets, politics last. Concentrate on what we CAN agree on. 
TALK to local elected officials, ask, "Where do you stand on this?"
List people, organizations & sites to relate & reach out to. (& those to avoid). 
People with radio & other communication equipment, horses, jeeps, electric cars,.
Electric car club. 
Who to notify in the event of an emergency (or potluck or party). Be always aware the emergency is HERE and NOW , pre and post Trump and post Truth.
Other suggestions for outreach. 
Lists (kept with someone you trust) people willing to help now & in emergencies.
(Especislly for Southern AZ) How to build shades, ramadas, verandas, and who might help with the building.
Handy mechanical strategies and handy household hints (for getting high on getting by). 

FOURTH

ANOTHER "PLATE"
(For the whiners who say they got nothin to say (me)):

LISNPL8


PUT OUT THE WELCOME TABLE. 

Any old way you can, say, 
"COME ON IN! SIT DOWN! HAVE SOMETHIN TO EAT!
In a broken time in a broken world, with broken hearts,  breaking bread together is key, especially with those who are hungry. It contradicts the tyranny of abstraction and restores real community, produces Ocytosin, the community hormone, essential to the birth process(es) in more ways than one. So? Reach out, talk to neighbors, have potlucks, eat our way back to the beginning. It's easy and simple, here, let me show you...I too will work for food. 

FIFTH PL8 (a 2FER): 

LOCO L  and/or 2KRAZ4U

(Can't never have 2 much on OURPL8S cuz 2MCHAINTENUFF. OK so what if  that's  too many letters. There's three kinds of people, those who can count and those who can't.)

STRENGTHEN LOCAL ECONOMY (COMMUNITY)

" DON'T MESS WITH MISTER IN BETWEEN! "
(Cut out the middlemen.)

Communities broken from the top down must be rebuilt from the GROUND UP. Join a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) buy from a local farmer at farmer's market or wherever. CUT OUT the middleman, transportation, refrigeration all shipping and handling and Big $$$ big interest loans where you can. 

THINK GLOBAL BUY LOCAL
You're ALWAYS voting with your money. 
Buy an electric vehicle from your local dealer. Charge it with your own solar panels from your local solar dealer. Don't let them tell you. YOU tell THEM what's valuable. If they're dumb enough to argue, don't talk back just show them the money. 





CALL FOR DISCUSSION:

Key words fellow labrats we will need as we navigate this maze in search of? CHEESE!: community, communion, communication. Can local dialogue solve the age old dilemma of coming to any agreement on how to raise our children? Can we even agree on giving them the tools of analysis and verification and turning them loose from our warring prejudices? To accomplish that we gotta stop waving our hands (& abstractions) in the air  (Don't fight guys that big.) and limit the discussion to the barest most particular FACTS we know. Even so, this will fail but it's the same damdum best chance we always had. And then how do we communicate to the Mayors and governors who say,

"We will NOT stop and frisk in black and brown and low-income neighborhoods. Hell no, we won't do ICE's job, the Border Patrol's Job, the BATF's job. No you CAN'T come into our churches and hospitals to do your immoral legal business. Hell yes, we WILL go to Paris for the climate change talks."




Who told them? Who can tell us there is no duty to obey insane, immoral or illegal orders? How can we stand up with them? By standing alone ourselves, on principle, and by reaching out to them and recording, as publicly as possible, what they and we are doing and by reaching out to others in our community who share these values. Make lists of people you want to be with when the thing go down. Tell them. 

An architect friend and I were discussing the question of what actions would make sense in the event of a huge solar flare, a heatwave or E bomb, either of which would wipe out most electronic technology either by frying electronic equipment or just by wiping out the electric grid. Wouldn't it be great, he said, if 100 people then showed up at the nearest civil defense shelter, if we have any anymore, or to someplace like the Tucson Community Center with diesel or pre electronic ignition vehicles (or better yet HORSES! YEEEEE HAAA!) (Or The Clown Squad, HAAA! HAAA!) and were willing to take people and supplies wherever they needed to go to be of assistance?

Yes, I said, and wouldn't it be great if all those people had handheld two way radios and could communicate to hams and low power FM stations and even taxi and Pirate Radio? Because who cares if you have a license when the national government isn't there for anybody who isn't rich? (MIGHT EVEN be sending Federal troops in, in violation of POSSE COMMITATUS). And, just for laughs, try to connect with even our regular TV and Radio stations. When the electric grid went down in Puerto Rico, The Virgin Islands, & St. Croix, cell phones didn't work. Ham radio was pretty much all there was. The police were useless or crooked and citizens directed traffic and helped as many people as they could. That's where we all are now. If we use their example maybe we can do better. EVEN IF extreme disasters don't strike we still have a dysfunctional government to rebuild one baby step at a time. 

Expect Puerto Rico. Expect this disaster is already here in the absence (emptiness equals "evil") of national governance. Expect loss of communication. Expect Ham Radio or municipal internet or two tin cans tied together with a string or smoke signals or something. ) serving as the nervous tissue of community, rebuilding, locating problems, solutions and family members thousands of miles away. Expect chaos still prevailing under cover of the administration's DISTRACTIONS. EVEN IF no other disaster happens expect perfect SHITSTORMS and TRUMPSTORMS and comics hopefully not getting sad but just doing their job. They got one job, tell jokes in the face of an angry god. (In the UK Trump is slang for fart, so announcements of TRUMPSTORMS are greeted with peals of laughter. IMAGINE the roar of thousands of whoopie cushions, the universe laughing at life on earth being destroyed by a gasbag! What cosmic fun fellow Superheros!) But maybe that's just me, again, you know me, always lookin on the bright side.....

