In Praise of VOLUME

" If my discourse puts a sour taste in your mouth, then so be it. That's what real life tastes like, my friend."

That summed up my reply to a commenter of Buffalo's who suggested that we work in the shadows of politeness and decorum to right our wrongs, lest we suggest to our enemies that we do not think in lockstep with one another. This is the same mindset I equate with those who received reports of abuse at Abu Graive, of mental illness manifest in the ranks of Irag war veterans, and decided that such things best be dealt with in the shadows, not out in the open where the horror of examination can test their validity. Tyrants and oppressive regimes all over the world wonder at our relatively transparent style of governance, puzzled that our leaders would tolerate dissent and not crush opposition, even mere vocal protest. They think us fools, and then lick their wounds in frustration when push comes to shove and they come out on the losing end of confrontations with us. At least that's the way it used to be.

Now I can imagine Vladamir Putin smiling when he reads the papers and finds that our president, an elected leader of the freest nation on Earth, convinces the coddled and self-important American people that they don't need to know what he does in the name of protecting them. I can imagine the premiere of the "Peoples" Republic of China grinning ear to ear when he is told the lengths a conservative republican will go to to keep up the pretense that he's fully in control of a losing proposition, that proposition being that you can shove democracy down the throat of a sectarian tribal society egged on by terrorists who win wars by having us search little old ladies for bombs before they get on a plane. Yes, such stories are quite telling. They tell those who value power over freedom that there is more than one way to stifle dissent. Just claim that one is not "patriotic", or even suggest we love our enemies more than ourselves when we raise our voices louder than we should in polite society. Yes, my friends, when one is witness to a fire in a crowded theatre, these people suggest that we should whisper "fire", rather than be boorish and unsophisticated enough to bellow it out in no uncertain terms that it's due to get hot around here real quick if we don't do something NOW.

Yes, I am fully aware of how this mechanism called democracy works. We elect people to represent us. They make promises to us concerning what they will do in our name if they are elected. If they do something that seems totally counter to what they promised during their campaigns, we are expected to write letters to them asking them to reconsider their positions. However, lately it seems that all bets are off once the winning vote is tabulated. It seems that special interests pay more than our votes are worth, and more often than not our "representatives" loyalties are sold to the highest bidder. However, there is a line that even in this day and age a politician will not cross, and the press keeps a close eye on that line, daring them to cross it. That does not, however, keep them from trying to do so, and it is in the shadows of double talk, deception, and the cloak of blind patriotism that these outrages occur. I truly believe that most Americans (well, nowadays maybe 53% at least) have had their fill of these naked emperors assuming that we are ALL sheep who can be led around by our noses. And they are getting more and more vocal, which apparently still offends those who believe that wife beaters should be dealt with by their buddies in privacy rather than paraded out in the criminal justice system where they should be dealt with openly for all to see. We can't pass judgment on what we can't see. We can't tell our sons and daughters to go and do their patriotic duty and serve their country proudly if all they are really doing is being fed to a meat-grinder with an insatiable appetite that can't be sated.

Remain politely silent and gracious if you must. Bear your grief equally in silence, for if you didn't have the guts to speak out before your sacrifice, you have precious little right to complain after the fact. Early on, in the days after 9/11, I might have allowed you your eagerness to be hyper-patriotic in your justified outrage. These days, however, I personally cannot allow you the excuse the Germans gave after Hitler committed suicide in his comfortable little bunker as the Russians closed in on him. "We didn't know......." Like HELL you didn't!

Go Tell the Spartans.......

I've been listening to NPR's "Talk of the Nation", which is examining allegations that the army has been "shit-canning" soldiers who display or claim symptoms of PTSD when they've returned from Iraq and begin to act out. This is an age-old problem that has haunted the army from day one. There is a "code" of the warrior in which there is a silent admonition that one either toughs it out (be a MAN, you fucking pussy) or you get tossed out, without the benefit of an honorable discharge or honestly for mental health reasons. It is ingrained in the leadership all the way down to the platoon level that the army hasn't got time to nurse maid pansies, which is what a man is if he can't take the horror and bloodshed that comes with combat. It's also in the Army's best interest to not have to pay benefits to ex-service members who are moved out for "failure to perform".

