A SYMMETRY OF BIRDS

Welcome to Symmetry of Birds!

9999-12-31T10:57:00.000-08:00

Symmetry of Birds rounds out my trio of blogs, which includes Clockwise Cat and Miro Screaming. All three blogs incorporate or adapt lines or titles from poems I have written. Clockwise Cat, my webzine, gets its namesake from one of my favorite poems; Miro Screaming, my rant-blog, evolves from my poem, Miro's Scream; and A Symmetry of Birds is part of the concluding line of my poem, Silent Symmetry, published in Blue Fifth Review in February, 2008.

Symmetry of Birds is the gathering place of all my online published work. My online published work encompasses poetry and political polemics (also known as rants). I rarely write fiction these days, though once upon a time I was a prolific short story scribe. Maybe one day I will get back into fiction, but for now, I reserve my creative zeal for verse and invectives (the two birds whose polar styles serve to balance each other - hence the title of this blog).

So anyway. What I do in this blog is provide links to a given published piece, and also post the actual piece. There are several instances here where the website link no longer works, due to the site shutting down. However, I have simply left the links up for now.

Please be aware that this is a perennial work in progress.

Enjoy!

Published Polemics and Reviews

2012-03-30T11:19:00.002-07:00

Kathryn Wins Big, but Hollywood Still Hurts for Female Directors at Bad Subjects

Occupy or Die! at Fringe Magazine Blog

Middle Class Aspirations in an Ominous Economy at Fear of Monkeys

Author Insides: Alison Ross at Vagabondage Press

An Interview with Clockwise Cat Editor Alison Ross at Black Heart Magazine

Of Collocated Rhythms by Felino Soriano Book Review at Black Heart Magazine

Five Rants at When Falls the Coliseum

Five Diatribes at Muse Apprentice Guild

Twelve Rants and Satirical Pieces at Democracy Means You

Politically Erect at Exquisite Corpse

Ode to Corporate America at Exquisite Corpse

Xenophobes and Homophobes at Democratic Underground

Black Lips CD Review at Laura Hird

Letter to the Editor at Creative Loafing

Published Poetry

2012-03-30T11:18:00.000-07:00

Alison Ross Reads "Miro's Scream" from Jeff McCord on Vimeo.

Alison Ross Reads at the Hot! Hot! Hot! Poetry Event at Bound to Be Read Books

Anachronistic anarchist at Calliope Nerve

I want to be a surrealist painting at Black Heart Magazine

Miro's ennui at Black Heart Magazine

Coma at The Medulla Review

Vienna summer at Eviscerator Heaven

Negate Tyme aka the riddles at Eviscerator Heaven

Sun Tears at Bolts of Silk

Untitled at Menagerie

Chopin in Chopin with Cherries

cryptic nihilistic at The Battered Suitcase

Kahlo Sky at Up the Staircase

Miro's mirror at Disingenuous Twaddle

Seven poems at Counterexample Poetics

misanthropic Buddha at Word Riot

Miro's Scream at Cerebral Catalyst

Miro's Nightmare at Haggard and Hallo

Clockwise Cat at Cerebral Catalyst

We two at Laika Poetry Review

Chopin at A Little Poetry

Death is imminent and I'm still smiling at Wings of Icarus

Eternity found at Wings of Icarus

Five poems at Mad Swirl

Three poems at Muse Apprentice Guild

Salvador Dalai Lama at Cerebral Catalyst

Silent symmetry at Blue Fifth Review

Kathryn Wins Big, but Hollywood Still Hurts for Female Directors - Bad Subjects

2012-03-08T11:47:00.005-08:00

Published March 2012
Bad Subjects

Kathryn Wins Big, but Hollywood Still Hurts for Female Directors
by Alison Ross

I have never been a huge fan of action flicks. Sure, I like some of them a lot, but it is not my favored film genre by far. But when I saw “Point Break” back in the early 90s, I was pleasantly impressed with the movie’s highly competent execution. It elevated the normally pedestrian action movie style to a more refined realm. It had an artistic atmosphere that redeemed the more superficial elements germane to this genre.

Now, when I saw the futuristic/cyberpunk film noir “Strange Days” in 1996, it was because I was enamored with Ralph Fiennes at the time, not because I was drawn to that type of film (although I do enjoy film noir). And upon seeing it, I found the movie disconcertingly distasteful in some regards, and only re-watched it based on my Fiennes infatuation. But these libido-induced viewings had a fortuitous effect: they enabled me to discern the movie’s manifold merits beneath its sleazy sheen. The movie is a lusciously layered affair, it turns out.

There is a repulsive rape scene that I do believe should have been jettisoned from the film, and it’s this scene that caused repelled reactions among critics and audiences. And, indeed, the film’s hyperbolically cheap aura, occasional over-the-top acting, and at times disjointed structure doomed the movie to box office oblivion.

But there are still enough fascinating facets – a delectably dark apocalyptic tone, Fiennes' transformative performance, Angela Basset’s strongly drawn female character who offers a refreshing counterpoint to the misogynistic fantasy provided by Juliet Lewis, the searing political satire - to render it a film worthy of watching. So based on my reactions to these two films alone, I knew that the director, Kathryn Bigelow, boasted considerable talent. The fact that she was a woman intrigued me, because both films are testosterone-oriented affairs. This fact also intrigued me because female directors on the Hollywood and indie scenes are so scarce. But I didn't think too deeply about these subjects until Bigelow’s “The Hurt Locker” was released and Oscar chatter began to buzz.

I was immensely impressed with “The Hurt Locker.” As much as I appreciated “Point Break” and “Strange Days,” I felt “The Hurt Locker” was in the league of Major Movies, on par with the best from a Kubrick or Scorcese. And my second viewing of it only cemented these impressions, rather than exposing any bold blemishes, as repeated viewings sometimes do. “The Hurt Locker” is of a lofty caliber in terms of acting, and technical and aesthetic direction. While the movie does have its inevitable detractors, I believe it to be one of the best movies ever made.

When Bigelow grabbed not only the Best Director but Best Picture Oscar honors for “The Hurt Locker,” I was overcome with what can only be described as an empowering euphoria. Bigelow's win came on the heels of my just having read The Second Sex, Simone de Beauvoir's devastatingly dense and insightful tome about the condition of women, and so I was already in training to be more vigilant about women's issues. Sure, I've always lamented the oppression of women, but I have also been proud of the strides women have made.

And I myself have NEVER identified as female FIRST, but rather as a human being, and have been mystified at times by those who have taken offense to my assertiveness. I have had to remind myself that some people allow themselves to be cowed by smart, feisty femmes, while they raise men of a similar mien to god-like status. Women's pulchritude is prized over our perspicuity. And of course, in response I say: FUCK THAT SHIT!

So not only does “The Hurt Locker” DESERVE EVERY accolade thrown its way REGARDLESS of the director's gender, but it's HIGH FUCKING TIME the Academy acknowledges the gifts of a female director. The Academy has only ever nominated FOUR female directors in its 82 years of existence. What the FUCK is up with that crap? Sure, you can argue that there are more male than female directors - but let's analyze WHY that is, exactly! Could it POSSIBLY have to do with the fact that WOMEN are NOT ENCOURAGED to be behind the camera, but rather in front of it (there's that pesky pulchritude versus perspicuity thing again)? Could it be that the technical has long been held to be the domain of MEN? Never mind that directing encompasses so many facets - technical, creative, and so on. And never mind that a genitals and aptitude are two separate things.

Apparently, according to articles I have been reading about Bigelow's historic win, Hollywood has a legacy of hiring male directors over female ones. No big surprise, of course, but this fact should nonetheless cause riotous outrage. There don't seem to be MORE female directors because Hollywood and even the independent film institutions are DISSUADING them from pursuing the field. THAT is so fucked up I cannot even wrap my (ample) breasts around it. Now, many critics and film insiders have been touting Bigelow's win as an historic leap for female directors, while a few have been a bit more circumspect about it.

Those who are circumspect likely feel that Bigelow would not have won with a more female-oriented film – “The Hurt Locker” is male-laden, and it can even be argued that it taps into our primitive proclivities for bellicose conflict, even as the film has palpable anti-war overtones. And, also, the circumspection probably stems from the suspicion that Bigelow's win is just an anomaly, and that things will continue as usual in Hollywood and in independent film.

And I can be a bit empathetic to those concerns, because I do believe that even the most virulent anti-war film will invariably stoke some bloodlust, AND because I too have wondered why Bigelow is so focused on virility in her films, when I would naturally welcome a more balanced approach. At the same time, I can recognize that men are fully capable of making chick flicks, while women are fully capable of making dick flicks. Again, it's our HUMANITY that unites us... and fuck those who would be so divisive as to ghettoize the genders.

But of course, it may very well be that Hollywood and the indie film industry will retreat back to their circle jerks over male directors, Bigelow's win signifying nothing more than a barrier only temporarily blasted. Perhaps the future will indeed remain bleak for the would-be Jane Campions, Sofia Coppolas, Jodie Fosters, and Diane Keatons. But one would hope that this isn't the case, that people have now been alerted to the fact that yes, a human being endowed with a vulva can not only helm the making of films, but make staggeringly brilliant ones at that. Oh sure, audiences knew that from previous female-directed movies, such as the Piano and Lost in Translation, but those films were not legitimized in the same way that “The Hurt Locker” has been.

For, like it or not, the Academy Awards DO sway taste. They do not necessarily always have the monopoly on what's good, but Oscar exposure usually guarantees a wider audience. And now that it's been made patently clear that a woman directed “The Hurt Locker,” maybe this will alter some people’s provincial perceptions.

It will be a glaringly bright day indeed when half or more of the 10 movies nominated for Best Picture are directed by women. It will be a shimmeringly sunny afternoon when we don’t have to write tirades about the dearth of directors who possess a pussy, and female-helmed movies are as routine as a Meryl Streep Oscar nomination.

Occupy or Die - Fringe Magazine Blog

2012-02-29T10:52:00.004-08:00

Published February 2012
Fringe Magazine Blog

Occupy Fringe: Occupy or Die!
by Alison Ross

Egregious Fact Number One: Our tax dollars were used to bail out Wall Street.

In case you need a reminder: Wall Street banks and companies are private corporations, not public institutions. In a democracy, taxes are supposed to go toward funding roads, parks, health clinics, schools, social security–anything that benefits the common good. Despite the lame claims of some vociferous Tea Party morons, the government is not actually “taking” our money–we collectively maintain infrastructure and social services through consensually paying taxes. The consensus is implicit in being alive.

If we did not pay taxes, society would collapse. You cannot maintain society through anarchic private entities–that’s antithetical to democracy. So the fact that our public dollars were used to bail out banks that do not have societal interests as their primary or even secondary or even tertiary concern means that our money was stolen from us. The banks use those public dollars to fatten their coffers. Meanwhile, cuts to social services–mental health, education, social security, and on and on and on and on and on–pervade. House foreclosures abound, while Wall Street executives acquire three and four homes. It’s the very embodiment of kleptocracy: enrich the elite while bleeding the effete.

Egregious Fact Number Two: The majority of our taxes are used toward miscreant military misadventures, such as those in Afghanistan and Iraq. Both of these countries have been virtually decimated and are being rebuilt by corporate war profiteers.

So, our country is in “debt” because our taxes are being (consciously) misused toward private and profiteering ends. This is also known as Corporate Welfare–never mind that social welfare, the correct type of welfare, is roundly and wrongly denigrated.

We are in a fictitious debt crisis, which can be easily remedied by taking corporate interests out of public politics, re-funneling taxes towards social services, and taxing the fuck out of the rich. In countries like Denmark, there are no multi-millionaires, because the government caps salaries through taxes. No one in Denmark “earns” the kind of wealth we see flaunted with such hedonistic abandon among the American affluent.

Random egregious facts: Family income has declined by nearly 7 percent in the last two years, unemployment hovers between 10-15 percent, and over 46 million Americans live in poverty, the highest rate in 50 years.

Meanwhile, the 1% dwell in their marbleized compounds, piloting their luxury vehicles, and disdaining everyone else in smugly contemptuous fashion.

Occupy Wall Street is a glowing, growing global movement that is stridently anti-corporate in nature and yet propelled by the principles of peace. It is a people-powered movement that is way long overdue. The movement was precipitated by radical college-agers but quickly gained momentum among the mainstream populace–young, middle-aged, and geriatric alike, since so many are so gravely affected by the perverted profit-motives of the corporate titans. The kids who founded the movement sharply see that the corrosive corporate influence over our ostensibly democratic system is bleeding them of money, of jobs, of hope…theirs is a future mired in misery if they don’t act now, and act radically, to demand an overhaul of the system.

Indeed, the OWS movement has already won. It has altered the tenor of economic discourse in favor of the people rather than the profits. It has brought the issue of economic justice to the forefront and tattooed it in the minds and hearts of people everywhere – to those both affected by and empathetic to the cause.

For the movement has magnetized people from all paths of life – all ethnicities and all income levels. There are even those in the upper tiers of income realms who sympathize – because they too could be affected by corporate corruption, and also because they share the humane ideals of economic equity. Many of them realize that greed is never good and that they could perhaps curtail their own lifestyles so that more could prosper – not outrageously so, but comfortably so.

For we have an inherent right to food, shelter, education. These are things we are born needing. Not entitlements, but spiritual luxuries, because it logically follows that if we have a right to life, then we require these things to sustain life.

The OWS encampments all over the country are a mode of protest against corporate dominance–the parks are our parks, the streets are our streets. They do not belong to private entities to profit from–they belong to us, the vibrant public. Of course, many of the encampments have been brutally broken up, making a malevolent mockery of the evolving democratic communities therein.

For the OWS movement to affect enduring change, there must be bank sit-ins, massive boisterous marches to government offices with a list of concrete demands, and all manner of brash but peaceful civil disobedience, such as the current foreclosure actions currently taking place in cities like New York and Atlanta. Occupy groups are disrupting foreclosure auctions on city hall steps and enlightening those in attendance about the malicious nature of home evictions. Occupy groups are also occupying the homes of families that face imminent eviction. Indeed, such actions have averted some evictions, as in the highly publicized case of decorated Iraq War veteran Brigitte Walker, whose home was saved from foreclosure by Occupy Atlanta. These are the only kinds of things that have ever given rise to a revolutionary restructuring of society.

OWS has already done so many actions that fly well under the radar of the Mainstream Lamestream Media. Indeed, the MSM is commercially-sponsored and therefore censored to meet the petty, pernicious demands of its corporate overlords. (For a partial list of the numerous OWS actions that have already taken place, visit http://occupywallst.org/article/2011-year-revolt/.)

The fact that so many right-wing authoritarian types are so threatened by the movement as manifest in their vicious slandering of it, and the militarization of police around the country, and the horrific treatment of the peaceful protesters all over the country at the hands of the law (specifically NYC and Oakland – I mean, tear gas, grenades, rubber bullets…really?!) … all of these things evince that the movement is working, and winning. The violence is not emanating from the protesters as some would like you to believe; rather, it is emanating from politicians and corporations who cower at the prospect of a people-powered juggernaut pacifistically crashing their plutocratic party.

Occupy Wall Street has occupied our hearts, and will one day bring about the radical renovation of a crumbling house presided over by sleazy corporate slumlords

Bio:

Clockwise Cat publisher and editor Alison Ross dabbles delicately in verse. She also spews incessant invective. You may peruse her precious poesie and rowdy rants online. She was once nominated for Best of the Net, but lost out to savvier scribes. Alison wants to forge a new genre of poetic politics called Zen-Surrealist-Socialism. Won’t you join her cause?

Middle Class Aspirations in an Ominous Economy - Fear of Monkeys

2012-01-12T08:38:00.000-08:00

Published 2011
Fear of Monkeys

Middle Class Aspirations in an Ominous Economy
by Alison Ross

So, my quasi-hypocritical disdain of the perennially infantilizing Facebook aside, there can be some good things about it. For one, social justice causes and groups are rife at the networking site, and often more liberal-minded friends can post provocatively progressive links.

Case in point: recently a friend posted a link entitled, "The Middle Class in America is Radically Shrinking. Here are the Stats to Prove it".

There have been many such articles written in recent years about this disconcerting, disheartening phenomenon. But when I think a little deeper about this topic (and if you're not careful, Facebook has a way of deriding and deterring deep-thinking proclivities), what perturbs me most about these articles is that they all act on the presumption that it's "normal" and "healthy" to have class hierarchies at all.

If that sounds like I am courting a socialist dogma, so be it. I'd rather be accused of fondling socialist ideologies than fellating fascist ones. Pure socialism has its detractions, to be sure, and ultimately I espouse a more modified approach - social democracy - because it marries individual autonomy with communal justice.

So yeah. It's no snarling secret to those who are even peripherally interested in social and economic matters that the middle class in America is eroding at an alarming pace and in an alarming way.

The erosion of the middle class has been going on forever, and it is a deliberate tactic, if stealthily employed. Because, you see, the only way that radicalized capitalism can sustain itself is through cultivating stark rich-poor disparities. The middle class, of course, has always been the buffer between rich and poor. If you're poor, then the existence of a middle class is tantalizing "proof" that you too, can "make it," if only you stop breeding and boozing and start trying a little harder. And perhaps maybe even use your eventual middle class status as a stepping stone toward the upper classes.

And for the middle classers, the existence of a wealthy economic realm is "evidence" that one day you too might climb toward prosperity, through your "tenacious" work ethic. The existence of a rich class tempts one toward wild and perverted fantasies of affluence. The upper caste is the most economically erotic class.

And for these middle classers, the existence of a poor class "signifies" abject failure - it's what happens when you lapse into a more cavalier (i.e., "lazy") approach to life. So the middle class is really almost one of the more desirable places to be in a culture that nurtures the dastardly rich-poor polarity. It is the blissful purgatory between economic heaven and economic hell.

Never mind that we are made to THINK it's our fault that we are not all multi-gazillionaires living in Texas-sized mansions with diamond-encrusted commodes and driving vehicles on steroids that span five lanes. Never mind that it's through various menacing methods that we are being bled dry by the elitist one percent.

And never mind that middle class should be the ONLY class that exists, from an economic justice standpoint. But we'll get to that in a minute.

So anyway, the middle class is being eroded in order that rich-poor polarities will be that much more bluntly ubiquitous.

But why, you might ask? Because, DUH: The best way for governments (and their cunnilingus cronies, corporations) to control the masses is through economics. When there is a massive poor class, as in Haiti, we are that much more easily subjugated to the sinister whims of the affluent.

I am not going to pollute this polemic with statistics, though, to prove my point. You can read those statistics in that article I linked to and find further stats online.

No, instead, I am going to beat you over the head with the Excruciatingly Overtly Obvious. Because while some people may not require a simplified sermon on How Things Should Be, others are too swirled up in the vortex of their own petty nonsense to be able to penetrate through to the vivid veracity of things. I don't fully blame anyone, mind you, because part of the genius of the system is how, primarily through media, it seduces us into a state of blurry-eyed benightedness, how it obfuscates reality and gives it a shimmer and shine, as though all is well in the world, and any economic problems we as individuals might have are self-generated, rather than structural and systematic.

But it is frustrating, too, that otherwise intelligent people allow mental mushiness to prevail when deliberating socio-political/economic matters.

I mean, how fucking hard is it to discern that it's simply more HUMANE that everyone have a level playing ground from which to operate, and that NO ONE's labor is worth millions, and that NO ONE should have to work two and three jobs just to be able to afford a roach-riddled rathole, and that NO ONE should have to starve in the vermin-infested gutters, while others are gorging themselves on caviar d' foie gras.

It's just common freaking sense, and common fucking humanity to ensure equal economic opportunity among all. And common freakin' sense that the only "class" we should have is the middle class. The Buddha preached the middle way as the most sensible approach toward living - a reasonable equilibrium between two offensive extremes. The middle class might be seen as economic limbo by some (namely, the poor and rich who purchase the inane ideology of "persistent economic ascendancy." Though I blame the rich for perniciously perpetuating this ideology; the poor are pawns, however you slice it).

But in reality, the middle class lifestyle is the most logical way to live. It is the most comfortable and liberating of all the classes. Living in the wealthy caste means you are always wanting to acquire more luxuries, thereby creating a perpetual draining desire that can never be sated. You are constrained by your lust for compulsive acquisition.

Living in the poor caste means you are doubly cursed. Living in the poor caste signifies that you don't even have the means to acquire basic essentials, let alone luxuries. You are severely constrained by both by your severe fiscal limitations, which preclude sound living, as well as a lust to acquire the luxuries that the rich caste so blithely affords.

So the middle class should be pervasive to the point that the other two extreme castes are eradicated. A pervasive middle class does not want; it exists contentedly, even complacently. Material concerns are immaterial. A pervasive middle class has all it needs because there is no looming nagging idea of "more more more."

A pervasive middle class means radically diminished crime. White collar crime breeds blue collar crime - meaning, the rich caste, which achieved its privilege disingenuously (on the backs of everyone else), creates economic neediness on behalf of the masses, which in turn gives birth to criminal action such as break-ins, armed robberies, etc. But without the existence of a rich caste, there is no poverty. A pervasive middle class razes the rich class, which as a by-product of its demolition, causes the extinction of the poor class.

I'd rather not have burglar bars and an alarm system in my house to protect me from the gangs of poverty-ridden thugs engendered by the throngs of affluent thugs. I'd rather live in a society founded on economic parity, an ideal which organically flows forth from standard human rights tenets. I'd rather not be besieged by free-roaming corporate criminals who rapaciously prey on us with their profit-promiscuous libidos, through their abundant scams and frauds posing as benevolent gestures. It's an elaborate costume party and the real thugs are the ones wearing the happy-face masks.

Our political system harbors a sociopathic economic system and it WILL implode. Rapid middle class erosion is the first step toward that implosion. It's an economic armageddon, and only the rich have the means to survive.

I want to be a surrealist painting - Black Heart Magazine

2011-02-22T18:17:00.000-08:00

I want to be a surrealist painting at Black Heart Magazine
Published February 2011

I want to be a surrealist painting
by Alison Ross

I want to be a surrealist painting.
I want to have flowers for fangs.
I want to exist only as the aborted shadow of your shrieking eyes.

I want to be a pop art painting.
I want to be replicated for 15 minutes
in the form of a Campbell’s Tomato Soup can
going “rat-a-tat-tat.”
I want to lick ten steins.

I want to be a Rodin sculpture.
I want to be eternally kissed
under the gates of hell.

I want to exist
as the shadow of a kiss
for the first 15 minutes
of a replicated eternity.

Miro's ennui - Black Heart Magazine

2011-02-22T18:14:00.000-08:00

Miro's ennui at Black Heart Magazine
Published February 2011

Miro's ennui
by Alison Ross

Miró’s ennui
Miró’s ennui shook the foundations of time.
It isolated lethargy in a continuum of shadows.

Miró’s ennui shocked the universe sublime.
It isolated apathy in a spectrum of windows.

