Posts Tagged ‘Anarchy’

Ever Wonder Why Time Doesn’t Go Backwards?

Sunday, August 17th, 2008

I used to want to be able to go back in time. I was convinced as an early pubescent teen that I could find a time portal and go. I was convinced that ancient Crete had one, That was why the Minoans seemed to be so advanced with running water no need for walls around their cities, seemingly amazing atheletic skills (bull leaping as a sport) and what seemed to be a feminist religion. The Etruscans of a generation later seem to have inherited some of their same talents, and bequethed much of their skill in architechture, the arts and divination upon the Romans who seemed to be positioned to get it from all sides, the Greeks to the east, Etruscans to the North, Phonecians to the south and Iberio-celts to the west. But I am diverging from my story.
Ever since those days in the flying saucer, I felt different in a new way. I mean I always felt a little different, what with us having a horse stable in the middle of a growing New York suburb, with all the challenges that farm life brings while being enticed by the wonders of modern civilization. I felt like I grew up on the cusp of two worlds. The saucer experience made me feel like an agent of change, I was fed information that went directly into my subconsious mind. I was barely aware of what was happening over those three nights. The days passed like a dream and as soon as I could I would go home and to bed so that I could continue my experience with those cartoon people who were joking with me and then making me watch those videos, or whatever they were since they were not in any language that I could understand. Images with herioglypic symbols beamed into my brain. I doubt if I was litteraly transported into a space ship, Most likely I was in some kind of a trance and was taken into some other plane of existence in an etherial body, My normal body was probably simply in bed. But I was not aware of that, I was aware of being in some kind of easy chair and being in a round room with seats on the edges with a bunch of people who looke like cartoon charactors. I was strapped in, not litteraly but I could not move, and I watched what they fed me through some kind of light beam, although from time to time they would make reasuring noises to make sure I was not freaking out. Then in the morning I would get up and go to school and it was like I was not there. I remember one game of dodge ball were I barely made the effort to dodge, it simply didn’t matter to me, all I wanted was to get back home so I could go back and I did for three nights in a row and then it was over and it simply became another one of those strange memories.
But that is not what I want to write about. I am interested in time travel. And when I was about 11 or 12 that was what I wanted to do, go back in time. So I lived and breathed ancient Crete for weeks on end, thinking if I focused enough on it, that it would happen. Or that I would discover a path. I read a lot of ancient history and science fiction and devoured encylopedias and dictionaries and year books at that time. I remember there was a show called the Sons of Hercules on around that time and I freaked myself once while watching it. I was sure I was entering that world. It was about the same time as the Minoans, a little after, just before the Trojan Wars, probably in about 1200 BC or there abouts, and as I watched this show, they were fighting a Hydra or some such creature, I felt like I was becoming drawn into the action…it was almost like the experience of the UFO a couple of years earlier, but this was scarier. I remember I ran outside to reasure myself that this world was still here, and went up to my mom to make sure she was here, she was cleaning up the tac, the saddles and bridals we used when riding horses.
I then returned to watch the show and felt this erie feeling again, like I was being pulled apart molecule by molecule so that I could be reassembled in another world. It was like entering a cavern, or a twilight zone and everything was drained of color, simplified into black and white patterns. I became afraid and resisted. I ran outside again and then the spell or whatever it was lifted. It was the regular world again, more or less, but it took a while before I was able to forget that experience.
After my dog was hit by a car while I was in Catholic Catechism class training for my Confirmation, I quit the Catholic Church, I felt that if the Catholic God could not watch my dog while I was in their class, then it wasn’t much of an omnipotent god. I took stuff like that personally.
Later I developed a series of practices, exercises and rituals that I would use to attempt a more controlled movement but nothing happened.
I then developed my own sex magic, inventing a narative about a post nuclear holocaust world in which i was some kind of slave, while I masturbated. Sometimes it would go on for hours.
At that time I discovered a talent for telling run on stories of the top of my head. It would be called rap now. Other kids thought it was cool. Parents thought there was something wrong so I quickly learned not to do it in front of them.
