Animals in Katrina's wake

Hurricane Katrina left countless animals abandoned and starving on the streets. They need help too. Please write congress and the senate and insist that federal rescue operations include them. Also ask that animal welfare organizations be allowed into the area to do their work.

Contact
Congressional representatives
Senators

Donate
Humane Society Disaster Relief Fund
North Shore Animal League of America

International Fund for Animal Welfare
People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals

NBC interview of Aaron Broussard in Jefferson Parrish

Watch this interview with Aaron Broussard, president of Jefferson Parrish in New Orleans. Remember it when you're being inundated by the lies the Bush Administration has launched on the American people. If we let Bush &Co. continue in their charade then we continue to let them get away with murder. When is enough finally going to be enough? Interview.

Poetry fops

Poetry is a hard gig. It attracts snobs, fops, and experts. Most of it isn't and most po-ets aren't. In fact to call oneself a poet is to invite self-delusion, skepticism, ridicule and shame. And clueless critiques. Which brings me to the subject of my current rant.

I finally got the critique of the poems I submitted to the Nevada Arts Council fellowship panel last spring. You may remember I did not make it past the first cut. At the public judging, one of the judges, heaping praise on the winning contestant, exclaimed her socks were detonated by the line, "I have seen heaven and it looks like Paris". How can I compete? Ah well. Perhaps I am just bitter.

It is clear I did not please the judges. They wrote that they were confused and disoriented by my poems which, obviously to them, is a bad thing. I call it a good beginning but what do I know? Oh well. There's no going back. I'm doomed and nobody likes me. All rightie then. Enough throat clearing. On to the comments...

"There are some marvelous moments here. Taken as a whole, though, the poetry here is a bit uneven. There is something of the mystic-poet here; one is reminded at times of William Blake, at other times, of T.S. Eliot.

I sense no real unity in these poems. Their structure and arrangement shift from poem to poem and from moment to moment in some poems. Occasionally there is an interesting insight or moment of wisdom such as "For every prayer / there is an equal / and opposite prayer." The irregularity of the line lengths makes it seem like there is no design. The images in "Road's Eye View" are captivating, but the second stanza is confusing and disorienting. The poet seems to be focused on and oriented towards moments, some of them entrancing, but those moments don't add up to a coherent all-encompassing effect or anything one might call a theme."

Bushed by Katrina

1886

Bush golfing on Tuesday
as Katrina hits the coast.





It's part of the poet's job description to track the evolution of language ... so... it is my duty to note the evolution in the word: bush.

The word "bush", of course, is an established noun and adjective as we see in these excerpts from dictionary.com:

bush n. (bsh)

1. A low shrub with many branches.
2. A thick growth of shrubs; a thicket.
3.
a. Land covered with dense vegetation or undergrowth.
b. Land remote from settlement: the Australian bush.
4.
a. A shaggy mass, as of hair.
b. A growth of pubic hair.

adj. slang. Bush-league; second-rate.

and freedictionary.com:

bushed, adj. (bsht)
1. extremely tired;
2. exhausted;
3. very tired; "was all in at the end of the day"; "so beat I could flop down and go to sleep anywhere"; "bushed after all that exercise"; "I'm dead after that long trip" all in, beat, bushed, dead.
4. tired: depleted of strength or energy; "bushed mothers with crying babies"; "too tired to eat".

Now, given our experience with George W. Bush as our so-called "leader", the word "bush" has taken on meaning as a verb:

bushed, v. (bsht)
1. fucked: as in Katrina

bushed, v. (bsht)
1. FUCKED
a. as in: BUSHED by Katrina
b. as in: BUSHED by global warming
c. as in: BUSHED by Iraq
e. as in: BUSHED by ___, ___, ___ etc, etc...

Bush's "zero tolerance" policy

1882

Bush fiddles and golfs as the leavy breaks and people drown.












 
"I think there ought to be zero tolerance of people breaking the law during an emergency such as this — whether it be looting, or price gouging at the gasoline pump, or taking advantage of charitable giving or insurance fraud and I've made that clear to our attorney general. The citizens ought to be working together."-- George Bush

Essentially, Bush is saying "Let them eat cake" as people search for food and water from gutted, flooded, abandon stores. As usual, this billionaire loser is totally out of touch with reality. He's even got his henchman Attorney General Gonzalez "on the case". Maybe they'll send the big, bad looters to Guantanamo.

So, what was the President doing as Katrina tore through the South? Golfing and clowning around with more photo-ops. And where is the National Guard? Mired in Iraq fighting the war he lied us into. What an asshole.

