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December 8th, 2010


Yeah, darn it, people have already come up with that one. But that's not to say there's nothing new under the sun.

Today I see that Mastercard, Amazon, Paypal & others have been cyberf*cked with as punishment for going after Wikileaks, in alignment with the powers that be, especially pissed now that Wikileaks's publicized (no, not some revelations about war crimes, but) lotsa diplomatic embarrassments. I guess it's also the cumulative effect, and the amping up of electronic security fears, but going after the publisher... well. I didn't pop in to bleat on about censorship, classified info, crime, treason, etc., though I did like schmuel's mention elsewhere of a quotation at the wikileaks site: "The Net interprets censorship as damage and routes around it." --John Gilmore (1993). I popped in cuz I also read rumors that our Comcast outage the other day, along with a big east coast one days before that, might well be similarly attributable to hacker payback/warning, that time over the monster company's push to break net neutrality over Netflix streaming. And that has me thinking of internet resistance, and wondering how much of it we might be in for a flurry of, and whether that's cause for hope.

Being solitary a lot, and losing myself in synaptic storms in sometimes damaging ways, I recognize wisdom in curtailing worry. Our political powerlessness, like everything else, is only a problem if there are solutions; if it doesn't have a solution, it isn't a problem. It's something else. It's some kind of sucky situation.

What I mean to refer to is the question of where to aim to reside in the world of fretting over, basically, injustice. Potentially increasing tyranny. Our seeming inability (and collective lack of desire [or sense of power needed] to try) to resist. How much to let myself go there is a tricky matter. It's like a lot of those perceptions of realities that the broad populace, and many in my acquaintance, don't seem to have, and I thus somehow feel the need to touch more often. To hang onto harder. That's crazy-making stuff a little already.

But I don't like policing the mental places I can go. No border police in the mind seems like a desirable state.

I seem to have a philosophical problem with making being happy a/the primary goal, but at the same time, like an all-American, I have that idea of happiness popping up all the time, and I can't shake it.

Howl was good, by the way. I saw Howl.

The squirrel nest in the scrawny scrub junior pine out front that I haven't chopped down cuz I noticed the nesting has a new element this year: torn-up plastic bag. I see it up there, 30 feet up, waving off the edges in the breeze, looking like little flags, or feathers. That plastic came from plankton, if you follow it back far enough.

One day, if there are still days, parts of physical me will quite likely be in the equivalent of a shredded plastic bag in a squirrel's nest.

This thought, after a number of links in the chain I spare you, leads me to want to dive back into The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind. I suspect it would do me more good to dive into some water instead, or into some intoxication-like mind numbing that requires no intoxicant, for I have just found an internal switch to be in the moment, in the body, and in fear of nothing.

P.S. I made stew.

I made stew last night. Almost forgot onions! That's what happens when you don't start with the onion.

It figures to be better today than yesterday. Like in the song.

I love you more today than yes-ter-day
But not as much as to-morrrr-oh
I love you more today than yes-ter-day
But not half as much as to-morr-arr-arrr-oh

Every day's a new day, every day I love stew.

O made some good soup at Thanksgiving. Perhaps I want a food processor after all. But I also want a good stew pot. Like this one:

[calphalon stock pot]

Look--- it comes with an onion.


Postcard of the Day

(a feature involving a postcard on a day)

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For another postcard thing, see
my old postcard poems tumblr or
its handy archive.

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"What was once thought cannot be unthought."

-- Möbius, The Physicists


"The moment of change is the only poem."

-- Adrienne R.


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