In a whack and blight world Any dyslexic can tell you A right winger Is a white ringer
Only as an adult did I realize that I am mildly dyslexic. I have to intentionally work every time to distinguish my right from my left, except in politics, of course. I had great difficulty learning how to read and still have some difficulty reading along while others read, since recovering from my word reversals is easier in my own head than when reading along while someone actually reads it correctly. I cannot reliably look at a phone number and walk across the room and dial it. Math, particularly algebra, was unduly difficult with numbers and terms not having the same internal context as words in a sentence, or letters in a word. Fortunately, all of this is only mildly annoying rather than significantly disabling. In fact, I see that my poetry style and sense of humor are rooted in this perpetual jumbling of words and even concepts and the training of reordering them into their original or intended meaning. Of course, along the way, I am struck with new and often funny relationships. Hopefully, I have raised this to an art form. In this case, I see my mild dyslexia as a gift, even a superpower in word play!
This poem is a signature combination of my dyslexic tendencies and my left wing, though typically right, politics. Beyond the churning alliterative construction is a scathing critique of right wing politics as inextricable linked to white supremacy. Whites in racial politics are frighteningly reliably ringers as the supremacy in white supremacy is so complete that us whites are routinely blind to this simple yet pervasive and pernicious fact. This blindness of racism seems to be a necessity for racism to persist century after century. Of course, as a white man, I speak from experience; I had to learn this for myself, much later than I would have liked. I am now trying to unlearn my racist heritage and presumptuous privilege, and overwhelm racism by me with anti-racism by me. I have learned that white supremacy and racism is a problem that white people are responsible for and must be responsible in ending. No doubt, this is difficult: the blind leading the blind. Though I have also learned that I can learn from people of color simply by paying attention, listening, and working as an accomplice in ending racism. Most importantly, I must do this work without placing the burden on people of color to enlighten me. This is my responsibility. May I live up to it.
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POEM: Breath of Fresh Heir Each mourning Brings that which is light Though wanting to rest As the whirled spins under my feet I am Still Razed Too my feat Standing on Perhaps a singular word Mysteriously helled Together In God-ordained gravity Until that thirst Breath of fresh heir As awe is knew This poem is about coming out of […]...
POEM: Innocence — An Owed In A Sense Her innocence Was immune to their dis ease As be wilder And a tempt However tempered Only to be Dis missed As just A guile His innocence Deified awe bravery In the face Of accusations summoned As subdude As never a cur to them Posing the quest in Guise will Be guise Her bosom leaped […]...
In case you were wondering what the fine print says: it’s the Sermon on the Mount (below). I wanted the primary meaning of this poster to address and challenge the notion that God’s love has a lot of caveats. I first thought to put up some random unreadable text, but quickly realized that Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount says it better!
* Matthew 5: Now when Jesus saw the crowds, he went up on a mountainside and sat down. His disciples came to him, 2 and he began to teach them. He said: 3 “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. 4 Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. 5 Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. 6 Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. 7 Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. 8 Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. 9 Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. 10 Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. 11 “Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. 12 Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you. 13 “You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot. 14 “You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. 15 Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. 16 In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven. 17 “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them. 18 For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth disappear, not the smallest letter, not the least stroke of a pen, will by any means disappear from the Law until everything is accomplished. 19 Therefore anyone who sets aside one of the least of these commands and teaches others accordingly will be called least in the kingdom of heaven, but whoever practices and teaches these commands will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. 20 For I tell you that unless your righteousness surpasses that of the Pharisees and the teachers of the law, you will certainly not enter the kingdom of heaven. 21 “You have heard that it was said to the people long ago, ‘You shall not murder,[a] and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment.’ 22 But I tell you that anyone who is angry with a brother or sister will be subject to judgment. Again, anyone who says to a brother or sister, ‘Raca,’ is answerable to the court. And anyone who says, ‘You fool!’ will be in danger of the fire of hell. 23 “Therefore, if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother or sister has something against you, 24 leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled to them; then come and offer your gift. 25 “Settle matters quickly with your adversary who is taking you to court. Do it while you are still together on the way, or your adversary may hand you over to the judge, and the judge may hand you over to the officer, and you may be thrown into prison. 26 Truly I tell you, you will not get out until you have paid the last penny. 27 “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’[e] 28 But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart. 29 If your right eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell. 30 And if your right hand causes you to stumble, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to go into hell. 31 “It has been said, ‘Anyone who divorces his wife must give her a certificate of divorce.’ 32 But I tell you that anyone who divorces his wife, except for sexual immorality, makes her the victim of adultery, and anyone who marries a divorced woman commits adultery. 33 “Again, you have heard that it was said to the people long ago, ‘Do not break your oath, but fulfill to the Lord the vows you have made.’ 34 But I tell you, do not swear an oath at all: either by heaven, for it is God’s throne; 35 or by the earth, for it is his footstool; or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the Great King. 36 And do not swear by your head, for you cannot make even one hair white or black. 37 All you need to say is simply ‘Yes’ or ‘No’; anything beyond this comes from the evil one. 38 “You have heard that it was said, ‘Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.’ 39 But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If
anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also. 40 And if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, hand over your coat as well. 41 If anyone forces you to go one mile, go with them two miles. 42 Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you. 43 “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor[i] and hate your enemy.’ 44 But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45 that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. 46 If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? 47 And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? 48 Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.
Chapter 6: “Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven. 2 “So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honored by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. 3 But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, 4 so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you. 5 “And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. 6 But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you. 7 And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words. 8 Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him. 9 “This, then, is how you should pray: “‘Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name, 10 your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. 11 Give us today our daily bread. 12 And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. 13 And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one. 14 For if you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. 15 But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins. 16 “When you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show others they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. 17 But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, 18 so that it will not be obvious to others that you are fasting, but only to your Father, who is unseen; and your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you. 19 “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. 20 But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. 21 For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. 22 “The eye is the lamp of the body. If your eyes are healthy, your whole body will be full of light. 23 But if your eyes are unhealthy,[m] your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light within you is darkness, how great is that darkness! 24 “No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and money. 25 “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? 26 Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? 27 Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life? 28 “And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. 29 Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. 30 If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? 31 So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ 32 For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. 33 But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. 34 Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. Chapter 7: “Do not judge, or you too will be judged. 2 For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you. 3 “Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? 4 How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? 5 You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye. 6 “Do not give dogs what is sacred; do not throw your pearls to pigs. If you do, they may trample them under their feet, and turn and tear you to pieces. 7 “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. 8 For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened. 9 “Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? 10 Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? 11 If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him! 12 So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets. 13 “Enter through the narrow gate. For wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it. 14 But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it. 15 “Watch out for false prophets. They come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ferocious wolves. 16 By their fruit you will recognize them. Do people pick grapes from thornbushes, or figs from thistles? 17 Likewise, every good tree bears good fruit, but a bad tree bears bad fruit. 18 A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, and a bad tree cannot bear good fruit. 19 Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. 20 Thus, by their fruit you will recognize them. 21 “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. 22 Many will say to me on that day, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name and in your name drive out demons and in your name perform many miracles?’ 23 Then I will tell them plainly, ‘I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers!’ 24 “Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. 25 The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. 26 But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. 27 The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.” 28 When Jesus had finished saying these things, the crowds were amazed at his teaching, 29 because he taught as one who had authority, and not as their teachers of the law.