Language Barrier birthday party #2

Life goes on, in spite of terrible disasters, in spite of friends and family writing me off ... when it seems better, when it seems worse ... no matter what, time and life dance on ... and today, for me, is a good day. It's the two year anniversary of the Language Barrier, my asylum outpost border crossing. It's lonely out here as usual but at least one old friend dropped by to celebrate with me today and that's one more than I expected. And outside my window, the crows in the bird park are enjoying a feast of big, black grapes and tasty peanuts. Plus, I submitted more poetry today, this time to Poetry Motel in Kailua-Kona. I love the name and had to send something to them. I've been mailing out submissions for a while now and am eagerly awaiting at least a damn rejection letter but so far no replies. Okay, off to the post office then a bike ride to the river.

Spirit Barrier

Spirit Barrier

I remember it all
the human flood
the empty chair
the calf crying
before a growling wind
lost histories leaking
through the spirit barrier
a delta of pain
draining into
a bayou of suffering.

I awake beneath
the magpie'’s beak
see it reach
for my eye
see the world
turn red and black
and white and fade.
This is not death
these quills
brushing against my breast.
I am smudged and washed
and swaddled
in the stiffening sheen
of my own blood
and readied for flight.

asha


I wrote this poem last spring. At the time I was disturbed by the some of its images but left them in because the poem insisted on it. The drawing is an excerpt from something I also did about the same time. The imagery in both is violent, but necessarily so, as they describe the time when light must find us because we cannot find it. In the wake of hurricanes Katrina and Rita it no longer seems exaggerated.

Bourbon Street cam

Waiting for Katrina

6:32

7:02

7:12

7:22

7:27

10:48

"May the roof above us never fall in
and may the friends gathered below it never fall out."

Thermodynamics, winners and losers

1877

As Albert put it, "Thermodynamics is the only physical theory of universal content which, within the framework of the applicability of its basic concepts, I am convinced will never be overthrown." Albert Einstein

In case you're wondering, here's the simple version of the three laws of thermodynamics:

• You can't win.
• You can't break even.
• You can't get out of the game.

I'm still thinking about karma and the laws of thermodynamics. They are both forms of applied science, just expressed by different cultures in different millennium. We may be a bit less subtle these days but we produce a lot of cool stuff. Anyway, my point is neither depends on faith. If I hold my hand in fire, I will get burned. It's a reaction to an action. Yes. There are fire walkers who, well, walk on fire, but I'm making a simple point. The three laws also apply to behavior. Even the Christian bible talks about karma. "As you sow, so shall you reap".

Then there are religious leaders, like Pat Robertson and all the warlord Ayatollahs, who tell their fanatic followers that all you have to do is "do it for god" and you're spared the reaction. They call it "salvation" and "forgiveness". Great for gamblers, thugs and desperate people.

Terrorists love the idea of salvation. Take Bush & Co. for example. So far they have gotten away with murder, mayhem and fabulous riches so... why stop now? The Muslim extremists are no different. Get them at any cost before they get us. Except Bush doesn't really care about getting them as much as getting their oil. In the meantime, the whole bunch has created the very situation they are fighting against. Together they have spun a collapsing maze and dragged the rest of us into it with them.

But the house always wins, and contrary to popular opinion, is not run by anyone's personal savior. I only hope it plays its trump sooner than later. For that to happen I believe we, the civilians in all this, must speak up. Simple. Just not easy.



"...if your theory is found to be against the Second Law of Thermodynamics I can give you no hope; there is nothing for it but to collapse in deepest humiliation." Sir Arthur Eddington

Impeachment ticket source

Pat Robertson - voice of the Moral "High" Ground

At the end of 2003, after several days of prayer, the Rev. Pat Robertson declared that God had told him President Bush would win re-election in a landslide. That was not God; it was Karl Rove. (But hey! What's the difference?)

He said earthquakes, tornadoes and possibly a meteor would strike Orlando, Florida, because Disney World planned to celebrate Gay Pride Month.

He said feminists, gays and abortionists were responsible for the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks on the United States.

He said that feminism "encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians."

And, in an appearance on ABC's "This Week" last spring, he said that liberal judges are a more serious threat to the nation than "a few bearded terrorists who fly into buildings."-editorial from "The Republican"

These days Pat and his medicated flock are praying for the death of all those terrible liberal Supreme Court judges and calling for the murder of Venezuela's President Hugo Chavez. I guess he knows better than hippy Jesus who called for "brotherly love". After all, times have changed. The politics of Mammon are IN, they are what's happening, and the "Eternal" Doctrine has just got to keep pace. Who better than the Right can lead us onward?

But Pat Robertson is more than just a kook extremist. He is a leading spokesman for the Christian right and a member of Bush's most intimate inner circle. These are the people that claim to be on the moral high ground. Bush & Co. excrete a scandal a day. When is it going to catch up with them? Here in the good old US of A, where people are fat, drugged, and plugged-in to TV like robots at a recharging station, it's easy to think never.

