The Sciolist

I heard on the radio the other day that not counting 9/11, seven hundred Americans had died in the past twenty years as a result of terrorist attacks. At the same time nine hundred Americans a week died of home bathtub accidents.

Any way you cut it, to me that seems like a lot of need less death. But, taking into account the number of people dying in their tubs you can see why maybe seventeen-hundred military deaths in The Second Petroleum War doesn’t raise that much ire in the general population.

The corporate media certainly has made hay, and sold lots of cars, credit cards et cetera, ad nauseum about fifty deaths in London. As William Rivers Pitt says, that is just Tuesday in Iraq.

It is all sort of a numbers game. The question is, do you want to be a player in this numbers game? Supposedly the brave Brits can handle these numbers, as they were victims for thirty years of IRA bombings, and the Nazi Blitz. We know the Israelis can handle the weight. They have played the bomb blast lottery for decades.

Now the Bush Death Cult wants New Yorkers, Angelenos, citizens of Omaha, Kenosha, Billings, Topeka, Pendleton, the list goes on, to buy tickets in the lottery. They want us to join the Brotherhood of Victims. They are saying, “we can do with a few less of you on the freeways, the lunch lines, the welfare roles, the waiting list at The French Laundry, cheering for the Mets. They are saying we are as tough as the Brits, and the Israelis. They are saying, “hell, if you are willing to put up with several hundred thousand deaths a year due to incompetence, accidents and infections in hospitals, a few terrorist deaths won’t mean that much.” You toss in the thirty to forty thousand traffic accident deaths, and the few hundred thousand deaths attributed to self-poisoning by cigarette smoking a year, and terrorists are pikers when it comes to killing.

What is everyone whining about? Why is everyone so afraid of terrorists? The real terror lurks in the smallest room in the house. Your chances are a lot better with Bin Laden than stepping into the closest hospital.

You’re already playing the game. They have enrolled you without your even realizing it. They are counting on the courage everyone shows by simply taking a bath or walking out the door every morning to go to work. Everyone is going to die — we all know that. Is porcelain anymore cruel than C-4?

The Death Cult lives as we die.

January 7, 2004 CE

I was listening to something on NPR – listening but not paying attention. Then out of the multi-hued noise the word, unborn, rang some kind of weirdness bell.

Taken out of context unborn is a fairly creepy idea. The context it was being used in when it popped into my consciousness was Alberto Gonzalez’s views on “right to life”. Apparently there was enough ambiguity that pro and anti choice advocates were both leery of which way he went.

Regardless, I wonder at the use of the term, unborn. Who the hell are the unborn or what is an unborn? Apparently to certain Christians the unborn are entities that are believed to have certain rights. They are believed to have souls. Because they have souls they are supposed to have legal rights - most importantly the right to be born.

Not even considering the theology behind the concept of a soul the dubiety of the concept in a court of law is obvious. Yet, there are zealots out there willing to commit grievious harm to living beings with souls (by their definition) who prevent unborn souls from being born. Pretty squirrelly if you ask me. I don’t expect logic, morality, or ethics from Christian zealots. To tell the truth, I don’t expect any sort of Christianity from Evangelicals, conservative Christians, right wing Christians, born again Christians or even Christians for that matter. If you look at the past election Christianity seems to be a very foreign concept to a plurality of Christians in the United States.

Where do these ideas, concepts, philosophies come from? The Holy Bible, which is the bible to Christians doesn’t seem to contain any of this stuff. As matter of fact it tends to say much the opposite of what is claimed by these so-called Christians. I would say that one hundred percent of this hog wash comes from guys that put one hand on a flat rock, threw the other one into the air, and said, “By god I’m a preacher, and an interpreter of the word of god – now, where are the vestal virgins, and the filthy lucre?” One guy even looked into a hat to come up with his theosophy. These guys started appearing about the time the pilgrims stepped on American shores. Without any laws or precedents in the savage new world other than the ones the pilgrims were escaping, anything went. The home of the free and the land of the brave was also the home of charlatans, scoundrels and demagogues. If your tongue or your trigger finger was fast enough you could claim to be or make yourself out to be just about whomever you could convince or force the public to think you were. Maybe that is the only precedent that exists in this country.

Here we are now in the twenty-first century still haunted by witch trials, inquisitions, feudal barons, religious bigotry, slavery, and most of all ignorance. Demagogues, and charlatans can’t exist without ignorance, hate, and fear. Like the misbegotten children of Bram Stoker, and Mary Shelley’s imagination the unborn haunt the halls of justice. The spawn of Cotton Mather haunts the airwaves and the media. The progeny of Alexander Hamilton, and Cornelius Vanderbilt haunts the markets, and corridors of government. The United States of America has become a land haunted by the unborn and the undead.

I’m ambivalent about the storm troopers. I don’t believe we should support the troops unless the cause is righteous. We all share the same opinion of the Second Energy War. By their very causes, and natures armies kill. I don’t draw some phony line between murder and combat etc. The dead are dead regardless of what you call them, how or why they died. Some survivors will more than likely feel pain whether the deaths were righteous or not. Men, women, children all have value. I don’t believe there is some special place where the innocent go.