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POEM: Breath of Fresh Heir Each mourning Brings that which is light Though wanting to rest As the whirled spins under my feet I am Still Razed Too my feat Standing on Perhaps a singular word Mysteriously helled Together In God-ordained gravity Until that thirst Breath of fresh heir As awe is knew This poem is about coming out of […]...
POEM: Innocence — An Owed In A Sense Her innocence Was immune to their dis ease As be wilder And a tempt However tempered Only to be Dis missed As just A guile His innocence Deified awe bravery In the face Of accusations summoned As subdude As never a cur to them Posing the quest in Guise will Be guise Her bosom leaped […]...
Mother Earth Has her cycles Look out! Respect her cycles Don’t be a fossil fool Ride that bike! Powered by living humans Not dead relics Exorcise those fossils, fool! Ride that bike! Get that warm feeling And cool breeze The perfect combo Of vigor and refreshment Ride that bike! It’s in your nature And even if it don’t make cents It’s in your interest Do it! Just cause Your Momma Has tolled you too
I wrote this poem at the beginning of bicycling season this year. I get great joy and satisfaction from biking around, human powered, in sync with Mother Nature. I find biking in the city a natural for practicing mindfulness, simply by virtue of the attention required to stay alive and un-maimed from motor vehicles operated by licensed zombies. I appreciate the exercise that biking affords. As I am in my fourth year without a car, my instinct that my car getting totaled was a gift has proven true. I am grateful that I can live well with the sometimes inconvenience of not having a car. I feel some solidarity with the majority of humankind that doesn’t have a motor vehicle. My love affair with Mother Earth grows deeper…
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POEM: Innocence — An Owed In A Sense Her innocence Was immune to their dis ease As be wilder And a tempt However tempered Only to be Dis missed As just A guile His innocence Deified awe bravery In the face Of accusations summoned As subdude As never a cur to them Posing the quest in Guise will Be guise Her bosom leaped […]...
POEM: Breath of Fresh Heir Each mourning Brings that which is light Though wanting to rest As the whirled spins under my feet I am Still Razed Too my feat Standing on Perhaps a singular word Mysteriously helled Together In God-ordained gravity Until that thirst Breath of fresh heir As awe is knew This poem is about coming out of […]...
Sen. ROB Portman (R-OH), Prez Donald Trump, and congressional Republicans are declaring moral bankruptcy wince again. Their tax scam, a gift to the richest corporations and wealthiest Americans, would jack up the deficit a trillion dollars within the next decade. In essence, Republicans are proposing borrowing trillions from the next generation for a massive giveaway to the already wealthy. Their tax bills shift the tax burden in a regressive fashion from the wealthy to Americans of more modest incomes. Their fantasy that economic growth will cover this giveaway has just been debunked by the nonpartisan congressional Joint Committee on Taxation. In the spirit of this inconvenient truth for Republicans, I have added another free poster in my series “Parity or Parody.” Please feel free to share this free political poster: Sen. ROB Portman and The DON Propose Moral Bankruptcy By Borrowing Trillions for Tax Cuts for Rich.
Some things are very predictable, like a big turkey looming before Christmas. And so it goes with the biggest turkey of all, Donald Trump. In cahoots with congressional Republicans, more tax cuts for the wealthiest Americans and wealthiest corporations are in store. In honor of this boondoggle, I give you my latest free poster: Trump’s Tax Plan Will Be A Huge Christmas Gift Because Everyone Knows That Tax Cuts For The Rich Is Practically The Incarnation of Jesus. Creating this poster helps assuage my penchant for satirizing the alleged Christian patriots who gorge themselves on government power and the public trough. Who will pay the unfathomable trillions of debt apparently owed to the rich? Perhaps they will just send the bill to Jesus…and his sheep…
Check out more free posters.
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POEM: Innocence — An Owed In A Sense Her innocence Was immune to their dis ease As be wilder And a tempt However tempered Only to be Dis missed As just A guile His innocence Deified awe bravery In the face Of accusations summoned As subdude As never a cur to them Posing the quest in Guise will Be guise Her bosom leaped […]...
Today is Democracy Day, mandated by a people’s resolution to Toledo City Council, spearheaded by Toledo Move To Amend, declaring that corporations are not people and money is not free speech. Today’s forum in Toledo City Council chambers, albeit with only a small fraction of City Council members, gave voice to a sampling of Toledo’s own citizens. Here is the satirical testimony that I delivered for my five sacred minutes:
Five Minutes of Democracy
Greetings rulers and subjects, the subject today is democracy. My name is Dan Rutt. Though, I am considering selling my naming rights to either Jeep or ProMedica, because seriously, who is Dan Rutt?! And, unfortunately, a shadowy group of local lobbyists secured the rights to “Krogering.” So expect plenty more “Krogering”…but not from me.
Of course, plenty of naming rights are still in play. In deference to those from that progressive demographic who love hyphenated names I might prefer selling my naming rights to Davis-Besse. Plus, I could get a bonus for catering to the regional governance and nuclear family demographics. But alas, Davis-Besse may very well be decommissioned. Apparently, that whole “too cheap to meter” thing turned out to be a lie, after all these decades. And in this era of tight budgets, there is only enough political capital to afford one last billion dollar bailout to bury this mistake. But sleep tight fellow citizens and helpless ratepayers! Rest assured that there will be a special glow for you and a thousand generations from the heart of this beloved nuclear reactor…But I digress…keep your eye on…well…pretty much anything else.
Welcome to Democracy Day — presided over by the finest government money can buy. Of course, our fine government might be different than those “other” governments. Today, I am asking that we keep an open mind that our government might not actually be the best that money can buy.
So, what does democracy look like? I have a long view of democracy, that looks something like making decisions based on how it affects people seven generations from now, that noble concept brought to us by fine native peoples who we so conveniently committed genocide against to occupy this land. But I have been charged to ask “What does five minutes of democracy look like?” This brief view is something more of a commercial. So, if any of you need to go to the bathroom or need a snack, now would be a good time for that.
Besides dreaming of bigger cages and longer chains, I have three proposals:
Proposal 1: I am asking City Council to commission a study to determine how much money it would take to get money out of politics.
Might I suggest a consultant that is not too cheap, so as to appear unworthy of listening to, or a consultant that is too pricey, so as to appear extravagant.