Obviously it would have been way easier and more effective if Puerto Rico had a rehearsal, but who among us (much less the poor) has time or money to prepare? Some people just naturally band together in emergencies, but others  kill and rob each other.  That's where a little planning and community building aforethought might come in handy. But I/you can't build community, it just happens, BUT "you" CAN set the stage. I'm hoping little ol "I" can help. 

As your personal psychiatrist du jour, M'seur, dont you think disasters and death itself might just be nature's way of telling you to slow down? Even when the fix is in & it's the fix we're in? The deck is rigged, but I have no right to get depressed just because it never mattered what I said in performance or in person about global warming or anything else. Who do I think I am? What do I think I know? You can't talk back to bureaucracy, you can't talk back to the radio, you can't talk to the traffic. The traffic dunno where it's going, it just  know it's gotta go, let us ALL RISE and sing:

grumbling and growling and howling into the land of the dead 
you gotta lag behind if you wanna get ahead
showers this way, ignore those howls, here's your soap and towels,
you ain't got
one damn thang t' say


Even the salesman knows EVERYTHING MUST GO! THESE BARGAINS WON'T LAST! You can't speak truth to stupid but sometimes Stupid speaks truth to you. And I'M STOOPIT! The Clown Squad at Casa Goofy International don't call me SUBCOMMANDANTE SUPERDUMMY f'r NOTHIN!

BUT acts of kindness shine even brighter in the film noir darkness. Snuff those candles out they do not die, but burn forever in memory. This is where community begins. 

THE FIRST DISASTER
is isolation whether by feral little bullies in the sandbox or on the playground or with the divide and conquer  tactics of the demented sociopath in chief, dividing self from self, the fragmented ego too lonely to cry for help. The second almost automatically follows: giving up hope. So?  

So don't let your hard drive get fragmented inside  some self annointed DICK TATER's mobile, screensaver fulla crowd teasers (DISTRACTIONS), especially on Facebook and Twitter because their formats break up all possibility of conversation into isolated bits (i.e. incoherence, the word itself says it all). And sexual politics are GREAT bread and circuses (DISTRACTIONS) material for those media, insurmountable DISTRACTIONS because Americans, being descended from Puritan and criminal stock, have never been able to handle sex. Repression and punishment make things worse.


Gossipy accusations given credence without a trial or investigation, invite political hit jobs and extortion. 


The ignorant savages we killed on our march to the sea had more effective child raising methods and social rituals which we could discuss if we controlled our media instead of vice versa (if there wasn't so much vice in the versa).  We break up over its rootless abstraction, and can't get back to earth to find common ground. Does media chatter interfere with our conversation with the natural community or is it just me? The naturalist E. O. Wilson and Henry David Thoreau agree, but what do they know, they're just ecologists, (you know, that special interest group).

The times are incredibly evil. The word evil is so incredibly empty ,(doesn't describe anything, it's just name calling. Fitz are you listening?) seems to me it should be replaced with the word "empty". A century ago H. L Mencken wrote about that dead certain emptiness in mind and media that enables and puts idiots in power, allows justice to be polluted with motive, while an abstract value system destroys our only habitat, all that was good to touch and feel and so, made any "sense" at all. All the news that ISN'T filled with useful men brought down by mere accusation while the most powerful of useless idiots storms around the White House flinging DISTRACTIONS while arranging the last dance parties on the Titanic and the Feast of Armageddon to know you?

So... what's the good news?

If it all gotta go down stupid, I still go back to little acts of kindness and sharing (as caring) as the beginning of community, and the necessity of evil creating the necessity of starting with,

"A Global conversation using LOCAL examples."

Our mission statement at Casa Goofy International. See our blogs and founding documents at MEDIA FIRE and 


Can we DO SOMETHING? Or, as Joan Rivers used to say, 

"CAN WE TALK!?"


Okay try it again....

.... in my post performance-performance art career or (or careen) I've taken cues from the Society of Friends, one of them, an encampment in the African bush in the early 20th century: a new volunteer comes in, asks eagerly:

"What can I do to help?" The old hands say, 

" Don't do anything, just OBSERVE for six weeks and then forget about all your ideas and just help the village do what it's trying to do."

(Usually if they say they GET IT they don't.)

Heisenberg said you can change a lot just by observing, Yogi Berra said you can observe a lot just by watching. So just WATCH it, OK? because to GET IT  you gotta GET that (esthetic) DISTANCE of tragedy or comedy....

And the other image:

A little room,  a group of people sit quietly, one of them begins to speak, says what's on his mind, sits down. Silence. After a while another person begins speaking. (Quaker meeting house). 

And then? Then so many times we go out into the world all fired up with the spirit and hit the wall of idiots. Same thing happened to me as a Street Club Worker in Brooklyn working with Black, Puerto Rican and Irish gangs, and then as the heating and cooling guy for the International Arts Center, again trying to span the gap between rich and poor, or, in performance,  measure the sprawl of the city, again with my body. Always saying negative won't win, good will out. Wrong! Same shit different day. 

Pause and then begin  again, with hope and virtue as their own reward. 