Miró’s ennui
created a hierarchy of shadows
that shocked a spectrum of apathy
into a lethargy of windows

Anachronistic anarchist - Calliope Nerve

2011-02-22T16:07:00.000-08:00

Anachronistic Anarchist at Calliope Nerve
Published February 2011

Anachronistic anarchist
by Alison Ross

The anachronistic anarchist
uses post-it notes
to remind herself
of her dinner date
with the sun.
But the sun has a cold
and sends a rain check
that bounces
into a
reverse
black
hole.

The anachronistic anarchist
sends two gmails a day
to her former self
but they are flagged as spam
and the user is blocked
from
the
future.

The anachronistic anarchist
wants to start a revolution
to protest the dictatorship
of synchronicity.
Her identical twin
outlaws coincidence
and abolishes punctuality.

So the anachronistic anarchist
shows up late
to her date
with the sun,
who is covered in post-it notes
about the revolution
against
the
anarchy
of
space.

Author Insides: Alison Ross

2011-01-29T10:39:00.000-08:00

Published January 2011
Vagabondage Press

Vagabondage Press Author Insides: Alison Ross

Author Insides: Alison Ross
by Vagabondage Press

Clockwise Cat publisher and editor Alison Ross dabbles delicately in verse. She also spews incessant invective. You may peruse her precious poesie and rowdy rants online. Alison's personal utopia would be to dwell inside a painting executed by Joan Miro, wherein Frida Kahlo, Arthur Rimbaud, Jorge Luis Borges, Dr. Seuss, David Lynch and The Cure all converge in felicitous, surrealistic bliss. Her poem, "Kahlo Sky," was recently nominated for Best of the Net by Up the Staircase. http://www.clockwisecat.blogspot.com/

Alison's poetry appeared in the Summer 2010 issue of The Battered Suitcase.

When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer?

At the age of six! I was obsessed with magazines geared toward very young kids, like Jack and Jill magazine. I regularly wrote in my diary, and I wrote short stories and poems.

Why do you write?

Because I don’t know how not to write. Cliché, but the damn truth!

Is being a writer/poet anything like you imagined it would be?

Frankly, I never imagined how it would be. I’ve always been a writer, so I’ve never had time to actually think about how it would be, because I have existed this way for so long.

What do you think makes a good story?

A philosophical core and crazy characters.

What's your favorite genre to read?

Currently, poetry, but I also love progressive non-fiction, such as Howard Zinn, Naomi Klein, etc.

Who is your favorite author or poet?

Rimbaud.

What books or stories have most influenced you the most as a writer?

Les Fleurs du Mal (Baudelaire), Les Illuminations (Rimbaud), 100 Years of Solitude (Marquez), random books of verse by Neruda and Borges.

What books or stories have most influenced you as a person?

Great question! That would have to be books of verse by Rimbaud. He taught me that you can be colorful and chaotic without chagrin.

Where/how do you find the most inspiration?

I am inspired by listening to loud music, watching a David Lynch film, or looking at a painting by Kahlo, Miro, Goya, Basquiat, Dali, etc. All forms of art inspire me, but the visual arts take special precedence. In fact, I am also very into street art and street fashion. On the other hand, I listen to a lot of music on my way to work, and that inspires my creativity as well. Ruminations on time and mysticism further inspire me.

What does your family think of your writing?

They like it, but I think they find it rather cryptic. Both my parents are English teachers and rather well-versed themselves, but moreso in the classics.

What is your work schedule like when you're writing?

What work schedule?

Do you have any writing quirks or rituals?

I have no rituals whatsoever. I do write polemics and reviews regularly for my webzine, but my poetry writing is extremely erratic. I write it on a whim, when the fever grips me. As far as quirks – I sometimes write poetry at work, as a way to procrastinate, or in the car, after I have pulled over because a particular phrase or imagistic idea has captured my imagination.

Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?

I find it excessively challenging to say authentically exactly what I want to say. I have to relax into my subconscious to be able to do so. There are only three or four poems of mine I am wholly satisfied with.

What are your current projects?

Other than my writing for and editing Clockwise Cat, and submitting poems periodically, nothing.

What are you planning for future projects?

I would like to publish a book of poems in 2011, but we’ll see. I tend to be too unfocused to be able to get anything of any consequence done, other than my webzine.

Do you have any advice for other writers?

Be more disciplined than I am.

Where else can we find your work?

Counterexample Poetics, Up the Staircase, Word Riot, Eviscerator Heaven, Bolts of Silk, Blue Fifth Review, Cerebral Catalyst, Laika Poetry Review, Disingenuous Twaddle, Haggard and Halloo, Wings of Icarus, and a few others. Also I have a poem appearing in the anthology entitled, Chopin With Cherries.

Of Collocated Rhythms Book Review - Black Heart Magazine

2011-01-08T09:53:00.001-08:00

Published December 2010
Black Heart Magazine

Of Collocated Rhythms by Felino Soriano (Book Review) at Black Heart Magazine

Of Collocated Rhythms by Felino Soriano
By Black Heart Staff

(Originally published at Clockwise Cat)

If MC Escher’s drawings were dismantled and versified, they would perhaps look something like the organic, engimatic poesie of Felino Soriano. Or perhaps Soriano’s poems resemble the avant-garde abstractions rife in the convoluted jazz compositions that he is so obsessively fond of. Either way, the poems in this collection, Of Collocated Rythms, boldly mirror the intricate unorthodoxies of progressive musical art.

Fittingly, these poems are directly inspired by jazz. While Soriano’s poetic structures replicate the stuttery rhtyms of modern jazz, or even the labyrinthian visuals of, say, an Escher drawing, his phrasing mimics the musician’s aural ideal. It’s as though Soriano has climbed inside the psyche of the musician to extract his or her concepts and transmute them in verse form. Soriano is intutively aligned with the musical compositions that inspire his verse.
The poems in this collection are both dense with symbolism and yet stripped bare of any real implict meanings.

This is a paradox Soriano seems not only content to inhabit, but intent on inhabiting. He wants us to confront the art both directly and subconsciously. For him, the subconscious is the entrance to the conscious. In mining subconscious symbology, he is inverting it, and making it explicit and accessible.

To successfully read a poem by Soriano, you must skim it first, so as not to be too overwhelmed by the sensations it produces. Then you must give it a more thorough reading after assimilating his quirky vernacular. And then you must read it several more times to understand his process. Because if you understand his process, then you will understand the poems.

The poems, however, have a dizzying cumulative effect, and if you digest them all in one sitting, you will likely be afflicted with a severe case of vertigo. Better to read a few, put the book down, and return later to read more. Otherwise the experience is like twisting through never-ending intertwining tunnels.

Of course, the subversive beauty of a Soriano poem lies in its disorienting effect.

Take, for example, “–after Bridge 61′s Atlas”:

Formulation
leads, voices conjure unmagical
collocation, needing only skeletal
syllables
becoming acquainted acquisitions
near the farness delegated between
anger’s forceful shove and
the happiness delivered between
mother and son’s initial reconstructed
walking
Or “–after Jeremy Pelt’s Dusk”:
Camouflaging wings
waving rhythmic ticks
horizontal freedom
highlighting music,
verbatim whispers
of graying language
moving into distance. Circus
of sounds have left, gone
towards colorful versions
of a day’s many heroes; dusk,
night’s crawling child
sits to become watcher, curious squatter
ascertaining an hour’s unrequited misery.

But no matter how disoriented we are, we realize that the discombulation actually brings us closer to our ideal state of being. Reading a poem from this collection is like living inside a (naturally disordered) musical composition or painting.

Soriano is clearly uninterested in promoting any current trends in poetry and instead desires to forge his own poetic paradigm. Language for him evolves authentically or not at all. He is not interested in reason and logic as they are commonly apprehended; he is only interested in reinventing the experience of language, or, rather, bringing us back to its primitive core.
–
Clockwise Cat publisher and editor Alison Ross dabbles delicately in verse. She also spews incessant invective. You may peruse her precious poesie and rowdy rants online. Alison’s personal utopia would be to dwell inside a painting executed by Joan Miro, wherein Frida Kahlo, Arthur Rimbaud, Jorge Luis Borges, Dr. Seuss, David Lynch and The Cure all converge in felicitous, surrealistic bliss.

An Interview with Clockwise Cat Editor Alison Ross - Black Heart Magazine

2011-01-08T09:22:00.000-08:00

Published January 2011
Black Heart Magazine

A Interview With Clockwise Cat editor Alison Ross at Black Heart Magazine

An interview with Clockwise Cat Editor Alison Ross
By Laura Roberts

If you’re not familiar with the indie publication Clockwise Cat, you should be! Here’s a brief interview with Alison Ross, the editor extraordinaire of this political and poetical magazine.

BLACK HEART: Where is your magazine geographically located, and how (if at all) does that affect the type of work you publish?

ALISON ROSS: Clockwise Cat is located in Atlanta, Georgia. We have published some writers from Atlanta, but most writers hail from all over the world. However, perhaps there is a slight unintentional bias toward American writers, but we welcome submissions from everywhere, as long as they are in English (or some semblance thereof if the work is severely experimental).

BH: What’s your magazine’s rallying cry or raison d’être?

AR: We exist because we have no choice. The idea for Clockwise Cat was conceived on a bicycle ride through my neighborhood. I was wanting to publish poets who were better than me so that I could sublimate my envy toward them, and also—more altruistically—celebrate their talent. I also wanted a place to showcase my own polemics and reviews. I tend to be brashly liberal and I love to rant and spew opinions. I had written for a couple of political zines, but they shut down and I was needing an outlet. So Clockwise Cat is both a selfless and selfish pursuit.

BH: Who are some of your favorite writers, and how do they influence your work at the magazine?

AR: As for poetry, I love Rimbaud, Borges, Paz, cummings, Dr. Seuss, Emily Dickinson, Breton, Tzara, Ferlinghetti, Levertov … many many more. They influence what I publish because we aim toward featuring surrealistic/symbolistic/dada-ist/noirish/beat/wildly whimsical writing. As for the polemics I write and and accept for publication, I love the writings of Howard Zinn, Noam Chomsky, Molly Ivins (RIP), Jim Hightower, Barbara Ehrenreich.

BH: What type of writing are you most interested in publishing?

AR: See above! Poetry-wise, anything that is progressive and not too mired in tradition. If it has a touch of tradition, that’s fine, but it’s anathema to me if it’s too formalist in style. I prefer language that grabs you by the crotch with its fierce innovation.

BH: Is there anything that drives you crazy when reading submissions, or that you absolutely will NOT publish, and if so, what?

AR: Again, see above. Excessively formalist and academic poetry is antithetical to our purpose. Furthermore, I don’t want polemics emanating from the neo-conservative mindset. I loathe and revile conservative thinking because it’s lazy and ignorant and regressive and embarassing.

BH: Are there any specific examples of pieces you’ve recently published that writers should examine further?
AR: Felino Soriano is a regular poet at my zine; his style is wonderfully weird and wholly authentic. But there are so many absolutely phenomenal writers that I have published that I don’t feel it would be fair to pin down just one. Writers just need to peruse the zine to get an idea of our idiosyncratic “flavor.”

BH: What first got you interested in publishing your own magazine?

AR: I love to read and write, and I am very visually-oriented as well. My zine is a marriage of those passions. I am constantly changing the imagery on my front page, and I decorate each published poem or polemic with an image that I feel fits the “gist” of it.

BH: Be honest: have you ever gotten a really awful submission, something SO TERRIBLE that you’ve printed it out, covered with red ink (and maybe even some rude drawings), and tacked to your wall as a “What Not To Do” example to be mocked and referenced by anyone in the office? And if so, have you ever taken up the matter with the writer, in an effort to either understand or educate them?

AR: Most of the submissions I receive are quite good, but I do get some bad ones, of course. Recently, I received one that started, “Dear Poetry Editor of Clapboard.” I had a good guffaw at that. And the cover letter was riddled with errors; most ninth-graders could have written a better letter, and yet this came from an adult. I definitely let her know about her transgressions. I don’t like to hurt anyone’s feelings, but some people really need a lot of practice before they are even approaching the level of submission-ready. Oh, and her poetry was just insanely, mortifyingly bad.

BH: For that matter, do you have an official office, or is this one of those labors of love that you run out of your home? And have you any photos of your workspace to give an example of the wild, crazy, cluttered lives editors lead?

AR: My official office is my couch. The clutter is mainly digitalized, thankfully.

BH: In closing, what advice would you give to writers who would like to some day have their work published in your magazine?

AR: Pretty simple: Read several issues to get a feeling as to what styles we prefer. We are not the edgiest zine out there, but we do we have an edge and that is the type of writing we favor, poetry-wise. We also love reviews of films, books, and music. And just a reminder: if you are a writer of polemics, but harbor a neo-conservative mindset, stay far far far away from us, for we have been known to use ubridled vitriol towards those types. But if you are enlightened and progressive, please send your rants our way!

Clockwise Cat can be found online at clockwisecat.blogspot.com. For submission guidelines, click here.

Coma - The Medulla Review

2010-11-18T19:10:00.000-08:00

Coma at The Medulla Review
Published November 2010

Coma
by Alison Ross

The clocks weep an ennui of tears.

The black hour spills
through the eyes of the house
and strokes me with sleep-poisoned fingers.

The chimera licks me with her languid tongue:
I drown in dreams.

The clocks weep a euphoria of tears.

The white hour yawns
spilling pearls onto my sleep-fingered eyes.

I do not awaken
and I do not die.

Vienna Summer - Eviscerator Heaven

2010-09-09T14:58:00.000-07:00

Published September 2010
Vienna summer at Eviscerator Heaven

Vienna summer
by Alison Ross

Your Klimt-kissed skies,
gold-glimmering.

Your crooked geometry of streets,
Schiele-sketched,
stealing refuge in Baroque shadows.

Mozart moans through your veins:
violins breathe fire,
inflaming your cathedrals
with sun-kissed jewels.

Negate Tyme aka the Riddles - Eviscerator Heaven

2010-09-09T14:51:00.000-07:00

Published September 2010
Negate Tyme aka the riddles at Eviscerator Heaven

Negate Tyme aka the riddles
by Alison Ross

The riddles speak to me with invisible tongues
and utter wordless verse about transparent oblivions.

The riddles speak to me in equations of rhyme
that Einstein solves while traveling back in time

The riddles speak to me in scrambled Sanksrit
foretelling the future of Latin on obsolete planets.

The riddles are riddled with holy black holes
and splattered with the rainbows of gravity

The equations speak to me in riddles of rhyme
chanting Tibetan Latin in transparent tongues
in an invisible oblivion solved by obsolete magicians.

Alison Ross reads at the Hot! Hot! Hot! Poetry Event at Bound to be Read Books

2010-08-23T14:42:00.000-07:00

Alison Ross reads at the Hot! Hot! Hot! Poetry Event at Bound to be Read Books

Kahlo Sky - Up the Staircase

2010-08-22T16:30:00.000-07:00

Published May 2010
Up The Staircase

Nominated August 2010
Best of the Net

Kahlo Sky
by Alison Ross

Frida gave birth to the sky. It was stained with the memories of Diego and Trotsky and Communist ideals. The sky reverberated with chants of “Viva La Revolucion” and dripped the blood of dead peasants.

Diego painted a mural onto Frida’s forehead. In it the sky swirled with images of Rockerfeller, Detroit car factories, and Aztec symbology.

Frida swallowed the mural and gave birth to herself. She grew into a sky that dripped images of symbolic communists onto cars made of peasants.

At Frida’s funeral, Trostky made love to Rockerfeller, and Diego swooned into the Aztec sky.

Sun Tears - Bolts of Silk

2010-06-25T14:23:00.000-07:00

Published June 2010
Sun Tears at Bolts of Silk

Sun tears
by Alison Ross

The sea bows in prayer to the sun,
then shrinks back into the temple
of itself.

I drink in the solitude of the sea,
its dark wine filling me with the ecstasy
of emptiness.

But the sea is restless with nightmares.
It fears it will awaken a desert:
the corpse of an ocean
bled dry by the sun.

Tomorrow I will have nightmares
that I am drowning
inside the sun.
I dissolve into haloes,
and breathe.

I awaken, and hear god’s voice
trapped inside a stone,
howling
from its center of silence.

And I cry,
weeping tears of an ocean
bled dry.

Untitled - Menagerie

2010-06-25T14:19:00.000-07:00

Published June 2010
Untitled at Menagerie

Untitled
by Alison Ross

A cat stalks through the voluptuous mazes of my mind.
I caress her and she purrs,
releasing gardens
teeming with karmic flowers.
I pluck the flowers and reincarnate
into a memory of water.

Chopin - Chopin with Cherries

2010-05-27T14:08:00.001-07:00

Published March, 2010
Chopin with Cherries
Moonrise Press

The Government I Have - Democracy Means You

2010-05-03T10:57:00.002-07:00

Published 2005
Democracy Means You

The Government I Have, Not the Government I Might Want or Wish to Have

I have long thought that Donald Rumsfeld is the anti-Christ. I don't even believe in God, or, by association, the Devil. But let's pretend, for Theocracy's sake, that there is a Christ, and, by association, an anti-Christ. Donald Rumsfeld plays that role of hypothetical anti-Christ quite well, I think. If there were an Oscar award for Best Demon in the "Nightmare Movie That Has Become America's Sad Reality," Rumsfeld would surely win the prize.

Let's face it: not only is Rumsfeld as ugly as the devil, but he has no heart or soul. He's as hollow as the Tin Man, and as soulless as the Wicked Witch of the West.

Of course, he's really much much worse than anything Oz could conjure up. For one thing, he's real.

And now, even Republicans are picking up hints that our Secretary of Defense might indeed be directing and starring in his own biopic, " Donald R umsfeld: Spawn of Satan."

Recently, when a soldier asked why he and other soldiers were having to dig in landfills to find metal reinforcements for their trucks, Rumsfeld cavalierly and callously respoded, "You go to war with the Army you have, not the Army you might want or wish to have."

That's beyond diabolical. It's bad enough that the American government has hoodwinked young, blinded-by-testosterone soldiers into believing they are fighting a "just war," one which has destroyed a reported 100,000 civilian lives, killed and maimed thousands of soldiers, decimated infrastructures, fomented insurgency and terrorism for decades to come, encouraged deplorable torture of prisoners (many of whom are mere innocent civilians), and augmented the coffers of US c ´orporations.

It's bad enough that these young, often poor soldiers are coming back to a country whose government is refusing to acknowledge their sacrifices and refusing to dole out the benefits that are rightfully theirs (some Iraq veterans are already homeless, and many are not getting proper medical care for their severe spinal injuries, heart problems, fractured bones, and mental disorders.)

It's bad enough that there is a backdoor draft which is forcing many in the military to stay put long past their tour of duty is over, all because the military is having recruitment difficulties.

It's bad enough that all this is happening, that poor soldiers are fighting a corporate war in which Halliburton gains and everyone else loses - if not life, then limbs; if not limbs, then sanity; if not sanity, then hope.

As this were not enough, Rumsfeld adds to the horror by ignoring the soldiers' pleas for better equipment, so that they may protect themselves in a war that is being fought for him and his interests, and nothing else. Rumsfeld adds to the shame by flippantly telling the soldiers, "You go to war with the army you have."

In other words, "Deal with it, asshole."

Message to Rumsfeld: I support the troops, asshole. You don't. You support yourself, and no one else, because you are the devil, and the devil is a wicked, wicked being.

Demonic Despots and Dastardly Denial - Democracy Means You

2010-05-03T10:57:00.001-07:00

Published 2005
Democracy Means You

Demonic Despots and Dastardly Denial
The truth is your sadistic master; let him whip you ‘til it hurts so good

When you hear the popular refrain, “Home of the brave, land of the free” does the image of noble, ardently autonomous individuals blossom in your mind, or do you, like me, let out a sardonic cackle and mentally revise those lines as “Home of the craven, land of the psychologically imprisoned”?

Because, really, America has become a nation of cowardly complacent, harrowingly apathetic mental mummies.
Pe rhaps I am overstating the case - after all, there are millions of Americans like yourselves who do truly care - or perhaps America has always been a nation of stoic psychotics, and I’m just now being shocked awake to this disconcerting phenomenon.

One thing is clear, however, despite my possible amplification and historical naivety: Too many Americans don’t give a shit about what’s happening to our beloved nation: about the erosion of cherished democratic principles and the government’s menacing metamorp hosis into a totalitarian state.

Oh, sure, we’re still in transition - we haven’t become full-on fascist just yet. But we’re a fledgling fascist regime, and anyone who inanely refutes that idea need only glance at “The 14 Defining Characteristics Of Fascism” by Dr. Lawrence Britt
(http://www.rense.com/general37/fascism.htm) to apprehend the terrible truth. Of course, there are plenty of people who would peruse Britt’s list and still sink into a state of denial. But the truth will always float to the surface, even as one drowns herself in luscious lies and illicit illusions.

And denial, finally, is the crux of the problem. People, obstinately hopeful, often refuse to embrace truth, even as it’s gnawing the conscience like a rabid bird. The truth, indeed, is like Poe’s raven. In Poe’s infamous verse, the speaker refuses to accept his mistress’ demise, and so the raven harasses the speaker with the memory of his beloved until he goes quite mad.
The truth, sinister raven that it is, will harass us, and un less we acknowledge its presence, we too will go mad with denial.
When I ponder the denial disease and how it’s afflicted the nation, I can’t help but recall Elie Wiesel's Night, the haunting story of the ghettoization, tyranny and elimination of Polish Jews during World War II.

One of the many salient themes in Night is that of denial. Throughout the story, the Jews persistently dismiss the gravity of their plight. For example, when the Jews are initially moved into ghettos, they begin to accept it as an inevitable inconvenience; and then when they are transported to the concentration camps, they refuse to believe they might be tortured or killed there. They keep thinking their situation is bearable, or will improve.

It’s as though, in using the instrument of denial, the Jews are inoculating themselves against the excruciating actuality of their fate. And perhaps in some situations, denial can be a sort of perverse antidote to pain. Perhaps a healthy indulgence in denial is necessary to ensure sanity.

The problem with denial, of course, is that it enables passivity, and passivity is poison. If we are not actively living, then what is the purpose of living at all?

One of Wiesel’s points seems to be that had so many Jews not cowered in the face of such barbaric brutality, perhaps the Holocaust would not have happened to the extent that it did. In a way, the Jews became immune to their fate through their submissive acquiescence. Wiesel does not blame the Jews, of course, but his is a powerful cautionary tale about docility and its fatal repercussions.

America has not turned into Nazi Germany, to be sure. And no doubt it never will. But many Americans are in deep denial about the horrific things happening to their government. The mainstream media, of course - ever beholden to their corporate masters - hold truth hostage, revealing slivers of it when a brazen mood hits or when a story is too stridently sensationalistic to comfortably evade notice.

CNN - scapegoated by neo-c (ons as the “leader of the liberal media conspiracy” (certainly a farce, as CNN is hardly liberal) - and other mainstream media outlets report about the sundry Bush scandals in an “aw shucks oh well what can we do?” manner, neglecting to infuse these sordid stories of deception, greed and tyranny with the solemn tenor they so malevolently merit.
Furthermore, historically it has been media’s purpose to look askance upon political indiscretions; but instead of ruthlessly questioning Bush’s myriad misdeeds, CNN and its ilk excel at being servile to his regime.