OK, yea, if this was Sparta, where one is raised from the get-go to be a warrior, I guess I could accept the idea that once your toy soldier is broken, you don't try and glue him back together, you just slit his throat and put him out of his misery. This is not Sparta. We aren't sending Spartans to Iraq. We are sending hormone driven, glory seeking patriotic American kids just out of high school to fight a war with enemies who blend in with the "civilians" when they are not to busy killing each other. Our God-fearing, moralistic society tries to instill in it's youth moral values, which do not include killing people, yet we expect to wipe out that conditioning, install new software, and send them out to do one job better than anybody...KILL.
Problem is, you have a hard time killing the right people at the right moment when you don't know who or where your target is or you just drove over a remote controlled bomb, the favored weapon of people who know they'll lose if they fight you on even terms, mano-o-mano. So, they manage to learn the nuances of surviving bizaro-world for an entire tour of duty and manage to return home with all their limbs, and now we expect them to clean their lockers with toothbrushes, do lots of paperwork, go home and eat dinner with the wife and kids, and not kill them. Yes, most can do this. Most of us can compartmentalize these things and function properly, although I haven't a clue as to why. I've had to learn to do it myself, both in the service and out here in the real world, if you can call a hospital the real world. However, I know damn well that for the grace of Bob go I. You put enough stress on someone, they WILL act out, and ignoring it by blaming them is NOT how you fix it.

Another thing you need to consider is that this is supposed to be an ALL-VOLUNTEER army. The first thing you tell these kids is that serving their country is NOT pretty, is NOT glorious, is NOT easy. Boot camp instructors need to evaluate these kids during and AFTER they have been through boot camp, and need to ask these kids AGAIN......are you cut out for this? Be DAMN sure this kid didn't come in and remain a slacker or on the edge of going buggy. Then, if it turns out that they aren't superhuman after all after a nightmare tour of crazy land, pull them out, give them treatment, and ask them if they want to remain a soldier. If they do, you suspend their tour for the duration of treatment , and start the clock again when they can return to duty. It's only fair. But at least you still have a soldier. If the treatment cannot return them to full fit duty, then you let them go, with our thanks. So what if you are convinced they are pulling the wool over your eyes just to get out? LET THEM! If this nation cannot field an army of warriors who WANT to be and are CAPABLE of doing the dirty work, then we have a hollow tiger, and that is NOT a good thing.

We took kids off the streets during the Nam conflict and threw them into hell. Then we sent them back onto the streets with NO thanks, NO support, and these veterans of that cluster-fuck are paying the price even to this day. The history of the veteran in this country, at least since WWII, is that those who serve their country are disposable fodder for the whims of politicians who are better at screwing things up then they are doing the right thing. We have a shameful legacy, and will continue to do so, until we face up to the truth that we are pathetic when it comes to giving a helping hand to those suffering from mental injury. If we continue to demonstrate that we just don't give a damn, you can kiss this idea of a volunteer army defending a free nation good-bye. Then we'll have to draft Senators sons, the Bush twins, and Paris Hilton, and suddenly PTSD will be a problem that gets attention.

You can read for yourself.HERE

No-Pic Post

It was an interesting day. It warmed up into the seventies, the sky was crystal blue, and I think it could easily fit in the category of "a beautiful day". The Wife was off of work today with me, which made it even better, until she asked me to set up our tiny little "christmas tree" to which I said something stupid and she got pissed off and vocally so. I don't do insults very well and took my Dan Brown novel out into the shade garden to stew in silence and read, away from her nasty attitude. As usual, she stewed on her own for the usual amount of time and then came out to salvage the situation by being super-nice. She never apologizes, she has her own way of doing it without admitting guilt, sort of like an out-of-court settlement in which the aggrieved party agrees not to bad-mouth the plaintiff in return for some form of compensation. She printed out a description of how the early pagans first dressed up small trees or tree boughs during celebrations around this time of year, a habit that the early Christians adopted for their own purposes. We were both wrong in our own stubborn ways. But we recover well.

Despite the tiff I prepared the wood for a nice fire the way only a husband could. Unfortunately, the sky clouded over, which obscured the shuttle launch I was so looking forward to watching in the night sky, a bright flare in the darkness to the south of us. Even the full moon was muted to a large degree, a bright fuzzy blob in an opaque whitish sky. However, the fire was MAGNIFICENT, and we enjoyed it sitting in our portable fold out love seat we had gotten years ago as a house warming gift, sipping wine and listening to Gaia Consort and Fritz Jung on our portable stereo, the music fed to it's radio via a transmitter plugged into my Ipod Shuffle. I'm a thoroughly modern pagan.