At the end of that day and looking back, I THINK I would be more suspicious of abstractions and ideals and have more trust in rebuilding community from the GROUND up as in our mission statement at Casa Goofy International, 

"A global conversation using LOCAL examples."

But in all of this what was lacking was a sense of the Absurd being interwoven in the fabric of space-time,  and my version of the Society of Friends would therefore be our Facebook group page:

"FRIENDS OF Casa Goofy International" 

And my superhero identity vaguely modelled after Subcomandante Marcos....

 
....IS....
(drumroll cymbal crash)
SUBCOMMANDANTE SUPERDUMMY!

SO I, SUBCOMMANDANTE SUPERDUMMY, HERE  from the government and HERE  to save you from yourself(S) (and HERE cause I got no other place to go....anymore) would like to present my humble PIE! (INCOMING!) (Headsup!) offering of our "Friends Of Casa Goofy International" Facebook page as A QUIET ROOM, a forum for continued DISCUSSION, a haven safe from the usual dislocated individual quips & quarrels of Facebook & Twitter, (DISTRACTIONS), a little room for quietly sharing on point, related news items, jokes, toons, factoids, free stuff, parties and gardening tips. Please join and visit us there frequently (and often too, and also etc. a note from the Department Of Redundancy Department.) YES AND ALSO...

 ....coupons and recipes, and, last but not least, like Peggy Lee sang, 

"JUST KEEP ON DANCING!." 

(or else, the terrorists will win.)


(PICTURE: My old fart yard art sculpture, "The President's Chair Is Empty" homage to performance by Imo Baird.)


Monday, November 20, 2017

Micro To Macro News Feed




On Nov 2, 2017 10:40 AM, "Dennis Williams" <dennishwilliams@gmail.com> wrote:

We hatched our first quail a couple weeks ago. It was the size of a large bumble bee and with one leg pointing up. Our bird wranglers asked if they should try to straighten it or should they destroy the bird to keep it from suffering? I said it's too hazardous and delicate an operation, and sometimes damaged birds (and other beings) do very well and even surpass others. It appears that was the right decision (I can't be wrong ALL the time!) It now barrels around the cage on its stump so fast the chicken chicks don't even know it's there. If it turns out to be female I'll call her "Peg" (short for Pegleg and if male "Hook" short for Captain).  2 quail eggs that were looking promising didn't deliver and fourteen eggs that promised nothing delivered nothing.  We took the eggs to Jim' Waid's studio during a blackout fearing they might cool down too much. The wranglers left the eggs and went home. Jim and I just got talking when they called & said bring em back immediately, the lights came back on. The babies as usual took priority. 

I expanded the area of the alley we're running goats in. We left notes at all the neighbors to call me if they were bothered. So far they're all delighted to have them there and have the weeds eaten. This is a good step toward asking that the alley maintenance be allotted to the Neighborhood Association. On which I am Chair Of The Committee On The Golf Course (by default, but, I have selective memory on that, depending on who I'm talking to.) One neighbor said he'd hire me to take the goats out to Three Points to eat weeds. I'll have to make sideboards and partitions for the trailer to do that. But that takes one more small item out of the red and into the black. I also have had plans for a goat cart for kids' parties. I've got to put ads out to rent a Billy Goat for the females. 

The golfers are in love with the goats. One lady saw a newborn wobbling around & she walked back up the hill toward her husband, golf club in one hand, very dramatically pounding her heart with the other hand. One morning I heard this loud "conversation" in the alley and went to look and it was a golfer, sitting in a golf cart, waving his hands and talking away to the goats. I could still hear him talking after i left, must've been at least fifteen minutes, and I didn't hear one of them say one word back.  Another golfer comes by now & then to ask, 

"How are our goats doing?"

But my aim is still to have more variety and exotica in our petting zoo. And more "pets" (like miniature (Kuna) pigs etc.) I like it when we have animals and birds that are pets and follow us around like dogs, so Code can't call them livestock and hang me on being over on my "livestock units". Isn't it cute the way they can quantify and make law on every damdumb thang?

The goats are good recyclers. They eat native food plants that code enforcement calls "weeds" (Squawberry, Malva, Verde Lacas (purselane) also bark, straw, dead wood, the clothes off our backs if we'd let them. Awhile back I told one WWOOFER, 

"You don't need to ask me if the goats will eat anything."

Two of my customer restaurants paid the processing fee for 2 goats at the U of A Meat Lab on the 29th of this month so they can get goat meat and give me half and some of the recipes they make of the meat. 

But they are a lot to take care of. There was a man walked back and forth across the USA with a herd of goats pulling a big wagon. He lived off the goats. Finally he got old and decided he needed to go into a home, and friends came by to visit, because by that time he'd made a lot of friends, and they would ask him,

"Don't you miss your goats?"

And he said,

"O God, NO!"

But recently my goats have been much less trouble. They got all gentled up and compliant ever since the flood nights when I had to go rescue them from flood runoff from the golf course they were standing in and too scared to walk to higher ground. I put out wood pallets and little huts made from fiberglass showers. They run into them immediately at the slightest hint of rain. In dry times they get on top of them and use them for jungle message  drums. I don't know if I'm glad or sad I don't know their code.  Even the two bitchy females have decided to come to me to be petted when I come in the gate.  (One of those nights when I went to the ER with feelings of depression and abandonment, i was met by a zombie of a psychiatrist who needed more help than i did. (She asked, in this mournful dead voice if I wanted some drugs) & I was happy to be thrown back on my own devices, one of which, I suppose, is to be a comforter (& enjoy the comfort)  of animals.