What do we want? Another study. When do we want it? When we can afford it.
Frankly, I am much more interested in the stuff we can’t afford not to do.
My second proposal is to establish a democracy museum, to preserve whatever vestiges of democracy that remain. This could be a public-private partnership that would reflect the share of democracy that is controlled by the public and private sectors, say 10% public and 90% private. To honor the vital 10% of democracy that is publicly controlled, we could have that reflected in the naming rights, which, of course, are necessary to fund such ventures. For instance, we would not have the 5/3 Democracy Museum, but rather the 4.5/3 Democracy Museum to preserve that sacred public trust.
This democracy museum could offer many opportunities to safeguard our notion of democracy. For instance, we could preserve uncounted provisional ballots, for the posterity that they are worth. We could display the many rubber stamps used to approve the corporatist agenda.
Being the Glass City, I’d suggest another glass museum. But, while we may be able to afford to do the same thing over and over again, I suspect that “democracy” might not be able to afford the transparency of a glass museum. Either way, we should have lots of windows to accommodate all of those beloved window dressings of which our politicians are so fond.
Well, you get the picture…well, OK, in museums you can’t get the actual picture. But…I trust that there will be a reasonable facsimile available for sale in the gift shop. And remember, there are only 365 shopping days until next democracy day. But be patient, very patient in this sick political system.
Oh victims of oligarchy, be patient, I have come to save the day!
Oh victims of corporatocracy, be patient, I have come to save the day!
Oh victims of plutocracy, be patient, I have come to save the day!
Oh victims of kleptocracy, be patient I have come to save the day!
I have come to save the day, I have come to save the day!
Buy saving this day, democracy day, each year for 365 years, we will have saved up enough democracy for a democracy year. So, based on these patient patients of a sick political system, I offer my third proposal. I ask City Council, to declare the year 2382, 365 years from now, as democracy year. Surely, such completely incredible long-term vision will not go unrewarded!
But alas, if there are any spare seconds from my five minutes of democracy, I could ask for a moment of silence, remembering that we have the right to be silent. But, while we have the right to remain silent, I wouldn’t recommend it. So, in that mean time, while we wait for our rulers to rule well, let us never forget: We are what democracy looks like — an assembly of real people, not corporate “persons”. Power to the people. Power to real people. THANK YOU!
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POEM: Breath of Fresh Heir Each mourning Brings that which is light Though wanting to rest As the whirled spins under my feet I am Still Razed Too my feat Standing on Perhaps a singular word Mysteriously helled Together In God-ordained gravity Until that thirst Breath of fresh heir As awe is knew This poem is about coming out of […]...
Edward Snowden, the infamous NSA whistleblower, is my candidate for the most heroic American this decade. Is it time for President Obama to grant a presidential pardon to Edward Snowden? YES! The campaign is on, with the release of Oliver Stone’s new movie portraying Edward Snowden’s journey from ardent right-wing patriot to ardent left-wing patriot, while remaining quintessentially American and evolving into a formidable global citizen.
As American and planetary citizen Edward Snowden says, “Pardon me,” let’s work to get President Obama to grant a presidential pardon to this American hero. Please feel free to circulate this free poster as a means of drumming up more public support for a Snowden pardon.
As reported in The Guardian, Edward Snowden made his case for a presidential pardon:
Edward Snowden has set out the case for Barack Obama granting him a pardon before the US president leaves office in January, arguing that the disclosure of the scale of surveillance by US and British intelligence agencies was not only morally right but had left citizens better off.
The US whistleblower’s comments, made in an interview with the Guardian, came as supporters, including his US lawyer, stepped up a campaign for a presidential pardon. Snowden is wanted in the US, where he is accused of violating the Espionage Act and faces at least 30 years in jail.
Speaking on Monday via a video link from Moscow, where he is in exile, Snowden said any evaluation of the consequences of his leak of tens of thousands of National Security Agency and GCHQ documents in 2013 would show clearly that people had benefited.
“Yes, there are laws on the books that say one thing, but that is perhaps why the pardon power exists – for the exceptions, for the things that may seem unlawful in letters on a page but when we look at them morally, when we look at them ethically, when we look at the results, it seems these were necessary things, these were vital things,” he said.
“I think when people look at the calculations of benefit, it is clear that in the wake of 2013 the laws of our nation changed. The [US] Congress, the courts and the president all changed their policies as a result of these disclosures. At the same time there has never been any public evidence that any individual came to harm as a result.”
Although US presidents have granted some surprising pardons when leaving office, the chances of Obama doing so seem remote, even though before he entered the White House he was a constitutional lawyer who often made the case for privacy and had warned about the dangers of mass surveillance.
Obama’s former attorney general Eric Holder, however, gave an unexpected boost to the campaign for a pardon in May when he said Snowden had performed a public service.
The campaign could receive a further lift from Oliver Stone’s film, Snowden, scheduled for release in the US on Friday. Over the weekend the director said he hoped the film would help shift opinion behind the whistleblower, and added his voice to the plea for a pardon.
Ahead of general release, the film will be shown in 700 cinemas across the US on Wednesday, with plans for Stone and Snowden to join in a discussion afterwards via a video link.
In his wide-ranging interview, Snowden insisted the net public benefit of the NSA leak was clear. “If not for these disclosures, if not for these revelations, we would be worse off,” he said.
In Hong Kong in June 2013, when he had passed his documents to journalists, Snowden displayed an almost unnatural calm, as if resigned to his fate. On Monday he said that at that time he expected a “dark end” in which he was either killed or jailed in the US.
More than three years on, he appears cheerful and relaxed. He has avoided the fate of fellow whistleblower Chelsea Manning, who is in solitary confinement in the US. Snowden is free to communicate with supporters and chats online late into the night.
His 2.3 million followers on Twitter give him a huge platform to express his views. He works on tools to try to help journalists. He is not restricted to Moscow and has travelled around Russia, and his family in the US have been to visit him.
But Snowden still wants to return to the US and seems confident, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary, that it will happen. “In the fullness of time, I think I will end up back home,” he said.
“Once the officials, who felt like they had to protect the programmes, their positions, their careers, have left government and we start looking at things from a more historical perspective, it will be pretty clear that this war on whistleblowers does not serve the interests of the United States; rather it harms them.”
Snowden attracts lots of conspiracy theories. Early on, he was accused of being a spy for China and then a Russian spy. In August a cryptic tweet followed by an unusual absence prompted speculation that he was dead. He said he had simply gone on holiday.
There had also been rumours that his partner, Lindsay Mills, had left him, which would have been embarrassing as their romance occupies a large part of the Stone film. Snowden said “she is with me and we are very happy”.
His revelations resulted in a global debate and modest legislative changes. More significant, perhaps, is that surveillance and the impact of technological change has seeped into popular culture, in films such as the latest Jason Bourne and television series, such as the Good Wife.
