¡YA BASTA!

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[So many digressions, equivocations, brackets of varying intensity - this is beginnin' t'look like a fricken' LISP program; not to mention quite crazy, silly. Mad as a box of frogs.] ¿por qué estamos indignados? "This is not an ideological revolution. It is driven by an authentic desire to get what you need." Stéphane Hessel.   How To Tell The Awful Truth Without Driving Them Either Away Or Mad?  Reading people like Paul Kingsnorth & Derrick Jensen, even Mark Lynas, is necessary due diligence and good exercise to boot, good 'practice'. Some are better than others. The common denominator seems to be: write (earn) breed, and do nothing substantive. I was on the way to reproducing the first chapter of Paul Kingsnorth's 'One No, Many Yeses' which is a moving description of his visit with the Zapatistas in Chiapas in 2006 or so; but ... it got to be too much like work (sorry, you'll have to go find it in the library). He has now apparently gone off to some remote & low-budget village in Ireland ... exactly right, I just wish I could do the same in Pará (see René Girard for notions of mimetic desire, envy, jealousy &c.). "On the right wall had been written:   I believe in everything; nothing is sacred. And on the left wall:   I believe in nothing; everything is sacred." (Tom Robbins, 'Even Gowgirls Get The Blues') "Scuse me, while I kiss the sky." (Jimi Hendrix)   "Could I have a little Yin with that Yang?" (Pad Byrne) Collapse of time - two examples: Final stanza of Little Gidding: We shall not cease from exploration And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time. Through the unknown, unremembered gate When the last of earth left to discover Is that which was the beginning; At the source of the longest river The voice of the hidden waterfall And the children in the apple-tree Not known, because not looked for But heard, half-heard, in the stillness Between two waves of the sea. Quick now, here, now, always— A condition of complete simplicity (Costing not less than everything) And all shall be well and All manner of thing shall be well When the tongues of flame are in-folded Into the crowned knot of fire And the fire and the rose are one.   The very last stanza of the final section of T.S. Eliot's 'Four Quartets' (1943); 'Little Gidding' part V. If people know the poem at all this is probably the verse they know best; regularly quoted in films (like 'The Magus') when bourgeois transcendence is called for. It comes from towards the end of Eliot's poetry though he lived for another twenty years or more. This poem of his is also full of parentheses - one of which sets is marked by the chirrups of birds. We could profitably consider 'Four Quartets' beside the final paragraph of Northrop Frye's 'The Double Vision' chapter 4 'The Double Vision of God': "Reverting to our remark about the God of promises, all our conditioning is rooted in our temporal existence and in the anxiety that appears in the present as the passing of time and in the future as death. If death is the last enemy to be destroyed, as Paul tells us, the last metaphor to be transcended is that of the future tense, or God in the form of Beckett's Godot, who never comes but will maybe come tomorrow. The omnipresence of time gives some strange distortions to our double vision. We are born on a certain date, live a continuous identity until death on another date; then we move into an 'after'-life or 'next' world where something like an ego survives indefinitely in something like a time and place. But we are not continuous identities; we have had many identities, as babies, as boys and girls, and so on through life, and when we pass through or 'outgrow' these identities they return to their source. Assuming, that is, some law of conservation in the spiritual as well as the physical world exists. There is nothing so unique about death as such, where we may be too distracted by illness or sunk in senility to have much identity at all. In the double vision of a spiritual and a physical world simultaneously present, every moment we have lived through we have also died out of into another order. Our life in the resurrection, then, is already here, and waiting to be recognized." (my emphasis)   If you didn't know better you might think I had this girl in mind all along.   :-) Indeed: One day during 2003 Carnaval there's a bloco on the Ipanema beach led by two tall black women wearing nothing but golden spirals around their breasts and some kind of clip-on golden g-strings and I get a solid smack from the girl I'm with for staring open-mouthed as they samba past. Samba merits a few words (more than a few). I have seen women samba themselves to orgasm (or what certainly looked like orgasms to me). Powerful stuff. This ain't samba, but ... sorta: [source]   You may take this as (yet another) opportunity, gentle reader, to dismiss all you find here as nonsense. If such an opportunity is even necessary anymore. Ou vai ou racha & Spiral Jetty (originals, sort of): Wiebo Ludwig (1941-2012) is gone: Subcomandante Marcos has left the building: Crowbird is still on the go: ["Generations have trod, have trod, have trod." (Gerard Manley Hopkins)]   Look there Astolpho, a light at the end of the tunnel!         Turn off that rubbish! Optimists Inc: Stay calm. It'll still get worse!!! Pessimists Inc: ditto. Today is gonna be my lucky day.                                                     That's OK, it's early yet. ¡YA BASTA!

 
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Marking time.

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(Possibly coming back to 'Suicide, Sedition or Grace' sometime soon, or not.)

Landscapes waiting for the other shoe to drop:
 
"... and his mind has been mismanaged with great skill." (Bob Dylan somewhere)


I am of the people, a John Doe ... here below life histories are different ...

Obituary: appearing about 40 years old, no address, not claimed by relatives ...

 

Master, what is life?
Let's see what it says on Google.

 



Lick $1.00. Towels $2.00.

Who gives a fuck about the senate or cable TV?
 


 
 

Daddy, what is Daylight Saving Time?


That's when the government takes an hour of our time and returns it months later with no interest.

 
In Rexton/Elsipogtog their eyes are on the ball:
 
Brazil not so much:

Who will bid less?

 
The oil is ours!
The kickbacks are ours!

Tom Toles seems to have lost the plot: (?)
 
Keep in mind that these are two ladies living and working in Brooklyn - close to the very heart of the great Babylon - not Africa; and mouths are primary means of consumption (as they are depicted here I think).













































Bottom line:   (Saving the best for last as it were.)


Some people I used to know up on Parliament Hill recently.

We can't prorogue climate change (and you can't either).


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