I Am a Bad Man

As most of you know, we are, from time to time bad persons.  I am one.  I have forsaken my readers for months.  I have failed to respond to your comments.  I have been shamefully negligent where I should be attentive and alert, yes, and caring.  So what is my excuse?

I am trying to complete a couple of books, both of which have a time requirement.  I am too ambitious.  I take on too much.  I am having too good a time fulfilling what one erroneously calls ones “destiny.”

Be all that as it may, I have missed you.  I will not be able to reply to the backlog now.  But know I did not ignore your sharing out of an evil heart.  Not really evil.  Just bad.

Thanks for understanding.  I will try to do better.

Gerry

The Big Basket Up in the Sky

         At Christmas I tend to get attacked by my philosophical ghouls who want to play around with me.  I begin thinking of our religious beliefs since religion plays such an overwhelming part in the lives of a majority of Americans.  And it did with our forefathers as well, who, having suffered persecution at the hands of a power structure that sponsored a set of differing religious beliefs, braved the stormy Atlantic to settle in the wilderness of America where they could worship as they pleased, and kill the Indians.  Then they went to war with England, and sculptured a constitution, and there you have it, presto! the First Amendment that guarantees freedom of religion.

         Perhaps you believe that the First Amendment to the Constitution will protect you to embrace whatever religion sings to your soul. Well, it will, of course, if you are a Presbyterian or Lutheran or even one of those who have been mocked and belittled from the time I was a child — a “Holly Roller” they were called.  But they were rolling for Jesus. 

         In my day the Catholics prayed to God in Latin because, obviously, He only understood Latin, and the priests were all dressed up in glittering nighties and wore strange crowns and rang bells.  And even they were talking to Christ through his mamma.  I thought that was smart, knowing as I did, the power that mammas have.

         And the Baptist dumped you in a tub and near drowned you to wash away your sins, which meant to me that Baptists had more sins than Methodists, the church I grew up in, because in the Methodist Church the preacher just dipped his soft, white, uncalloused fingers into a silver bowl, got a drop or two on his fingers, and then sort of pressed the drops on your head, which told me right off that Methodists didn’t have as many sins to be washed away as Baptists.

         Then there were those who had the days of the week all mixed up and went to church on Saturday instead of Sunday, and, if you could scrape up a dime, how could you see Hopalong Cassidy at the Saturday afternoon show if you had to go to church instead? 

         And then there were those who were trying to put doctors out of business because they left all healing to Jesus – some sect called Christian Scientists, which didn’t seem very scientific at all.  I thought Jesus probably liked doctors.  If Jesus was too busy to hear your prayers, there was always a doctor to back Him up.  But none of these belief systems caused any serious problems because the First Amendment said that in America you could worship as you pleased.

         I don’t know what they would do to us if we were teaching our children from the time of first thought that Santa Claus was a lying fiction that represented the degenerate corporate money structure and was created only so Americans would buy a lot of junk at Christmas for their kids in order to insure the profits of the corporate king. 

         And what would happen if you taught your kids that Jesus and Santa were in competition with each other—as a matter of fact, as it turns out, Christmas is not the celebration of the birth of Christ, but it’s the time when Santa comes and, if you are a kid from a poor family trying to scrape enough together to eat, it is obvious that Santa does not love you as much as he does the rich kid, because the rich kid got a new bike and you got nothing, which teaches that money and virtue are somehow related, and that being poor is the first sin.

         I have no problem with the various religions or with Santa.  The human species is born with that overriding instinct of all instincts – survival –  the other side of which is the fear of death.  So we invent whatever belief systems are necessary to cope with that omnipotent fear, and we are born Baptists or Catholics or Muslims depending on the parents we drew out of the big basket in the sky.  Doesn’t seem like much of a basis to kill each other because of the parents, along with their beliefs, that we, and they, drew out of said big basket in the sky.

        

         Yours for a fine holiday,

        

         Gerry

 

Pain, Protests and the People

The protests on Wall Street have been overdue but will end too soon. Slaves cannot long maintain a war against the master. A money-made
U. S. Supreme Court has insured that the Moneyed Master can buy elections, and only the Master has such money. The democratic idea of government by the governed is a myth. One notes that the Republican party is so sensitive to its master’s power that it dare not suggest raising taxes on the Master –- not even an impoverished penny, much less plug the illegal loopholes through which the Master sucks the last of the life blood from the nation. All such slaves know that all power is vested in the Moneyed Master.

The current protests are curious news. But the media, both the printed and electronic, belong to the Moneyed Master. The people have no voice and their protesting voices on Wall Street and elsewhere are lost in the din of the growling, empty stomachs of children and the sounds of terror from a people who are crippled, not because their arms or legs have been severed, but because they can find no jobs. The Moneyed Master has closed its doors against the people and sits on its money like an old hen on rotten eggs.

The people will not prevail. No, not now. The gluttony of the Master must first run uncontained like maddened rats in a cheese factory until the sky grows dark and the light of hope fades, and there remains only the sound of the Master’s gnashing teeth greedily devouring all but the faintest dreams of the people.