Snowden also welcomed “a renaissance of scepticism” on the part of at least some journalists when confronted by anonymous briefings by officials not backed by evidence.
He warned three years ago of the danger that one day there might be a president who abused the system. The warning failed to gain much traction, given that Obama’s presidency seemed relatively benign. But it resonates more today, in the wake of Donald Trump’s response to the Russian hacking of the Democratic party: that he wished he had the power to hack into Hillary Clinton’s emails.
If Obama, as seems likely, declines to pardon Snowden, his chances under either Clinton or Trump would seem to be even slimmer. He described the 2016 presidential race as unprecedented “in terms of the sort of authoritarian policies that are being put forward”.
“Unfortunately, many candidates in the political mainstream today, even pundits and commentators who aren’t running for office, believe we have to be able to do anything, no matter what, as long as there is some benefit to be had in doing so. But that is the logic of a police state.”
He is even less impressed by the British prime minister, referring to Theresa May as a “a sort of Darth Vader in the United Kingdom”, whose surveillance bill is “an egregious violation of human rights, that goes far further than any law proposed in the western world”.
Snowden was initially berated by opponents for failing to criticise the Russian president, Vladimir Putin, but he has become increasingly vocal. It is a potentially risky move, given his application for an extension of asylum is up for renewal next year, so why do it?
“Well, it would not be the first time I have taken a risk for something I believe in,” he said. “This is a complex situation. Russia is not my area of focus. It is not my area of expertise. I don’t speak Russian in a fluent manner that I could really participate in and influence policy. But when something happens that I believe is clearly a violation of the right thing, I believe we should stand up and say something about it.
“My priority always has to be my own country rather than Russia. I would like to help reform the human rights situation in Russia but I will never be well placed to do so relative to actual Russian activists themselves.”
Might he end up as part of a US-Russian prisoner exchange, with Putin possibly more amenable to the idea if Trump was in power? “There has always been the possibility that any government could say, ‘Well, it does not really matter whether it is a violation of human rights, it does not really matter whether it is a violation of law, it will be beneficial to use this individual as a bargaining chip’. This is not exclusive to me. This happens to activists around the world every day.”
He said he saw the Stone film as a mechanism for getting people to talk about surveillance, though he felt uncomfortable with other people telling his story.
Snowden has toyed with writing his memoirs but has not made much progress. There are at least three books about him on the way; an extensively researched one by the Washington Post’s Bart Gellman and two others thought to be hostile.
Asked if he was the source for the Panama Papers – the comments by the source sound like Snowden – he laughed. He praised the biggest data leak in history, adding that he would normally be happy to cloak other whistleblowers by neither denying nor confirming he was a source. But he would make an exception in the case of the Panama Papers. “I would not claim any credit for that.”
For someone who has spent his life trying to keep out of the public eye, he has now appeared in a Hollywood movie and an Oscar-winning documentary, and several plays, including Privacy, which just ended a run in New York and in which he has a part alongside Daniel Radcliffe.
“It was an alarming experience for me. I am not an actor. I have been told I am not very good at it. But you know if I can, I can try and maybe it will help, I will give it my best shot.”
For Snowden, his campaign for a pardon, even if forlorn, offers a chance to highlight his plight, and he expressed thanks to all those who were backing it. He also said he hoped that after the fuss of the movie he could finally fade into the background. “I really hope it is over,” he said. “That would be the greatest gift anyone could give me.”
This Edward Snowden design is available as buttons, T-shirts, bumper stickers, mini-posters, caps, mugs, stickers, and more! Also, check out more designs about the security state and secret surveillance.
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POEM: Breath of Fresh Heir Each mourning Brings that which is light Though wanting to rest As the whirled spins under my feet I am Still Razed Too my feat Standing on Perhaps a singular word Mysteriously helled Together In God-ordained gravity Until that thirst Breath of fresh heir As awe is knew This poem is about coming out of […]...
POEM: Innocence — An Owed In A Sense Her innocence Was immune to their dis ease As be wilder And a tempt However tempered Only to be Dis missed As just A guile His innocence Deified awe bravery In the face Of accusations summoned As subdude As never a cur to them Posing the quest in Guise will Be guise Her bosom leaped […]...
Hello Hello People looking down As electronic devices Looking up Over hear Over their Owned buy virtual realty Totally Sum wear Ails Hole heartedly Parting from wholly presence How due they pay A tension So what? Sow what? Driving us up the wall As a madder of fact, into the wall Tsk, tsk, tsk Sow much for multi-tsking As we reap life into little pieces Too fee’d a hire mindfuelness Who says you can’t halve it Awe
This poem is about one of my favorite pet peeves: multi-tasking. My annoyance ranges from bleeping devices and blank presence to threats of life and limb from distracted drivers within striking range of me while I am biking. Multi-tasking, by its very nature, is bad for the brain. In technical terms, multi-tasking turns your brain to mush [see here for a summary of multitasking problems]. The mind can only concentrate on one thing at a time. When we switch our concentration back and forth we necessarily lose something in the process. Accomplished multi-taskers can train their brain to lose less during transitions but there is always a loss. More importantly, extended concentration trains specific regions of the brain to deal with specific tasks. When we chronically divide our attention, vacillating quickly between multiple tasks or activities, brain activation becomes diffuse and nonspecific. This results in more poorly developed brain functioning for each activity (compared to doing each activity for an extended period of time). In the runs of post-modern civilization, multi-tasking is the enema of concentration — full presence — and highly developed brain expertise. Further, assuming that a distracted multi-tasker doesn’t kill or maim you, the greatest challenge of multi-tasking is to simple presence, or mindfulness. Perhaps the most important gift humans can give one another is to be fully present to one another. Even when others aren’t around, mindfulness is perhaps the most awesome gift we can give ourselves, simply to be fully present for our own lives, whatever the external circumstances. Multi-tasking divides and degrades our ability to be fully present, both in any given moment, or long-term by undermining the disciplined ability to be mindful. I suspect that the fear of missing out on something underlies much of the drive behind multi-tasking. My suggestion, for those that truly want awe of life, is to recognize that you can’t halve it, awe.
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POEM: Breath of Fresh Heir Each mourning Brings that which is light Though wanting to rest As the whirled spins under my feet I am Still Razed Too my feat Standing on Perhaps a singular word Mysteriously helled Together In God-ordained gravity Until that thirst Breath of fresh heir As awe is knew This poem is about coming out of […]...
POEM: Innocence — An Owed In A Sense Her innocence Was immune to their dis ease As be wilder And a tempt However tempered Only to be Dis missed As just A guile His innocence Deified awe bravery In the face Of accusations summoned As subdude As never a cur to them Posing the quest in Guise will Be guise Her bosom leaped […]...