Indeed, the mainstream media is Bush’s bitch.

But maybe it’s not fair to deride and discredit the mainstream media with such scorching critique. Perhaps Bush’s manifold depravities defy simple media anatomizing. After all, the Bush regime’ ƒs audacious atrocities (repeated Constitutional raping and a multitude of flagrant white-collar crimes) have become one big befuddling blur, and do not lend themselves to painstaking deconstruction.

Or perhaps I am right, and, misogynistic though it sounds, the mainstream media is simply a crack whore with corporate clients and a Bush-Cheney-Rumsfeld pimp alliance.

It's truly amazing to me that people aren't rioting in the streets over the tyrannical turn our country has taken. My pacifistic values would not permit me to riot, but the crap this government is getting away with is unfathomable to me, and I certainly advocate peacefully vociferous means of resistance.

For in the end, even though the mainstream media has shamefully miseducated the public, it’s the people who are mostly to blame - the Big Mac-gorging, Hum V-idolizing, mummified moronic masses.

So if this country ever becomes a full-fledged fascist regime, the people will have no one to blame but themselves - for turning the other way, for plugging their ears and shuttering their eyes to the terrible irrefutable truth.

America is a democracy, dammit, not some playground for demonic despots.

Americans! Wake the hell up from your stupefied slumber, clutter the streets, and clamor for change. It’s either that, or quietly suffer whatever befalls us - and have no one to blame but our sad, slothful selves.

The 14 Defining Characteristics Of Fascism
by Dr. Lawrence Britt

Dr. Lawrence Britt has examined the fascist regimes of Hitler (Germany), Mussolini (Italy), Franco (Spain), Suharto (Indonesia) and several Latin American regimes. Britt found 14-defining characteristics common to each:

1. Powerful and Continuing Nationalism -
Fascist regimes tend to make constant use of patriotic mottos, slogans, symbols, songs, and other paraphernalia. Flags are seen everywhere, as are flag symbols on clothing and Ò in public displays.

2. Disdain for
the Recognition of Human Rights -
Because of fear of enemies and the need for security, the people in fascist regimes are persuaded that human rights can be ignored in certain cases because of "need." The people tend to look the other way or even approve of torture, summary executions, assassinations, long incarcerations of prisoners, etc.

3. Identification of Enemies/Scapegoats
as a Unifying Cause -
The people are rallied into a unifying patriotic frenzy over the need to eliminate a perceived common threat or foe: racial , ethnic or religious minorities; liberals; communists; socialists, terrorists, etc.

4. Supremacy of the Military -
Even when there are widespread domestic problems, t he military is given a disproportionate amount of government funding, and the domestic agenda is neglected. Soldiers and military service are glamorized.

5. Rampant Sexism -
The governments of fascist nations tend to be almost exclusively male-dominated. Under fascist regimes, traditional gender roles are made more rigid. Divorce, abortion and homosexuality are suppressed and the state is represented as the ultimate guardian of the family institution.

6. Controlled Mass Media -
Sometimes to media is directly controlled by the government, but in other cases, the media is indirectly controlled by government regulation, or sympathetic media spokespeople and executives. Censorship, especially in war time, is very common.

7. Obsession with National Security -
Fear is used as a motivational tool by the government over the masses.

8. Religion and Government are Intertwined -
Governments in fascist nations tend to use the most common religion in the nation as a tool to manipulate public opinion. Religious rhetoric and terminology is common from government leaders, even when the major tenets of the religion are diametrically opposed to the government's policies or actions.

9. Corporate Power is Protected -
The industrial and business aristocracy of a fascist nation often are the ones who put the government leaders into power, creating a mutually beneficial business/government relationship and power elite.

10. Labor Power is Suppressed -
Because the organizing power of labor is the only real threat to a fascist governmen ˆt, labor unions are either eliminated entirely, or are severely suppressed.

11. Disdain for Intellectuals and the Arts -
Fascist nations tend to promote and tolerate open hostility to higher education, and academia. It is not uncommon for professors and other academics to be censored or even arrested. Free expression in the arts and letters is openly attacked.

12. Obsession with Crime and Punishment -
Under fascist regimes, the police are given almost limitless power to enforce laws. The people are often willing to overlook police abuses and even forego civil liberties in the name of patriotism. There is often a national police force with virtually unlimited power in fascist nations.

13. Rampant Cronyism and Corruption -
Fascist r ıegimes almost always are governed by groups of friends and associates who appoint each other to government positions and use governmental power and authority to protect their friends from accountability. It is not uncommon in fascist regimes for national resources and even treasures to be appropriated or even outright stolen by government leaders.

14. Fraudulent Elections -
Sometimes elections in fascist nations are a complete sham. Other times elections are manipulated by smear campaigns against or even assassination of opposition candidates, use of legislation to control voting numbers or political district boundaries, and manipulation of the media. Fascist nations also typically use their judiciaries to manipulate or control elections.

Toxic Water - Democracy Means You

2010-05-03T10:56:00.001-07:00

Published 2005
Democracy Means You

Toxic Water

Why is no one discussing the firm of Blackwater Securities? More to the point, why is no one fuming in a freaked-out furious frenzy over these creepy corporate mercenaries?

For those not in the know, Blackwater USA is a private security contractor for the US government. As it states on the company website, “Blackwater USA is the most comprehensive professional military, law enforcement, security, peacekeeping, and stability operations company in the world.” This suspicious description alone should provide sufficient basis for concern.

But then the site goes on to say,“We have established a global presence and provide training and operational solutions for the 21st century in support of security and peace, and freedom and democracy everywhere.”

Now that description, so rife with fascist overtones, provides more than just mere basis for concern; in short, it should scare the holy terror out o Òf any principled human being. Unfortunately, your average person would prefer not to rouse his or her conscience from its stupefied slumber, and so a human being with actual scruples has become a quaintly oxymoronic concept.

Fascist entities are fond of using specious rationales to augment their diabolic agendas. Words such as, “security,” “peace,” “freedom,” and “democracy,” have benignly pleasant connotations, and therefore are employed by Blackwater to placate people into thinking the company has altruistic aims. Of course, nothing could be more estranged from the truth.

Blackwater’s use of such terms is duplicitous Orwellian propaganda, of course; for the comfortable concepts of peace and freedom, when couched in the same context as military and law enforcement, suddenly become laden with a meaning quite the evil opposite of their original innocuous definitions. Suddenly the shimmering ideal of peace connotes a certain bellicosity; suddenly the alluring ideas of freedom and democracy co „nnote draconian oppression.

Furthermore, the phrase “operational solutions” is eerily euphemistic; what “operational solutions” really means, of course, is “imperialistic ass-kicking.” In other words, Blackwater’s true purpose is to bolster the US military’s dangerous dominance of the Middle East. But of course, Blackwater would shy away from such soul-searching sincerity.

Currently, Blackwater has personnel deployed in Iraq, and the company has been embroiled in lawsuits as a result. Most notably, the company is involved in a lawsuit on behalf of the families of Blackwater employees killed in Falluja, who contend that Blackwater failed to properly equip the murdered employees.

Also keep in mind that a typical Blackwater contract soldier reportedly makes six figures per year. That’s heaps more than the salary of a typical government-employed soldier, so one can imagine what the cognizance of such disparities does to the morale of the troops. The idea that any killer should r ﬁeceive a paycheck is disturbing enough, but a corporate killer with a bloated bank account is downright gruesome.

What is frightening about the existence of a company like Blackwater should be readily apparent. But to spell it out for those with dimmed consciences who need their ethical lightbulbs changed, a private for-profit entity providing military defense for the public constitutes a flagrant ethical conflict. In particular, since Blackwater personnel are not required to adhere to the Code of Military Justice, they are not accountable to the public if they commit a crime. Of course, the company’s very existence should be a crime, but that’s another matter.

The point is, the US Army is exempt from profit, and so while it does sometimes indulge in deplorable imperialistic actitivies, at least it is accountable to the taxpayer for its deeds, however wrong or right. It has a certain interest in maintaining integrity, or at least the illusion of integrity, while Blackwate
r’s main concern is, like other corporations, the proverbial bottom line.

Naturally, it is in both Blackwater’s and the US military’s best interest that the firm is not subject to the Code of Military Justice. Not only does this exclusion allow Blackwater to escape congressional and public scrutiny, as mentioned, but Blackwater’s presence helps thicken anemic military ranks.

In case there are still those benighted souls afflicted with Denial Disease who need to be browbeaten with the facts so they can truly grasp the severity of the situation, think of it this way: Blackwater is essentially a paramilitary outfit. Paramilitaries, as commonly understood, are a group of civilians organized militarily, in order to either assist or replace government army troops.

And p ≠aramilitary outfits are predominant in fascist dictatorships. That’s because paramilitaries are not intricately woven into the fabric of democracies. Paramilitaries are as inherently alien to democracies as fair rule is to totalitarian regimes.

The cherry on top of all of this is that during Katrina, Blackwater deployed personnel to New Orleans, and essentially established martial law there. So not only were many New Orleanians callously left to drown, but the storm survivors were not properly assisted, and were subjected to iron-fist rule by corporate mercenaries.

So how long before there are 10 Blackwaters? Twenty? How long before such profitable paramilitaries are as ub ¢iqutous as The Gap?

Corporate dominance, as many of us know, is tantamount to anarchy. Corporate entities evade public accountability - hence their existence as private firms. Government entities, on the other hand, do not evade such scrutiny. This is beacuse we elect governments, not corporations, so governments (ostensibly, anyway ) exist to represent us and our welfare. Corporations, however, exist to make their shareholders wealthy, and couldn’t give a rodent’s derriere about the welfare of humanity.

Make no mistake: This “security firm” is toxic business. America would be vastly improved it simply ceased drinking from Blackwater’s poisonous well.
Toxic Water
by Alison Ross

Why is no one discussing the firm of Blackwater Securities? More to the point, why is no one fuming in a freaked-out furious frenzy over these creepy corporate mercenaries?

For those not in the know, Blackwater USA is a private security contractor for the US government. As it states on the company website, “Blackwater USA is the most comprehensive professional military, law enforcement, security, peacekeeping, and stability operations company in the world.” This suspicious description alone should provide sufficient basis for concern.

But then the site goes on to say,“We have established a global presence and provide training and operational solutions for the 21st century in support of security and peace, and freedom and democracy everywhere.”

Now that description, so rife with fascist overtones, provides more than just mere basis for concern; in short, it should scare the holy terror out o Òf any principled human being. Unfortunately, your average person would prefer not to rouse his or her conscience from its stupefied slumber, and so a human being with actual scruples has become a quaintly oxymoronic concept.

Fascist entities are fond of using specious rationales to augment their diabolic agendas. Words such as, “security,” “peace,” “freedom,” and “democracy,” have benignly pleasant connotations, and therefore are employed by Blackwater to placate people into thinking the company has altruistic aims. Of course, nothing could be more estranged from the truth.

Blackwater’s use of such terms is duplicitous Orwellian propaganda, of course; for the comfortable concepts of peace and freedom, when couched in the same context as military and law enforcement, suddenly become laden with a meaning quite the evil opposite of their original innocuous definitions. Suddenly the shimmering ideal of peace connotes a certain bellicosity; suddenly the alluring ideas of freedom and democracy co „nnote draconian oppression.

Furthermore, the phrase “operational solutions” is eerily euphemistic; what “operational solutions” really means, of course, is “imperialistic ass-kicking.” In other words, Blackwater’s true purpose is to bolster the US military’s dangerous dominance of the Middle East. But of course, Blackwater would shy away from such soul-searching sincerity.

Currently, Blackwater has personnel deployed in Iraq, and the company has been embroiled in lawsuits as a result. Most notably, the company is involved in a lawsuit on behalf of the families of Blackwater employees killed in Falluja, who contend that Blackwater failed to properly equip the murdered employees.

Also keep in mind that a typical Blackwater contract soldier reportedly makes six figures per year. That’s heaps more than the salary of a typical government-employed soldier, so one can imagine what the cognizance of such disparities does to the morale of the troops. The idea that any killer should r ﬁeceive a paycheck is disturbing enough, but a corporate killer with a bloated bank account is downright gruesome.

What is frightening about the existence of a company like Blackwater should be readily apparent. But to spell it out for those with dimmed consciences who need their ethical lightbulbs changed, a private for-profit entity providing military defense for the public constitutes a flagrant ethical conflict. In particular, since Blackwater personnel are not required to adhere to the Code of Military Justice, they are not accountable to the public if they commit a crime. Of course, the company’s very existence should be a crime, but that’s another matter.

The point is, the US Army is exempt from profit, and so while it does sometimes indulge in deplorable imperialistic actitivies, at least it is accountable to the taxpayer for its deeds, however wrong or right. It has a certain interest in maintaining integrity, or at least the illusion of integrity, while Blackwate
r’s main concern is, like other corporations, the proverbial bottom line.

Naturally, it is in both Blackwater’s and the US military’s best interest that the firm is not subject to the Code of Military Justice. Not only does this exclusion allow Blackwater to escape congressional and public scrutiny, as mentioned, but Blackwater’s presence helps thicken anemic military ranks.

In case there are still those benighted souls afflicted with Denial Disease who need to be browbeaten with the facts so they can truly grasp the severity of the situation, think of it this way: Blackwater is essentially a paramilitary outfit. Paramilitaries, as commonly understood, are a group of civilians organized militarily, in order to either assist or replace government army troops.

And p ≠aramilitary outfits are predominant in fascist dictatorships. That’s because paramilitaries are not intricately woven into the fabric of democracies. Paramilitaries are as inherently alien to democracies as fair rule is to totalitarian regimes.

The cherry on top of all of this is that during Katrina, Blackwater deployed personnel to New Orleans, and essentially established martial law there. So not only were many New Orleanians callously left to drown, but the storm survivors were not properly assisted, and were subjected to iron-fist rule by corporate mercenaries.

So how long before there are 10 Blackwaters? Twenty? How long before such profitable paramilitaries are as ub ¢iqutous as The Gap?

Corporate dominance, as many of us know, is tantamount to anarchy. Corporate entities evade public accountability - hence their existence as private firms. Government entities, on the other hand, do not evade such scrutiny. This is beacuse we elect governments, not corporations, so governments (ostensibly, anyway ) exist to represent us and our welfare. Corporations, however, exist to make their shareholders wealthy, and couldn’t give a rodent’s derriere about the welfare of humanity.

Make no mistake: This “security firm” is toxic business. America would be vastly improved it simply ceased drinking from Blackwater’s poisonous well.

Parade of Shame - Democracy Means You

2010-05-03T10:55:00.000-07:00

Published 2005
Democracy Means You

Parade of Shame

It was a bitterly cold day, and only occasional light flickered through the grey clouds swirling above.

But the bleakly frigid weather did nothing to deter thousands from standing for seven or more hours in full view of the nation's capital, chanting slogans and wielding signs in outraged defiance of the second inauguration of the Worst President Ever.

It did nothing to deter us $because grim, icy weather is a spring paradise in contrast to the suffering endured by thousands of soldiers, hundreds of thousands of Iraqi civilians, and millions of Americans under the Bush Regime.

It did nothing to deter us because even though the Bush Regime was attempting to delay us at the checkpoints and then cage us in, police-state style, giving us the image of debased prisoners, we knew better than to fall into his tyrannical traps.

Throughout the day, as speakers ranted and the crowd chanted, the true voices of humanity were heard, drowning out the dour tones of imperialist rhetoric issuing from Herr Bush's mouth.

The true voices of humanity: those of compassion, of justice, of hope.

And then, the defining moment of this Inaugural Charade: the passing of the presidential mo ctorcade.

As the Bush entourage sped by in a black blur, Secret Service men flanking the menacing motorcade, we the protesters became a noisy chorus of "Shame! Shame! Shame!"

And suddenly I understood why there were two rows of steel barriers and cops four and five rows deep. Suddenly I understood, because angels need no protection - angels are their own guardians. But demons - demons build defenses. Demons need fortresses to shield them from the forces of good.

After that defining moment, when the crescendo of ragged voices had faded to a whisper, and the Bush and Cheney motorcades were safely out of sight, an icy calm fell upon the protest crowd. I noticed then that in our frenzied chanting, we had shaken the barriers out of place.

And suddenly I knew why the Bush motorcade had whizzed by the protesters. For had the motorcade lingered even slightl cy, Bush might not have made it to his second term.

When it was all over, a woman behind me said, “I felt a chill run through me as his motorcade went by.” thers nodded their heads in recognition.

The frigid chill of a DC winter is nothing compared to the icy chill of another long, dark winter of American dictatorship.

George W. Bush has left Americans - and the world - out in the bitter cold, again and again and again. And George W. Bush will continue to leave us in the bitter cold, because his heart is frozen, and he knows no warmth.

Shame on George Bush, Dick Cheney, Donald Rumsfeld, and the rest of the Fascist Theocrats masquerading as legitimate leaders.

Shame on the Democrats for their cowardly compliance. But most of all, shame on Americans who voted for Bush, and on those who stand by in apathy as our beloved country is reduced to ruins

Get Your Fascist Freak On! - Democracy Means You

2010-05-03T10:54:00.002-07:00

Published 2005
Democracy Means You

Get your Fascist Freak On!

It has become increasingly, glaringly, embarrassingly obvious to many Americans that our country is in the throes of nascent fascism. It has also become increasingly, glaringly, embarrassingly obvious to many Americans that our country is in the throes of nascent stupidity. Well, no, scratch that – we are not in the throes of nascent stupidity; we are a stupid nation in full bloom; therefore we are suffering adolescent stupidity. “Stupid hormones” surging and raging, our adolescent stupidity is a menace to all adult nations of the world. Admittedly, th àere aren’t too many adult nations in our midst, but anyway, that’s not that point, so shut up.

So seeing as America is both fascist and stupid, the question naturally arises: is the rise of stupidity necessarily congruent with the rise of fascism? In other words, as a nation grows more politically paranoid, does it concurrently grow more culturally unimaginative? It would seem so, especially after careful scrutiny of Dr. Britt’s 14 Points of Fascism (http://www.ellensplace.net/fascism.html ) combined with close observation of American media and pop culture.

Granted, pop culture is rife with stupidity anyway, even in the most advanced democracy. But fascism seems to imbue culture with even more egregious vapidity.

To wit, here are some points of Freaky Fascism paired with their Stupidity Cultural Counterparts:

Freaky Fascist Point:

Powerful and continuing expressions of nationalism N.

Stupidity Cultural Counterparts:

Fox News. Fox News grew out of the same totalitarian philosophy that propels Bush and his cronies. Fox News and other copycat new shows reveal no insights into the issues that affect us, and instead serve up simplistic, jingoistic pap that merely poses as news that edifies and enlighten.

Fox News: Scary Imbalanced.

Pervasive American flags. American flags jutting from housefronts and storefronts flap dumbly in the wind, bumper sticker banners bearing the stars and stripes and yellow ribbon adhesives scream from oil-sucking SUVs and hideously Herculean Hummers... all menacingly and stupidly asserting American supremacy, as though the preponderance of buildings that display painted pieces of cloth and blatantly bulky vehicles announce a supremely enlightened populace.

Freaky Fascist Point:

The supremacy of the military/avid militarism.

Stupidity Cultural Counterparts:

Military and war video games. It’s bad enough that the American military is a freakzillion dollar business, but now we have video games crafted for pubescent males that fetishize the military mindset. Oh, sure, these games are rated to purportedly protect tender minds, but the rating system is so dubious that the most horrifically violent videos slip into the hungry hands of pre-teens every day. Next blockbuster video game to hit the market @: “Uzi-Toting Toddlers on Toy Store Rampage!”

Freaky Fascist Point:

Rampant sexism.

Stupidity Cultural Counterparts:

Cooking and cleaning commercials that predominantly feature females. Observing American commercials that promote cleaning products and various brands of food and culinary tools, you’d think that males were an extinct species. But rumor has it that men CAN actually use a dust cloth and stir a pot. At press time, the spokespeople for Hamburger Helper and Glade had not yet gotten wind of this revolutionary bit of scuttlebutt.

Game shows featuring scantily clad women. Um, isn’t it about time we had mindless game shows featuring sculpted hunks donning weenie-wrappers and thongs? And no, I don’t mean GAY men, who still merely cater to MEN; I mean straight soap opera-hot hunks who cater to straight w komen and our lascivious libidos.

Of course, I am not averse to luscious lesbians or hunky homo men on quiz shows catering to the queer sector. Just give us anything to balance out the ubiquitous bikinied bimbo beckoning the moronic hetero male with her open suitcases spilling with monetary treasures. It’s old, already, and time for some “sexism equilibrium.”

TV shows like “Sex and The City” and “Desperate Housewives.” These shows, which act like they’re so forward-thinking, merely trot out the tired old idea of women needing men to anchor them, and do nothing to promote the independent femme who eschews men for a blissfully child-free single life. This is not to say that women shouldn’t get married or have children, but it is to say that this is not the only paradigm for women, as so many shows seem to suggest. Bring on the next episode of “Burning Bra Babes” and see it ignite TV screens with a brash portrayal of that subversive species, the childless, husbandless STRAIGHT female!

Freaky Fascist Point:

Disdain and suppression of intellectuals and the arts.

Stupidity Cultural Counterparts:

Abundant bad TV. Okay, fine, “bad TV” is redundant. Still, with vacuous quiz shows like “Deal or No Deal,” pointless soap-opera reality shows like “The Bachelor,” Empty-V and its sundry spawn of inane shows and silly unimaginative sitcoms, TV has sunk to an even lower low.

Pervasive lowbrow culture in the musical and literary arts: Gangsta rap is glamorized, vacuous novels and self-help books soar to the thrones of best seller lists, People magazine and its countless copycats populate grocery store isles...

There i Ms nothing whatsoever wrong with mindless entertainment, provided it’s balanced by a healthy highbrow culture. But lowbrow culture predominates to the point that highbrow culture is now considered elitist, when it should be as eagerly embraced as pop culture.

There are many other Freaky Fascist Points/Stupidity Cultural Counterpart pairings, such as controlled mass media (which would describe all mainstream news outlets), obsession with national security (which would describe a show like “24”), obsession with crime and punishment (which would describe shows like “Cops” and the various law and order type shows), power of corporations protected (which would describe the role of commercials), and so on.

But I think I’ll leave it to YOU, dear reader, to do your own Fascism/Stupidity pairings! It’s fast, fun, and best of all, FREE!

The conclusion from all of this? That fascism breeds stupidity, because fascism IS stupidity.

Now leave me alone. I’m getting ready to wiggle into my French maid’s costume so I can dust my living room while watching “Cops.”

George W. Bush Morality Kwiz! - Democracy Means You

2010-05-03T10:54:00.001-07:00

Published 2005
Democracy Means You

George W. Bush
Morality Kwiz!