Not long after that, when I was in 8th grade I made my break with the military and decided that the bombing of North Vietnam was wrong. I had been keeping a scrap book of newspaper clippings about the war there for about 3 years by then and was pretty knowledgeable. I made my declaration at the bus stop in the morning when Johnston made it public. That was my first overtly political act. By the time the events of 1968 were exploding I was an avid would be participant. But I was too young and the best I could do was read the books I found at a newly opened head shop/book store next to the train station and my junior high school. I remember being most impressed with the Marquis De Sade. I read as much of his unexpurgated Grove Press Editions that I could. Mostly in the store since I didn’t have money to buy them.
I was only looking for an avenue. In the fall I joined a group that was attempting to start a school sponsored underground paper. It hadn’t got off the ground by the end of the school year and I realized that the school was simply stalling us.
When I discovered a tutorial group in the spring of 69, I joined them. It was started by a rich senior, Miles Garrety, who had just come back from France where his parents were diplomats. We wer supposed to teach inner city kids in the projects. It was a liberal group and lots of cute girls were involved. I thought I might get lucky, but all I did get was intimidated by the older ghetto kids who threatened us when we were waiting for our rides back to the suburbs.
That summer I was turned on to pot and hashish and heroin. I went to NY City on my own and wandered the west and east village, mostly on 8th street and St Marks Place. I saw chanting Hari Krishnas for the first time and was hussled of all my money by scam artists. I ended up sleeping on the roof tops and missed out on Woodstock. I could have gone there instead but I wanted to be where the action was in the city,,, if I had only known.
The next day I learned to pan handle and met a girl fresh off the train from California. I had my chance, but I ended up going home. I had pockets full of what I thought was acid and pot. It turned out to be water purification tablets and oregano with a tiny bit of pot mixed in. I was able to trade it with a pot desperate musician who kept a horse at our place for a duce bag of smack. My first experience was riding stoned on smack galloping across a field. I felt like Persus on Pegasus. I had just turned 15.
When I returned to high school I was ready for action. I felt like I was not a little kid anymore. I had been to the city. A gay son of a cop that kept a horse at our place had fronted me hash to sell for him in school and I hooked up with a kid who had just moved from the city who was serious about starting a real underground paper. He got me connected to the local radical group in Bridgeport, AIM, American Independent Movement, a collective of communists and independent radicals. They gave us access to the radical media, and most of all a press willing to print underground paper.
We started a student union, pressed for changes in the dress code, a smoking lounge and freedom of speech. We helped organize the Moratorium against the war and participated in that demonstration. We got our paper out “Glass Onion” with the first cover story about the murder of Fred Hampton, a Black Panther in Chicago.
A controversy over that issue came up over the use of the word “MotherFucker”. The liberals thought it was too strong a word. The Radicals thought it was only appropriate in the face of murder. The split came and the liberals got the student union, the radicals the paper. I was with the radicals, along with my buddy from the city, Glenn Davis who later joined the Communist Party and Jay Gilden, whose dad had written the book “Hurry Sundown” while working as a steel worker. He was able to move to the suburbs with the success of that book. Jay and Glenn were my inner city buddies who taught me the ropes. Bill Ard was the leader of the AIM Chapter in Bridgeport, he later became active in one of the Maoist groups CPML, in the later seventies. I remember he told me once on one of my trips back from Colorado, that at some point I would have to settle down and take a stand. He was also convinced that the CPML was the party to bring about the revolution. By that time, the late seventies I could tell he was clearly delusional. But we all had our dreams.
I wanted to change the world. I was introduced to the little red book by mao and we had classes in womans liberation, in gay rights, and in maoism at the AIM house in Bridgeport.
My family was forced to to move that winter, from Fairfield on the commuter line to NYC. to Monroe, a little country town 30 miles from nowhere. We lost the lease on our farm, my uncle was forced to sell the place by his greedy wife, who soon thereafter divorced him and took the money and ran. We took the horses to a small farm in the country town and I experienced the cultural shock of stepping back in time. Here was a place where there were guys dressed straight out of Rebel Without a Cause. They were greasers as we called them because of the pomade they put in their hair to make it stick up in a point like Elvis in the 50’s. They hated hippies, blacks and were in favor of the war in Vietnam. They drank beer and hung out at a hamburger joint on the road to the hinterland city of Newtown where a mental institution was that radical kids and dopers were taken by their parents in leu of reform school or juvenile prison.