I made duck soup but it wasn't "as easy as duck soup". It was a failure, not enough squash, carrots, potatoes, cilantro and some magic something everybody but me knows about, AND(?) (Surprise!) too many experimental things from the produce dressings from the Co-Op. I generally just wear and eat whatever comes out of the bag and it's either wonderful or awful.

The baby juvenile duck/pet in the picture (notice the pleading look in its eyes) is huge now compared to its cellmate, the juvenile chicken so self consciously, stylishly, dressed in black. They got to be cellmates because they were at a vulnerable age to be put with the larger cannibal chicks.  When they get separated the chick chirps loud and often until they're put together. Then the chick drops itsefl into the duck's pin feathers and goes to sleep. So far the duck has a very beautiful color I haven't seen in the other ducks so it's a cross between the white Pekin and Mallard or Muscovy. Another contribution to the National Absurdity And Assinity Archive (The NAAA) from Casa Goofy International. 

We have a white grub infestation. It killed our first garden effort (with the help of gophers) this season. We're treating it with nematodes and diatoms and chicken wire and smoke. Little bittys versus The Great Whites of the garden. But it's only symptomatic and symbolic relief so far. If only we could get the chickens or something(!?) to dig them up without destroying the vegetables, if only there was a "Strange Attractor" or "Pied Piper" to lead them to the chicken yard, 

"Here worms! Nice worms! Suet! Suet! Come on! Wiggle wiggle giggle giggle!" 

But whistle, sing or holler they just won't foller. Maybe a Border Collie? They can do everything, herd anything else! How can we reach out to the neighborhood and the world and universe if we can't get a little worm to cooperate? We shouldn't have to feed them to the chickens one at a time. The chickens should get the connection. Or just get a job damit! 

Our neighbor across the street doesn't speak much English. I don't speak much Spanish. So we have to communicate by grunts and gestures. Code enforcement got on him because some neighbor complained about the piles of scrap metal and junk in his yard. He told them,

"That's what I do for a living."

He cleaned up a little but nothing really changed. But for some reason they left him alone. When we were cleaning up and had a pile of stuff on the sidewalk waiting to be picked up, two City cars came around the corner and started taking pictures. When they left Manny ran over grabbed all our junk and put it in his yard. The cars came back and there was nothing there for them to report on. We never heard from  them. I give Manny junk Motors and compressors from my Refrigeration jobs. He gives me DC motors from treadmills to use for my wind generator (project), cabinets for storage, and once in awhile big appliances like the Maytag Neptune washing machine we hauled out back of the outdoor kitchen and for the use of wwoofers and other volunteers. Manny saw the drain hose I rigged up to run the water from the washer into the garden across the path. He picked it up, delighted, and said,

"Oh! You! Recycling!"

This guy with no English and no money gets it where some university scientists are still failing. The washer only worked if you set it and pushed START and regulated the hot water manually and then pushed START again for the next cycle. I THOUGHT it was the water valves and the timer at fault, but, for some reason, I took the board out. it was about half the size of the motherboard in a PC and I took it to a truck driver who got into that business because he got tired of working in factory electronics. He found two circuits that were burned and repaired them. Victor, at Victor's Appliances, gave me the soap dish cover. I told him, 

"I bet I have the most expensive outdoor washer this side of The Santa Cruz." He said, 

"Yeah." 

 I put it all back together, dead certain sure, that the problem was the timer. But the machine worked perfectly. I was very pleased to be wrong. I now tell people 

"It's not a washing machine, it's a relationship(s).".....

......between us three (and who knows how many other people? and Technology. Yes, Technology is enough of a person to be part of a relationship. I know it's a person because it's wilfully perverse. One computer repair company, I know of, has its employees wear buttons that say,

"Technology. It almost works!"

Likewise for all the above as regards our MISSION at Casa Goofy International,

"A global conversation using local examples." 

Tuesday, July 4, 2017

MISSION LOST



A young soldier's body lies on the operating table of an army field hospital, one leg mangled, chest cut open, a doctor massaging his heart. He stops,  looks up at the weary doctors and nurses standing around.

"Does anyone have any suggestions?"

They are all silent. He pulls a sheet over the body. They all stand looking away from each other in extreme fatigue and silent prayer.

So much goes to failure of MISSION these days. It's the factor no one wants to talk about in the suicide rate of soldiers, and the elephant in the room that makes light conversation more negotiable.  Coming home from work in a trauma or cancer center even that fails.  Nothing to say. Just give me the drugs. Try to do a good thing, people explode all over you,

"Who do you think you are, progressive liberal scum!? WHAT do you think you know? Who died & said you could play Che Guevara?" We become a soft place to pound stress & fear into. So what are THEY afraid of?

As lovers or fighters or wage slaves we reach out, hands waving in the dark, trying to find a place or a file in which to put time spent as mistaken identities.

What did we do about it? What COULD we do without a "we" when somebody turned out the lights at the Statue Of Liberty and Slimeman, the super sociopath, crawled up out of The East River and slithered up Broadway shaking people down for rent on properties he did not own.

The weird thing was how puny the resistance was, how he went thru every legal and physical barrier as if the fix was in, and it's the fix we're in.