But there are laws above and beyond the ones being broken by these thugs. For one, karmic laws, i.e., the law of cause and effect as in every cause has an effect. Remember that one? Bush and his buddies have gotten away with outrageous lies, crimes and failures but the effects must, in some way, come back to haunt them. Cause and effect are inseparable.

Bush said recently that he's merely having a little PR problem lately, referring to his staggering disapproval ratings. He trusts Karl can fix anything but Rove's game of smoke and mirrors will only stretch so far. Plus he's having a little problem with Plamegate at the moment. It might take thirty years. It might take a hundred but the truth will come out. On the other hand, our Prozac Nation might just wake up, smell the bullshit and do something about Bush before the bastard leaves office. Stranger things have happened. How sweet that would be!

photo from Pushin Daisies

POV

Crow though my window screen,
another point of view.

Mad Alex and my right arm

Poor Alex! He has gone mad because his owner Big Fat Del (my neighbor) never lets him out of his cage any more. I took care of Alex last week when Big Fat Del the drunk was out of town. Alex strikes as soon as anyone gets near his cage. I could barely get his bowls out to clean and refill them. He did manage to draw blood once when I, sentimental fool, hand feed him some peanuts. I thought he would instinctively understand that I am his friend. He understands all right. For all the mushy love ya's, Alex knows which side of the bars I'm on, Big Fat Del's and no smiles or peanuts change that.

These days, besides being in a boiling rage, Alex is now also bulimic. He eats then makes himself vomit. I keep telling Big Fat Drunk Del's wife that Alex should go to a sanctuary. She nods and says pathetic things like, "Well, Del used to let Alex out". I say send Alex to a sanctuary and put Big Fat Del in the cage with no booze. Fair is fair.

Oh well. The world will have to take care of itself for a few days. I'm off to Reno to talk to the doctor who will be doing the surgery on my neck and elbow this Thursday. He is going to remove the bone spurs on the worst of the 3 ruptured disks in my neck and re-route the nerve in my elbow as the pressure on it is beginning to cause some permanent damage. I am, after all, rather fond of my right arm.

Reality gap messes with Texas

1862
Shooter Larry Mattlage's truck

Larry Mattlage doesn't want Cindy Sheehan and her supporters protesting the war on Iraq in his neighborhood so he menaced them with his shotgun. When a reported asked him why he did it he said, "figure it out for yourself". He told police that he was "just gettin' ready fer dove season, officer".

Then Larry Northern attached a steel bar to the back of his pickup truck and plowed over the flags and roadside crosses, crushing the names of American soldiers killed in Iraq into the dirt. What do you want to bet he's one of those guys who rattles off "ga bless 'merica"at the drop of a cowboy hat?


I doubt many of these glib "patriots" have kids in Iraq. Bush certainly doesn't but he has no problem recommending other parents encourage their children to join the military. He should insist that his drunken daughters to do a stint in Iraq. They could use a taste of reality.





Too bad Dubya doesn't have time to meet with Cindy but he says he needs to ride his bike. After all, he is on vacation, again. Even Lance Armstrong dropped by the estate. And besides... you know how Republicans are. They can't take much reality.

Mission accomplished?

Pool Party

I held a pool party at the bird park the other day. Everyone had a great time...

and keep coming back for more!

Another revolting development

1853

Village Voice
"Last week, however, Comey announced he was leaving the Justice Department to become the general counsel of the defense contractor Lockheed Martin. In his absence, Associate Attorney General Robert McCallum is the most likely choice to be named as the acting deputy attorney general, and thus the man overseeing special prosecutor Patrick J. Fitzgerald's work. But McCallum has been a close personal friend of President Bush. Justice Department officials are once more grappling as to how to best assure independence for investigators. And Democrats on Capitol Hill are unlikely not to question any role in the leak probe by McCallum."

If you're at all conscious, you have at least heard of Plamegate. You get extra credit for knowing that Fitzgerald is the prosecutor in the case. He's investigating the administration's outing of CIA undercover agent Valerie Plame. Now with McCallum's appointment, Rove has direct control over the prosecutor investigating him. Too bad for truth and justice. No surprise though. These days it's either "truth and justice" or the "American way". Can't have both. With the radical right, they are mutually exclusive. McCallum will do whatever Karl tells him to do, which is exonerate him and the rest of the administration's treasonist nazi bastards. Revolting.

Road's end

At first I rode aimlessly around town, then at last came upon the intriguing and lovely Gasoline Alley. Naturally I took it, enjoying its 10 foot hollyhocks and weathered shacks. It was a wonderful distraction but unfortunately, very short. However, in another few blocks and I found myself near the cemetery, a place I'd been meaning to visit ever since we moved here four years ago. I generally feel peaceful in graveyards. It's one of the few places outside the fray. So in I went.