“Are you as morality as me?” Asks our cuddly Commander-in-Thief, George “Warmonger” Bush.

Take this kwiz and find out!

The Bush administration invaded Iraq because:

a) Jesus said, “Blessed are the Americans, for they shall inherit Iraqi oil.”

b) Jesus said, “Blessed are the motherfucking warmakers”

c) Jesus said, “Thou shalt not kill...unless it’s silly brown people living in stupid desert countries who have lots of that greasy stuff that makes American super-sized cars go ‘vroom vroom.’ ”

The Bush administration wants to amend the constiution to ban gay marriage because:

a) Leviticus 15: 23 says, “God hates fags!”

b) Genesis says, “And on the seventh day, God killed fags”

c) Jesus loves you...unless you’re a flaming queer or soccer dyke

The Bush administr Kation wants to privatize social security because:

a) Old people are useless anyway

b) This is not some pansy-ass European country - this is America, dammit, and we hate people!

c) Jesus did so love his mutual funds

Halliburton deserves a contract to help rebuild Iraq because:

a) It’s fun to watch stuff go ‘ka-boom!’ and then put it all back together

b) Because any company with a name that sounds like “hallitosis” deserves to benefit from peoples’ misery

c) Because the first commandment reads: “Thou shalt have no other gods before me -- except, of course, war profiteers.”

Outsourcing jobs is good because:

a) People in India need the $1.31 a month to pay for new arms and legs

b) In America, only people with trust funds deserve jobs

c) Jesus said, “Blessed are the CEOs of multi-billion dollar companies that ship peo Yple’s jobs overseas to save costs, because their children shall inherit a shitload of money that they can use to start their own companies that make products that exploit the labor of four-year-old girls in China.”

Mixing church and state is healthy because:

a) Witches are everywhere

b) Jesus said, “Blessed are the Christians, because we are the only religion that matters. All the others can kiss my pious butt!”

c) It just is, you filthy pagan

Huge tax cuts for the wealthy are virtuous because:

a) I mean, have you seen how much it costs to own a small island these days?

b) One can never have too many McMansions

c) Poor people smell funny

d) The sons of those dirty welfare queens keep stealing our SUVs!

Healthcare should remain inaccessible to millions of Americans because:

a) God hates healthy children

b) Jesus said, “Blesse Xd are those who realize that healthcare is a privilege, not a right. Get with the program, commies!”

c) Americans are strong; we don’t get ill like those sickly Euro-queers or African AIDS fags

George W. Bush is not really Christian because:

a) TRUE Christians believe in PEACE

b) TRUE Christians wouldn’t lie about the reason for going to war, help destroy an already-tyrannized country and sanction the slaughter of 100,000 civilians, and then say it’s all for the cause of freedom

c) TRUE Christians aren’t ignorant neo-fascists who care only about the affluent, but tolerant and peaceful individuals who care for the welfare of all humans

d) TRUE Christians aren’t cowboy nihilists, but quaintly compassionate people

e) TRUE Christians model their behavior on the benevolent Jesus, not on ruthless dictators

f) TRUE Christians don’t suck

Christian Conservatives: Oxymorons - Democracy Means You

2010-05-03T10:52:00.000-07:00

Published 2005
Democracy Means You

Christian Conservatives: Oxymorons

The most oxymoronic phrase in the English language has got to be: Christian Conservative.

One of my favorite pieces of Bush-bashing propaganda illustrates my point with comic elegance. The piece is a mock ad entitled, “The Bush Campaign’s TV Commercial If He Was Running Against Jesus. ” There are six panels, four of which contain a com passionate quote from Jesus, and then the Bush campaign’s twisted twist on the quote. For example, one panel says, “ Jesus of Nazareth says, “ Do not resist one who is evil. But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other, ” and the Bush campaign spin is, “Can we trust Jesus to fight the War on Terror? ” The ad sums up what the Bush campaign considers Jesus’ inability to govern by saying, “ Jesus - Wrong on social services. Wrong on crime. Wrong on defense. Wrong for America."

This ad not only wonderfully encapsulates everything that is wrong with Bush’s approach to, well, everything, but it also sharply targets the neanderthal neo-conservative hypocrisy regarding Christianity.

Now, I renounced Christianity a while ago, when it became clear to me that the teachers and administration at my private Baptist high school - and, by extension, many who called themselves Christian - were shameful shams.

Nonetheless, my later study of Buddhism and its paral °lels to Christianity, plus my inquiries into Christian mysticism, have taught me there are humane aspects of Christianity, as there are to all religions. So, while I reject the existence of God and believe it all to be manufactured mythology, and view the Bible as a misguided and misguiding mishmash of benevolence and malevolence, I embrace the good side of Christianity and believe that it is this facet that should be magnified.
Message to conservative “ Chistians ” : Jesus would love fags. Indeed, he probably was one, seeing how he was such a sensitive male and all.

Memo to pious pretenders: Jesus would love trailer park trash and project-dwellers. Indeed, he would have inhabited a cozy double-wide rather than a sterile McMansion, and would have mingled with the modest masses over the fur-wearing flaunters. Indeed, Jesus would have been on welfare, as he would have been out of work. After all, no corporation i n America has a position open for Selfless Saint.

Cluephone to “ religious ” Republicans: Jesus would love taxes, provided they mostly went toward helpful services like education, healthcare, and safeguarding the general welfare, and not mainly toward destructive programs like the military, as they now do. Indeed, Jesus was a socialist, which would explain his pink complexion.

A true Christian, you see, is pro-poor and anti-war. A true Christian is peace-loving and community-oriented. A true Christian is not a gay-bashing, homeless-hating, war-mongering bigot. In other words, a true Christian is LIBERAL - that is, RATIONAL and HUMANE - and not CONSERVATIVE - in other words, MENTALLY CONFUSED AND CRUEL TO THE CORE.

What Would Jesus Do? Jesus as activist would lead peace marches and speak at the counter-inaugural protest. Jesus as lobbiest would lobby against corporate welfare and ou Ñtsourcing. Jesus as citizen would vote in favor of gay marriage. Jesus as congressman would vote against anyone who supports the heinous torture of prisoners.

What Else Would Jesus Do? Jesus would realize that abortion should remain legal in order to protect women’s health and rights, and because he would cringe at the spectre of children living in orphanhood. Of course, Jesus would also decry the inordinate amount of abortions, and would call for its occurrence to be limited. Indeed, he would vigorously endorse contraceptives for this very reason.

Furthermore, Jesus would oppose the death penalty.

Just What Exactly Would Jesus Do? Jesus would denouce all those who exploit his image in the name of arrogance, belligerence and greed. Yet he would do so without malice.

If only we could all be so restrained in our outrage toward the Tyrannical Theocrats mis-leading our country.

Eating Ice Cream in Vienna - Democracy Means You

2010-05-03T10:51:00.000-07:00

Published 2005
Democracy Means You

Eating Ice Cream in Vienna
I’ll take three scoops of social democracy, please

I’m fed up with driving.

Oh sure, I enjoy retreating to my days as a misfit adolescent, blasting my CDs full volume as I careen down the highway (well, okay, that is a hyperbolic description of my current more temperate driving tactics – but I do like to blast those tunes). I also extract immense pleasure from the baleful glares and malicious middle fingers shot in my direction in response to the layers of brashly liberal bumper stickers adorning my car (besides, the exaltations I get from more savory individuals provides a nice counterpoint to the hateful hostility spewed my way). And, finally, I am proud to flaunt my humble Hybrid as symbolic flouting of American oil- and pollution-addiction.

But let’s face the facts, shall we? And the most fatal of those facts is, we Americans are held hostage by our vehicles. There are American cities in which c Jars are not a necessity, thankfully, but most metropolises in the U.S. at least rely somewhat on cars for transportation.

New York City, Philadelphia, Boston, Chicago, Seattle - these are some of the major American metropolises that provide decent bus and subway transit. And we should applaud these cities for providing needed services to the masses.

Still, many American cities feature inadequate transportation services, and some offer downright anemic services. This is inexcusable in this, the most affluent country on planet earth.

In contrast, many European cities - big and small - are paragons of transportation efficacy. Take, for example, Vienna.

This past summer it was my great fortune to pay a visit to Vienna, a city renowned for its love of Mozart and museums.

But what thrilled me about Vienna, besides its obvious Èobsession with the arts, was the city’s extremely efficient, if somewhat complex, transportation network. Above-ground, Vienna is a dizzying maze of tram tracks, bus lanes, and bike paths, all criss-crossing and swirling around the city, while below the surface, subways wend their way through a labyrinth of tunnels. True, above-ground it’s a bit bewildering and potentially disconcerting for pedestrian tourists, who must navigate through forests of cyclers and remain ultra-vigilant when they venture across the streets, since trams sometimes go against traffic.

But spend a week in the city, and you get the idea that the Viennese themselves happily tolerate the chaos. The entire system gives the impression of a city that respects all ˇits citizens, regardless of income.

The Viennese system, indeed, stands as a monument to the idea of equitable transportation access. In other words, the Viennese get it that transportation does not just exist for the privileged. It is also a testimony to the idea that the more widely available transit services are, the more widely they are used, by people from all economic strata.

And the fact that in Vienna bicycle paths are ubiquitous, and its many sidewalks are well-maintained, speaks to the idea that the Viennese recognize that there are multiple modes of transportation, besides just cars.

In American mindset, however, cars reign. In the American mindset, mainly the poor ride mass transit, and the middle class and wealthy own cars. And as a resul Ót of this muddled mindset, the middle class and affluent are averse to taking mass transit, rife as it is with the perceived criminal class.

And in many American cities, the vehicle and highway lobby hold sway, which precludes more facile access to European-style transportation networks.

But access to public transportion is a cornerstone of social-democracy.
In social democracies like Austria, the individual triumphs when societal needs are nurtured. This is the antithesis of the American dream, wherein the indivdual triumphs when one looks out for oneself. In reality, of course, this is pathetic propaganda. For many, this “dream” of self-serving introversion is an utter nightmare.

While I was in Vienna, the other thing that stood out º so starkly besides the arts and the terrific transportation was that the people loved eating ice cream - Gelato in particular. Gelato shops appear on every corner, just about, and the Viennese mill about the streets lazily licking their cones. It’s a Zen-esque delight to behold.

In many American cities, how to get to work with minimal traffic hassles or how to spend less than three hours to commute to work via an inadequate transporation system is often the most anxiety-inducing aspect of a person’s daily routine.

But in a city where social democracy thrives, what flavor of ice cream to order after dinner is likely the maximum stress a person experiences in one day.

Tsunami Survivors Relocating to Iraq - Democracy Means You

2010-05-03T10:50:00.000-07:00

Published
Democracy Means You

Tsunami Survivors Relocating to Iraq
“We too would like to benefit from American Benevolence"

Citing the fact that America cannot afford to help Asian tsunami victims because the bulk of its aid money is tied up in Iraqi freedom efforts, Asian flood survivors are flocking to Iraq. There, they say, is where relief from their suffering can most readily ’ be found.

“ All my basic needs can be met in Iraq, ” says an Indonesian tsunami survivor, who lost his home, wife, and two children in the disaster.

“ If I'm looking for shelter and food, I can simply pose as an insurgent, be sent to Abu Grahib prison, and feast on rotten meat, ” he explained. “ If I'm looking for companionship, I can always pal around with one of those dogs that the guards use to terrorize prisoners. And if I'm looking for work, I can actually become an insurgent - although it would pain me to wage a war against my American benefactors. ”

Another survivor from Thailand perceives similar fortunes in Iraq: “ The Americans are helping the Iraqis in so many ways: freeing them from their electrical bills, freeing them from their homes, freeing them from their arms and legs, freeing them from their children ... the American freedom effort in Iraq is truly a thing to cherish, and I would like to benefit from this charitable cause. ”

Asked how th e American effort in Iraq can help him, he said, “ In my country I served as an executive of a contracting company, so I would like to continue in that line of work. I will contact one of the many American corporations contracted to rebuild Iraq and see if there are any openings. I would like to help make billions for a fine American company. War profiteering is such a noble undertaking, and I would like to be a part of it. ”

The man added that he would work for three-quarters of what an American would make if necessary. “ After all, ” he smiled, “ I'm Asian, and I don't deserve American wages. ”

Asked why he doesn't want to stay and receive American aid in his own country, he scoffs, “ That's ridiculous. The American government doesn't have the time or money to devote to this disast ”er. It had its own disaster on Sept. 11th, 2001 and since then it's been spreading peace and freedom through missiles to realize the totally realistic goal of permanently and forever squashing terrorism ”

“ The 1.5 billion dollars a day spent on liberating the Iraqi people from tyranny by bombing the country into gleeful submission is a thoroughly necessary endeavor that will reap huge profits for benevolent American corporations, the very same companies that outsourced their work and generously employed my now-deceased four year old child when we needed the money. The Americans simply don't have the funds to help Buddhist chinks like me when they're busy helping spread the Gospel of the Good Lord to ungrateful “Muslim scum. ”

A third survivor being interviewed agrees. “ We can all learn from the gleaming example of American Christianity, ” she says, tears filling her eyes. “ In fact, if I'm not mistaken, Jesus was American. And the Americans simply don't have money to waste on petty tidal waves. Jesus hated fags and and would hate poor fishermen in Sri Lanka, too. So we're going to Iraq to bask in the glory of American goodness. ”

An estimated 20,000 tsunami survivors have begun the trek to Iraq. When asked to comment on the phenomenon, President Bush said, “ We stand with the survivors of that tornado in those Chinese countries, and ask that they donate whatever they can to the cause of liberationing Iraq. ”

What Should Pat Do? - Democracy Means You

2010-05-03T10:48:00.000-07:00

Published 2005
Democracy Means You

What Should Pat Do?

Cuddly Christian curmudgeon Pat Robertson, he of 700 Club fame, has cultivated a true talent for making outlandishly controversial claims that incense more moderate-minded folk. But really, why shouldn’t Robertson get his way? He is, after all, part of God’s Elite Cadre of Preferred Customers. Who are we to deny him his divine right to serve the Great CEO in the Sky in whatever way he sees fit?

The following are some ways in which Robertston could serve God (TM) and make planet earth a happier home for us all:

Issue: Hugo Chavez assassination. Robertson audaciously called for the assassination of Venezuelan president Hugo Chavez - intimating that the CIA should “take care” of him, since the Chavez regime poses a threat to U.S. interests.

Solution: Robertson should assassinate Chavez himself, as an agent of that other CIA, Christians Into Assasination. Agent Robertson could simply ask God to send Jesus down for his long-overdue Second Coming - and tell him to make sure his son comes equipped with a few Heaven-manufactured semi-automatics. That way, Robertson would only tote the highest caliber Creator-sanctioned weapons, rather than those second-rate cheap imitations from earth.

So while Jesus is busily rounding up bigoted theocrats for the Rapture (anti-war and environmental activitists will of course be Left Behind, as there’s no room at Heaven’s Inn for such pollyanna peaceniks), Robertson will be on his Sacred Mission to assasinate a leader whose idea to use oil revenues toward healthcare and education is in demonically diametric opposition to Godly Values.

Issue: Hurricane Katrina devastation. Robertson has proclaimed the the reason for the catastrophic natural disaster Katrina was that New Orleanians were swimming in a sea of sin and debauchery. In other words, God unleashed his fury toward these Sodomites via a Category Five hurricane.

Solution: Before the next hurricane season, Robertson should clone himself and station his clones in the areas that are typically hurricane-ravaged. Roberston clones will purge the hurricane-threatened of all their gravest sins: where these Sinister Sinners once created multi-cultural grooves in the form of jazz and rock music as sensual soothing for the soul, they will now croon faux-gospel hymns that glofiy the virtues of a White and Vengeful God; where these Immoral Mortals once hedonistically celebrated their ˆearthly existence through street carnivals and other joyful bacchanalic festivities, they will now gather to solemnly partake in 700 Club viewings, where sin-free announcers call for the assassinations of world leaders, convert heathenistic Muslims into God-fearing Christians, tout charities like Operation Blessing that claim to help starving and AIDS-inflicted Africans while fronting for a lucrative diamond-mining business, and push for theocratic reforms that are sure to keep the pagan hoi polloi in line.

So you see, if Robertson strategically stations his God-approved clones throughout regions in the paths of God-created catastrophes, there will be no more Katrinas and Ritas to plunge us into the dark misery we would otherwise so manifestly deserve.

Issue: Dover, Pennsylvania’s rejection of Creationism. When residents of Dover, Pennsylvania, voted out school board members who attempted to impose Intelligent Design (aka Creationism) onto public school science classrooms, Robertson warned Dover
residents that they could no longer rely on God’s help. Robertson told Dover residents that perhaps they could call on Darwin to aid them in times of crisis.

Solution: Robertson should just bypass God and smite the Doverites himself. God is too busy to trifle with some Pennsylvania backwater like Dover; he has Negroes to drown in hurricane floodwaters, and ragheaded Koran-freaks to decimate in dusty deserts. God is too busy crooning sweet-nothings into George Bush’s tender ears, while little Georgie entertains erotic fantasies involving himself licking petroleum from the luciously tanned hides of Iraqi leaders and whipping Abu Ghraib prisoners with fat stacks of $1000 bills, culled from the profits of American oil companies.

In God’s place, Robertson should simply go v to Pennsylvania, round up all of the “Dover insurgents,” and beat them silly with New Testaments. If they still refuse to comply with God’s demands, then Robertson should bury them under mounds and mounds of Bibles, until they repent their wicked wrongdoing. If this doesn’t work, then Robertson should accuse them of being witches - after all, Darwinism is disguised devilry - and hang the heathens.

Issue: Ariel Sharon’s stroke. Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon recently suffered a stroke, and Robertson said the stroke was God’s retaliation for Sharon having pulled Israeli settlements out of Gaza. Gaza, Robertston claimed, was God’s land, and Sharon committed an offense against the Divine in conceding to Palestinian demands.

Solution: Robertson and his 700 Club co-workers should travel to Gaza in tanks, raze remaining settlements, and construct hundreds of 700 Club chu vrches. Judaism is blasphemous blather anyway, and naturally the Palestinians are vile vermin who deserve to be brutally oppressed by virtue of their sickening sub-human status. Christianity, on the other hand - specifically the fanatical evangelical brand practiced by Robertson and his kin - reigns supreme, and what better way to let the world know about Christian supremacy than by forcibly occupying a violently contested strip of land?

As is patently obvious, if Robertson acted on his Divine Guidance rather than simply flapping his lips, we lowly mortals would be infinitely happier for his selfless service to the Lord. After all, what God wants is not peace and love, but war and hate; not compassion, but oppression; not justice, but vengeance. And we would have Robertson to thank for leading us away from the misguiding light into the delicious darkness of God’s Kingdom.

Support the Troops: Buy an iPod - Democracy Means You

2010-05-03T10:47:00.000-07:00

Published 2005
Democracy Means You

Support the Troops: Buy an iPod

Do you like your iPod?

If I had one, I am sure I would like mine. Indeed, I’m envious of those with the technical prowess to use an iPod: to download music on it, or transfer tunes from their CD player to the iPod. I’m sure it’s not that big of a deal, but I can’t pretend to know how to competently do those tasks.

Did you know that our troops are fighting for your right to own and listen to your iPod? I didn’t either, but it was an eye-opening statement, made by a Veteran’s Day speaker I happened to observe.

The problem is, the speaker made the epiphanic statement, but took off on a different tangent than I was expecting him to.

He went on to assert the idea that some countries don’t allow people to choose their own music or TV programs, that their freedom of choice is severely restricted. Therefore, the speaker said, U.S. troops are fighting for our right to listen to whatever we want, whenever we want, so we won’t morph into a more restrictive country.

Hm. While it may be true that there are countries with less freedom of choice on the surface, it’s not true that America is the perfect paradigm of freedom.

Are we truly free when we are enslaved to consumerism, to purchasing the next hot item of technology, just because we are indoctrinated into thinking that we absolutely MUST have it?

Are we truly free when our troops invade foreign lands in order to protect our “right” to this compulsive consumerism?

Are we really free when hundreds of thousands of adults and children in primitive, destitute lands are killed, all for our “right” to web-surf, channel-surf, song-surf?

It’s true, then, that our troops our fighting for our “right” to listen to our iPod. They are fighting for our “right” to purchase cheap gas, cheap clothing, cheap shoes, cheap furniture, cheap technology. They are fighting for our “right” to allow the exploitation of children and poor people in foreign lands.

There is nothing inherently wrong with iPods. Hell, I’d like to own one; I love music, and I would love to hone my technical skills.

But it’s not my “right” to own an iPod if it is the byproduct of bloodshed and misery.

Freedom is an existential concept; it resides in the heart and mind. Freedom is not yoked to materialism.

Freedom is not truly free when the pricetag of an iPod is dangling from the corpse of a soldier.

Left Behind: Education's False Rapture - Democracy Means You

2010-05-03T10:44:00.000-07:00

Published 2005
Democracy Means You

Left Behind: Education’s False Rapture
by Miro Soledad (pseudonym for Alison Ross)

It’s a lie that schools are bastions of education for students. A blatantly inane, patently absurd lie. But not a lie for the reasons you might think.

Some of you might be nodding your noggins in righteous agreement: “Damn right schools are not bastions of education. Stupid teachers today couldn’t find Canada on a map. Hell, stupid teachers today couldn’t even find a map.”

Well, I’m here to dispel the maddening myth of the inept modern-day teacher and to set the record straight about schools. After al &l, contrary to the mainstream mindset, schools constitute just one-third of a child’s education.

Of course, No Child Left Behind and other school “improvement” schemes would have you believe that it is the onus of the schools to provide the educational structure for students. In fact, much of that burden falls upon society and parents; if society and families offer a solid intellectual foundation for children, then schools can build upon that framework. If society and families fail in their role, then schools have little or no scaffolding to work with, and their efforts only go so far.

Now for many people, the word education conjures up ominous imagery of bricked buildings, desks arrayed in rigid rows, ghostly writing scrawled across impossibly black boards, and a bespectacled, austerely att ˇired middle-aged woman speaking in domineering tones to malcontented minors.

Of course, their scholastic imagery would be a bit outdated - teachers today are a bit more creative with their clothing, have traded screechy chalk and menacing blackboards for innocuous white boards and cheerfully colorful markers, and don’t necessarily arrange student desks in rows.

But the point is, for many people, education is an institution that, however necessary, is something to be endured, not enjoyed.

But schools don’t have to be that way. Schools can be vibrant, creative communities. But while many teachers strive to make the classroom experience intellectually stimulating, schools are under enormous political pressure to perform to unrealistic, unfair standards. tAgain, we have the outrageously shortsigned No Child Left Behind Act - billed, of course, as some heavenly educational fix-it-all - to thank for imposing this pressure and sucking the life out of schools.

No Child Left Behind aims to level the playing field for all students. It aims to be the one tool that will equalize the educational experience for everyone, and that will transform schools into magical manufacturers of armies of perfect students, all marching to the same generic beat.