If it feels like the end of the world I may be reclining, drink in hand, in one of the deck chairs on the Titanic but I'm right in there with you.

I was right in there with you tho we never met. I was part of the 60s Resistance,  marched in Washington, DC, & Memphis for the garbage workers' strike after MLK was shot. I remember the Edmund Pettis Bridge where they turned the dogs & water canon on peaceful protesters & now from that same bridge to see the white supremacists (what are THEY afraid of?) waving banners....heartbreaking, but we mustn't let it. Bearing witness is still SOMETHING.... tho i do it as a clown...ESPECIALLY if i do it as a clown.

It is not a tragedy that facades and diamond studded robes have fallen away from ugly and inconvenient truths, it's a tragi farce they were up so long.

But the  enduring community of nature is unbroken. Only The Tower Of Babel is falling like a controlled demolition.

The real community, Wordsworth's

"Primal sympathy, that having been, must ever be."

is always there, in communion, with nature and all too human nature, in those certain acts of bravery and kindness that survive even death. Which having been must ever be. Always there. Whether the all too human community continues or not, nothing has changed, the TELEOS and LOGOS, the intelligence of nature (from which all intelligence necessarily derives its just governance) is neither increased nor diminished.  And it's the same chance we always had. The odds don't count the chances. Never did. Never will.   And death is ineffable which means it's too much nothing to talk about and yet, and still is

that redeeming grace, a motion OUTWARD beyond our sight and comfort.

And now will the real community please stand up, clowns and all? Its politics is local, VERY local, it runs thru friends and neighbors, the dirt beneath your feet, the air you breathe. So BREATHE!

So TALK to your neighbors locally and globally. TALK to your enemies. Acknowledge. If terrorism is not a country, name calling is not an argument. And that cuts both ways. Progressive Liberal having become a whipping post how about LIBERTARIAN? (for communities that stand together because they stand alone against the tyranny of government by big money?) Something the whole family can enjoy?

I think of the 76 mayors, starting with NYC's Bill Deblasio, and especially on this independence day, hundreds of community groups rising to fill the voids left by sold out "representatives" in Congress,  those members of the real and enduring community who say,

No. HELL no. We will NOT profile, we will not stop and frisk. We will not do the Border Patrol or ICE's job. Show us chapter and verse where it says there is any duty except TO DISOBEY immoral or illegal orders and we will show you a Bible written by the National Enquirer.

YES it's partly theater but even more important for its ability to reveal ugly truths from a beautiful distance. I think of the prayers and cries of anguish during Wesley Clark Jr's apology at DAPLE to Chief Leonard Crow Dog for genocide against the first Americans. Yes it's theater but we need everything it can pull out of the darkness before we die lest we have lived and loved in vain.

It doesn't stop there. i didn't stop there. 1988 i made a shrine to a dead dog surrounded by flowers on West Speedway. It was called "Secret Identity". It said "Beautiful is it not the end of the world?" (it said in subscript our mathematical identity: we are part & parcel of that intelligence of nature that is neither increased nor diminished, therefore we are part and parcel of that darkness that hell is said to have.) 1989 dressed as The Ladybug Man i walked across Tucson 114 miles E to W & N to S, carrying two dummies, a pack and Ladybugs and Mesquite and wildflower seeds for gardeners, to measure the SPRAWL of Tucson with my body and created shrines that were violently torn up so they MUST have said SOMETHING(!), 1990 i wrapped myself in newspapers about the coming first Gulf war and set them (and me in them) on fire in front of the Federal Building. Useless. Useless. Voice crying in the political wilderness of sausage factories. Critics were offended. "This isn't art. Go take a hike! (What you wanted to do anyway!)" OK FINE...whatEVER! But it doesn't stop there. i didn't stop there. I started a micro farm in a barrio by a golf course, because my art friends & organizations i'd helped for years were getting kicked out of downtown and the gentrification steamroller was just getting started.

i started Casa Goofy International to create a global conversation using local examples. And with clowns at the wheel,  and coming right atcha because in an absurd world what more do you want? Egg in your beer?  It doesn't stop there, it goes:

communion
community
government

and when government sells out to money? When the numbers say the numbers win? Pause and then begin again....with COMMUNITY the community we are before we are individuals, the community of nature and all too human nature takes over, and spiritual survival is a given as the world is given, or as St. Francis said when asked what he would do if the world were to end tomorrow,

"I would just keep on hoeing this garden."

There are, of course, going on from that (no)place,  LARGER things we could do, if anything meant anything. If any THING means anything, cities have to become farms. Plant gardens, especially giant roof gardens (eliminate transportation, refrigeration, chemicals, middlemen, the whole crazy circus) as is being done (in the third world, in China) but never enough, rooftop or floating solar photovoltaic arrays, drive electric cars & trucks & trains & ships, SHOOT exploding canisters full of micro mirrors into the stratosphere.....fucking with nature? Too late by thousands of years to stop doing that.

And there are two kinds of SMALLER things we can do: plant trees, and flowers and gardens to create MICROclimates, or else (negatively), RUN! Run like...HELL! , migrate, but if you believe in climate science and the saying among climate scientists,

"If feedback exists we're screwed."

you know there are no more safe places, not even places because it's all one system, but some will run and so goes the egoes so when will we ever value community and the natural community enough to ensure our own survival? Enter Stage Right a bogus metric, an abstraction called money. Money talks. BUT money talks MONEY.....ah money, pass the bottle.