It was in this town a working class suburb where steel workers, and cops lived. It was a place where the hich school had a bomb scre almost every day, not because anyone was particularly against anything but because kids liked pranks. It was fun to disrupt there were very few students there tracked for college, most kids expected decent paying factory jobs that demanded only a modicom of education. When I led the students in a fish cheer they happily went along. We were in the auditorium to get our lecture about how bomb scares were not funny when the administrators were taking too long, I asked the other kids if they wanted to do it, most were up for it except the ones I most counted on, my artsy hippie girlfriend and her friends. They thought it would go on their permanant record and make it hard to get into college. A quick lesson in class.
Later that year I got in trouble with the greasers when I gave a Black Panther newspaper to the girlfriend of the leader of their gang. They grabed me on the way to my nightly detention, I had a years worth after about a month, and threw me in the mens room where three of them trounced me. I went home that night determined to study Karate and Judo. I also quickly discovered that the faculty was divided between the left and the right even more than the student body. In a town that size the heads and liberals partied together, teachers brought the alcohal and students brought the pot. We would go to a teachers house and as long as we didn’t tell the parents who would rat out the teachers it was cool. And it was.
When the greasers started turning on the next summer they let their hair grow long, and I became their buddy. The closer some of them came to draft age, the more they thought about the war in Vietnam and begain to think about how they were not getting student deferments, they where not fortunate sons like the Creedence Clear Water Revival song said. I reviewed them for the underground paper we put out there called “Creation”. It had to have an uplifting name to get the artsy types on board. We used the same press in New Haven where my AIM buddies had a chapter. My spanish teacher’s husband was head of that chapter. I was invited to parties at thier house. They had the good acid and it was at a party in Long Island where we went to the McKnights summer home, and I had my first DMT trip where I was truely out of my body for about 3 hours.
I had been invited by my spanish teacher/lover, who because she was in an open relationship with her husband, I could be with her openly and it did not bother him. He was the first hippie I met who would keep the toilet door open so you could talk while he took a dump. Modesty was decadent and counter revolutionary. I was learning from these true members of the sixties generation. I barly had time for the kids my own age except to recruit them to go to the panther trials in New Haven. We would skip school and a couple of car loads of kids would drive down there, Pete Seeger would sing folk songs to us like “Which Side Are You On” Arlo Guthrie would serenade us with his Alices Restaruarnt and we would sit in the court room and watch the battle between rival lawyers.
When at that party in Long Island, Alan McKnight, the husband of my lover, was also a descendent of the family and filthy rich, he didn’t have to work, so I played the professional radical game, with a house in the suburbs, his wife taught Spanish in my High School and he taught revolution at the radical printers in town, and we all partied at their house and at their summer home.
Someone passed around the pipe full of DMT and I got enough to send me to another world. I watched this universe disolve into a tiny ball and then go pop. When I came out of that I was floating about 5 feet above my head and the clock was merrily spinning backwards and fowards. I was adrift on the eddies of the time river, in a whirlpool where I was watching things that happened later in the day and things that happened earlier. It was a bit confusing and when someone handed me a plate of chicken necks and pig feet, I had to play with my arms like a pupeteer, to get them to work. It was like there was one current that brought me back to the morning when people were going to the beach or the sauna. Then there was another current where they were going to the beach again or repeating what I had seen before or were doing it backwards. It was not scary but it was confusing and I do remember when I finaly was able to walk I asked people if it was now or then or to be…They understood I was tripping and didn’t mind, although when I asked if we were in the land of the gods, some thought that was too much. They never would give me the good acid. I had to go to other sources for that. Probably because they did not want to be responcible if I flipped out. I was still 15 at the time.
Those were some fun times. Back in the primitive back woods of Connecticut.