To no what is possible Sum look too the passed To undertake certainties Too due dreams untested Some are moved Bye this present Liberating futures seized And undo The knot tied And never tried How Ever prospecting possibilities in awe that is mine From now on in Rousing fresh fortune Or die Try in
The past is the best predictor of the future, except that will always be wrong. Unpredictability is an essential aspect of the future. Like Yogi Berra noted: predictions are difficult, especially when they are about the future. I am fascinated by existential possibilities, trying something and seeing what happens. This is perhaps the truest life science: taking action and paying attention to what happens. Somewhere between overanalyzing the past and dreaming about what things could come the present unwraps the future. As Kierkegaard observed, “Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.” And as Homer Simpson might say: “Mmmmmm…the present.” Dreaming with your eyes open is not merely realism, but the basis for enlightened action. Surfing the future is at least as much an art as a science. Of course, this present reality is not meant to be some exacting, and perhaps depressing, data collection in a notebook, but rather the experience of rousing fresh fortune. May you discover much joyful anticipation and spirit rousing serendipities as your present unwraps the future.
POEM: Breath of Fresh Heir Each mourning Brings that which is light Though wanting to rest As the whirled spins under my feet I am Still Razed Too my feat Standing on Perhaps a singular word Mysteriously helled Together In God-ordained gravity Until that thirst Breath of fresh heir As awe is knew This poem is about coming out of […]...
POEM: Innocence — An Owed In A Sense Her innocence Was immune to their dis ease As be wilder And a tempt However tempered Only to be Dis missed As just A guile His innocence Deified awe bravery In the face Of accusations summoned As subdude As never a cur to them Posing the quest in Guise will Be guise Her bosom leaped […]...
I am A bohemian, man Razing consciousness wherever Or whatever I happen to wander about Are you Brushed off by my long hair While you suck it up All the err Straining awe of your shabby tension In the face Of my frayed clothes And your painstakingly frayed whirled view Like nothing writing off my poetry As holy gratuitous And under raiding my intellect as well Eschewing upon awe but straight up homo genus Making plain your redundant homogenous specious As if Once in for all You might as well Be at least One finger shy Of won’s iconic sign of peace
This poem plays with the trite but true notion that we often make an avalanche of judgments about other people based on our first glance at them. Gender. Class. Age. Race. Attractiveness. In this poem, in my case, it’s about looking like a hippie. The superficial array of features that we display to the world is a gift to the lazy and the uncurious. I consider my outward appearance a powerful screening tool to weed out those unprepared to delve into my provocative inner beauty and intriguing eccentricities. When stereotypers and skeptics make it through this screening process, I must admit, I get a special thrill out of witnessing people amending an initial underrating and/or misconstrual of me. Yep, I like to mess with people — for the very reason that people are messy. The last lines of this poem is an example of this. When demonstrating for peace on a street corner — a totally hippie thing to do — occasionally, a passing motorist will share a singular upright finger to signal their notion of victory. I am known to note to my friendly demonstrators the valiant efforts of another one-fingered veteran trying to make the peace sign, aka victory sign. We don’t know what we don’t know. And most of us know very little about most people we encounter. I am a person leavened with hope. May we find hope in one another as we ardently explore each other’s breathtaking lives and singular place in this world.
Please feel free to browse other Top Pun designs regarding spiritual practices for peace-loving and joy filled living.
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POEM: Innocence — An Owed In A Sense Her innocence Was immune to their dis ease As be wilder And a tempt However tempered Only to be Dis missed As just A guile His innocence Deified awe bravery In the face Of accusations summoned As subdude As never a cur to them Posing the quest in Guise will Be guise Her bosom leaped […]...
POEM: Breath of Fresh Heir Each mourning Brings that which is light Though wanting to rest As the whirled spins under my feet I am Still Razed Too my feat Standing on Perhaps a singular word Mysteriously helled Together In God-ordained gravity Until that thirst Breath of fresh heir As awe is knew This poem is about coming out of […]...
What is good A bout religion At best There is little to say Giving a fare hearing More about listening Too small Still voices Respecting only what due Saving A few choice words For those empower Occupying humanity Only in sow far As won for all Quiet an undertaking As ambitious silence And ponderous a void That vulnerable space And venerable pace Between word and deed Owned by awe Wear know thinking Aloud For awe to consider
This poem is about the confounding truth that the universe of truth is quiet literally beyond words. Words are representations, symbols of something else, which may allow us to think about something but often are poor vehicles for bringing about the direct experience to which we are referencing. Even mathematics, considered the purist science, is mirrorly a representation of truth, not truth itself. Even if a unified theory of mathematics and physics is elucidated, this will give mournfully flimsy assurance in the quest for an enlightened humanity and moral living in everyday life. Perhaps the most grave bias in postmodern existence is mistaking words and science, even the most erudite collections of words and symbols referred to as ideologies, theologies, or bodies of scientific knowledge, as the living truth. I consider the most profound truths as existing directly through experience, not the recounting of experience or observations. This is why I consider consciousness as the most fundamental aspect of reality/existence. I won’t elaborate on that, hear. It is no accident that I am drawn to poetry in the Siren’s song of the whirled’s parent chaos, and reverent silence in the muse’s presents. I save irreverence for my words. I prefer the metaphor as a vehicle for reflecting upon truth because it has the humble recognition that what it is trying to say is quite literally not what it is literally saying. This poem picks on religion first and foremost, perhaps paradoxically, because its grand task is most poorly suited for words. The phase, “shut the hell up,” comes to mine. I am a big fan of St. Francis’ proposition, “Preach the Gospel at all times; if necessary, use words.” This is close kin to my favorite proposition of Gandhi, “Be the change you want to see in the world.” Both of these quotes lift up action compared to fancy erudition. Both seek integral and centered being as the pivotal place and space for right action. St. Francis recognized that speaking, languages of symbols, is a grand gift of humans, but that in many circumstances, a moral economy imbues greater value with scarcity. While, awe things considered, silence may be the language of God, the awesome need to share our experiences with one another bids us to dare speak, to dare improve upon silence.
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POEM: Breath of Fresh Heir Each mourning Brings that which is light Though wanting to rest As the whirled spins under my feet I am Still Razed Too my feat Standing on Perhaps a singular word Mysteriously helled Together In God-ordained gravity Until that thirst Breath of fresh heir As awe is knew This poem is about coming out of […]...
POEM: Innocence — An Owed In A Sense Her innocence Was immune to their dis ease As be wilder And a tempt However tempered Only to be Dis missed As just A guile His innocence Deified awe bravery In the face Of accusations summoned As subdude As never a cur to them Posing the quest in Guise will Be guise Her bosom leaped […]...