Never mind that the No Child Leff Behind Act is bafflingly long at 647 pages. Never mind that it’s impossiblyvague in its demands. Never mind that it was scripted by educrats more interested in keeping up appearances - in putting a glossy sheen on things to retain their jobs - rather than actually helping students learn.

Of course, the Act hinders the potential for real school imp ’rovement by calling for more standardized testing. As many have come to realize, standardized testing is a malicious evil that should be immediately eradicated. Standardized testing artificially erases the vivid varieties of intellect that exist among students, pigeonholing pupils into categories of stifling sameness. Standardized testing discourages imaginative thinking among students. Furthermore, it dissuades teacher innovation, so that the school environment begins to resemble a factory, with students and teachers working a maximum speed for maximum efficiency to produce a consumable product, yet creating nothing of substance that will, in the end, benefit society.

Now, naturally, I am all for some form of student assessment. I advocate authentic assessment - that which evolves from the curriculum and that allows for creative and philosophical student expression. In this way, I believe that essay portfoilos are an ideal tool. These portfolios give students the opportunity to prove what they have learned about a variety of subjects and to apply that knowledge in novel ways.

Because learning, finally, is not an end unto itself, but a process; ultimately, what matters is not that you know what a metaphor is or where Colombia is located, but how you use metaphors to enrich communication, and how you weave your knowledge of Colombian culture into a discourse on Latin America. After all, as Einstein said, “Imagination is more important than knowledge.”
But standardized testing, while its explicit aim is to assess student learning, has a hidden aim - and that is to test schools and teachers, to see if they are really doing their job. Implicit in this, of course, is that today’s teachers are lazy, and would rather recline in their chairs than actually teach students.

While certainly there are idle instructors - just as there are incompetent truck driv ers, receptionists, computer programmers, CEOs, and presidents - this is the exception to the rule. For the most part, teachers want to do a good job - but they are hindered by oppressive political pressures and a society that relishes its role in relentlessly scapegoating teachers. Our students are failing, society says, because teachers are lazy.

And this is where the fallacy enters in - the fallacy that schools are solely responsible for student achievement. Parents and society - the larger culture - are just as responsible for students’ education as schools are.

And so I ask: is a society that inordinately prizes sports, that cherishes vulgar and violent video games and softcore porn in mainstream movies, doing its job to help shape student intellects? Are parents who allow their children to endlessly indulge in TV sports watching, violent video games and softcore porn films doing their part to help massage their kids’ intellectual well-being?

So, I turn the “teachers are lazy” mantra right back in society’s face and say, “Society sucks.” If society actually encouraged reading and regular involvement in the higher art forms - while still permitting participation in a healthy pop culture for balance - then maybe our children would actually be able to learn when they come to school.

As it is, many students have huge mental deficits, owing to overindulgence in a diseased pop culture. And then teachers are blamed as the cause for their failure, as though teachers can do a whole lot with half-literate kids. (And this is not to mention [the rampant bad behavior of kids; for kids are a mere mirror of the society around them.)

So this blame, as I have said, takes shape in the form the ill-conceived No Child Left Behind, which seeks to compensate for teachers’ perceived laziness by holding schools accountable for low standardized test performance. As though that is something, in the end, a teacher has much control over. The best a teacher can do is teach the material in an accessible and challenging way - it’s up to the students (with the help of their parents and society) to absorb the content and make intelligent use of it.

Of course, even if most students were properly shaped by a society that treasures high culture and education, standardized tests would still be deeply flawed means of assessment. Besides the facts that these tests don’t cogently follow from school curricula Ë, are often flawed in wording and logic, and deter creativity, they are adminstered to populations that aren’t intellectually prepared for them: second language learners and special education students must take the same tests as their more capable peers.

So here you have a perplexing paradox: on the one hand, schools are told to respect and accomodate ethnic and learning diversity, yet on the other hand, schools are told to assess all kids in the same way.

In order to circumvent these mandates and boost their scores, some states have been able to administer tests to second language learners in the students’ native language. Furthermore, No Child Left Behind allows states to choose the content they will test in - so that a given state might actually choose subjects its students do typically well in over ones that students routinely fail.

On top of that, reliance on standardized tests leads to test score manipulation as teachers fear being fired,
schools in low-income areas being penalized because of poor performance, and schools getting on the dreaded “needs improvement” list, often over things such as like having low test turnout. And this in turn leads to schools having to manipulate students into attending tests.

Yet another way that society hampers educational improvement is by being pathetically passive about the egregious contrast between military spending and the education budget. The Pentagon budget is over $400 billion, while federal spending on education is around $35 billion - sad proof that the industry of bombing babies is more lucrative than the industry of nurturing them.

Furthermore, our government - sponsored by society - favors t )ax breaks for the wealthy and for corporations, rather than tax increases for better schools. Everyone knows that a properly funded educational system could lead to smaller schools and classrooms - and those in turn could at least partially compensate for societal failures. Smarter economics means smarter students.

There is no denying that there is needed reform in schools. But No Child Left Behind - Bush’s false educational rapture - leaves everyone behind by putting the sole focus and blame on schools for what is, patently, a societal ill.

Five Rants at When Falls the Coliseum

2010-04-29T09:57:00.001-07:00

When Falls the Coliseum was an interesting webzine that existed for a short while at the turn of the century. It featured rants from all areas of the political spectrum. It is no longer publishing, so I cannot provide links, only the pieces themselves.

Update: Apparently the zine is up and publishing again (When Falls the Coliseum)! But my rants are no longer archived there. Woe is moi.

Farrakahn Feminazis Unite!

Death to Dogma

Ambivalent American

Holy Reformation, Batman!

www.computerssuck.com

Five Diatribes In Muse Apprentice Guild

2010-04-28T07:32:00.000-07:00

Muse Apprentice Guild mainly published avant garde poetry and art, but the editor was kind and open-minded enough to include a few of my political rants as well. I have no idea what happened to this very intriguing website, but because it is, lamentably, no longer publishing, I cannot provide any links, only the pieces themselves.

Proud to be An American Skeptic

The Homeless and the Heartless

Gatlinburg Bubbas

Attack of the Killer Babies!

Terror Tour 2003

Holy Reformation, Batman! - When Falls the Coliseum

2010-04-27T19:54:00.000-07:00

Published 2000-2001
When Falls the Coliseum

Holy Reformation, Batman!

In about 50 years, probably fewer, the reigion of Palestine and Israel will look more like Nagasaki during WWII than the "holy land" it is purported to be. When the Palestinians have run out of eager teenaged suicide martyrs and the Israeli tanks have run out of the gas that American Sports Futility Vehicles have savagely sucked away, the U.S. Government, Inc. will be happy to step in, at no charge, and "atomically alter" the landscape. (Free "Nuke 'Em!" stickers to the first 100 patriots to fly an American flag in their front yard!)

Just as Enron typifies the cretinous practices of corporations, so the infinitely recycling conflict in Israel and Palestine exemplifies the dangers inherent in many organized religious practices. Those who worked for Moron - excuse me, Enron - pledged their allegiance to a company that at its core was corrupt, because it's in the nature of corporations to be so. Likewise, those who practice organized religions are also investing their faith in something natively corrupt, in many respects, anyway. Granted, religions wear a guise of goodness, but often beneath this merry mask lies a scornful snarl.

But before I delve too deeply into my haughty harangue, let me affirm that I advocate religious tolerance and freedom. So even though I do not deny Marx's infamous analogy relating religion to drugs (users can shoot up holy water and snort crushed up communion wafers!) and although I think Mao, rutheless cultural rapist that he was, had a point when he eerily proclaimed that "Religion is poison," I strongly oppose anyone's efforts to actually suppress religious beliefs. After all, it was Mao who committed atrocious acts in Tibet, and my greatest sympathies are with that crushed country, whose culture was intimately intwined with its religion. (And of course, Mao was practicing his own brand of religion, that of facism.)

Notwithstanding all of my PC pandering toward those who "have the faith," the fact of the matter is, I'm a religious skeptic. No, I'm not an atheist, because in my mind atheism is just another religion. If you must label me (and in today's corporate world, who doesn't have a label, slogan, and line of sweatshop-manufactured clothing?), label me an existentialist.

Institutionalized religion is tantamount to corporations in several key ways. At Enron, you've got the CEO; at the Vatican, you've got the CEPope. At Enron, you've got people in uniforms (in this case, suits) speaking in an arrogant vernacular (corporate-ese); at the Vatican, you've got people in uniforms (in this case, robes), speaking in a defunct vernacular (Latin). At Enron, you've got the company handbook, which is filled with unfair demands; at the Vatican, you've got the Bible, which is filled with harmful commands. In the corporate world, you've got peons sleeping their way to the top; in the religious world, you've got priests raping those at the bottom. In the corporate world, you've got millions of unquestioning serfs working to promote a materialistic ethic; in the religious world, you've got millions of blind followers working to promote a materialistic ethic disguised as a spiritual ethic.

Perhaps I am being too harsh toward religion. After all, most religions have some good in them. But that is precisely where the problem lies: in religious institutions, contradictions abound. Religion is neither wholly good nor wholly evil. (Why is it whenever I use that word now I feel like I've gone back to kindergarten and George W. Bush is my teacher?). Rather, religion is a double-headed dualism. Most religions exist to combat evil, but often end up embodying it instead.

In other words, whenever someone does something good in the name of religion, they are doing what their "holy" book tells them to do. And whenever someone does something bad in the name of religion, they are also doing what their "holy" book says.

To give some flesh to my argument, allow me to discuss a few instances of use and misuse of Bible passages. During his civil rights protests, MLK borrowed copiously from Biblical verses to illustrate the moral purity of his cause. He quoted Galatians when he said, "All are equal in the eyes of God." He also cited the "promised land," and urged the government to "let my people go." He further echoed the Bible when he encouraged protestors to "love your enemies," and to "turn the other cheek."

Now, I am not one to insult Dr. King; he's one of my personal heroes. But consider the fact that the dunce-capped KKK and other uptight whities have used the Bible to endorse exactly the obverse of what MLK preached. Many of these groups proclaim that the "chosen people," or the "true Israelites" are white American Protestants. The groups also cite parts of Romans 12, an otherwise innocuous passage, to drive home their view that white Christians have a "godly conduct, godly nature."

Now it's true that the KKKreeps, in this instance, are mishaping the Bible to fit their own asinine agendas. However, ponder this: Certain Bible verses directly condemn Jews, and these passages were used in the Inquisition to persecute them, and are still cited by some extremist groups to make racist claims. In Acts, Jews are branded "stiffnecked and uncircumcised." And in the Gospel of John, Jews are considered pagan and damned to hell.

The Bible is also commonly used to either support or oppose discrimination against gays, to promote or protest the ordination of women, to justify or contest capital punishment, and to advocate or decry war. Many of the verses cited are sometimes ambigously worded, a fact which still doesn't stop people from quoting the Bible for their petty purposes.

(What is not so ambiguous is the Biblical verse that names eating pork and general fornication abominable activities. So, the idea is, if you're a Bible-thumper, you can beat up gays and spit on female priests, but ONLY you stop slobbering over pork chops and getting laid. (Or maybe you could kill two birds with one stone and just stop "getting porked.") )

What I like about Dr. King is that he was able to discern the good in Bible and shove the other mess aside. His message was a simple one of peace and love. Dr. King intuitively extracted the humane passages and, whether consciously or not, discarded the rest.

In order to reform all religions, I think we should do exactly as Dr. King did: throw out all the crap so that only the good remains. Burn all of the pages of the Old and New Testaments that explicitly or implicitly preach hatred, that condemn unbelievers to an eternity of infernal misery, and that portray god more as a satanic sibling (ala the Book of Job) than the doting deity portrayed elsewhere. Rip out all the pages of the Koran that call for a jihad against infidels or that admonish those who do not heed every syllable of Muhammed, and flush them into a swampy oblivion. Repeat process with any "holy" book that contains potently harmful or ambiguous verses, and leave only those passages that clearly call for peace and love. (The Buddhist Dhammapadda might be one of the few books that would remain intact...)

In order to better guide the misguided masses, this religious reform is in order. Because, you see, only an elite group of spiritually gifted folk - Catholic mystic Thomas Merton, Sufi poet Rumi, Mother Theresa, Gandhi, the Dalai Lama all leap to mind - are able to move beyond the ruinous rhetoric that plagues many religious texts, and actually practice pure deeds.

My preference would be for people to accept that religions and the phantom gods that populate them are manufactured myths. But if people cannot let go of their attachments, then they need to realize that if religion is to be used it all, then it must be applied to further the ends of peace and love. Otherwise, a wicked waste of time.

Proud to be an American Skeptic - Muse Apprentice Guild

2010-04-27T19:53:00.000-07:00

Published 2003
Muse Apprentice Guild

Proud to be an American Skeptic

I am an American, and I'm proud. I am proud of America's rich legacy of musical innovation, from jazz to country to rock and roll. I am proud of America's sundry and salient writings, from the defiant slave narratives of Frederick Douglass to the brutal realism of John Steinbeck novels to the lyrical beauty of Sandra Cisneros' vignettes. I am proud of America's colorful cadre of artists, from Jacob Lawrence to Jackson Pollack to Georgia O'Keefe. I am proud of American theatre, from New York's buoyant Broadway musicals to the edgy shows at Atlanta's Center for Puppetry Arts. I am proud of the brilliant tapestry that makes up the America cultural landscape: one that weaves in Europeans, Asians, Africans, Middle Easterners, and Hispanics, and that keeps adding threads of every hue. I am even proud of American food, unique in tasty victuals like cornbread and collard greens.

I am proud, too, of America's pioneering civil rights spirit. America, in many ways, is a paradigm for tolerance; though serious problems do persist, women, gays, and various races have made advances in America that they haven't made in many other countries. And yes, I am proud of the Constitution's many merits, especially the Bill of Rights and the First Amendment.

Yet, when I exercise the First Amendment to criticize those things about American government of which I am not proud, I am - paradoxically and narrow-mindedly, I think - called a traitor. But which displays more humane concern - pledging blind allegiance to a country's government regardless of its actions, or questioning its actions when they threaten the welfare of billions of its own and other people?

Say you have a sister, whom of course yo ëu cherish. You nurture her through her various struggles, and provide her with as much love and support as you can give. But is your support untouched by criticism? Do you sit idly by and watch her destroy herself and her friends and family with drugs or other forms of abuse? Or do you try to help her escape her quagmire of misery? Which is the approach that best reflects your sense of compassionate duty to your sibling?

I have never been one to believe in patriotism, always adhering to the idea that it's better to embrace people, not countries. After all, I've often thought, what are countries but randomly drawn boundaries and ill-conceived govern ëments? However, a deeper exploration into the phenomenon of countries reveals that they are ultimately more than than mere borders and states; each country is also an inimitable collection of cultural and ethical values. And it's this aspect of countries that I embrace. In this way, I don't just love America, I love all countries for their vibrant, varied characters.

America is my family, and I'm proud to be a part of her. But I'm not proud of everything the American government does, especially in regard to foreign policy.

As part of the American family, it is not only our right to defy the government's questionable actions, it's our duty.

Farrakahn Feminazis Unite! - When Falls the Coliseum

2010-04-27T19:52:00.000-07:00

Published 2001
When Falls the Coliseum

Farrakahn Feminazis Unite!

Admit it: You're a racist, sexist pig.

Now shout it out on the streets: "I'm a racist, sexist pig!" Smile warmly at passersby when they glance askance your way.

After your shouting session, let out a huge sigh of relief. You've finally accepted yourself for who you are. You've embraced your true nature, and announced it openly. You've "outed" yourself to the world, and it feels good. It feels damn good.
Now, in your newfound liberation as a prejudiced porcine, chant this mantra: "Black people are imperfect. Women are flawed."

It may be difficult at first to intone this seemingly irresponsible incantation, especially if you are black, female, or both. But with time, you'll adjust. You'll even come to like chanting it, to regard it as your pet mantra. You'll buy it morsels and take it for walks and even let it curl up with you at night. Pretty soon, you'll merge with this magical mantra, and the two of you will become one.

When you and the mantra are one, admit this: Shirley Franklin, Atlanta's first-ever black female mayor-elect, is a loser.

Acknowledge that Franklin is no different in personality from any white male poltician.Concede that her breasts and skin tone do nothing to enhance her character.
Holler these sentiments into the ear of the person sitting next to you. "Shirley Franklin is a loser! Her breasts and skin tone do nothing to enhance her character!" Heave a hurricane-sigh of relief. Strongly embrace your inner pig.

Confess that Shirley Franklin has a political persona as flat and narrow as any caucasian man in office. Scream this to anyone who will listen.

Assert that it's more offensive to suggest that women are exquisite gems than it is to say that women are fallible creatures. Declare that to criticize a person's skin color is to demean them, but to criticize a person's actions despite their skin color is to humanize them.

Exhale deeply. Hug your pig.

Death to Dogma! - When Falls the Coliseum

2010-04-27T19:51:00.001-07:00

Published 2001
When Falls the Coliseum

Death to Dogma!

Human beings are dangerously predictable creatures. An ingrained fear of the unknown compels us into ourideological retreats, where we wrap ourselves in scripts of dogmatic blather and regurgitate slogans like children chanting the Lord's prayer at bedtime, not because they understand the import of the words, but because they have dutifully encoded it into their brains.

When debating issues such as abortion, the death penalty, euthanasia, the existence of god, and yes, even war, humans will tap into their mental reference libraries (often not very extensive in the brains of Democrats or Republicans), pull out the volume that suits their argument, and mechanically recite passages from it. Human beings cleave to ideology like a kitten clings to its mother's warm teat.

Well, I'm here to tell you that ideology sucks.

The discourse surrounding the war on terrorism epitomizes how human beings allow the dull forces of dogma to stomp outthe vibrant anarchy of imagination.

Broadly speaking, there are two camps in this and every recent American
war: the Jingos, and the Pinkos.

Now the Jingos are scary, rabid nationalists who attempt to shove an American flag straight down your throat when you timidly mention that maybe, just maybe we shouldn't be too rash or excessive in our militaristic campaigns. Jingos appear during times of national crisis and are usually armed and quite dangerous.

The Pinkos, on the other hand, are bizarrely dichotomous creatures, pyromaniacally scorching American flags while praying for peaceful resolution to the conflict du jour. When not waging a war against war, Pinkos can usually be seen slurping on pacifiers.

In between the Jingos and the Pinkos are the majority of citizens, those who are partial to either side in varying shades of conviction. These in-between types espouse more domesticated versions of the Jingo and Pinko ideologies; they're more restrained in their responses, thankfully, but they're still chained to their credos. The point is, they dig dogma.

Of course, we need warriors to fight our inevitable battles, and we need pacifists to temper the militaristic mantra to "Kill 'em all." In other words, we need war to ensure the perpetuation of pacifism, and we need pacifists to protest war.

But what about those of us who are neither peacenicks nor warnicks nor in-between-niks? What about those of us who stand outside the rigid boundaries of all this ideological claptrap, who appreciate the merits of both the pro-war and anti-war arguments but also ascertain the suffocating limitations of each? We who, in a yin-yang kind of fervor, embrace both sides while embracing neither side, and in so doing embrace duality and nothingness, all at the same time?

What kind of privileges are we afforded? While the Jingos and the Pinkos enjoy widespread acceptance and get to have marches and rallies and all that fun stuff, we who employ our imaginations when confronted with intricate problems and forge novel (if ambiguous) solutions are shunted to the shadows of oblivion.

So to counter this shameless disregard, I proclaim a new anti-ideology, the Dissolution of Dogma. In the Dissolution of Dogma anti-movement, our anti-purpose will be to dissolve all doctrine, our anti-slogan will be "Death to Dogma!" and our banner will be a "no flags" symbol. We will lead anti-marches in Washington protesting the pervasiveness of prescribed philosophies, and we will teach our children to despise dogma in all its disguises.

Yes, that's it: we will kill all dogma and replace it with more...dogma.

It's sort of like combatting war with war: sometimes it has to be done, but there's never a clear victory, and the process always repeats itself, ad nauseum.

www.computerssuck.com - When Falls the Coliseum

2010-04-27T19:49:00.000-07:00

Published 2001
When Falls the Coliseum

www.computerssuck.com
by Alison Ross

My recent experience with modern technology has left me recoiling in terror whenever someone so much as utters the first syllable of the word "computer." Okay, granted, I'm writing this rant on a computer, but that's besides the point. The point is, computers disturb me.

Okay, yes, computers can be efficient tools, especially for writers like me who word-process like hell, day and night. And I like to exchange e-mail and surf the web, so in that way, too, I find computers useful. Oh, and my personal calendar is computerized, so that's kinda neat.

But despite the fact that I spend upwards of oh, 97% of my spare time on computers, I'm still traumatized by their existence.
You see, I just spent nine months of captivity in a room full of computers. No, I wasn't serving as a SysAdmins geek at some crass corporation crawling with zombies who pose as people; I was a teaching assistant in an eighth grade classroom which was outfitted with 11 Apple I-Mac computers.

Now, I've been a Mac fan since Macs emerged back in the early 80s, and to this day I prefer them over puny PCs. So don't think I'm gonna start dissin' Macs here. (Of course, my blatant bias toward Macs does not mean I view them as infallible machines. Though great many ways, Apple computers are not the angelic appliances that some Mac fanatics make them out to be.)
So anyway. When I got hired for the teaching assistant job, my main aim was to get experience teaching teens since I was pursuing the path of becoming a high school English instructor. I was also excited, however, about the possibility of working in a "modern" classroom that utilized technology in a novel experiential learning context. Even though at the time I harbored a certain disdain for our society's hyper-reliance on high tech gadgetry, I allowed myself to be misguided into the moronic mainstream mindset that embraces modern technology with the fervency of a snake-handling fundamentalist.

Never again will I deviate so doltishly from my instincts. Not only did I, in my daily deeds as assistant teacher in the hallowed Eighth Grade Transition Class, have to deal with heinously hormonal 14 year olds more concerned with just how low their mammoth-sized jeans could hang without treating us all to a petrifying peek at their precious privates than they were with actually learning anything useful about the world, but I was forced to contend with equally bratty computers whose viciously volatile behaviors made the idea of spending an infinity at a John Tesh concert seem like a titillating prospect.

The thrust of the problem was this: The teacher with whom I worked was hell-bent on transforming nearly every project that the students did into a computer-based endeavor. In other words, the students didn't just compose their essays and creative writing exercises on the computer; they also worked within various software programs to illustrate book reports, animate presentations, create mind maps, and so on.

Now, on the surface, this is an intriguing idea, grounding adolescent learning activities in a wholly technological culture; it would seem as though it's ideally suited to harness kids' need for creative subversion and channel it into something positive and palatable. And I do not doubt that some of these computer-centered projects fulfilled the objective of providing a tangible and meaningful way for kids to embed information that might otherwise slip through their minds like sand through a sieve.
However, call me prude, but I feel that such profits can be gained in other unique ways, and I am now convinced that we are doing kids a grave disservice if we teach them to depend so heavily on computers. I mean, I'd rather they tattoo the lyrics to an Eminem song on their foreheads than grow up eating micro-chips for breakfast.