Blame

Saturday, August 9th, 2008

I woke up today feeling rather down, I was even wondering why I continued to study history as much as I do. Nobody is going to pay me a nice per-diem for giving a lecture on the reasons why the Roman masses did not come to the defense of the empire against the barbarians in the 5th century. The citizens of Athens for example did rally to defend their city against the barbarian incursions in the 3rd century. What happened in the ensuing two centuries? Christianity became the state religion. Barbarian generals and their armies recruited en masse to replace Roman armies lost in the wars of the 4th century. The cities lost the autonomy they had traditionally held. People forced to stay in their careers; the empire restructured into smaller more minutely governed districts, it became something of a bureaucratic nightmare. I feel that people lost the civic pride they had once had, with their local gods and city governments and pride in place. Instead, we had the first major attempt at a controlled society, where initiative came from the top down, and it resulted in a world of passive observers who were more interested in evading the ever more onerous taxes and duties than in rallying to the representative of god on earth. Christianity may have humanized certain aspects of the culture, ending gladiatorial games, but it did not end slavery, it did not encourage independent thinking, nor did it encourage civic pride, rather another worldly expectation of the coming of the kingdom. However, nobody is going to ask me to give that talk, so I felt like I was wasting my time this morning and I felt like since nobody in particular needed me that now would be a good time to give myself up to a noble cause, if I could find one. However, whatever, I wrote this bit below as a response to an article in “Anarchy: Desire Armed” magazine that I decided to share it with you dear reader. Enjoy.

“Blame is a balm and since the beginning of recorded history, there has been plenty to go around. Before that, we can only surmise based on our understanding of human nature. Humans like to think they understand the world around them. Even when they really have no idea, and especially when they worked to death by the mega machine, they like to believe that they are not doing it because they are duped wage slaves. Because they are supporting their families, or that hot car they like to drive, or that cool sidekick they use to text messages to their friends.
Living in Los Angeles, there is a constant barrage of images of consumption. The need to keep up appearances promulgated more here than almost anywhere else it is in the world. I find myself constantly ensnared in it in subtle ways, even as a conscious objector to consumerism it happens. I left San Francisco, that hot bed of neo leftist radicalism in the early 1990’s to seek an existence that was more in tune with the majority of Americans. I felt that it was essential to take positions that would be understandable to most Americans and not just written off as San Francisco hippie dreaming.
I did not want to fall into the narcissistic trap of finding only people I agreed with around me, and then arguing with them over nitpicking details of program for an imaginary revolutionary state. I also wanted to get away from the easy access to sex, drugs and rock n’ roll that had led me to what I considered a decadent lifestyle.
I did not lead an easy life, but I did not feel challenged in a constructive manner by things like evading the authorities in drug deals. Therefore, I came to belly of the beast. LA and even though I hated it here for the first few years and even returned to the Bay Area briefly, I have mostly stuck it out here and done my bit to try to not blame the stupidity of the average American for the mess we as a nation state, and as a planetary species are in. No I blame myself first and they I look to the masters running the machine, those who benefit most from the way it is now.
Myself I blame for not being consistently dedicated enough to the cause of human liberation and interspecies survival. I blame the rulers for deliberately attempting to keep the mass of humanity in a state of zombie like sleep walking, only conscious enough to perform the simple tasks required for the maintenance of the machine. It is easy to bury oneself in a personal life of family, friends, consumption and then worry about the subsequent debt that comes with the various ensnarement set up to keep the slaves busy at the machine. We do not have literal chains on most of our feet, keeping us in place; there are the more subtle mechanisms of debt. The propaganda machine creates artificial needs. The systems of inflated value makes the basics of life, home, transport, clothing, food and medical care so damn expensive. Unless you are willing to live like a primitivist or a homeless person, you are chained to the machine. Just as much as an ancient galley slave was in the days of the Venetian Republic or the Roman Empire.