God is Way too big For any won religion While still Re-siding In A singular grain of sand Fore awe to see
This poem as a humble recognition that God is bigger than any won religion. While responsibility is an inescapable facet of any religion, the transcendent response-ability of every grace, every present as gift, bids us to reflect such a generous and loving weigh of life. God is a way, way bigger than any individual or religion might tempt to hold hostage. The business of religion flails when it takes, sides. Such iffy religion divides. The image of God reflected in each of us is not meant to be a brand, burned into flesh, the mark of the but, but, but, but, but… Religion is about pointing to the the ever more of life, and not scoring points. Religion is a thorny means that should knot be mean. The unkind of up your grasp attitude of religion and anti-religion serves up a paltry view of courage and costly grays. Meditating upon, and living in harmony with, the pique experiences of God’s unbound nature should be freeing, not circumscribing. And, still, not showing up with judgment, the eternally elusive God may be realized in a singular grain of sand. The mystery of life and that wonder full experience carries on, fore bettor or worse, fore awe to see. May your experience of the mysteries of life be more than you could ever bargain for…
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POEM: Breath of Fresh Heir Each mourning Brings that which is light Though wanting to rest As the whirled spins under my feet I am Still Razed Too my feat Standing on Perhaps a singular word Mysteriously helled Together In God-ordained gravity Until that thirst Breath of fresh heir As awe is knew This poem is about coming out of […]...
POEM: Innocence — An Owed In A Sense Her innocence Was immune to their dis ease As be wilder And a tempt However tempered Only to be Dis missed As just A guile His innocence Deified awe bravery In the face Of accusations summoned As subdude As never a cur to them Posing the quest in Guise will Be guise Her bosom leaped […]...
The dumb bell rang As he looked The present Like a gift horse in the mouth And in every witch way Reckon as knot so fine Looking forward and backward Of what might be Only seconds As has been A head and behind And in know time Looking down The apple of his eye Given in digestion And looking up The wrong end As scene through faulty means Only now As passed tense Or posterity perfected As dumb founded
This poem is about living in the present, the eternal now. Like they say: if you have one foot in the past and one foot in the future, you’ll crap on today. In this poem, it happens by looking up the wrong end of a gift horse. Many moral lessons are more easily grasped as cautionary tales, rather than straightforward instructions on wise weighs. This paradox linking foolish and wise is elicited by the first and last lines of this poem, which, not surprisingly, employ puns to say two opposite meanings in a singular phrase. The opening line, “The dumb bell rang,” signals both complete uselessness, a bell that cannot ring, and a call to silence, as a way to better experience the present. The last line, “As dumb founded,” wraps up with the twin perplexity and wonder of realizing that silence can offer a quality of experience that will only be degraded by the static of past thoughts and/or the noise of unrealized futures. May you find yourself, completely, in the present, that is your gift right now.
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POEM: Innocence — An Owed In A Sense Her innocence Was immune to their dis ease As be wilder And a tempt However tempered Only to be Dis missed As just A guile His innocence Deified awe bravery In the face Of accusations summoned As subdude As never a cur to them Posing the quest in Guise will Be guise Her bosom leaped […]...
POEM: Breath of Fresh Heir Each mourning Brings that which is light Though wanting to rest As the whirled spins under my feet I am Still Razed Too my feat Standing on Perhaps a singular word Mysteriously helled Together In God-ordained gravity Until that thirst Breath of fresh heir As awe is knew This poem is about coming out of […]...
He ran his won race Not around other men’s tracks But in open fields Into sunsets and sunrises Never looking back As no one affront And know time Where mostly losers must collect Outside The whiner’s circle And still Fodder time Will only Weather win place or show Every champ yon door Will not cry out As sum hoarse race Only to whinny But one race In riding a loan And won for awe Jockeying honor In steed Bye only crossing The finish line In unison As a singular knows Tide for thirst
This poem plays with the tensions between the importance of both our inner experience and compass and our collective outer experience. Self-knowledge and self-awareness are prerequisites for healthy functioning in the world. Otherwise we will be doomed to project our ignorance and misunderstanding onto others, confounding communication and degrading joint enterprises. We must know ourselves and trust our inner experience and instincts, if we are to live our own lives. This recognizes a radical aspect of our own inner subjective experience: that part of our lives is uniquely our own, both in terms of being only indirectly verifiable by others (what’s going on inside) and that our own agency gives us responsibility that cannot be pawned off on others. To some inescapable degree, we must run our own race. Recognizing this freedom and responsibility is the key to winning our own race: Not around other men’s tracks/But in open fields/Into sunsets and sunrises. If we gauge our own lives too much by others’ behavior and the various cascading situations in the world, we risk living lives as mere reaction formations of our environment. While this is a profoundly sad loss for ourselves, it also robs the world of the gift of another real live actor in the play of life. Of course, human life is an ensemble role; we share a collective stage and have intertwining stories. Life is not a horse race, with the inevitable winner and losers — though that may be part of the narrative we act out. In sharing both a collective stage and the power of each to contribute their own role to the play, life is pretty much guaranteed to be dramatic, perhaps somewhat chaotic, and hopefully interesting and fun. Human life begs both individual creative response-ability and a deeply collective attitude and respect for our shared enterprise. A wise ensemble of actors, recognizing the varied roles of protagonists and antagonists, gladly plays their role, not another’s. And as passions rise, the story unfolds. The story is not won by who is present in the last scene, but who are present at awe, wherever they peer. If there is a larger winning in life, it may very well be the solidarity of comrades sharing passions, but not necessarily playing the same roles: In unison/As a singular knows/Tide for thirst. As for that horse race: break a leg…
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POEM: Innocence — An Owed In A Sense Her innocence Was immune to their dis ease As be wilder And a tempt However tempered Only to be Dis missed As just A guile His innocence Deified awe bravery In the face Of accusations summoned As subdude As never a cur to them Posing the quest in Guise will Be guise Her bosom leaped […]...
POEM: Breath of Fresh Heir Each mourning Brings that which is light Though wanting to rest As the whirled spins under my feet I am Still Razed Too my feat Standing on Perhaps a singular word Mysteriously helled Together In God-ordained gravity Until that thirst Breath of fresh heir As awe is knew This poem is about coming out of […]...
He lived buy The law of the jungle Except for that whole jungle thing And law Fore that madder Welcome too Living bye A-morality A-weigh of living A-lien from nature As not giving One ascent Fore awe that can be Souled
The so-called law of the jungle is largely disrespectful of nature and law. The presumed law of the jungle is typically a rationalization for amoral behavior. Buying such low living is not becoming to humanity. Greedy, fear-filled, and violent people swear by the notion of a “dog eat dog” world, even if they have never seen a dog eat a dog. And if one has witnessed firsthand a dog eat a dog, it is a near certainty that this resulted from the instigation and/or training by a human. Contrary to popular mythology, the overwhelming majority (95+%) of living beings on this planet live and die without being eaten. Live and let live is a far better characterization of the nature of nature than some arena of death thrust upon us to bedevil us to our untimely end. So, this poem is about respecting the higher harmonies of nature, including human nature — the nature of the soul, if you will — as we experience the gift of life. Such higher harmonies lean into the predominant reality of life as a gift rather than a curse. It is a destructive lie to characterize nature, or our nature, as a taker rather than a giver. The jungle is a wild and beautiful place, but the awe and wander of its presents inspires its true companions to revel in reverence rather than dreadful competition or wanton violence. May you find that the wild places in your life bring you life-affirming inspiration and render you a lousy accomplice to greedy and guarded weighs.