Every day in that classroom those maniacal machines brought new miseries to bear. At first, of course, such tragedies were tolerable, because I was so new to the game. But as time trudged along in a tortuously turtle-like tempo, I got to where I was seeking relief in bottles of Liquid Paper just to feel wedded to the primitive pleasures of a pencil and paper existence.
First, there were the inevitable crashes for which Macs are notorious. Every single day one or more computers would crash while a student was writing a paper or using some of the installed software, hence trashing any recent modifications made, and upon which colorful curses fountained forth from the victim's mouth. And while the teacher I worked with discouraged such vulgarity from these tender teens, I always empathized with them, echoing under my breath their spiteful spewings.

And when the computers were not conspiring to crash on us, some of them simply refused to stop working without deigning to give us warning or explanation. Computer #5, I believe, was the first to go, and it ended up being hospitalized for a couple of weeks, undergoing massive reconstruction. So, not only did this mean that all the work that any students had saved directly onto this computer (rather than on the network) was completely unrecoverable, but it meant that a couple of students would have to pair up on a computer to do their work since there were not enough to go around.

Now, this might not have been so horrific had it just happened once. But it happened to at least half of the computers in the class over the course of the school year, impacting every student in some way. And while I spent a lot of my time being either exasperated with or terrorized by these taunting teens, I also felt an ineffable affection for them, and felt really badly when they had to re-do assignments, all because some moody computer decided to blow its brains out.

It would have helped, of course, if the teacher with whom I worked had any sympathetic perspective whatsoever on the matter, but instead of apologetically acknowledging the disasters, she simply dismissed these setbacks as routine problems in computer culture.

So in addition to constant crashes and total shutdowns - routine problems, mind you, nothing that a few thousand from the tuition coffers and an sickeningly sunny attitude can't fix - the kids and I wrestled with inexplicable "end of file" messages (which signaled a total loss of work), network failures (gee, imagine that in a class of fourteen kids working on umpteen million projects there would be ANY network overload), power outages, internet hassles (did I mention that the internet never worked on some computers and only occasionally worked on others?), and software liscencing woes (stupidly, not all programs were licensed for each computer, again resulting in a doubling up of students on some projects, which usually meant that instead of actually doing their work the kids would cut up with each other and toy around with the software, producing cartoonish drawings and silly sounds, all the while tempting the teachers toward suicide).

Naturally, all of these problems caused frequent tardiness in assignment completion, and sometimes the ensuing result would be that the student wouldn't complete the work at all. Efficient learning, indeed.

Did I also mention that there were certain students who owned laptops and were required to bring them in so as to allow everyone to have their own computer? Oh, but often, these designated laptoppers would, in typical hormonal haze, either forget to bring their power cords (and low battery power is a phenomenon among teenaged laptop proprietors) or forget to bring the computer itself. How convenient! But even when the kids did bring in their computers, them machines wouldn't always comply with their printers, or they would decide to go the route of the classroom computers and hang themselves rather than be submitted to any more abuse by clueless humans.

Let me put it this way: if one of my former students becomes the next Unabomber, not only would I not flinch at the prospect, but I would be one of this kid's most vocal supporters. Computers, like teenagers, have hormones that rage, and the sooner we learn this, the sooner we can go back to a euphoric existence grunting in monosyllables and scribbling on cave walls.

Ambivalent American - When Falls the Coliseum

2010-04-27T19:48:00.000-07:00

Published 2001
When Falls the Coliseum

Ambivalent American

For several years now, my car has been adorned with four bumper stickers: Two that say "Free Tibet!," one that says "Andalucia," which is the southern region of Spain, and one that says "Alba," the Latin word for Scotland. Each of these stickers reflects my political and cultural interests, and I display them with pride.

Of course, these days my car stands out like a sore thumb, because absent among these vehicular embellishments is the good ol' American flag.

Now, for some, I might be deemed the ultimate traitor. In the midst of this national nightmare, why would I choose to trumpet the glories of other cultures but not my own?

The answer is two-fold. First off, I am not flag-happy. I have never been a banner-waver, because for me it would signal that I champion my country over others, and I do not do that. My mind is not cast in the attitude that pits one country against another. The world for me is not one big soccer match; the world for me is like a multi-patterned quilt that provides shelter for us all.

The second (and most important) reason I do not fly the American flag is that right now I harbor an agonizing ambivalence toward my country. If I were to display the American flag on my car or anywhere else, it would mean that I unconditionally love my country, and that's simply not the case.

Now don't get me wrong; I do love my country. And I am not saying that because I cower in the face of the current (and frankly unsettling) nationalistic fervor. I don't cower and I don't care what others think of my opinions. But if I didn't love my country, I wouldn't be here; I would be in Spain or Scotland, two of my favorite European countries. I was born in America, I have lived in three states, and have traveled to many more. America is my home, and right now I cannot conceive of living anywhere else.

But just because America is my home does not mean that I am uncritical of it. Indeed, if we were uncritical of all those things that are familiar to us, we'd never change jobs, and we'd never try to improve our relationships. And imagine the stagnation and resentment that would ensue if we allowed a friend to continually insult us, or a lover to continually neglect our needs.

In the same way that I would be critical of a negligent companion, I am critical of America, a country I love, yet am sometimes chagrined to inhabit.

As I was driving to South Carolina recently, I saw a car that boasted on its back window a painted message that encapsulates my present sentiments. The message read: "How can God bless until we as a country repent of our mess?"

Now, if the driver of said car interprets our "mess" to be of the ilk that cuddly evangelist Jerry Falwell described in the wake of the terrorist attacks, i.e., feminism, homosexuality, etc., then I grandly denounce this car's message. However, if the driver interprets our "mess" to be our greed as a nation and our government's self-serving foreign policy, then I would have to concur with the idea that we have some repenting to do, not so much in the eyes of a god, but in the eyes of the world.

But before anyone starts deluging my e-mail box with myopic McCarthyist missives, let me state that I do not feel that the attacks on the WTC and Pentagon were in any way justified. Read my lips: Those who died in the September 11 terrorist tragedies did not deserve their fate. No one anywhere in the world deserves to die this way. I am outraged and sickened that this happened. No matter how unhappy anyone is with another country's foreign policy, terrorism is no way to make those grievances known. I have long been disconcerted over the IRA's terrorist tactics in the UK, and have always felt that terrorism perverts the very ideals that the perpetrators claim to hold.

In the same way, Islamic terrorists have a muddled mentality when it comes to expressing their anger at what they clearly perceive as American hedonism. Terrorism does not further their cause, but rather debilitates it. In my mind, if you don't like greed and the amorality of a largely secular lifestyle, a far more effective weapon is to guide by serene example, ala the Dalai Lama. I mean, he's not exactly a poster-boy for selfishness and materialism, and yet I don't see him crashing a bunch of commercial airplanes into skyscrapers and government buildings.

So yes, the terrorists were wrong, grievously wrong, to do what they did, and now, not only have they extinguished the sacred lives of innocent civilians, but entire populations of Muslims, many of whom endeavor to practice pure Islam rather than this screwed-up terrorist version, are going to suffer. Already we're hearing of Middle Easterners being expelled from airplanes to appease paranoid (xenophobic?) travelers, and of course Muslim countries are the targets of current and impending military strikes.

And that's where America comes in. While I do advocate combatting terrorism in an aggressive manner, I am not so sure that our "war" on terrorism, at least militarily, will be the answer. Initially, I thought that maybe, just maybe, if we could just send our troops in to wipe away the terrorists themselves, then all would be well. Yes, I wanted to avenge these villains, and yes, at times I still do, although the very idea of seeking revenge goes against the grain of what I believe spiritually. But more than anything, I wanted the terrorists erased so that I would not have to live my life in fear of losing a loved one.

But now I am seeing that, as I brush aside my wrath-fueled delusions, it's not as simple as just wiping away the terrorists. Of course it could never be so simple, because war is a bloody, convoluted, protracted mess. Innocent people - innocent children - will die. And if we kill innocent civilians, then how are we can we rightfully distinguish ourselves from the terrorists?

Millions of Afghans have already been displaced as a result of America's declaration of war. Millions of impoverished Afghans, who have nothing to cling to anyway, except maybe a tattered shred of hope that one day their lives will not be so grim. That we have caused them to suffer even further makes me ashamed, as ashamed as I feel when I consider the hundreds of thousands Iraqi children who have starved to death due to misguided American sanctions.

Let's face it: In recent decades, in particular since World War II, America has been one big imperialist bully. Yes, there are still good things about our country, but capitalist avarice is blotting out whatever benevolence we still hold on to.

I realize that there are no easy solutions to this matter, and I am also aware that peaceful negotiation does not always work, especially with those blinded by religious zeal (and the Taliban really is irksomely zealous). So while I embrace the ideals of peace love and understanding, I am no giddy pollyanna. I am all too conscious of humanity's polarized nature, where often, darkness eclipses light.
Indeed, I recognize this duality in myself, and struggle with it daily.

I also know that there are many facets to this issue, which is why I do not seek solace in slogans or completely choose sides. I understand that we need to protect ourselves against violent encroachment, and tightening lax airline security, freezing terrorist assets and other non-violent measures are all solid steps toward this goal. And, of course, altering our approach to foreign affairs to embrace less self-serving policies would be the most significant step toward the goal of "eradicating" terrorism (which you can never do, because that would be tantamount to eradicating evil, and I refer you to the story of "Candide" if you think that can ever be done).

But I also understand that a war could ironically result in further terrorist retaliation. Most devastatingly, war will destroy the lives of poor people and children. Whether they are Afghan children or American children is beside the point; in the end, they are children, and I dare you to celebrate the suffering of any child.

Freedom to speak my mind, even in the midst of a flag-flying fury, is one of the reasons why I choose to live in America. But the pressure to be patriotically subservient to my government in a time of great global turmoil is the reason I refuse to fly the flag.

America, I feel, is a great country, and a greatly flawed country. To deny this this would be the most unpatriotic gesture I could make.

The Homeless and the Heartless - Muse Apprentice Guild

2010-04-27T19:26:00.002-07:00

Published 2003
Muse Apprentice Guild

The Homeless and The Heartless

Whenever people spout callous words about homelessness, about how those without homes are slovenly vagrants who choose their lot in life, my first response is usually one of belligerent rage. How can people be such heartless freaks toward fellow human beings? I fume.

But then my wild wrath softens to righteous indignation when I realize that these “heartless freaks” are simply miserably misinformed about homelessness. And in a culture that prizes the rich and scorns the poor, that shouldn’t come as a surprise.

Of course, the heartless people in question choose to be misinformed; after all, if homelessness bothers them so much, they could always do some research into its myriad origins. They could also choose to open their hearts to others’ misfortunes.

Allow me to debunk a few misconceptions about homelessness for those who choose to clench their hearts against this very sobering situation.

First off, not all homeless people are lucidly functioning members of society; indeed, many of those on the streets are mentally ill. It has been estimated that as many as one in three homeless people have some form of mental affliction. Some of these mentally ill have been discarded by wretchedly underfunded mental health institutions, while others grew into their illnesses after spending so many brutal years on the streets.

A second misconception is that those homeless with drug and alcohol problems can easily overcome their addictions. Addiction is a disease, and the best cure for it is prevention. An economy that favors everyone, not just the wealthy, is one antidote to addiction among the poor and homeless Of course, addiction afflicts those in middle-class and affluent circles as well, so clearly inequitable economics is only one of many diabolical causes. The point is, addiction needs to be treated as the disease that it is, not inveighed against as the addict’s “fault.”

Thirdly, there are many homeless people who actually work, but cannot afford rent due to a perilous lack of reasonably-priced housing. More and more, government-funded and low-cost housing is being mowed down in favor of insanely expensive lofts and condos. These overpriced dwellings are even out of the financial reach of many middle-class citizens. And if middle-class people can’t afford the rent, how could someone who works for $5 an hour possibly afford it?

Fourthly, there are not limitless jobs in America. The idea that America is the land of boundless opportunities is a pure propaganda, a sick myth perpetuated by rabid nationalists. These days this myth rings especially hollow, as American companies ship their jobs overseas to cut production costs, thereby inflating the coffers of the CEOs, depriving our own citizens of work, and enslaving foreign workers by paying them less than they deserve. According to a recent AJC report, as many as 93,000 American jobs were lost in the month of August alone. That a nice chunk of those who lost jobs will become homeless is a sad certainty.

A final misconception about the homeless is that only certain elements of society - say, the poor and uneducated - can become homeless. The fact of the matter is, anyone could be homeless. The Great Depression is distressing proof of this. And today, in our own recessive economy, ordinary college-degreed citizens are losing their jobs, and struggling to find new work. I myself once struggled to find work, and I have a Master’s degree. Fortunately, I had my parents to fall back on, but not everyone has that advantage. But even for privileged people like myself, the threat of losing our houses to a massive terrorist attack or war is a very real one. The events of September 11th proved what we already knew to be true but were loathe to admit: America too could become a war-torn country, replete with refugees in makeshift tents.

To those whose hearts are hardened to homelessness, I ask: who would consciously choose to starve themselves and sleep on concrete in unbearable temperatures, sometimes soaked in their own urine? It’s not as though homelessness is a temptingly glamorous life. It’s not as though people are lining up to leave their jobs so they can luxuriate in a state of desperate aimlessness and aching hunger.

We have many choices in life, but economic realities often inhibit those choices. However, one choice that is not constrained by fiscal concerns is that of compassion toward others. Those rich in pocket but poor in spirit choose to be misanthropes, with vagrant souls and homeless hearts.

Attack of the Killer Babies! - Muse Apprentice Guild

2010-04-27T19:26:00.001-07:00

Published 2003
Muse Apprentice Guild

ATTACK OF THE KILLER BABIES!!
How infants are taking over the planet and what YOU can do about it!

The diatribe that I am poised to deliver may alienate me from treasured friends, divide me from close family members, even elicit certain disdain from the Pope. But these are risks I not only willingly, but zealously, take on. (Okay, granted, the prospect of papal petulance ain't exactly something that has me pooping in my panties; quite the reverse, indeed. To summon the holy acrimony of El Papa is possibly one of my long-repressed sexual reveries that is just now rearing its naughty little noggin.)

Anyway, if I am indeed forced to forego family and friends for the convictions I'm about to spew forth, so be it; 'tis nobler to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous misfortune than to die a spineless weenie.

So lately I've been thinking a lot about the persistent problem of overpopulation. I realize it's kind of a trendy topic, but it's just so...so...relevant. Relevant to what, you may inquire, voice suffused with smug suspicion? Oh, well, just relevant to our collective distress, that's all.

People today squirt out bounties of babies as though there's an infant shortage or something. (Well, okay, not just people, but women specifically, since men still lack the required rigging for childbirth capabilities. Science is sure to amend that, of course, because the world just isn't complete without cloned sheep and lactating men.)

But really, when you think about it, it is people, not just women, who are responsible for the reckless reproduction taking place. For even though women bear the babies, men help create them, usually quite wittingly. So human beings as a whole are the culprits in the crime of overpopulation.

Now I realize that one function of our libido is to urge replication of the species. We wouldn't be so damn horny all the time if there wasn't some ulterior biological motive. Of course, hard-on-happy hippies would scoff at such a suggestion, insisting that sex is entirely a recreational pursuit to be indulged at every opportunity and in every pornographic way possible, while penis-fearing puritans would counter that sex is an obligatory evil we must practice to honor our servitude to the Omniscient One and breed more blubbering blockheads in His Sacred Likeness.

The truth, naturally, lies somewhere in between.

Anyway, it's clear that sex serves several purposes, and while procreation is indeed among them, this does not mean that it is a mandatory activity. We shouldn't just give in to the perverted pleas of our genes because they cry out to be recycled. Yeah, sure, if you wanna have sex with your loved one (or unloved one, as the case may be with porn stars, prostitutes and progeny of Priapus), there's nothing prohibiting you from enjoying such carnal ecstasies. (Well, okay, if you're still riding your skateboard to school or ogling "Teen Beat" hunks, perhaps you should delay your deflowerment until you're slightly more neurotic.) But yielding to sexual desire to express love is one thing; conceding to hormonal demands with a hopeful eye toward overrunning the planet with mini-mamas and -papas is quite another.

Okay, yes, probably those who participate in reproductive ventures do not see themselves as wanting to saturate the planet with their spawn. They see themselves, rather, as normal people who nurture a healthy desire to birth some babies.

And I'm not begrudging their right to bear kids; I'm just bemoaning their often complete lack of insight into what child-rearing entails. If someone and their spouse want to have kids, they should invest as much forethought into the decision as possible. When you go to buy a new car, you don't just show up at the dealer and say, "That red one looks cool," and zip off a check to the salesperson. You actually take time to explore what your true automobile needs are, and you settle on the right choice only after exhausting all your options.

But many couples are irritatingly impetuous when they decide to have children: "Honey, I'm in desperate need of a little girl, so can you hurry up and stick it in?" The oblivious husband obliges, thinking, "Kids are kinda cute, after all, and the wife will wipe baby's butt and do all the other offensive caretaking things while all I'll have to do is tell her bedtime stories when I come home from work at 9 o' clock at night. Plus, I'll finally have something to talk about with my boss who won't shut up about his 52 kids."

If you're thinking this scenario sounds far-fetched, think again. I've heard many people with offspring confess that had they thought about their decision more thoroughly before conceiving children, they may not have had them at all. And what about the man who complained to a teacher friend of mine that his wife got pregnant with their third baby because everyone else on the block had three kids?

This illustrates precisely how shockingly and senselessly conformist society can be. Who cares how many freakin' tots your next-door neighbor has slobbering around the house? What's important is what YOU want. Then again, some people can't think for themselves, so they have to turn to CNN, the NRA, and their plastic suburban allies to do it for them.

Now I realize that I sound about as anti-child as most Christians are anti-common sense. But believe it or not, I love children. I have an nine-year old brother whom I cherish dearly, I've taught pre-schoolers, I've taught eighth-graders, and I'll be teaching high schoolers pretty soon down the line. I adore the little tykes, and it's perhaps for that reason alone that I want fewer of them to populate our planet.

For when these Cute Kids grow up, they'll become Annoying Adults. They won't be so lovable anymore. They'll just waste space and by their very existence encourage developers to murder more trees to build more strip mall temples that the whole family can worship in, and motivate factory farmers to cram more cows full of the grains that could otherwise nourish starving children so that there are more butchered bovines to slice up and shove into the Happy Meals that feed the chubby children of golf-geek CEOs and their adulterous trophy wives.

Don't think I haven't thought about having children, because I have. I have thought about it quite scrupulously, in fact, and have reached the liberating conclusion that I probably will not have children, at least in this lifetime. I never say never, of course, but my meticulous meditations have led me to resolve that I'm better off sans enfants.

I wish more people dedicated more brain power to what goes into raising a child - physically, emotionally, and financially. Raising children is a taxing art form, something not everyone is suited for, in my assessment. (Actually, in my opinion no one is suited for raising children, because the people rearing these hapless creatures are themselves merely twisted toddlers in adult attire. This is because, naturally, their own folks had never evolved beyond the pacifier-slurping stage. Show me a mature adult and I'll show you a kid who eschews Disney in favor of Dostoyevsky.)

Anyway, the way I see it, the only people who need to be having kids are those whose absolute karmic vocation is to guide, nurture, and protect diminutive life forms through the various awkward turmoils of pre-school, pre-puberty, adolescence, and beyond.

The rest of us, when we do feel those pesky biological nudges, can simply do volunteer work with kids, become teachers, or, hell, write children's books. Dr. Seuss is widely regarded as the greatest children's author of all time, yet he never answered to daddy - never mopped up green puke nor crooned lullabies about babies in cradles plunging out of treetops.

But if you absolutely MUST have kids, why not just adopt instead? It's the humane alternative to giving birth because you're not contributing to population pollution, and, furthermore, you're offering an orphan something she desperately longs for: the security of a warm home and loving family. If you think about it, there are too many abandoned children out there for us to be selfishly insisting on having our own.

So, my fellow hostages of life, slap on that latex and pop those baby-curbing pills - let's give this planet a well-deserved break.

Terror Tour 2003 - Muse Apprentice Guild

2010-04-27T19:25:00.001-07:00

Published 2003
Muse Apprentice Guild

Terror Tour 2003: Next stop, Columbus, Georiga

After the Taliban was busted sky-high out of its bunker, Americans just couldn't get enough of W's Wacky War against the Wicked. "What's the next stop on the Terror Tour?" they pleaded. "Iraq," lil' Georgie replied, jumping up and down and clapping his hands.

After all, lil' Georgie and his playmates reasoned, sanctions haven't managed to topple twisted ol' Saddam Hussein - all they've managed to do, really, is deprive a few thousand children of their daily feedings.

But you know how children are: they're robust, they're resilient, they'll bounce back. And once America deals head on with Saddam, those children will not only resume their daily feeding schedules, but they'll actually get to munch on Big Macs! Yum yum.

But I say, forget the Middle East: They'll blow themselves up soon enough. I say, it's time to focus on rooting out terrorists at home. I say, it's time to start bombing our own terrorist cells. I say, it's time for the government to start bombing itself. And it can get a good start in Columbus, Georiga.

For Columbus, Georgia, that famously fertile breeding ground for subversive activity, is home to a group of terrorists that make Bin Laden and his band of Turbaned Terrorists look like Mr. Rogers at an Elmo convention.

Columbus, Georgia, you see, is much more than just a scenic stretch of strip malls. Columbus, Georgia, you see, is where Fort Benning is based. And Fort Benning, you see, is home to the Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation.

The Western Atmosphere Corporation for whaaaaaa?

The Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation, silly. Don't you know a cover-up when you see one?
The Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation is the most recent euphemistic moniker for that terrorist training camp more affectionately known as the School of the Americas (SOA).

You know, the School of the Americas, the one that trained 19 of the 26 soliders responsible for the savage slayings of six Jesuit priests, their housekeeper and her young daughter in El Salvador in 1989.

You know, the School of the Americas, the one that trained the soliders who massacred 900 civilians in the El Mozote community in El Salvador in 1980.

You know, the School of the Americas, the one that has trained over 60,000 Latin American military in terrorist techniques in counter-insurgency and counter-narcotics tactics and whose graduates are consistently linked to some of the worst human rights atrocities in Latin America.

Yeah, THAT School of the Americas. The one that trains soldiers who have committed flagrant abuses in (drumroll please)... Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Chile, Colombia, Costa Rica, Ecuador, El Salvador, Guatemala, Haiti, Honduras, Mexico, Panama, Paraguay, Peru, Uruguay, and Venezuela.

Let's see, a smattering of recent reports: In Colombia, a paramilitary group led by SOA graduate Brigadier General Jaime Ernesto Albanhas has been found responsible for 2,000 forced disappearances and at least 40 executions since 1999. Also in Colombia (where more than 10,000 soldiers have attended SOA), SOA graduate Colonel Jorge Acevedo has been indicted for leading a gang that carried out a series of disappearances and murders. And in Guatemala, three SOA army colonels have been convicted to 30 years in prison for bashing the head of human rights champion Bishop Juan Gerardi with a cinder block.