The experience in a jail cell forces an individual into meditation or insanity. Personally, I have found my short times in jail to be relaxing, I got free food, all the vegetables I could eat by trading the meat I do not eat with the other inmates, a comfortable cot, some reasonably decent reading material and plenty of conversation with others incarcerated like myself. I could read, exercise and with a little effort get the writing materials to record my thoughts. I even found time for meditation, I did not have to work for my daily bread or my shelter, it was easy to see why so many drug addicts and homeless see jail as a time to rest and recuperate. It is the only socialist institution in the US outside of the military.
That is not my point, my point is that blame rests with all of us to the degree that once made aware of the nature of the machine that we do not immediately and irrevocably break from it. I find myself in a state of compromise, I work to have a place that my girlfriend and her child can come to and feel comfortable, or that visitors can come to and feel at ease. I also work to afford a vehicle that is reliable for transport to the said work place. On the other hand my insistence not to use my brainpower to find ways to get over on others by participating in the stock market or becoming a manager and thus directing the oppression of others has kept me somewhat less blameworthy. Nor have I become an owner and thus directly having a stake in the machine. This has left me in the position of being as vulnerable as every other working stiff in America is. That vulnerability keeps me from flights of fantasy about what is possible in today’s world. It also keeps me very aware of the fact that the average person is not that far from economic instability, and in fear of being one of the homeless. The state of fear is something exacerbated since Reagan and his ilk won the war against State Socialism in the Soviet Empire. He used up what was left of the American socialist state to pay for the military build up and sacrificed the American poor for the sake of extreme capitalism, He succeeded and now we live in a world that has even more social instability than ever.
President Clinton succeeded in demolishing the remainders of the welfare state and under Bush. Virtually the rest of the government privatized to ensure that even if an aspiring socialist did get into office, there would be almost no mechanism left to restore.
That leaves us in a privatized permanent war state with a few elites living in super wealth, possibly 1% of the world population. They have a ring of loyal bought out assistants, possibly another 5% and a reserve of another 5% that is generally the loyal and so-called disloyal opposition. However, when called to serve, without much hesitancy, they jump to their master’s voice. There is another 1% the permanent opposition, who opposes and only wish to see the current ruling class destroyed. Then there is the rest of the world. The 88% who have almost no stake in the system but used by it, possibly up to 18% of them are in the work force, and there is another 20% in the part timers, illegals, reserves and those in training. Fifty percent, simply the wretched of the earth surviving as they can, or as children or elders, the insane, and the fortunate few who are still untouched, or what have you. That is how I see the world at this time, but who knows if it is accurate, a good statistician in the hard opposition would be nice to find.
Nevertheless, we have only our selves to blame, for not helping to overthrow the system. It is only our fear that keeps us from taking things in hand, and a lack of confidence caused by the failure of other recent attempts and the fact that there are some still asleep, but that is not so much the case now, it is more and more fear than sleep that keeps most of us in our jobs. In addition, those of us, who truly are ready to rebel, are only waiting for the rest to get over their fears and to come join us. We must continue to urge them on, and even more important we must have models and ideas that will work. Otherwise, we truly have only ourselves to blame if we give up hope now that things are so close to the final crisis. We must be prepared and if not massacred in the mean time, then we may be able to move. However, there is no blame in loosing your life in a worthy cause. There is blame if you encourage others when you are not willing to take the risk yourself, or if you refuse to take a chance out of fear for your own flesh. Life is sacred, but it is only so if you are willing to give it up for a noble cause, otherwise you are just another lump of flesh. -Gary Rumor”