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POEM: Innocence — An Owed In A Sense Her innocence Was immune to their dis ease As be wilder And a tempt However tempered Only to be Dis missed As just A guile His innocence Deified awe bravery In the face Of accusations summoned As subdude As never a cur to them Posing the quest in Guise will Be guise Her bosom leaped […]...
POEM: Breath of Fresh Heir Each mourning Brings that which is light Though wanting to rest As the whirled spins under my feet I am Still Razed Too my feat Standing on Perhaps a singular word Mysteriously helled Together In God-ordained gravity Until that thirst Breath of fresh heir As awe is knew This poem is about coming out of […]...
Privilege and disenfranchisement Are two sides of the same coin Defining this flipping world And the soul weigh out Is to stop chasing coin And exorcise our debt to won another Just us fore awe
People are more important than things. Human persons are more important than corporate persons. You can’t serve God and money. These are relatively simple truths that can order our disordered lives, individually and collectively. Chasing the almighty buck degrades the awesome aspects of our humanity. Focusing on how we can profit from others, what we can get from others, is the ultimate “taker” attitude. For those who have a lot, are on the long end of the stick, the looming threat of disenfranchisement, and those disenfranchised seeking justice, assures that having is never enough. Even those with little, or on the short end of the stick, often internalize this sick attitude as wannabe privileged, perpetuating the dominant worldview of domination over others. As I see it, the soul weigh to get rid of this two sides of the same coin is to get rid of coin. Inasmuch as people are viewed as means to ends, we will have a whirled of mean, and unsatisfying ends. Recognizing, honoring, and glorying in each other’s irreducible humanity and awesome possibility is perhaps the only debt we have to each other. If you view this debt to one another as a privilege or a duty, you are correct. The awe at the heart of our humanity is what should command our respect and serve as our authority in all matters. Our greatest gift to one another is to serve awe. May you find awe that you are looking for, and may awe that you due serve others.
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POEM: Innocence — An Owed In A Sense Her innocence Was immune to their dis ease As be wilder And a tempt However tempered Only to be Dis missed As just A guile His innocence Deified awe bravery In the face Of accusations summoned As subdude As never a cur to them Posing the quest in Guise will Be guise Her bosom leaped […]...
POEM: Breath of Fresh Heir Each mourning Brings that which is light Though wanting to rest As the whirled spins under my feet I am Still Razed Too my feat Standing on Perhaps a singular word Mysteriously helled Together In God-ordained gravity Until that thirst Breath of fresh heir As awe is knew This poem is about coming out of […]...
He smashed His ode record Broke in The same oh Same oh! Skipping A beat Down Sow deep In his sole Feted To follow him Wear ever Won is
I wrote this poem as the last poem of the day when I had just set a record for the most poems that I had written in a day. That was a couple of months ago, and the record has been smashed twice since. The He smashed opening line can be taken as a reference to being totally drunk. I find myself powerless to the muse, and such powerlessness is a great gift, only to be ignored at won’s peril. Perhaps the greatest synchronicity I experience in life is writing poetry. The rhythm and blues of life give me a groove allowing me to dance to the cornucopia of revolutions taking place at any given moment. Waking up to the singular fact that the earth moves at the bottom of my sole is enough to launch thousands of revolutions that I call the daze of my life. May you be moved by that which may be invisible to others at any given moment yet endows your very being.
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POEM: Innocence — An Owed In A Sense Her innocence Was immune to their dis ease As be wilder And a tempt However tempered Only to be Dis missed As just A guile His innocence Deified awe bravery In the face Of accusations summoned As subdude As never a cur to them Posing the quest in Guise will Be guise Her bosom leaped […]...
POEM: Breath of Fresh Heir Each mourning Brings that which is light Though wanting to rest As the whirled spins under my feet I am Still Razed Too my feat Standing on Perhaps a singular word Mysteriously helled Together In God-ordained gravity Until that thirst Breath of fresh heir As awe is knew This poem is about coming out of […]...
This very short poem, like most of my poems, can be read (at least) two ways. The first line, It is never, can be read as one not getting love, declaring Enough, and wanting amor. Or, this love poem can be read as having amor and always wanting more. Of course, both of these ways of reading this poem definitively want more love!
While I think that the question: how much is enough? is a critical question to answer well in order to live a satisfying life, I am drawn to the expansive nature of love that ever yearns for ever more love. I believe that the built-in desire for love to replicate, grow, and expand is why reciprocity in relationships is central. Love not reciprocated, not appreciated or honored, naturally flows to where there is amor and desire for amor. Of course, love, in its overflowing nature, puts itself out there as an ever-flowing invitation, but it occupies and relishes those places where the invitation is accepted. Love may very well be the life force, or, at least, one of its better metaphors. Love spills awe over the place, but grows best where it is welcomed by open hearts big enough to take in its grand gifts and embraced by fertile attitudes of gratitude. Can we be too gracious? Probably only if we have some distinct notion of what is enough, what we might settle for. Love in action, as a verb, cannot settle, as it is imbued with an ever-expanding nature. May you not settle; may you grow in love and find it returned a hundred-fold.
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POEM: Breath of Fresh Heir Each mourning Brings that which is light Though wanting to rest As the whirled spins under my feet I am Still Razed Too my feat Standing on Perhaps a singular word Mysteriously helled Together In God-ordained gravity Until that thirst Breath of fresh heir As awe is knew This poem is about coming out of […]...
POEM: Innocence — An Owed In A Sense Her innocence Was immune to their dis ease As be wilder And a tempt However tempered Only to be Dis missed As just A guile His innocence Deified awe bravery In the face Of accusations summoned As subdude As never a cur to them Posing the quest in Guise will Be guise Her bosom leaped […]...
His unwillingness to be a victim Soully exceeded Buy his willfulness to be a perpetrator Better to have Willed a gun Than mirrorly get A ballad in ahead That imminently natural selection Of hapless pray Re: in force Such patriotic cant And simp-ly a parent of chorus you can Too the tear of awe Weepin’s helled in our hands Sow a verse That thin red line In the thick of The deference In the seaminess Of oppressor and oppressed The enigmatic quest in Of weather you can Have won Without the other To shed more hate than light In discriminating prism Only to con serve Cell preservation Or wherever egos Fallowing death A firm life In mortality A test too They’re weepin of choice
This poem is a dramatic ode to the thin line between victim and perpetrator. There is a horror in both estates of being. The truism that hurt people hurt people begs for a broken chain, often presenting itself to beat the hell out of others or take it as unjust a beating. Is there a fare-mined weigh to go on, strike?