What is righteous? Nothing.
Who’s guilty? We are.
Who cares? No one.

“Bards of Passion and of Mirth,
Ye have left your souls on earth!
Have ye souls in heaven too?”
John Keats

It was free. I couldn’t resist. There was no way I was going to pay ten dollars or even fifty cents to see it. Two minutes into it I was so bored I was ready to walk out. Curiosity, and sitting in a world class viewing palace was the only reason I didn’t walk. Besides, unlike practically everyone else on the planet I wanted to be able to disparage it having viewed it.

“THE ASS KICKING OF JESUS CHRIST”. “THE FLAYING ALIVE OF JESUS CHRIST”. “DROP THAT CROSS ONE MORE TIME, AND YOU’RE OUT OF THE PARADE”. “IF I HAVE TO SEE ONE MORE SHOT OF BLOODY TEETH I GOING TO PUKE.”
Any of those titles might have better represented Mel Gibson’s auto da fe than
The Passion of Jesus Christ.

Starting with a cheesy soundstage shot using a lot of smoke to represent fog in a desert county, to an oh-so-phony tableau at the end; however much money was spent producing the film was too much.

Okay, so several billion people know the story, but it has a killer ending, which has worked for a couple of thousand years. Okay, so we pick up the story just before the socko climax – cool. Ah, but wait, let’s take about ten or twelve minutes that seemed like forty to drag the guy through the streets slapping the dog shit out of him, throwing in a strappado for fun before he is brought before Pilate. Pilate - for a few minutes it seems like a movie is going to happen. Well, not quite. You see they have to kick the crap out of the guy by some Gibsonian edict at least every minute or so for at least five minutes at a time. “Qui est veritas?” asks Pilate. He then washes his hands and gets out of Dodge, but not before he has to witness the guy taking a few shots to the head.

Oh God, take this burden from me. I seriously want the movie to end by this point, but no, we still the Via Dolorosa, the hike up Golgotha. Mel, whose films always have stripes of sadomasochism laced throughout, even the few comedies in his canon, then goes into ass-whipping hyper-drive. He somehow confuses the Romans with Torquemada and the Spanish Inquisition – a tasty irony. As The Enlightenment starts rolling across Europe the most Catholic Majesties of Spain keep the Inquisition going for a couple of extra centuries because they think it’s the Christian thing to do. Anyway, Gibson has the Romans first caning JC, and then going at him with flails. They top it off with torquing the crown of thorns unto his head.
“Been three years, feels like thirty”, At least that’s how long it took for Mel to cover the final eight or nine thousands miles up Golgotha with commensurate whipping, stoning, dirt eating, cross dropping, and macro close-ups of bloody eyeballs, and on, and on, and on.

Enough torture. Is there anti-Semitism? No. Not a lick. Did the Romans have bad teeth, and look like they were in training for a Fellini movie? Yes. Is there anything of redeeming value in the movie? Absolutely not, it’s too scary for adults let along youngsters.

It is Catholic mysticism seen through the eyes of a misbegotten 19th Century nun who dreamt this version of Christ’s final days. It is a grim testament to the primitive barbarism on which Christianity is founded. It is a sectarian glorification of the Via Dolorosa – the blood, the agony, the scourging. It is denial of the message, the beauty, the love, the humanity of Christ. It is the most Catholic glorification of magic over truth.

It is a path. It is a path that many are once again beginning to walk. It is a path, which seems to be gaining ascendancy in this place where we live.

November 3, 2004

I am reconciled. I was reconciled on the morning of November 2nd. I had hopes, but no expectations. The past several days, one at a time, friends and acquaintances asked the fated question – “who did I think would win?” I thought the Democrat would win, but each time I issued the caveat, “it’s impossible to tell”.

I watched the Lakers improbably win their first game last night rather than glue myself to the returns. The Lakers came out strong. The evening was young, and full of hope – so were the Lakers. At time-outs as the Lakers waxed I would tune in on this channel or that to watch as the Democrat waned.

I watched as Nixon won his second term. I was in drug-induced euphoria courtesy of an all expenses congressionally funded trip to Southeast Asia during his first victory. I watched Ronny win twice, and George the First once. I watched George the Second lose, and win anyway. I watched Ike win too for that matter, but I had no idea what I was watching. I’ve seen their guy win more times than I have seen mine. I don’t like to lose at anything, but I know you can’t win them all. If the guy I back in the presidential election loses, I reconcile myself to the knowledge that I probably win more times than I lose on most propositions in life. Having most of my original teeth, all my original organs, and limbs at my age is the only proof of that proposition.

So, I am reconciled to the fact that George the Second’s reign continues for four more years. This is a much harder reconciliation than any other I have had to make in regards to presidents, and governments for I must reconcile myself to a few other matters.