So that is it, are we in the end times? Who knows, but it sure feels more like it than it has in a long time until there are snakes in the road and boils on my teeth, your friend signing off.

Is History Real? Will Anarchy Replace Christianity and Communism?

Sunday, July 27th, 2008

Are we living in a universe where linear logic and historical truth can have meaning or are we in a chaotic quantum apocalyptic place where time can run backwards as well as forwards and logic and proportion has as much relevance as the abacus does to today’s computing technology? We act as if the sun rises when we very well know that the earth rotates on its axis. We act as if we are the center of the universe when we very well know that humanity is a small spec in the vastness of the cosmos.
Anyway I wrote this bit earlier today for a debate on whether or not Christians can be Anarchists and Anarchists Christians.
We can see that there is in the life of Jesus a model for rebels that do not take the tact of state seizure. He specifically stated that his kingdom was not of this world. But what was he preparing humanity for then if not a political liberation of the Jews from the domination of the Romans? It seems he was almost indifferent to the Romans and had a much stronger antipathy to the local Jewish hierarchy. These immediate dictators of the strictures that a good Jew lived by were more concerned with keeping the populace docile and in line, partially to prevent further Roman intrusion into their affairs and to keep the more radical elements among the populace from aggravating the situation and provoking a confrontation with Rome. Some may have been advocating a return to the rule of a member of Herod’s family. Others simply desired to keep things as they were with the priests left in charge of the day to day lives of the Jewish populace. At least this is my reading of Josephus, the pro roman Jewish writer of the later part of the 1st century AD. There were also Hellenic elements of the Jewish population who appreciated the Greco-Roman rule and the expanded view of the world it gave them outside the more restricted view of the Jewish priesthood. But these were more to be found among those with an economic tie to the capitalist economy that existed at that time. Capitalism, one must remember has at times been seen as a force for liberation from limiting agrarianism, although most of what we are familiar with in terms of capitalist developments have been in the last three centuries. There was a primitive capitalism in the Greco-Roman world also as well as state socialism if you accept some of Rostovtzeff’s writings about Hellenistic Egypt in particular.
But to place Jesus, if he did exist, in a historical context, is to place him in a land that had recently been taken over by direct Roman rule and had gone back and forth between rule by a Herodian descendant and that of the Roman State. The Jews had a surprising level of influence in the Roman Imperial circles considering what an insignificant area of the empire it represented.
Here was this guy advocating a general renouncing of all the rules of conduct that were being imposed on the Jewish people by a frustrated leadership caught between a rock and a hard place. This guy was not advocating fighting the Romans, but revolutionizing the Jewish religion. He was a threat to their authority, and who knew if he would become a threat to the Romans. The Romans certainly didn’t see him as a threat. He was a local problem for the priests and they were the ones who insisted on his being taken care of, especially after the episode in the temple where he kicked out the money changers. He must have seemed like some one possessed by devils or even more threatening, some one who might have been a prophet of god. In any case he was too dangerous to be allowed to go around spouting his communistic nonsense.
As it turned out the priests were not able to keep a lid on the situation and there was a revolt in the 60’s AD and the temple was destroyed, the money taken by the Romans and the enslaved resistance fighters built the Coliseum an edifice that has stood as a symbol of Roman grandeur through the centuries. Unless you believe with certain Gnostics like Philip K. Dick that we are really living in about 96 AD and the history we have lived for some 2000 years is an illusion. But then that is irrational, but based on quantum physics a possibility as the old Donavan song about electrons goes “First there is a mountain, then there is not”…
As to whether there is any reason for anarchists to be Christians, well that is for each person to decide for themselves, nobody, certainly not an anarchist could tell someone what they can or cannot believe and still call themselves an anarchist.
That may be a problem for those who romanticize the revolutionary execution of priests as was done in Spain during the revolution. But not everything anarchists have done in the past was perfect. Priest killing may have been excessive, or it may have been justified, but we cannot use past prejudices as a guide for current realities, some of the most fervent opponents to the state are Christians and they cannot be discounted by so called anarchist purists who want to relive the last six months of 1936 over and over again. We certainly do not any more than we want to relive the punk rock era with its incredibly bad music and rude posturing. I was one of its most fervent proponents at the time. We are living in a time when anarchists have taken up the mantle of leading the way into the Promised Land that the communists dropped. Like it or not Anarchists are the new Moses’ and they have got to get over certain childish attitudes if they are to take on the serious business of destroying mammon.”

Personally I believe that there is a separation taking place, those who insist upon maintaining the old order are getting their way in spades. The rich are getting so impossibly rich that it will soon become evident to even the most simplistic believer in getting material wealth, that money does not buy happiness, it only brings a certain level of comfort that can rapidly turn to discomfort, as the cartoon about the pig forced to eat pies until he exploded was a graphic reminder of the evils of consumerism gone wild. Stewardship is the key; we must take our place among the elders before they all die out from our consciousness. They do not live on the same plane in three dimensions, they are perceived in another level of reality, and life only makes sense on that higher plane or alternate reality. It certainly doesn’t make dollars and sense. Leaders like Jesus understood that, but how many of his followers did? Certainly it is not those believers in prosperity Christianity. Praying for material wealth is a child’s game, not something for an adult, unless he or she has been deprived all their lives, or forced to live in fear. An adult who has any self respect understands that they are here to provide purpose, that is what a real anarchist does, provides a focus of purpose in a world where purpose and focus has disappeared in the noise of consumerism. Let us take some time out to listen to the sound of the voice that nature has been calling to us, and go on our own vision quests and ask for meaning and truth and purpose in a world on the brink of going mad with materialism.
Let us take care of those less fortunate, give every human the basics for life, a shelter, food, clothing and medicine, and then let the values in our society change, so that it is meaning and purpose we seek, not wealth and position. Simple enough, Lol.


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