With its endless propaganda the Moneyed Master has caused its slaves to believe they are free. But when that cruel hoax is ripped bare of its deceitful cloth and stands naked before the people, and when enough of the people sleep under the bridges and their children’s bellies swell from hunger then one day it will be too late for the Master. Suddenly, without warning, the people will rise up in explosive unison like a long sleeping volcano. Raging and turmoil will ring across the canyons of the streets and blood will flood the streets, and the people will at last prevail.

These are the times when the people cry out their pain to the deaf ears of the Moneyed Master. But such are only the beginning steps of the infant. The people will grow strong from their pain. Pain is the nourishment of growth. And in the end the people will prevail as they have though the eons against the tyrants of power. But not now.

Your Thoughts on How to Become Free

I have asked for a dialogue on how we might free ourselves from our masters.  I am looking for a strategy, an approach, a movement, a sound, an action, a universal word, that can be adopted by all slaves to set ourselves free.

The problem is, of course, that most slaves do not recognize their bondage.  Most believe they are free because, in fact, as workers, they have the freedom to move from one slave master to the next.  Many find the idea of slavery too frightening to really understand.  Many wish to climb the slavery ladder to achieve a higher status as slave, that is, a position of greater power and wealth.  So two conditions must occur before we can consider the road to freedom:  The first is to recognize our slavery.  The second is a desire to be free of it.

Speaking to Each Other as Slaves

Yes, all of us, the living, are indentured in some form of slavery.  A few slaves are better off than most.  In the slavery of the old South the house slaves lived closest to the master and shared some of his comforts not known to the wretched slaves who labored in the fields.  The field foreman, who were also slaves, wielded whips they laid on the backs of fellow slaves.  But slavery, not poverty, is the universal life-taking force that is suffered by the rich and the poor, by the boss and the CEO  who, as slaves, lay their economic and emotional whips on the backs of the worker slaves.

The master, the corporate power structure, has an insidious, built-in guarantee against reform, one that preserves the master’s perpetual power.  The rich slave exploits the poor slave.  The rich slave often accumulates hundreds, even thousands of times more wealth than the poor slave — usually from the sweat and toil of the poor slave.  To justify his excesses, the rich slave proclaims he has worked harder and is self-made, while the poor slave is said to be irresponsible, lazy or stupid and entitled to what he earns which is often a mere pittance.  By reason of his self interest, the rich slave refuses to recognize and renounce his own slavery and to join the poor slave in a mutual quest for freedom.  Instead, the rich slave will fight for the master, the said corporate power structure, against his poorer brothers and sisters.  But a few rich slaves are beginning to realize that riches do not provide freedom.  Riches create only a different genre of slavery.

I say the master is dead because the corporation does not breathe, nor love, nor feel.  Our life’s breaths can be counted, and to contribute our limited breaths for the greed of a dead master is monstrous at best.  And slavery itself is a form of death.  Yet slaves can be taught to embrace nearly any degradation, any dehumanizing condition – to love it,  fight for it and to die for it, even with gratitude.  The means by which the dead master achieves its infinite power over us is called propaganda.  Our masters own the airways we listen to, the television channels we watch and the newspapers we read.  Our masters are masters at propaganda and mercilessly bombard us with false messages of our freedom during all of our lives.

As a consequence we good and obedient slaves, rich or poor, believe down to our toenails that we are free.  We have embraced this fable since we were first able to understand the simplest ideas.  We, as children, have been taught that we are a nation of free people that provides liberty and justice and equal opportunity for all.  By the time we have become adults we innocently laud this false freedom, and in its name we become free only to impose all nature of pain and misery on the poorer slaves who themselves have come to believe they are inferior by reason of their inability to acquire their fair share of the promised life.  And we support evil wars against other slaves in other lands in the name of their freedom but which wars, in the end, are fought by our children who bleed and die to enrich our master.

Our dead master continues to exist long after we and our children are gone. The insanity of it is that the corporate master, although dead, enjoys an eternal life and continues to educate generation after generation of slaves who believe they are free.   And the master continues to profit as long as we believe we are free – so long as we fail to realize that rich or poor we are slaves together .

So how then do we speak to each other as slaves?  Ought we not speak to each other out of deep respect, out of a love for our brothers and sisters?  Are we not best able to understand the pain of slavery of the poorest of our brethren having experienced degrees of its overarching pain ourselves?  Ought not our servitude cause us to care for one another in ways we have not considered before?

Now, dear friends, I am seeking a dialogue.  I am interested in hearing your thoughts on how to lawfully confront and overcome the slave master and to provide liberty and justice for all, as is the promise of our constitution. Give this careful consideration in your concise responses here.  Let us speak to each other out of our caring, with at least as much caring as we would offer a captured bird in a cage with a broken wing who is yet able to sing.