And we are left with tiny efforts like my own, but they are HYUUUGE as inseparable from that greater, enduring  community. If you helped us help others, small as we are, what could it possibly mean in the bigger picture? Or if you PUSH the DONATE button will it open the door to a world in too massive and desperate a need of compassion and money? Where would it stop? I understand. We all do what we can, yes, but what does that SAY about us? Inasmuch as we all do what we are?

WHATEVER! And whatever (creeps in this petty pace from day to day) physical or spiritual survival is possible (while the hotter it gets the faster it gets hotter),  so much depends on our abiding will to take these things out and take a look at them.

Not that it would be more important than a new car, boat, TV or carpet.... CARPE(t) DIEM (Seize the day! But seize the night (and all its darkness also.))

No worries. Somewhere out in all of spacetime, it all comes out even because? Because it has all already happened because? Because that distance it's all ONE spacetime. The only loss is what we had to keep, and keep hidden. The only loss is the beauty, the art and especially the jokes we coulda made of it.

No worries.

Just something to think about now and then.


Sunday, November 20, 2016

MY Letter To The Yes Men who never said yes to me.

Dear Yes Men,
CASA GOOFY INTERNATIONAL
(NON PROFIT LLC)
1323 W. Hualpai Rd.
Tucson, AZ 85745

 

One of our favorite WWOOFER visitors writes from across the pond:

"Anyway the silver lining for us Brits is that he is a joke even before he says or does anything, because we use the word trump as another word for fart. So talk on the news of a trump quake was pretty hilarious!"

Casa Goofy International's Mission is a global conversation using local examples. You can't get much more local than a fart. So fart jokes are an integral cornerstone of our conversational menu. We will serve no fart before its time.
Message from local Cartoonish for The AZ Daily Start, David Wayne Fitzsimmons:

“If you stop laughing you become bitter. Laughing at authoritarianism and racism and fascism is the most galling powerful civil defiance. Ridicule that resonates transforms a national conversation. On the downside it only took America 6-years to figure out "W" was incompetent. We re-elected a chimp in a dunce cap, for God's sake, so hang on to your hats and your 401Ks. And your medicare. It's going to be a long woolly ride. A golden-haired tycoon with the attention span of a gnat is the President-elect. He's given new meaning to the words "White" House. Question for Bannon: When's the first cross burning in the Rose Garden? Civil liberty is on the line. The ideals of the American revolution are on the line. Journalists must be the clear cold eyes of the nation--for without transparency--and accountability democracies perish. Laughter is an act of faith that our America will endure this calamity intact and I believe with all my red, white and blue heart that it will.”

I had this idea (but it would be best to start it in England where, as I just explained, “Trump” is slang for fart,  because if you have to explain the joke over here in Amerikaka, it’s DOA.

The idea is for political demonstrations-rituals called Trump-Ins in which people bring big garbage bags in which they have stored farts and additionally have eaten lots of beans, sauerkraut and other gas producing foods and then let it all out, lighting as many releases as possible.  These releases could go into a large tower, naturally called “The Trump Tower” while the speaker talks with microphones both at his mouth and ass  about the global danger of methane releases from Fracking and in the warming Arctic ocean and Siberia and using as many gross puns as possible such as "BREAKING news" (drumroll whoopee cushion). The ultimate goal would be to do this as close to United Nations or other governmental edifices and live meetings and in as outrageous & illegal ways as possible so as to get everyone arrested so that at the trial the court will be faced with multiple difficulties in keeping straight faces much less dignified procedures, exponentially increasing opportunities for sudden spewing with stuff coming out the noses of white wigged adjudicators & jurors. The judge's efforts to maintain order (& have the Bailiff remove all people who've smuggled in whoopee cushions) just increasing the hilarity. What makes it funny is not the quality, wit or merit of the humor, but, as in any laugh club, it's the number of people laughing AND laughing AT the difficulty of others trying to conduct a dignified proceeding. Even enough people pretending to be laughing makes for real laughter. People can't help it, their bodyminds are just natural imitators.

Like I said, this "movement" should start in MERRY old England where laughter about bodily functions is more normative and the synonym for trump doesn't have to be explained.  I have only one contact over there, a woman who used to WWOOF at our urban farm AKA Casa Goofy International.  I have no idea whether Trump-Ins have a chance even over in Britain or not but God what an opportunity for "the last best laugh(s)" in so many "senses" of the word. If we could get the famous political performance art group "The Yes Men" involved, the Trump-In would be a shoe-in. Ah dear God! The possibilities are so endless, and so just beyond reach, I'm drooling on my shoes. As Calvin used to say in the comic strip Calvin And Hobbes,

"This is so good I have go to the restroom!"

P.S. a corollary or simultaneity to Trump Ins could be Nude Ins because we are all naked under Trump.  Now there is no disguising H.L. Menken’s often heralded “stupidity of the American public” and global warming is now naked without the feel good environmentalism of liberals and progressives.  We can talk about the steep curve of extreme emergency level greenhouse gasses, and the feedback loops that will continue escalating regardless of any decrease in an increase.  This nakedness needs to go global because the effects of the “Trump Quake” have been felt worldwide.  France’s Le Pen having been invited to the White House is only one of many examples. 