I recognized some of the names. Stodick has a park named after them, the Ruthenstroths a particular part of the valley but I was drawn to a lonely looking white picketed grave in the back corner. It turned out to be the resting place of a boy who died when he was fifty days old. I'm guessing that his parents have since left the valley because the paint was curled, pealing and half gone. I sat nearby and watched the clouds turn from dark gray to pale lavender and finally got centered. After a while I took out my notebook and finished a poem I've been working on for months called "Presence of Mind". It's part of a longer piece that's really perplexing me so making progress was a huge relief.

By this time, the Pine Nut mountains in the east were ghost white beneath a purple sky. Before I left, I strolled around a bit and read some of the tombstones. The saddest was a tiny little grave from the beginning of last century. It was piled with rocks the size of small fruits and measured from the tips of my fingers to the curve of my elbow. It had a cheap aluminum marker the size of a postcard; a pauper's grave. The individual letters were slotted in rather than engraved. The first two, U and n, had fallen out. I looked among the rocks but couldn't find them. The marker simply said "_ _ known Baby Boy".

This evening the clouds were an astounding shade of tangerine. Even the dirt reflected their glow.

Dog days

I'm frazzled from going in circles all day so I'm off for an evening bike ride. Maybe it will help.

Got gas? Got a hundy?

I took this photo in LA a couple of weeks ago. I posted it then as part of an article about the La Brea Tar Pits but I think it's worthy of it's own space. Put it in the Future Nostalgia category.

This particular station was not in the Brentwood area or the Beverly Hills district. It was in a regular neighborhood, as in "previews of coming distractions". Break em in gently, I suppose. While everyone's still discussing the rumor it's already a fact. We'll be happy to buy gas for three dollars a gallon when we see it's on its way to four.

This photo is actually part of the memorabilia of the Bush administration. It's a nostalgic look at cheaper gas, when the nasty elixir was still under $5 a gallon. Don't think that can happen? I just filled up my "fuel efficient" car yesterday and it cost me nearly $30. It used to cost me $10. Before Bush & Co. took over. I can't imagine what people are paying to fill up their ridiculous SUVs. Four, five hundy a month?

I hear Toyota can't keep up with the demand for Prius, their hybrid gas/electric car. We saw several of them when we were in LA. I hear they are particularity desirable because they are hackable. With a few tweaks they can be turned into a fully electric vehicle. Sweet.

Australia's secret shame

People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals have called a 45-day moratorium on the campaign against mulesing mutilations and live-sheep exports to allow the Australian Wool Growers Association time to reach an agreement with its members. According to AWGA chair Chick Olsson, talks with PETA have established "workable criteria, that will ultimately benefit all, wool growers, retailers and consumers as well as animal welfare concerns."

I certainly hope so. Mulesing is the process of cutting flesh from the bodies of unmedicated sheep. It defines barbarism but not if you go by Woolisbest sanitized version of the process. Like most propaganda, their argument is based on fact, but like all propaganda, it squints at reality, obscures the argument and omits crucial facts. PETA offers a far more realistic view of mulesing.

What the industry film omits is the fact that they don't anesthetize the animal first. The sheep and lambs are aware, terrified and in a lot of unnecessary pain. They call their technique "surgical". Big whoop. Nazi "doctors"called their death camp experiments "surgical". They splice in the beatific faces of peaceful lambs hoping we will assume this is how lambs look as they are being hacked.

The agreement also raises the standard of care given sheep while shipping them to the slaughterhouse. Ironic, isn't it? As it stands, after the sheep are no longer profitable to the wool merchants, they are crammed aboard multilayered, open deck, disease ridden ships, with little or no access to food or water and must endure a weeks- or months-long journey through all weather extremes to their awaiting deaths. Along the way, sick and injured sheep are routinely ground up in a mincer while fully aware.

Unfortunately the AWGA does not represent the majority of  in Australia who are still opposed to giving up mulesing or medicating the sheep during the process. They'd rather cling to their oh-so-conveniently ignorant past. Old ways die hard. Ask the sheep.

Nugget's hot August night

I can only take so much of even my own ire, the yelling camp to camp, idea clashing against bloody idea, the frenzy of who is right, who is wrong. Like they say, what counts is who is left. Here I have to take the long view. "It" won't go like any of us say, think or feel, right or wrong. Of that I am sure. That's how life is and for me that's a relief.

When I get sick of it all, as I do on a very regular basis, I think about our sun burning out, imploding on itself and becoming ... a dark star? a black hole? an event horizon? ... and I visualize the atoms of our bodies, worlds and "possessions"..... being drawn back into Maha Vishnu's body, perhaps not forever because the idea of forever is a material calculation, but for longer than any of us fussing around in this shit storm can ever have any hope of even beginning to comprehend or respect. It helps me get my perspective back.

So...it's a lovely, peaceful hot August night here in Nevada, and I'm taking a break from it all with my friends Nugget and Delicata. You can join us if you like for Nugget's midnight adventure.