I am reconciled that I live in a nation with a plurality of cowards. I am reconciled that fear of difference is stronger than love of justice, and equality in this nation. I am reconciled that the color of a person’s skin, the knap of their hair, and the thickness of their lips drives millions of Caucasians to vote against their own self-interest in fear that the others will gain a toe-hold in the hierarchy of the human panoply of this nation. I am reconciled that our educational system has failed miserably, and is now in retreat against the forces of religious intolerance, fanaticism, and ignorance. Fear grows fastest and strongest in the seething loam of ignorance, and I am reconciled that Americans choose lawn furniture or Saltillo tiles for their bathrooms before putting those dollars into their local schools.

I am reconciled that for the past three years I have sent polite missives through cyberspace to a chorus of like thinkers bewailing the inequities of The Dark Side rather than standing on street corners in Butler County, OH or Brevard County, FL convincing Evangelicals that Christ would not walk around strapped, would love all humans, and would especially not advocate killing Iraqi women and children in revenge of anything.

In my reconciliation I am relieving you all from the fear of having your in-boxes loaded with wordy, wonky articles when you awake in the mornings. I also want to relieve you all of any feelings that you didn’t do anything or enough. Jesus Christ, Gandhi, are millennial beings. It takes thousands of years to create them. We may be in cycle, which requires one of those kinds of guys. Part of my personal reconciliation is admitting to myself that I am not one of those kinds of guys no matter what I may hallucinate in certain psychedelic states.

I am reconciled that I must fight harder.

I am reconciled, but I surrender nothing.


“Innumerable force of Spirits armed,
That durst dislike his reign, and, me preferring,
His utmost power with adverse power opposed
In dubious battle on the plains of Heaven
And shook his throne. What though the field be lost?
All is not lost—the unconquerable will,
And study of revenge, immortal hate,
And courage never to submit or yield:
And what is else not to be overcome?”
John Milton, Paradise Lost

Silence is golden. Keeping the aphorism in mind I have been banking much gold the past couple of months.

Events chilled my need to write. I was on the road for a long period without easy access to word processors, or the Internet. I communicated face to face with other humans. I ate most of my meals in the company of articulate, involved colleagues. I had observations to make, and decisions to be made based on the observations. I had something to do other than peer into my navel. My life reduced itself to a smaller circumference encompassing family matters, gainful employment, and much bookkeeping.

During the period of my silence the political scene took a turn I found inimical to comment. For some ungodly reason G.W. came out of his convention with a lead in the polls. For the first time in years I had watched both conventions closely. I found the Democratic Party’s convention sometimes rousing, and John Kerry finally appeared to have some steel in his spine. The Republican convention was as I expected. It was amusing that they found an old Klan Democrat in Zell Miller to lay the lumber to Kerry. Fear mongering reigned supreme. Cheney, then G.W. torqued the anxiety level to exquisite heights for the finishing touches of the convention.

Of the two lines of attack on Kerry, the one (flip-flopper) was sophomoric, and the other more insidious line of phony hero and traitor was obviously deceptive and false. Surprisingly both lines of attack seemed to be effective.

Okay, so there is a Republican base, which doesn’t care what sort of man Kerry is so long as he is not elected President, and will promote or believe anything scurrilous or damaging about him. There is a percentage of the electorate, which is so uninformed as to be unable to make judgments on anything they see, read or hear, and will more than likely believe the most authorative voices they hear (the corporate, Republican media echo chamber). So, unless the electorate being polled is skewed Republican, which is a most likely possibility, how does G.W. ever poll higher than Kerry? What Kool-Aid are these people drinking? G.W. is not Christian. G.W. is not conservative. G.W. is not compassionate. G.W. is not fiscally responsible. G.W. does not care about humanity, the environment, and the health of the citizens, the wellbeing or education of our youth. G.W. has not made us safer, happier or wealthier except for a minute percentage of us. He only pays lip service to all the above, and the evidence to the contrary is overwhelming.

Who voted for this guy?

Martial law is exactly what the Bush crud wants in Iraq. They want the interim government to declare martial law as a means to completely dispense with the phony sovereignty turnover. They can tell the world the Iraqis themselves asked for martial law. The Sunnis, Shias, and Kurds will go crazy. The rebels will go ballistic. The Iranians will think it is worth taking a shot at Iraq as an excuse for controlling their border. The Saudi rebels will take advantage of the massive disturbances that will take place to attempt a takeover of their oil fields.

Bingo, the mushroom clouds start blossoming. Then the world will see American can-do, and know-how truly at work doing the best ethnic cleansing tax payer dollars can buy. Tactical nukes will be the only way that a seriously undermanned military will be able to manage force protection.

Israelis and nukes, that�s the ticket, when peak oil hits about fifteen to twenty years from now there will be about 20,000 Arabs left alive in the Middle East after a few years of, �force protection�, by the U.S. imperial forces. The Israelis will have created the new growth industry of the 21st. Century � nuclear devastation clean up. The Christian Crusaders will start sending in oil workers after the ground temperatures, and radiation have reached manageable levels dressed in new high-tech, anti-radiation suits, and living in special radiation controlled compounds built by the Israelis. China, Japan, and all emerging economies will get in line with everybody else and ask, �more please�, of the Christian Crusaders. The Southern Baptists will have started colonizing a West Africa that has been depopulated by rampant AIDS, more ethnic cleansing, and civil wars.

The new American Century will be in full bloom.