The School of the Americas graduates have had illustrious careers in chainsaw massacres, electric shock torture, brutal kidnappings of children, . . . you name it, they've done it!

So I say we start bombing Ft. Benning in Columbus, Georgia. After all, the base harbors terrorists, and Bush has said that we need to target anyone who gives shelter to terrorists. After all, we need to be consistent in our Quest to Eliminate Evil.
But we'll stress to the good people of Columbus that it won't be a war against them. We'll emphasize that it won't be a war against their strip mall culture. For we do not hate the people of Columbus. Columbus residents are a peaceful group.

And once some of our stray bombs start killing innocent people in the strip malls of Columbus, we'll report them as the unfortunate but inevitable effects of a Good and Just War that Will Protect the Freedoms of All Americans. We hope the good people of Columbus will understand that when they see the limbs of their children flying through the air, it's all for the cause of Eradicating Evil.

And God will be on our side. "God Bless America Except for Columbus, Georgia," we'll croon at baseball games, hearts swelling with patriotic pride. And the stars and stripes banner, minus a star representing the state of Georgia, will soar from every homefront porch and SUV antenna. And red, white and blue tears will stream from our eyes.

But hold on just a minute, you protest, firmly gripping your copy of the New Testament autographed by Donald Rumsfield. Didn't you say that the SOA trains soldiers who commit atrocities in Latin America? I mean, what do we care about a bunch of chocolate-colored peasants who talk that Mexican talk? Can't they just take care of themselves?

Uh, why yes, certainly they can. But we can help them take care of themselves, by continuing to train soldiers who specialize in rape, torture, and murder.

In fact, why don't we just go ahead and skip bombing the SOA and bomb the whole of Latin America instead? You think Osama would help us crash a few 767s into their villages?

In fact, I bet he'll say yes, provided we help him rebuild his network of ne'er do-wells. We've done it before; doncha think it's time for an encore?

And then when we're all through terrorizing those wretched little brown people, Georgie can lead us in the chant of a beloved rhyme: Thank you, thank you Osama-I-am, I do so like you, Bin La-den!

The Gatlinburg Bubbas - Muse Apprentice Guild

2010-04-27T19:20:00.000-07:00

Published 2003
Muse Apprentice Guild

The Gatlinburg Bubbas: Loving the Enemy

"It was Gatlinburg in mid-July
and I'd just hit town
and my throat was dry
and I thought I'd stop
and have myself a brew."

Johnny Cash
"A Boy Named Sue"

Every year, my boyfriend and I make a trip to the Smoky Mountains to go hiking and enjoy the magnificent explosion of fall colors. One of our favorite things to do after a full day of weaving through shrouded forests and picnicking by softly crooning streams is to go into Gatlinburg, Tennesse to relish a hearty meal and take in the gaudy sights.

If you've ever been to Gatlinburg, you'll have a visceral response to the word "gaudy." But if you've never been, then try to envision Las Vegas run out of Bubba's garage.

Now, in today's PC parlance, usage of the word "Bubba" would be construed as prejudiced. However, more often than not, "Bubba" as a pejorative term is tolerated because it represents uneducated Southern whites, and it's not considered discriminatory to denigrate whites, uneducated, Southern, or otherwise. This is because whites are currently considered the "dominant" race, and racism, in some people's minds, is only authentic when it's directed by the dominant race toward minority races.

There was a time when I embraced this view. I attended a Louis Farrakahn speech once, years ago, and when he spoke condemningly of whites, I loudly applauded. I am chagrined to admit this, yet the event helped shape who I later became. Now, of course, it's clear to me that Farrakahn and David Duke hail from the same confederacy - that of the dunces. You can argue that Farrakahn has more provocation to hate than David Duke, but your argument would be a gossomer-thin one; even Malcolm X came to see that hatred was an unproductive path.

The Gatlinburg Bubbas are invariably a source of great amusement for my boyfriend and me; after all, we're white, and a little spoofing of our own race weighs lightly on our conscience.

But underneath our quiet mockery is, I believe, a class arrogance that we're hardly aware we possess. With the Gatlinburg Bubbas, we're not simply poking fun of white people, we're poking fun of poor whites. Of course, we enjoy mocking affluent whites and whites of our own middle class also. But they can take it; they have economic might. Poor whites, though, well, it's not their fault.

An issue more divisive than race in this country is, it would seem, class. A middle-class black person is not as feared as a poor black person; ditto for whites. The root of the fear is the same - the poor person is usually uneducated, and so probably thrives on violence as a means of survival. But because whites once held black slaves, and because much of the racist activity that we hear about involves whites against blacks, people - usually liberals - just assume that it's okay to hate poor whites. But that's like throwing another snake into a pit of vipers: the only thing that's accomplished is more fighting.

Even more disquieting for us than the Gatlinburg Bubbas are those folks who reside just outside of Cherokee, North Carolina, right across the border from Gatlinburg. To give you an idea: in Gatlinburg, they sell t-shirts that feature logos like "This Blood's For You" under a picture of a bloody Jesus impaled on the cross. But outside of Cherokee, they sell KKK belt buckles. Suddenly, the scary Jesus shirts seem tame and inviting.

Yet, extreme racism is all these people have known, just as respect for diversity is all I've ever known. I can't help that my parents were ultra-educated and extended to me the virtue of tolerance, just as people living in the moutains can't help that their parents were minimally educated and extended to them the vice of intolerance.
Why is it that I pour out more natural sympathy for poor blacks or Latinos than I do for what are considered "trailer trash" whites? Because I've allowed myself to invest belief in the vicious myth of the Blue-Eyed Devil. But whites aren't devils anymore than we are all blue-eyed.

When we go back to the Smokies next year, you might wonder, will my boyfriend and I still make irreverent jokes about Bubbas? You bet; satirical humor about any culture acts as a buffer against the myriad miseries of the world. Besides, I can just as easily parody myself, with my "soccer dyke" haircut, belly bulge, protruding lower lip, grandiose ego, pedestrian intelligence and predictably liberal worldview. We must resist the PC thought police whenever we can, even though I probably buy into that menacing mindset in ways I'm scarcely alert to.

But is it healthy to ulimately consider prejudice against poor whites (or whites in general) as benign, since whites are still the majority race? No, it's not. We all have our prejudices, but we must be aware of them, and work with them. Even if that means our target wears Confederate Flag underwear.

cryptic nihilistic - The Battered Suitcase

2010-04-26T09:23:00.000-07:00

Published June 2010
The Battered Suitcase

cryptic nihilistic
by Alison Ross

the cryptic nihilist
wears purple shades
that see into yer soul
and she can read your mind
with a magnifying glass

the cryptic nihilist
has been to hell and back
she said it was a nice trip
and the devil was friendly enough
but when she got home
she was so thirsty
she drank a gallon of water
and then turned into jesus

the cryptic nihilist
stays up for all hours
listening to classical music in reverse
and translating kierkegaard
into lolspeak
cuz OMG WTF: dude is deep!

the cryptic nihilist
once met buddha on the road
but before she could kill him
he burst into flames
he briefly reincarnated into
a jug of wine
so she could drink away the pain
but she laughed
and smashed a mirror instead

she considers herself a neo-cryptic nihilistic freak. she believes in god (but only as an acronym that will self-destruct in five minutes). she wraps herself in the confederate flag, lynches conformity, then recites the pledge of allegiance in technicolor tongues.

the cryptic nihilist once scrawled grafitti on the white house that read: "rearranging chaos is partly why i'm here."

Miro's mirror - Disingenuous Twaddle

2009-12-20T15:25:00.000-08:00

Published April, 2010

Disingenuous Twaddle

Miro's mirror at Disingenuous Twaddle

Miro's mirror

by Alison Ross

Miro’s mirror reflected the skeleton of chaos.
It deconstructed time and made a maze through space.

Miro’s mirror wept suns at Rimbaud’s funeral
and wrote cumming’s epitaph with the blood of commas.

Miro’s mirror gouged out Shakespeare’s eyes.
It pre-saged the death of poetry
and fought World War II in reverse.

Miro’s mirror cracked in half.
The left half reflected "Spring Song" played by Dr. Seuss.
The right half showed the Buddha in the throes of cacophony.

Miro's mirror deconstructed chaos and made a maze through Rimbaud's heart.

Seven poems - Counterexample Poetics

2009-12-15T18:53:00.001-08:00

Published Fall, 2009
Counterexample Poetics

Seven poems at Counterexample Poetics

Seven poems
by Alison Ross

Buddhaliciously Blasphemous

The Buddha is big and blasphemous
he wants you to rip out yer tongue
and take a vow of silent retribution
against the winds
(of change)

The Buddha is smiling and blasphemous
he wants you to mock the Catholic priests
and take a real vow of celibacy
(but you can fondle the dharma if you wish)

The Buddha is big and delicious.
He eats ephemera for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

But he wants you to fast for the rest of your karmic lives.

Plane love

his lips are parallel lines
his lips are parallel lines

my heart has eight sides:
9 - 1 sides
6 + 2 sides
2 x 4 sides

his parallel lips kiss my octagonal heart

my parallel heart
my parallel heart

Invisible twilight

Dusk dreams herself into being: the sun swallows itself whole, spits out slivers of lunatic light; an unknown hand scribbles graffiti of sightless eyes upon a mangled mask.

The trees with their many quivering tongues speak a terror of truth to the wind. Birds weave a maze of melody, and cats stalk invented shadows.

Time bursts into tiny spiders who coil white shadows to snare snatches of twilight. The spiders gulp their prey, and grow plump with darkness.

Starved spiders shrivel, and dawn screams himself awake, flinging blood-stained shrouds over a memory of mad moons and impossible twilights.

Hours

The hours rain down
like soft sparkling skulls.
The children
catch them on their tongues,
eat them like they’re stars,
and become illuminated time.

Loneliness had erased her face; her eyes caught fire in a blaze of tears, and her lips were swallowed in a song of lament. So she created a mask out of her loneliness, sculpting eyes from the sea and lips from the moon. And she sang melodies of mirrors, and saw her reflection in flames.

the melting face of god
nailed crosses to the wind

the fire sings maiden melodies
to a stone that sputters hymns
the spider wails blindly
to the priest who drowned the moon

the sleeping skull of solace
breathed light into my tomb

The spider and the moon

The moon sings shivering melodies
and the spider swoons silently

The spider spins webs like symphonies
and the moon shivers violently

The moon weaves violent melodies
into webs of silent symphony
that swoon like spiders shivering

misanthropic Buddha - Word Riot

2009-03-26T15:39:00.000-07:00

Published Spring, 2009
Word Riot

misanthropic Buddha at Word Riot

misanthropic Buddha
by Alison Ross

misanthropic Buddha
eats black balloons for breakfast
drinks cocktails made of storms

Misanthropic buddha
gets his zen on
at 3:04 am
kicks the asses of the stars
that are not aligned
karate chops
the moon

misanthropic buddha
makes love to Dante's corpse
peels the layers of hell off his shoe
haunts Che in his dreams
licks fascism with his tongue

Misanthropic Buddha
gets drunk on skulls
drives a nail through Jesus' eyes
(they bleed static
and he cries)

Letter to the Editor - Creative Loafing

2008-08-18T16:15:00.000-07:00

Published August, 2008
Creative Loafing

Letter to the Editor at Creative Loafing

Stop caricaturing the homeless

When are you going to do a real story on homelessness and poverty rather than half-baked articles about the city criminalizing the actions of desperate people ("Fewer homeless in the city," News & Views, Aug. 6)?

My friends and I serve free food in Woodruff Park. Yet, are you aware that the city has brutally cracked down on groups like ours, which are merely exercising the ACLU-supported right to share a basic need with friends? And by the way, the homeless people we encounter are usually lovely, humble people.

Homelessness and persistent poverty is largely due to a dearth of affordable housing and jobs, cyclical poverty, institutionalized racism and mental health issues. Indeed, mental health funding is severely slashed, dumping the mentally ill on the streets.

As we watch Atlanta become ever more gentrified and as more jobs are shipped overseas or just disappear altogether, you will see the swelling of the homeless and poor ranks – it's already happening.

The Gateway Center is hardly the panacea. Our oppressive economic system is the core of the problem.

Please stop crassly caricaturing the homeless and poor. Any of us could be in that boat, and really, you should know better. I continue to be outraged at your "coverage" of these issues.

– Alison Ross, Atlanta

Silent symmetry - Blue Fifth Review

2008-02-25T15:57:00.000-08:00

Published February, 2008
Blue Fifth Review

Silent symmetry at Blue Fifth Review

Silent symmetry
by Alison Ross

I crave internal symmetry.

I want to drink liquid sutras
smoke mirrors
and exhale samsara

I want to poison all clocks
and regurgitate infinity

I want to dream of monks
who shout chants shaped like birds

I want to sleep inside a scream

I want to breathe clouds filled with comas
and choke on karmas made of cats

I want to silence all hallucinations
and blind all hymns

I want to die inside a symmetry of birds.

Salvador Dalai Lama - Cerebral Catalyst

2007-10-06T06:41:00.000-07:00

Published October, 2007
Cerebral Catalyst

Salvador Dalai Lama at Cerebral Catalyst

Salvador Dalai Lama
by Alison Ross

Salvador Dalai Lama paints mandalas of melting clocks. The clock hands meditate, in lotus position, on the idea of temporal ephemerality, then burst into flames of "o mani padme om," a chant that mimics the humming of an electric appliance.

Salvador Dalai Lama dreams he was a mustache in a previous life. As a mustache, he abused the faces of men and accrued negative karma, causing him to morph into an elephant with spindly legs.

Salvador Dalai Lama always hated being an elephant, so he shaves his head in rebellion. His head is as shiny as an eternity of funhouse mirrors that reflect reality as it truly is: a mustachioed monk who paints melting mandalas on a landscape of reincarnated alarm clocks that meditate on the idea of temporal frivolity, then burst into sparks of sun that only imagine they exist.

Politically Erect - Exquisite Corpse

2007-10-05T05:51:00.000-07:00

Published 2000, 2001, or 2002
Exquisite Corpse

Politically Erect at Exquisite Corpse

Politically Erect
by Alison Ross

Feeling a little hard on yourself lately for chronically uttering the wrong thing at the wrong time? Feeling as though you're continually shoving your stinky soles down your esophageal tube for making outlandishly offensive remarks, but getting a clandestine thrill out of it nonetheless?

If unwittingly insulting other religions, races, genders, ages, species, planetary creatures, etc. is your unfortunate forte, then we just might have a place for you among the lovable legions of the Politically Erect, a non-partisan crew of merrily unsavvy citizens who refuse to yield to despotic demands to make only socially acceptable remarks about those who diverge from themselves in any explicit or implicit way.

Yes, you read right: I'm lambasting Political Correctness (PC), and replacing it with my own form of Political Erectness (PE). (Okay, so I didn't actually coin the term Politically Erect; I cribbed it from a bumper sticker. Regardless, I do give myself credit for ascertaining the inherent merit of said slogan and appropriating it for my own puerile purposes).

Political Erectness is not anti-PC in the strictest sense - it's not some freakish fundamentalist Neo-Nazi Pat Buchanan Christian Coalition KKK conspiracy to erase all social and cultural euphemisms and replace them with only the vilest homophobic, racist and sexist epithets.

No, no, PE is none of that. PE is way too astute for such nonsense. PE is, simply, an audacious acknowledgment of the prejudice that abides in all human beings.

Now, if you're a generic-brand Liberal (Get yours today - while supplies last!), you might scoff at this in your helplessly patronizing manner, urging that human souls start out as clean blank slates and claiming that society is at fault for etching prejudice and hatred onto our otherwise pristine psyches.

And if you're a name-brand conservative (or just a hillbilly wannabe with stock in Tommy Hillfigger), you would pump an energized fist into the air upon learning that I insist on the native essence of bigotry. "Damn straight!" you would yelp while spanking the air with your cherished confederate flag.

But if you're a thinking individual like me, instead of gobbling up whatever looks half-way digestible that the masses throw at you, you would actually allow your intuition and experience to be your guides. Now I realize that intuition and experience are big words for those who faithfully read the Atlanta-Journal Constitution (or any variation thereof). But once you learn what they mean, you'll understand where I'm coming from.

First off, I don't subscribe to the particular issue of the Tired Liberal Viewpoint that condemns our social environment as the sole perpetrator of prejudice. I believe that it's a baffling blend of nature and nurture that permits us to be inhaled into that vicious vortex.

I think, in other words, that we are naturally and karmically disposed to hold others under scrutinizing suspicion, and that often these tendencies are nearly irrevocably reinforced by our environments.

But I don't feel, as does the cadre of creepy conservatives, that because prejudice is an indwelling phenomenon we should exploit it to our favor. I believe that we should do whatever we can to thwart the bilious bastard of bigotry before he usurps the throne of our conscience where angels placidly reign.

At the same time, I do not believe that society, in its infinite imperiousness, should mandate how we think. Yes, I suppose we have to construct legal barriers in an attempt to prevent egregious harm to others, but that's because deeds are more vociferous than words.

I am not saying that I eagerly endorse co-workers making racist or sexist remarks in the vicinity of potentially outraged parties, but I do believe that the general workplace climate has gotten too preposterously PC. I myself was once on the receiving end of a spate of sexist comments at one of my jobs, and while I didn't find it a pleasant experience, I managed to survive -- unscathed even ! -- maybe because I don't base my entire identity on the particular set of genitals that happen to serve as my anatomical adornment.

At the same time, I do view persistently vocalized prejudice as harassment, and think it should be dealt with swiftly and efficiently.

But if Joe and Jane are having dinner with Jose and Juanita and one of them mutters a witty remark tinged with transvestite-taunting or wheelchair-teasing or otherwise socially offensive overtones, I do not, with all my bleeding heart and sparkling soul, think that this person's derriere should be repeatedly jabbed with Lucifer's oversized blaze-tipped forked utensil to make the point that insulting others is a taboo-transgression so severe it warrants exile to the furthest netherworld beyond the most bottom-feeding inferno.

I mean, some people need to LIGHTEN THE FUCK UP. I don't even like to use "fuck" in my tirades because it smacks of bohemian elitism, as though my attempt to disorient the smug swimmers of mainstream currents entitles me to pretentious profanity. But sometimes I feel I must stoop to vulgar verbiage to assert myself.

And in thusly asserting myself, I must warn PC proponents that fascist enforcement of a socially benign vernacular only encourages and enlarges the enemy, merely aggrandizes his arsenal of absurd attack-weapons.

Furthermore, it makes us all uncomfortable with who we are, which is a species of being biologically bent toward self-bias. Prejudice does not just extend to conflicting cultures, it reaches out to others within our own cultural orbit as well. For instance, I, Ally, a single white female, might be prejudiced against my roommate, Sally, also a spouseless Anglo chick, because the abbreviated period which she utilizes to brush her teeth could be more effectively employed to emit a note of flatulence. Perhaps I am more time-involved in my own dental maintenance and am therefore prejudiced against Sally's hygienic habits.

Any one of us at any given time is prejudiced against another for any number of reasons; it's a integral part of who we are, and while we must always work to diminish this not-so-quaint quirk of ours, we can't hope to fully escape it, at least in this lifetime, so we might as well get used to it and accept it and work with it. In doing so, we can actually use it to innocuous advantage.

But how exactly might we go about exploring the apparent beneficence of our prejudicial proclivities?

Well, this is where PE comes in. Once we acknowledge that our tendency toward social subjectivity -- the judging of others on the basis of ethnic origin, sexual orientation, religious preference, number of visible nose hairs, etc. -- is a trait we all share (for better or for worse), then we can begin to mine the humor in it. For humor can be found both in the fact that we are so crassly critical and in our differences.

The imposition of Political Correctness indicates that we've lost sight of the deep distinction that exists between satire and ignorance. Well-honed satire is not tantamount to abysmal benightedness as some might mistakenly believe; it's actually the enlightened inverse. Ignorance is when someone is unaware of the dreary pitfalls of prejudice; isn't even aware that he or she is a reckless practitioner of prejudice. Satire, on the other hand, is when someone is fully cognizant of humanity's foibles, and gleefully mocks them.

So, if you are aware that extreme prejudice is injurious to all parties involved and in your daily life work toward minimizing its influence, then I think making in appropriate contexts what could be construed in other environments as offensive jokes is not only okay, it should be encouraged. We need some method to salvage our sanity, and humor is one of the best means to do that.

Political Erectness thrives on the subversive sarcasm of satire. PE is a two-pronged satirical approach: it overtly ridicules the object in question (e.g., hearing-impaired homosexual conjoined twins), as well as covertly mocks the subject (the person who would feel superior to and therefore ridicule hearing-impaired homosexual conjoined twins).

Now, I would never recklessly ridicule deaf homo freak-twins (oops, did I already do that?), but in the right context, I might, and still consider my conscience untainted. But how does one know when the context is right? Again, one must use his or her intuition as a guide.

I also believe there are non-threatening ways people can lampoon other human beings. Think, for instance, about "The Simpsons." In that show (the only one worth owning a TV for -- that, and "Sesame Street"), natives of India are represented by Apu, the convenience store owner. He has a stereotypical job and accent, and acts in a stereotypical manner. Yet, there is nothing whatsoever about him that is demeaning to Indians, because his character is executed in a respectful way. An ignorant portrayal of an Indian would be disrespectful, one that would rudely mock his characteristics rather than affectionately satirize them.

And "The Simpsons" creators, largely white, don't just focus their satirical lens on other ethnicities, they mock teenagers, octogenarians, policemen, school teachers and principals, Christian fundamentalists, you name it. And don't forget their central focus, the generic suburban Caucasian family, the show's zany namesake.

Political Correctness is pure, unadulterated fascism. Political Erectness, on the other hand, is pure, adult-rated funnism. To practice political correction is to be miserable in a miserable world; to have a political erection is to be happy in a miserable world and to spread this mirthful misery to as many people as possible. Political Correctness labors to impose perfection onto something irredeemably flawed and further divides those already sharply divided; Political Erectness lovingly embraces the big drooling baby of imperfection and endeavors to unite those who feel socially alienated from each other. This is because PE recognizes prejudice as inane yet inescapable, and attempts to reconcile the dichotomy through satirical means.

So the next time you're dining out with epidermally-challenged dyslexic lesbians from Jupiter, be sure to let them know that the title of your next film, "Dumb Leper Dyke Freaks," is in no way intended to offend, and I'm sure they'll understand.

An Ode to Corporate America - Exquisite Corpse

2007-10-05T05:45:00.000-07:00

Published 2000
Exquisite Corpse

An Ode to Corporate America at Exquisite Corpse

An Ode to Corporate America (or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Bomb the Office)
by Alison Ross

Ah, Corporate America. The words just roll off the tongue, do they not?

Well, actually, you secretly contest, they don't. You're thinking, rather, that they slide off the tongue like a slimy slug. But they're such bitter words, really, such lemon-sour language, that you'd rather spit them out like bad soup. Permitting them to simply glide off your tongue is too generous; they don't deserve your benign benevolence. The words "Corporate America" deserve only this: to be shredded through gritted teeth, coughed up like phlegm, or spewed out in utter revulsion.