Possible posters:

“WHAT DO WE HAVE TO HIDE?”
“ARMAGEDDON TO KNOW YOU”
“THE PERMAFROST IS TRUMPING”
“METHANE TRUMPS TRUMP”

A large physical model of a global warming feedback loop might actually be looked at and get some media attention as long as farts and fire are the teasers.


and on Facebook




Wednesday, March 25, 2015

I'm Not A Real Cowboy I Just Found The Hat






If only granddad Dennis, when I was a child in knee pants, had never let me ride a broken down old plow horse named “Old Roan” bareback around the cotton fields where he was plowing, I might never have had to miss that touch of earth overgrown with trees and bushes, moist cool air, and being part and parcel of a huge animal sprung from that dark ground and primal energy.   But  around and around I went, much too young to realize I wasn’t getting anywhere, a pattern which I would get to know better.   Like the time my friend was building an adobe house  and there happened to be a horse next door and I made a rope halter and rode it bareback around and around the “construction site” to “help” him.   And the time my girlfriend and I rode together from the stables in Albuquerque, and on another date….but that's all too weird to talk about now, how much time there was to kill, now that the hands of the clock are jerking spasmodically toward, "game over".

But it was experience that qualified me to ride around and around as an extra in a movie based on Paul Horgan’s “A Distant Trumpet”.  It was set in Gallup, New Mexico, about a day’s drive from Albuquerque, where I was going to college for a Master’s in English Lit. and so brought Keats, Byron, Shelley and Wordsworth to visit the Absurd in the image of Troy Donahue and Susanne Plashette, and myself as one of about fifty Calvarymen.  The daily routine was to get a horse, and get in line to have dirt and water thrown on us to make it look like we’d been riding hard and fighting for days without a bath.  The Navajo kids they had playing Apaches would grin at us as we came in to suit up and saddle up and say,

“We’re gonna get you.”

But not even that, not even close,  it was mostly unintentional comedy.  A writer from Albuquerque who lived in abandoned houses and wrote huge novels in which all the characters had names from comic strips and went around and around (and around), always got a broken down old horse that couldn’t keep up and he would talk to it as it plodded along,

“You’re the best damn horse in this WHOLE outfit, yes sir, you’re the BEST horse…..”

And White Cloud, the Navajo chief, playing an Apache chief, was instructed to ride down a cliff and up to Troy and get off and say something in (Navajo) “Apache”. The first time he did it the director hollered at him that  he was going so slow it lost interest, so the next time he ROARED down the cliff, jumped off, ran up to Troy and started shouting rapidly and startled Troy so that he broke up laughing.

A lot of Westerns are so romantic it probably takes twice as long to film them just because of laughter breaks. And just in case we forgot it was mostly a fairy tale reality, a member of our group was suffering from a bad marriage that he got into because he got someone pregnant.  And his obsessive talk about it seemed to point to all the reasons for the comfortable illusions of identity in Westerns, sad heights from which we could look down into his abyss. 

And all night we’d hear drunk Indians roaming the streets beneath our sleazebag hotel, and all day we’d ride into the romance of Indian and Cowboy.  One morning I got a horse that didn’t walk, it danced.  It reminded me of Crazy Horse’s dream of “dancing horses” from which he got his Indian Name, "Dancing Horses", which the whites translated as “Crazy Horse”. Every step of my dancing horse was springy and strong.  I couldn’t believe it was real and then it wasn’t.  Some guy came up and said,

“That’s MY goddam horse, get off it!”

And so I did because what did I know? And that's the way, in some sense, it would always be.

On the way “home”  we all sang a chorus from a song by Buck Owens that was on the top ten charts at the time:

THEY’RE gonna PUT me in the movies,
THEY’RE gonna make a BIG star outa me,
BIGGEST FOOL that ever hit the BIG TIME,
And all I gotta do is act NATURALLEEE.

And then there was the night in Albuquerque around 1962 when I skipped a very important poetry class, in which tapes of poems by Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac, Denise Levertov, Robert Duncan, Gregory Corso, Charles Olson, Fielding Dawson, Michael McLure and a host of other interesting poets were being played (and played on my nerves), and discussed by a poet I've had to learn a lot from and also had to learn a lot about how not to try to be him, Robert Creeley.  Just be myself, easy for him to say, but that group ego was giving my self a pounding, and Mark Twain was saying,

"Just be yourself is the worst advice you can give some people."

Or get over yourself or let yourself go, but how, with the collective angst hanging over me like a thunderhead.  I used to tell friends I majored in Theatre but had to get out because there was too much drama.  And now there was too much drama in literature.  I liked the poetry but the endless ego bashing talk about it set up a mental dissonance that made me feel crazy and I had to get out, out, OUT, anywhere.  Or would you just shut up! Would you....just tell me from WHENCE this anxiety that has to always be marking, remarking, like a dog pissing to mark out his territory, and for what this need to pass judgement on everything? What's that supposed to buy you?  Play our games, win our prizes? Baby you ain't nothin BUT a game, I'm walking away from the table....

"Where the hell were you?" he asked, "I NEEDED you in that class."