Speaking to Each Other as Slaves

 

 

Yes, all of us, the living, are indentured in some form of slavery.  A few slaves are better off than most.  In the slavery of the old South the house slaves lived closest to the master and shared some of his comforts not known to the wretched slaves who labored in the fields.  The field foreman, who were also slaves, wielded whips they laid on the backs of fellow slaves.  But slavery, not poverty, is the universal life-taking force that is suffered by the rich and the poor, by the boss and the CEO  who, as slaves, lay their economic and emotional whips on the backs of the worker slaves.

The master, the corporate power structure, has an insidious, built-in guarantee against reform, one that preserves the master’s perpetual power.  The rich slave exploits the poor slave.  The rich slave often accumulates hundreds, even thousands of times more wealth than the poor slave — usually from the sweat and toil of the poor slave.  To justify his excesses, the rich slave proclaims he has worked harder and is self-made, while the poor slave is said to be irresponsible, lazy or stupid and entitled to what he earns which is often a mere pittance.  By reason of his self interest, the rich slave refuses to recognize and renounce his own slavery and to join the poor slave in a mutual quest for freedom.  Instead, the rich slave will fight for the master, the said corporate power structure, against his poorer brothers and sisters.  But a few rich slaves are beginning to realize that riches do not provide freedom.  Riches create only a different genre of slavery.

I say the master is dead because the corporation does not breathe, nor love, nor feel.  Our lives’ breaths can be counted, and to contribute our limited breaths for the greed of a dead master is monstrous at best.  And slavery itself is a form of death.  Yet slaves can be taught to embrace nearly any degradation, any dehumanizing condition – to love it,  fight for it and to die for it, even with gratitude.  The means by which the dead master achieves its infinite power over us is called propaganda.  Our masters own the airways we listen to, the television channels we watch and the newspapers we read.  Our masters are masters at propaganda and mercilessly bombard us with false messages of our freedom during all of our lives.

As a consequence we good and obedient slaves, rich or poor, believe down to our toenails that we are free.  We have embraced this fable since we were first able to understand the simplest ideas.  We, as children, have been taught that we are a nation of free people that provides liberty and justice and equal opportunity for all.  By the time we have become adults we innocently laud this false freedom, and in its name we become free only to impose all nature of pain and misery on the poorer slaves who themselves have come to believe they are inferior by reason of their inability to acquire their fair share of the promised life.  And we support evil wars against other slaves in other lands in the name of their freedom but which wars, in the end, are fought by our children who bleed and die to enrich our master.

Our dead master continues to exist long after we and our children are gone. The insanity of it is that the corporate master, although dead, enjoys an eternal life and continues to educate generation after generation of slaves who believe they are free.   And the master continues to profit as long as we believe we are free – so long as we fail to realize that rich or poor we are slaves together .

So how then do we speak to each other as slaves?  Ought we not speak to each other out of deep respect, out of a love for our brothers and sisters?  Are we not best able to understand the pain of slavery of the poorest of our brethren having experienced degrees of its overarching pain ourselves?  Ought not our servitude cause us to care for one another in ways we have not considered before?

Now, dear friends, I am seeking a dialogue.  I am interested in hearing your thoughts on how to lawfully confront and overcome the slave master and to provide liberty and justice for all, as is the promise of our constitution. Give this careful consideration in your concise responses here.  Let us speak to each other out of our caring, with at least as much caring as we would offer a captured bird in a cage with a broken wing who is yet able to sing.

 

Can We Hide From the Insane Master?

It’s time we lay naked the myth, expose it like ripping the shirt off a fat man’s belly. We are not a democracy. Americans are not free. Our politicians do not represent us. We have not been taught or told the truth. None. We are the new slaves.
Slaves must have a master. Yes. The master is the corporate glob that controls us, speaks for us, that provides us with our only voice, the corporate media, that uses us up for its profit, that engorges itself while masses of our people remain jobless and hungry and that uses our resources and children to extend its aggression across the world for more profit.
The master is dead, of course. It does not breath or feel, and it is immortal. Such a frightening spectacle, for the master is not only dead, but insane! It is addicted to profit. Does it not terrorize us to see these organisms, these profit seeking corporations, still fighting for more, squeezing the life blood out of its workers for more, cheating its shareholders for more, twisting its barrowers for more, killing for more, blithely destroying the earth for more, bringing on wars where untold thousands of the innocent are wounded and killed – all for more? More!
In short, if I were to describe a monster so large it could not be seen, so ubiquitous that it covered every part of our being, so powerful that it controls our government and the governments of many nations, yet a monster without a heart or morals – and that has such power over the minds of the people that the people, the slaves, believe they are free and are willing to lay down their lives for the monster – if realizing this truth, might we all not run, hide, yes, scurry into small holes like frightened rabbits to seek refuge somewhere where the monster could not reach us? But what if I tell you that there is no place to hide? The master, the monster, the corporate glob occupies every nook and cranny where we once might have hidden. And it knows where we are. Even a cow can occasionally break through the fence and find momentary freedom in the neighbor’s pasture, but not the people. We cannot escape.
Is there hope? Stay tuned.