Gee, do we detect a little hostility in my rantings? Nah, that's not hostility you're sensing, that's outrage. Hostility, you see, is for wimps. Hostility is when you allow an injustice to shrivel your soul to a mood of muteness, to carve away at your confidence until finally you explode in a volcanic wrath.

Outrage, on the other hand, meets with unfairness head-on; it does not cower in the looming shadow of injustice, but confronts it without chagrin. Outrage is not laced with animosity; its vision is clear, unclouded.

(And what the dictionary dictates doesn't concern me; the meanings of words metamorphose over time, and soon enough "hostility" and "outrage" will cease to be thesaurus twins.)

Anyway. So I'm outraged by the odious offenses that Corporate America commits on a daily basis. And I'm well-versed in callous corporate ways because for six years I have labored in the not-so-balmy bowels of big business. I have endured conditions that make a weekly teeth-cleaning from Satan's dentist a highly cherishable prospect.

But why exactly would I prefer to undergo ritual gum-and-tooth torture from a demented dentist than perform work for a company so I could afford to keep my stomach singing and my toes toasty?

Well, for one thing, Corporate America pays its slaves barely enough to keep their stomachs humming along to Neil Sedaka songs. Oh, sure, the slaveholder CEOs receive a sizable sum; hell, their tubby tummies are belting out entire Broadway musicals. But why are they so poisonously rich? Because they bear an "important" title? You could counter (as I'm sure some of you corporate cronies will) that CEOs work hard, and therefore deserve such pampering luxuries. But consider this: janitors work diligently, maids are devoted to their work, and what kind of promotional profits do they enjoy?

Just because CEOs have jobs that are deemed more "challenging" shouldn't entitle them to more prestige; besides, CEOs are immersed in the exercise of generating vulgar amounts of money, whereas a maid or janitor is involved in the honest pursuit of making a living. Maids and janitors view money as a means to an end, whereas CEOs treasure money as the end itself.

I mean, can someone please tell me what the freakin' big deal is about owning a house the size of Texas, or driving a car that costs more than the Federal debt? In what way, exactly, do these things fulfill our basic needs?

(A refreshment course for those who require a return to pre-school to de-cloud their beer-blurred brains on what constitutes basic human needs: We need love. We need food. We need clothing. We need shelter. And these things aren't just essential to happiness, they're essential for survival. )

But please note that survival is not contingent upon owning South Fork Ranch, plus a condo in Colorado, plus a chalet in Switzerland, plus the Parthenon in Greece. That's called excess, and pinpoints precisely why I spew my stew at the mere muttering of the words "Corporate America."

How else do I loathe thee, Corporate America? Allow me to enumerate the exhausting infinitude of ways.

The other main thing that flummoxes and infuriates me about Corporate America is its absolute defiance of respect for humans as humans. Corporations seem to revel in treating their employees like the feces of echoli-infected swine. And that's on a cheerful day at the office.

Of course, we know why Corporate America minions are treated like putrid poo poo. It all leads back to those diabolical dollars. But let's please remember that money is not innately demonic; it is we who make it so, by cherishing it so lustfully.

If companies were not belligerently bent on making Everest-sized mountains of moolah, they could relax and discover that those who toil their tails off for them are not instruments in the sordid sports match between their corporation and the competition, but real, actual people, with bones, brains, even a heart!

During my imprisonment in corporate cages, I've seen it all: a secretary shrieked at for transposing two numbers in a phone message; a typesetter harshly told "to get back to work" for helping edit barely intelligible articles; a part-time employee routinely assured that her job would convert into full-time, only to never see the promise materialize; a newly-hired department of four denied desks for six months and thereby forced to stake out temporary territory in whatever space happened not to be occupied that day; that same crew of four receiving abominable reviews by a "manager" who ignored his staff, took three hour lunches, and feigned work by reading e-mails from friends; an employee regarded as unreliable and subsequently fired for being hospitalized with a severe illness and having to miss work.

The aforementioned are just a few examples out of the many many many many many many many many many many incidents I have witnessed throughout my servitude to Corporate America. And yes, some of the above-discussed offenses were perpetrated against me.

But what's most bothersome about such episodes is not that they do occur - we all know that evil crap happens and will continue to happen as long as penises and vaginas insist on dancing the Reproductive Tango - but that they occur in such overt abundance.

And this, finally, is what Corporate America is premised upon: playing the game.
If you do precisely as your bosses dictate, you're in. Creativity is scorned, although some corporations insist they encourage innovation. But these companies can only be innovative as far as their narrowly defined boundaries permit. True creativity resists confinement.

You must follow the herd in Corporate America, or the herd will trample you. Mistakes are allowed, yes, but only after you whimper through a rambling spate of apologies (and sometimes you're even required to offer up your spouse for sacrifice to dispel any suspicion that your love for them surpasses your love for the company).

But why would a corporation persist in damning its employees to a hell of humiliation when clearly a more prudent path would be to uplift them into a heaven of happiness? I mean, I don't condone the "Greenbacks are God" mindset, but if that's the sick reality, then wouldn't money flow more fluidly if all workers were regarded as saints rather than shit? It's not difficult to discern that a respected person spreads the infectious love around, while a disrespected one only perpetuates the deadly disease of mean-spiritedness.

I'm not so naive as to believe that businesses do not wish to make a profit; clearly, they do. But a profit is one thing; what most big businesses make today is an egregious excess of the very thing that many millions of homeless completely lack.

As my brother has said, if businesses would just focus on providing the best service they possibly can, the money will follow. And while the money may not be in the zillion-dollar zone, the employees can at least return home at night satisfied that they put in an honest day's work.

Of course, if most businesses concentrated their energies on providing good service, most businesses would consequently vanish, because many exist solely to make a capital killing. These corporations are only interested in generating money-making products - e.g., computers. I once worked for a company that was the middle man for IBM - IBM sold us computers, and we then added a few gimmicks and resold them at higher prices. The company didn't add the gimmicks because it "cared" about the customer's well-being - it added them so the customer would exclaim, "Oh, cool, I need that overpriced computer with the Super 8 Pentium potato chip thingy to complete my Egyptian pyramid-high pile of work in half the time so that I can see my philandering spouse and faceless offspring at least once this month."

I'm not saying that computers haven't added some good things to this world; clearly, they have. But that's really another topic altogether. But what I am suggesting is that people look at what's really paramount to promoting a sturdy society. If we probed our souls thoroughly enough, we'd find that money and computers don't make a dent in our spiritual health.

Maybe I'm hopelessly utopian, dreaming of a world where most businesses provide services that cater to the client's needs and not their own. Maybe I'm just an idiot idealist; who knows?

I do know this: Corporate America's pervasive power isn't making any of us any happier. But I suppose a society of money-junkies is too strung out to notice that trivial detail, huh?

Alison Ross is the publisher and editor of SPEW, a broadsheet of pungent polemics soon to be available online. She is currently teaching ESL to adults, and will soon begin teaching high school English lit.

Previous publications include poetry in Nova Express, Creative Loafing rants, and articles in various technical and arts periodicals. She hopes you will forgive her for earning a degree in Creative Writing, and will happily dissuade you from veering onto that path if you are so inclined.

Xenophobes and Homophobes - Democratic Underground

2007-10-05T05:40:00.000-07:00

Published December, 2004
Democratic Underground

Xenophobes and Homophobes at Democratic Underground

Xenophobes and Homophobes: The Fear of Terror and the Terror of Fear

December 4, 2004
By Alison Ross

I learned a new word today: Phobophobia, which basically means "fear of fear."

America needs more phobophobes. We have plenty of homophobes and xenophobes, but a perilous dearth of phobophobes.

Homophobes fear the idea of people of the same gender enaging in an act of consensual sex. Xenophobes fear the idea of people engaging in the act of being foreigners. Neither gays nor Arabs can help being what they are, yet xenophobes and homophobes fear them and discriminate against them anyway.

It would be one thing if xenophobes and homophobes simply talked about their fears. But the fact is, they act on them. They lash out at gays and Arabs, and when the government gives them the opportunity to enshrine into law their discriminatory mindset, they seize on it with the rabidity of wolves.

This was nowhere more apparent than on November 2, 2004. This past election, America had a prime opportunity to boot Bush out on his butt. They had a prime opportunity to show the nation's most visible xenophobe and homophobe the door.

Instead, they invited him back for one more round of local and global destruction.

"Please, Mr. Bush," they seemed to be pleading, "come back to slaughter one hundred thousand more Iraqis, and to cripple the lives of thousands more soldiers and their families; to make healthcare more costly, to oustource millions more jobs, and to privatize even more of the country; to further erode our civil liberties, to further inject God into government, to further encourage discrimination against gays. Please?"

I mean, really, why would millions of Americans elect such a terrifying tyrant? Because, my friends, of a little thing called fear.

America has always been a nation of stark ambiguities and ambivalences. Of course, all nations are. The difference is, the American government has consistently forcefed the American people a steady diet of lard-filled lies about how we are a "good" nation, a "free" nation, and so forth.

But true freedom does not entail ripping the land away from a group of native inhabitants, brutally enslaving people stolen from their own countries, and the systematic oppression of an entire gender. True freedom does not entail the repression of worker's rights and invasion of other, more impoverished lands for their resources. In other words, America has a dark history of suppression of freedom.

The good news is, there have always been people willing to combat the notion of fake freedom and fight for authentic liberty - abolitionists, unionists, suffragettes, and others. And this is what has made America a great nation: the fact that there have always been people who dared defy government's subtle, tyrannical rule.

But in recent years, the American government's subtle tyranny has morphed into blatant autocracy. No longer are its imperialist intentions simply cloaked in the guise of benevolence and enacted with delicate stealth; now, the American government is explicitly imperialistic, while still, of course, wrapping its plunder in the robes of good will.

With the rise of the Bush regime, American imperialism has reached its fatal zenith. Bush was not popular until the tragic attacks of September 11, 2001. But since that day, he has been able to exploit the fear of a nation and parlay it into two devastating military campaigns. He has also successfully stoked the puritanical fear of homosexuality, as eleven states have resoundingly voted for Constitutional amendments banning gay marriage.

Now, to be fair, many Americans are poor and uneducated, or undereducated. Thanks to a prejudicial economic system that cherishes the crooked CEO but scorns the honest hotel maid, and an education system choked by political machinations, many Americans suffer poverty of the mind, spirit, and wallet.

Furthermore, the media is so tightly censored by corporate cronies and by monopolizing miscreants like Clear Channel that nightly we are treated to propaganda and disinformation that poses as real news.

Still, this does not excuse the educated citizen from cutting through the thick curtains of deceit, seeking out alternative news sources, and voting their conscience.

The problem is, these educated people have permitted fear to invade their realm of conscience: Fear of terrorism, fear of gays, and fear of change.

Of course, I'm well aware of the controversy surrounding the possible rigging of this past election, and do believe that much malevolent mischief was afoot. I actually have no doubt that the election was rigged through a combination of factors: "malfunctioning" (read: "tampered with") electronic voting machines, mysterious paper ballot miscounts, and so forth. There is too much supporting evidence for me to believe otherwise.

Besides, I simply don't trust an eerie black machine manufactured by a Republican-crazed CEO. Call me a conspiracy theorist, but something in this whole process reeks of fish.

But whether the election was rigged or not, the distressing fact remains: millions of people selected Bush. Franklin Roosevelt famously said, "The only thing to fear is fear itself." Well, the only thing I fear is millions of Americans who seem to fear everything but fear. Phobophobes, unite.

Three poems - Muse Apprentice Guild

2007-10-01T12:19:00.000-07:00

Published 2002-2003
Muse Apprentice Guild

Muse Apprentice Guild

Three poems of mine were published under one of my pseudonymns, Flora Gael, in the Muse Apprentice Guild around 2002-2003. The M.A.G., as it was called, was a cool avant garde-ish publication edited by August Highland that has not been updated since Winter 2006. Below I offer the three poems of mine that were published (the archives seem to have mostly disappeared, so I cannot provide a direct link to the poems):

DEATH A HEART THROWN BACKWARDS
(derived poetry)

Through a window of hell
I glimpsed an ancient sun
naked except for a mask of skeletons

Through a labyrinth of hell
I walked into a secret void
rustling like a blind volcano

In the palaces of hell
I am an oblique prisoner
I travel through truths
and eclipse all solitudes
with my casket of wings

--------

UNTITLED

I have become what I am not:
my eyes are warm hallucinations
that can lacerate a wolf's heart
my heart is a swarm of saints
that are dizzy like the eyes of a wolf

my thoughts can plunder
an army of chimeras
my dreams can tame
a terror of prayers

with one breath I can destroy what I am not
and become the eyes of a swarm of dreams

--------

BLUE GYPSY
(for Edvard Munch)

The tempests teem with blue ghosts
who stalk through veils of thunder
and gulp lightning with their eyes

the tempests teem with blue rain
that twirls like gypsies
through a tunnel of veiled ghosts

The gypsies swallow phantom rain
and twirl through tempests
with eyes like blue thunder

Five poems - Mad Swirl

2007-09-23T08:59:00.000-07:00

Published 2005? 2006?
Mad Swirl

Five poems - Mad Swirl

Five poems
by Alison Ross

shadows of god

suns scream
a swirl of chants
clouds sigh
a halo of prayers
moons shed tears
of quiet karmas

raindrops bleed
the ghost of god

(untitled)

Horrific harmonies
and terrific cacaphonies
share a room in
the Hotel of Symphonies
and make love on the bed of epiphanies,
then share a cigarette of regret.
So now the cacaphonies sing melodies
of tragic beauty
while the harmonies screech tragedies
in discordant euphony

(untitled)

like big question marks of defiance
like exclamation points of smoke
like the debris of exploded commas
like hollow periods

are we

(untitled)

I gave birth to the shadow
that burned in your breast
like a dark sun

I invented the echo
that strangled your voice
like a blind song

I destroyed the mirror
that stole your eyes
like a burning ghost

(untitled)

The sea is on fire.
The night is bone-white
and you sing like a cemetery,
your voice stained with dirt and death.

The flames have thawed.
The day is blood-red
and you pray like a piano,
your chants filled with dreams of death.

Black Lips CD Review - Laura Hird's Site

2007-09-12T19:57:00.000-07:00

Published September, 2007
Laura Hird's Site

Black Lips Review at Laura Hird's Site

LOS VALIENTES DEL MUNDO NUEVO
The Black Lips
by Alison Ross

The Black Lips is a band that seems poised to detonate at any moment onto the scene, fresh as the kids are from Austin’s fabled SXSW music festival, and from favourable write-ups in prominent rock magazines and even a front-page video clip feature in the New York Times online.

For now, however, the inscrutable Black Lips remain a rather obscure Atlanta quartet who boast an ever-expanding cult following. The band’s signature sound, a searing blend of 60s blues and jangle-pop, screeching 80s punk, and modern hipster garage rock, with nuanced dips into Motown and R&B, came into full fruition on its third proper release, 2005’s ragged masterpiece, 'Let it Bloom.'

The tunes on 'Let it Bloom' are a trashy mishmash of musical styles, and exude a sort of slimy charisma, the way they wrap catchy hooks and singable melodies in a sort of chain mail of dissonance. Each song exists as its own freaky entity, evoking just about every rock and roll era and genre without being in any way cheaply derivative. And the surrealistically profane lyrics only add to the sleazy charm of the songs. ‘Let it Bloom’ swims in sumptuous vintage sounds, so much so it’s temporally disorienting at times, although always refreshing.

For 'Los Valientes del Mundo Nuevo (The Brave of the New World),' the band’s inaugural live offering from Vice Records, the Black Lips ventured into Tijuana, a town that bears distinction for the band as “the last hedonist haven.” And heady hedonism, apparently, is what the Black Lips live show is all about, if past tales about the boys playing guitars with their genitals and making creatively vile use of urine are any indication. Such patently juvenile antics, of course, threaten to undermine the musical maturity evinced on 'Let it Bloom.' But I digress.

So scuttlebutt has it that the Black Lips gig in Tijuana managed to surpass the band’s legendary live debauchery, featuring as it did bathroom drug deals, hooker autoeroticism and a hapless Mariachi band playing witness to the wanton mischief. Oh, and then there is the music.

On 'Los Valientes del Mundo Nuevo,' these self-described “flower punks” draw principally from 'Let it Bloom' and 'We Did Not Know the Forest Spirit Made the Flowers Grow' to create an adrenalized aural assault. The songs sound tequila-soaked but ebulliently energized in the way that only testosterone-infused barely-out-of-their-teens can play them.

It may not be the best live album ever, as the Black Lips naively proclaim it will be, but that’s only because we need a DVD to fully capture the raunchy revelry. Live albums always need a visual complement, even if most of them lack that.

The Black Lips may seem to be vaulting onto a bandwagon already overcrowded with garage rock acts. But the Lips offer a more brashly novel approach to the genre; the band carves a far rougher soundscape than that of some of the sleeker, more packaged garage bands like The Strokes or even The Hives.

If you’re new to the Black Lips, then this live album alone will not make you a convert. However, if you purchase 'Los Valientes' along with the exquisitely raw 'Let it Bloom,' chances are you will fall in love with the Lip’s grittily graceful take on garage punk.

© Alison Ross
Reproduced with permission

Eternity found - Wings of Icarus

2007-09-10T19:47:00.000-07:00

Published September 2007
Wings of Icarus

Eternity found at Wings of Icarus

Eternity found
by Alison Ross

My days have been infernal feasts of fire and delight; I have not censored myself but lived loudly and boldly, blazing through dim apathies and carving diamond paths through gruesome nights. I have invented enigmas and flattened paradigms; I have twisted through the labyrinth of myself and made my heart invisible.

Now as my days wane, I float through the gardens that inflame my senses. I imagine flowers that wrap their blue arms around me, and suffocate me with their shrouded scents.

My funeral will be an hallucination of hymns and poisons; wines will flow and hearts will sing. Guests will celebrate the sordid epiphanies of my life: the euphoria of my birth, the rapture of my death.

I have offered myself to the world; I have sacrificed myself to the sun, and laughed heartily at the moon. The gods have loved me, and opened the heavens in my honor.

I enter; the feast has begun again.

Various rants - Democracy Means You

2007-09-10T19:38:00.000-07:00

The following is a partial listing of my political rants and satire which appeared at Democracy Means You in 2005-2006 (there were 16 total, but I could only locate 12). Unfortunately, for whatever reason, the editor shut down the webzine, so there are no weblinks, only the pieces themselves.

The Government I Have

Demonic Despots and Dastardly Denial

Toxic Water

Parade of Shame

Get Your Fascist Freak On!

George W. Bush Morality Kwiz

Christian Conservatives: Oxymorons

Eating Ice Cream in Vienna

Tsunami Survivors Relocating to Iraq

What Should Pat Do?

Support the Troops: Buy an iPod

Left Behind: Education's False Rapture

Death is imminent - Wings of Icarus

2007-09-06T15:34:00.001-07:00

Published September, 2007
Wings of Icarus

Death is imminent at Wings of Icarus

Death is imminent and I'm still smiling
by Alison Ross

It's raining cats and clocks.
I drink an entire bottle of dreams (vintage 1919)
and drift down a road made of smoke.
The umbrella of my imagination
flies away
flies away.

I am in no hurry to die.
My smile blooms
like a cyst.

Further down the road
I meet the phantom of myself.
I say hello and she laughs.
I smother her with my raincoat.
She wilts like a wounded smile.

Sleep waves to me with its green hand.
I gulp down a flask of smoke,
and fall toward the clouds
erasing themselves from my memory.

I knock on the sky
and no one answers

except for the stars
except for the stars

Chopin - A Little Poetry

2007-08-04T09:50:00.000-07:00

Published 2006
A Little Poetry

Chopin at A Little Poetry

Chopin
by Alison Ross

the stars drip melodies
like blind pianos
tornados spin cacophonies
into a maze of violins

music is a labyrinth of tears
shed from the eyeless sun

We two - Laika Poetry Review

2007-08-04T09:39:00.000-07:00

Published November, 2006
Laika Poetry Review

We Two at Laika Poetry Review

We two
by Alison Ross

We two
move backwards in time
receding towards oceans
dripping magic curses from our tongues
and spilling flowers from our mouths

We two
rearrange the alphabet
dismantling vowels into hieroglyphics of sound
speaking multi-colored syllables
and bleeding language from our eyes

We two
scatter numbers to the wind
decorating the sky with an arithmetic of stars
smashing the clouds into silent symbols
and making shapes from the wind

We two
swim in reverse seas
speak strange syllables
and subtract the stars
from the geometries of wind

Clockwise Cat - Cerebral Catalyst

2007-08-03T07:28:00.000-07:00

Published October, 2006
Cerebral Catalyst

Clockwise Cat at Cerebral Catalyst

The Clockwise Cat
by Alison Ross

The clockwise cat
is wise to clocks.
She knows their motive:
to tame the savage animal of time.

The clockwise cat
hisses at the clock-cages;
her fangs gnaw the numbers
and her claws rip holes
in the frayed fabric of space.

The clockwise cat
moves in counter-clockwise cadences
across the hardwood floors of infinity.
She stalks illusions of impermanence
which flit like shadows
across the paint-chipped walls in her mind.

The clockwise cat
tells time with her eyes:
they blaze like candle flames
in the dim closets of oblivion.

The clockwise cat
sleeps 16 days an hour.
She dreams about the minutes
she will devour like bugs;
she awakens to seconds
poisoned like rats.

Miro's Nightmare - Haggard and Halloo

2007-08-03T07:19:00.000-07:00

Published January, 2007
Haggard and Halloo

Miro's Nightmare at Haggard and Halloo

Miro's Nightmare
by Alison Ross

Miro’s Nightmare is coming to get you.

It crawls into your mouth
to lay eggs
that hatch into dreams
of murderous blue.

Miro’s Nightmare bleeds cats onto your eyes
and whispers fangs into your ears.

Miro’s Nighmare is an upside-down clock
and an inside-out heart.

It is in love with death
the scent of blood-streaked mirrors,
and with the color yellow
when it used to be black.

Miro’s Nightmare is coming to get you.

It lays clocks inside your heart:
they hatch into cats
with upside-down eyes.

Miro's Scream - Cerebral Catalyst

2007-08-01T20:31:00.001-07:00

Published June, 2006
Cerebral Catalyst

Miro's Scream at Cerebral Catalyst

Miro's Scream
by Alison Ross

Miro's scream became a new color of crayon.
His scream unfurled across the middle of eternity,
spattering the sky
with colors the shape of centuries,
and shapes the color of oblivion.
His scream cast a shadow onto the pavement of the sun,
climbed up the staircase of the moon,
and erased every star.

Miro's scream ripped open like a red yawn,
and lullabies fluttered out like blue bats.

Miro's scream became locked inside itself:
Miro had swallowed the key to eternity,
and oblivion unfurled like a new color of crayon.