The wife is in bed now, as she has a work day ahead of her tomorrow, while I'm taking my life in my hands by typing this post. Perhaps I shouldn't be airing my slightly soiled laundry, but the way I look at it, a perfect marriage is an honest marriage; no sense in trying literary photoshop on it to make it look better. It looks fine just the way it is. I'll take my chances in the name of "journalistic" integrity, knowing I have a cold-weather loving dog to keep my company if she reads this and ignores the fact I love her.

I woke up THIS morning with no back pain. I found out why later when the Wife told me how she kept me on my side throughout the night. Bob bless her.

HE is celebrating his fourth annual forty-fifth birthday, or at least I hope he is, since I advised him that there is no advantage to getting older than forty five. As a six year veteran of having arrived at that milestone myself, believe me when I tell you that you are as young as you feel, and I feel forty five any chance my failing parts allow me to. I'm going to pass on retirement age as well, only I'm not going to let social security in on my little scam. Greeting rednecks at Walmart is not going to pay the bills all by itself; I'll need that check.

I've decided tonight to forego downloading visual reinforcement for tonight's post just to see if it has any effect on comments. That, and because I want to get to bed eventually. This novel by Dan Brown called "Digital Fortress" is hard to put down.
Maybe Jane of the Poe persuasion will review it for you. She could sell refrigerators to eskimos. The ones with the ice dispensers in the door. She's that good. As if being a damn good poet isn't enough.........

Oh, and Buffalo keeps beating me to the good stuff, but that's just as well, he deals with it better than I could ever hope to anyway.

Good night, and Blessed Be.

Momma Moon She Rises...........

I was reading Jane Poe's critique of "Winter's Bone", a novel by Daniel Woodrell, and I truly believe that if she wants a job as literary critic at the New York Times, she has it. She almost had me wanting to read the book. It's no fault of hers, I can assure you. I just have a hard time digesting literature this deep. As a big fan of King, Chichton, and other like authors, I imagine you can get my drift. I suppose that plants me firmly in the garden of most easily amused, but I get by. I'll not apologize for it. Hell, just look at my own writing.

And now for more pedestrian concerns. My legs hurt. My back has barely recovered from waking this morning on fire, having (to the best of my knowledge) not slept properly on my side as I should have, since my back has been informing me of late that sleeping on my stomach can no longer be tolerated by this aging spine. Yes, I've gotten rid of the waterbed and replaced it with a construct of a pair of hospital bed mattresses (upon which numerous people took their last breathes). and foam mattress pads, but so far it hasn't seemed to cure what ails me. The next step is to shuck out about $130 for a memory foam mattress topper of the proper dimensions, but something tells me it's not going to allow me to continue to sleep on my stomach and avoid the painful consequences. Getting old sucks.

A bright shiny moon has risen this night and the air is rather frigid, dropping into the thirties and making one think that Florida actually has a winter. Well, yea, we DO have something resembling a winter, only in fits and starts, and one never knows from one week to the next what kind of clothing one should break out and have ready. If we hadn't worked so late tonight we would have prepared a nice fire out in the shade garden to enjoy the moonshine and sangria, soft pagan music, and each other's company. I still have enough wood from clearing this lot to last us for many more comfort fires to come.

And now Yule approaches, and the wife has our winter decorations out. Note I did not say CHRISTMAS decorations. Finally, that monkey is off my back. No more pressure on the budget, no more wading thru the crowded Walmarts looking for crap to buy, held hostage by some insane social obligation to spend money we don't have to get things for people they could damn well buy for themselves. Strangely, the idea of not getting gifts myself is refreshing, since I dreaded having to open those packages and see what kind of crap I was going to have to smile and look happy about getting, when in reality it was never anything I wanted and wouldn't have spent my own money on if I had it. The gifts we give, when we find a proper excuse to give them, usually involve sweat equity and would be something we would love to receive ourselves. So, out with "SpendSpendSpendMas", in with celebrating the turn of the year, lighting the Yule log, and toasting the rebirth of the Sun, true bringer of life and light to this world, no pits of hell or hail marys required.