The horrific picture in my mind is that of children in war zones enforced into soldiering, specifically by being forced to kill someone else, typically someone they know, as an initiation into the invading forces. Or be killed themselves. The ensuing trauma, and the desperate promise of survival as a perpetrator rather than death or indigency as a victim, often seals one’s fate in a choice beyond most adults, let alone children. Such a display of soul murder is perhaps the most dramatic, even as an epic cautionary tale far removed from the real or contemplated lives of most adults in this world. Nonetheless, the daily bred of the victim-perpetrator cycle is mostly much more subtle and insidious. The routinized bargains most of us make are well fed by seamless self-serving rationalizations and hermetically sealed worldviews safely partitioning good and evil. We are grateful, even thank God, that we happen to be, well, on the good side. Our own cultural in-groups are neatly washed in the wringer of what we typically call civilization, a convenient euphemism for “us” — now, even 25% cleaner; progress you know! Our dark sides are projected on others, safely sequestered in “them” — the looming barbarous hordes, who mostly want to take our way of life (or jobs) — equally progressive and precarious — but will take the life of our hired mercenaries, peace officers, or even ourselves if we let our guard down.
What I hope this poem inspires is some contemplation about what might be that thin chalk line around your soul that defines what you would not do to save your bodily life. What would you not do, even if a gun was pointed at your head? Such a boundary quite starkly outlines that which you re-guard as sacred, worthy of the sacrifice of your bodily life. If your skin in the game is only to protect your own skin (or kin), then the cycle of perpetrator-victim will be incarnated perpetually. Protect your own or sell your kind? What kind of quest in is that? Won of kindness — your own kind and every other kind. Dramatic examples can be highly instructive in contemplating the demarcations of our soul. Still, my hope is to provoke a more thorough deconstruction of our lives, as our lives are sow much more than bodily existence. What in your life would you be willing to lose for a higher purpose? My favorite definition of sacrifice is giving up something of value for something of greater value. I view this trading up as the primary vehicle for living up to our highest values. What material/bodily stuff are you willing to trade up for that which is higher? What parts of your life are you willing to sacrifice for a greater whole? We all end up in a hole; not all become whole or make their fare share of the whole. Of course, the hierarchy of goodness is not simply some binary division of material and spiritual. Our bodies and material goods are gifts to be purposed and re-purposed in the progressive filling and fulfilling of our souls, shared humanity, and awe of creation. If there is anything that all spiritual and religious traditions lift up, it is that our purpose wrests in that beyond our self. Next in line would probably be that we each have a soul responsibility that cannot be contracted to others. As you confront the many weepins in life, may your soul purpose find itself bigger and better, not simply at a loss.
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POEM: Breath of Fresh Heir Each mourning Brings that which is light Though wanting to rest As the whirled spins under my feet I am Still Razed Too my feat Standing on Perhaps a singular word Mysteriously helled Together In God-ordained gravity Until that thirst Breath of fresh heir As awe is knew This poem is about coming out of […]...
POEM: Innocence — An Owed In A Sense Her innocence Was immune to their dis ease As be wilder And a tempt However tempered Only to be Dis missed As just A guile His innocence Deified awe bravery In the face Of accusations summoned As subdude As never a cur to them Posing the quest in Guise will Be guise Her bosom leaped […]...
She stated No one else can do what I do To witch They rejoined Realing in whore Accept that you are a cog You intractable wrench Unfit for cloning round And unstranded She cut out From the puppet tier Knot to be Am ployed As if She were eunuch
This poem is about breaking away from the artifice and inhumanity of the machine, aka, capitalism, which is designed to monetize you in any way possible. When someone discovers the passion of their unique role and contribution to the world, the machine pushes back as it has difficulty incorporating one’s soul eccentricities into it’s standardized system and dehumanized algorithms. Generous portions of creativity easily overwhelm “the way we have always done things” as well as distant, disconnected orders from big bosses. Creativity is so unnatural to the machine that it ultimately creates huge inefficiencies, even amidst its seeming devotion to efficiency. The machine typically finds it much more expedient to grind cows to hamburger than even milk them for all that they are worth. Workers’ humanity routinely suffers the analogous outcome. Creativity that cannot be easily plugged into the machine is ignored, discounted, or actively stifled. In this poem, the sheer stupidity and foolishness of a system that fails to adapt to the unfathomable creativity of the human spirit is represented by the rhetorical question that is the title: Can she be eunuch? Beside the overlayed meaning of the pun eunuch/unique, the definitional absurdity of a female being a eunuch (a castrated male) illustrates how the machine fundamentally misunderstands and misuses the very people it is alleged to serve. The machine is indiscriminate in its castration! Of coarse, such crudeness does serve some people, just not workers within the system. Even though a system well designed to incorporate human creativity and eccentricities could unleash incalculable efficiencies and productivity AND be well aligned with the desires and needs of each of those working within such a system, the capitalist system is not intended to produce the greatest good, particularly the common good, but instead is geared and cogged to produce material wealth for an elite few who pull the levers of so-called industry. Private profit at the expense of human potential and the common good is the only real order of the day in capitalism. The common good is reduced to foolhardiness as it is wide open to being robbed by the capitalistic princes of virtue, greed being the organizing principle of capitalism. Human attributes not easily monetized atrophy in capitalism. Turning humans into cogs for personal profit may very well be one of the better definitions of evil. Robbing others of their God-given creativity and eccentric passions for a few bucks and a cynical acceptance of a diminished humanity is a pathetic way of honoring the countless gifts humanity brings to the world. Courageous creativity, the bold commitment and determination to find a way to be who you were created to be, is the answer to the dehumanizing capitalistic machine. Reveling in the infinitely greater portion of life that is not easily monetized assures a home and hearth for your own humanity and all those who take the time to be present to such gifts. May you find your unique passions and the courage to boldly follow them in their many serendipitous consummations.
Check out these Cool RELATED POSTS:
POEM: Innocence — An Owed In A Sense Her innocence Was immune to their dis ease As be wilder And a tempt However tempered Only to be Dis missed As just A guile His innocence Deified awe bravery In the face Of accusations summoned As subdude As never a cur to them Posing the quest in Guise will Be guise Her bosom leaped […]...
POEM: Breath of Fresh Heir Each mourning Brings that which is light Though wanting to rest As the whirled spins under my feet I am Still Razed Too my feat Standing on Perhaps a singular word Mysteriously helled Together In God-ordained gravity Until that thirst Breath of fresh heir As awe is knew This poem is about coming out of […]...
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