---YOU needed ME! But I'm just a kid.---I thought, but all I could do was blurt out that I went up in the Sandia Mountains overlooking Albuquerque to go horseback riding, but the stable gave me a horse that I felt was too old to be riding, so I just walked him around and looked down at the lights of town....
And he just grinned and shook my hand and walked away.
For the rest of my life I would realize how important his class was to me, and how important it was to get over it and not give a shit about its proposed values to become myself.  Later he would tell me he was sorry I had to bear the brunt of his ambition, because he was big that way, and it was gratifying, but my actual grief was for another kind of conversation. I never failed to always get my performance pieces completed too late to let him see what I had learned, what I had tried to tell him, that there was poetic speech that tried to hit things dead on and stumbled into black holes of absolute truth and absolute self and there was dramatic speech in which the ignorance of one character could tell us more about the relativity of truth than the intelligence of all the others.
“Well, I think it’s important to be a intelligent as you can at all times.” He said.
But that's not where it's at for me.  I'd rather be a clown than to try to participate in seminars full of people trying to be as intelligent as they can at all times and just sounding dumb and dumber.  If Jerzy Grotowski knew anything when he told a super serious actor,

"It is important not to die too intellectually."

It is also important not to be too self consciously intelligent, and to be as stupid and silly as you can sometimes in order to show, like the justice system, that the search for the truth has to be a dramatic conflict or an arbitration if it's not to be a masturbation, and the dreary lives of ordinary and ignorant people  speak volumes that we are deaf to at our peril.  Through the years I would wish to hell he was there at magic moments when I could make silences speak in musical comedies where subscripts took it to the limit.  And I would turn to his ghost and say,
“Where were you!?  I needed you in that 'class'!”

 He wrote on the blackboard once:
“What do you have to say?”
More importantly, what do other people have to say? Yes WHAT? I wondered back then when there were solid lines between people and places nobody could argue with.  And now there are no places, much less safe ones and no lines and so no “away” in which to throw the garbage, or as Sartre and Camus realized, people we don't like.  The crime scene is everywhere.  The disaster is everywhere.  Where can we run to?  How can we relax?  Only the tightrope walker knows.  Who are we?  What would be real fulfillment?  Only the SHADOW KNOWS!!! Yes just keep on talking, keep on walking, but for godsake, keep on listening...

And what did I need that old horse for?  What did HE have to say?  There was a feeling of wholeness and quiet out there, nothing that thought it had to last forever, the sky like a huge silent cry and yet whole, complete, time no longer moving and every so called "moment" already gone by the time you could say "now".  THAT was the Big Time, and I prayed to the god of clowns to let me be the "biggest fool that ever hit the big time",

the Big time Big Self of childhood and night sky with starlight streaming straight into your brain on a lost two lane New Mexico road one night, and the wind whispering a thousand miles,

"You're nobody, you're nobody, you're nobody...." and that's OK...

...FOOL! FOOL!  God Damned Fool, that constantly echoing self flagellating refrain of Country And Western songs OUGHTA have qualified me as a Cowboy, but the Big Time Big Self was to become a totally different, audience participation, labor of lovelessness.  FOOL! FOOL!  Well I'd rather be a fool than any serious man flinging feces and words at the wall to see what will stick and driving nails to prove he's a carpenter...
But if that’s what you believe you have to believe it alone, she said.
In years to come I would go back to those poets and their precious pain, their nursery rhymes trying to be  projective verse and/or drama, their dead right moments held like a pearl growing inside an oyster, a precious hurt saved by a professional victim unwilling to let it out and diminish its power, like the line from HOWL (speaking of animals),
“…the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit.”
and then torn and unfulfilled, I would go back to nature for relief from their terrible beauty and remember “an incredibly fucked up young man” (as he had once described me) and an old horse who had a lot to say to each other,

and all the rest of a hurting broken world that also had nothing to say. 
And there was a cold winter morning in Kansas when I rode out with my then brother-in-law and his son to find a Cow who was pregnant and had not shown up at feeding time.  He took it personally.  When his animals were hurt, he seemed to hurt worse than they did.  We took a horse trailer out to where the road ended and then took our horses off in separate directions across the snow covered hills but not so far apart that we couldn’t see each other from the ridges.  I saw her first, down in a gully partially hidden in some scrub trees, and waved to him and he waved to his son and I saw them coming at a gallop as I rode down the hill, got off and dropped the reins in the snow beside her.  She was lying on her side with her womb prolapsed and lying flat and bloody on the ground. The calf was dead.  We had to get the vet to come with  a boom and a sling, put the womb back in and  transport her and hold her up in the barn until she’d recovered enough to start eating. 
Something about that life and death scene, has stuck with me through the years.  The feel of old oiled leather saddles and bridles, the smell and mass and energy of big animals and blood on the snow...what you came from and all to which you can aspire.  And seeing a womb all flattened out, without shape, was as if all space-time had flattened and so was no longer infinite.  It was only the angle, the curvature that gave life and death any meaning, or as someone said,
“All meaning is an angle.”

Or as Conrad Aiken wrote in "Blues For Ruby Matrix",
Those curves of hers
That curve beyond
Geometry of hand, or eye
Or mind.

( And, if you ask me, are not kind.)

It all plays over and over in my mind through the years, the grey skies, the gently rolling hills, the cow, the calf, my ex brother in law dead now.  Part of me will never leave that place but the rest of me can't stay there, because the whole scene is a creation of time as moments instead of flow, something that is and is not, is just a THING we want that just points to a hole that can't be filled, too perfect, like European cattle in the Western U.S., unsustainable. 

Maybe that’s why, at the end of the movie, the cowboy is always riding away.