My good friend Buffalo clued me in to a dear old man who, of all things, actually blogs, and by old I don't mean barely old like us, but OLD, as in having been around awhile, that awhile being like back when two nutcases flew a kite at kitty hawk and they had one big nasty war as well as a flu epidemic that killed even more people than the bullets and gas did. He is a wealth of aged outlook and observation, and I thirst for the wisdom he has braved the new tech to give to us free of charge. He's "Don to Earth" and he belongs on your links. Remember, it was our cherished elders who once were charged with passing on the wisdom of the old ways and the old truths, instead of university professors who think they know everything before they've lit 40 candles. LIsten to him; you WILL learn something worth passing on.

As for my own words of "wisdom", well, you all know how much they are worth. About two cents after a mail in rebate. You got eight weeks to wait for a rebate? I didn't think so. Blessed be.

Observations

I'm catching this commercial out of the corner of my eye as I post tonight's edition. My eyes roll. I guess I can imagine who these commercials appeal to, but to the rest of us, all it seems to say is "look how fabulous, how pretty, how "whatever "we look. You want to be like us. Buy whatever it is you think we're selling, and you will be." It was a Macy's commercial. I didn't catch what it was they were selling, but I suppose it was clothing. Clothing designed for razor thin women in a world where everything is super-sized. I see a big disconnect here.

A black lady who frequents my wife's shoe department, a teacher, described a student, a foster child of 13 whose mother had passed away. The girl had NOTHING, simply adequately fed, was picked on by fellow students, was dressed in "rags". A manager, overhearing this, allowed her a huge discount on the outfits this teacher was wanting to buy for the student. Another shopper, overhearing the story, asked the teacher to bring the girl to her home, that she'd allow her to pick out anything she desired to wear. My wife's friend bought a necklace and asked the teacher to give it to her. This rang with me. I was well fed as a foster child myself. I don't understand a system where people are convinced to "care" for lost children yet seem to not understand the concept of CARE. The motivation for becoming a foster family needs to rise above the money they are given to do it. It's not a JOB, and that money is not a paycheck. Bob bless these strangers who responded.

Yes, I really do see good things all around me. And I know people who go through life with an uplifted, positive, everything is rosy attitude. The main difference between what I am aware of and what cloud these people are walking around on is that I see a glass half full knowing it could be filled all the way to the top. What they see is a glass of water, what more do you want? If you should ever volunteer to serve the homeless at a soup kitchen for Christmas, perform this experiment for me. Ask the volunteers around you if any of them will be there tomorrow night, or the night after. The point I'm making here is not that we aren't doing enough; the point I'm making is how sad it is that such good deeds need doing to begin with. We don't need fish dinners, we need fishing poles.

The following as been an ongoing issue with the Wiccan community. I am so happy to see at least some form of resolution. The battle for our rights continues, however, until the VA is forced to cease it's discriminatory attitude.

RENO, Nev. (AP) - The widow of a soldier killed in Afghanistan saw a Wiccan symbol placed on a memorial plaque for her husband Saturday, after fighting the federal government for more than a year over the emblem.

Roberta Stewart, widow of Sgt. Patrick Stewart, and Wiccan leaders said it was the first government-issued memorial plaque with a Wiccan pentacle - a five-pointed star enclosed in a circle. More than 50 friends and family dedicated the plaque at Northern Nevada Veterans Cemetery, about 30 miles east of Reno.

They praised Gov. Kenny Guinn for his role in getting the Nevada Office of Veterans Services to issue the plaque in September. The agency cited its jurisdiction over maintenance of the state cemetery.

The U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs recognizes more than 30 symbols, including more than a dozen variations of the Christian cross and the atomic whirl used by atheists, but not the pentacle.

VA officials have said they are rewriting rules for approving emblems, but the process requires a public comment period.

Last month, Americans United for Separation of Church and State sued the VA on behalf of Stewart and others for its refusal to include the Wiccan emblem.

"Our people are on the front line in the war in Iraq and Afghanistan, and it's not right they're not getting equal treatment," said the Rev. Selena Fox, one of the Wiccan organizers of the event.

About 1,800 active-duty service members identify themselves as Wiccans, according to 2005 Defense Department statistics. Wiccans worship the Earth and believe they must give to the community. Some consider themselves "white" or good witches, pagans or neo-pagans.

Stewart and four other soldiers died Sept. 25, 2005, when their Chinook helicopter was shot down in Afghanistan.

OK, this is my mishmash of observations, served up for your perusal. Enjoy.