Nothing. Absolutely Nothing.

For my part in any misunderstanding, I apologize.  Having said that...

If "Star Wars" Happened On Facebook

LEIA:  Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope.
OBI WAN:  Sending thoughts and prayers.

Six (II)

So they were airmen.  My bad, thinking that because of the news they must have been Army or Marines.  Anyway...

Today we honor and remember the following:

Joseph Lemm
Adrianna Vorderbruggen
Louis Bonacasa
Chester McBride
Michael A. Cinco
Peter W. Taub

Thank you.

Six

More meat into the grinder.  As of this writing, the names of the six could not be immediately released.  We do not know their branch affiliations.  I don't know if they were Marines or Army.  They were NATO, which is important.  I just don't know what to think.

I will pray for these troops and their attacker.  All need our prayers.

I never agreed with this war and my heart breaks every time a story like this comes out.  But those are just feelings, not hard pragmatic thinking.  Oh well, they were only six.

The Company You Keep

Your mama always told you:  if you lie down with dogs, you get fleas.  Personally, I don't know why anyone hangs out with Frank Haros.  That's a surefire way of getting your shit fucked up.  He has cost people their badges.  He is bad news.  You're better off just hanging out with me.

What I Have Yet To Experience

• Abduction by gray skins
• Martyrdom
• Persecution by secret societies
• Reading my own CIA dossier
• Wealth
• Slot machine jackpot (SEE "wealth")
• Paranoia
• Pyramid power
• Past life regression (I think.  I don't remember.  Maybe I have...)
• Visions of Atlantis or Lemuria or Mu
• A successful magic spell
• A conversion to Christianity

America, Fuck Yeah!

America, snap out of it.  Get your shit together, stop saying one thing and doing another, stop being affable shitdicks who are so lovable yet so loathsome, and do something positive with your lives.  Do more good works.  Have the courage of your convictions.  Stop it with the cheap pride, and stop selling others short.  Be more generous.  Stop saying you respect and honor and love, and start respecting and honoring and loving.  Stop being ruled by fear.  Learn to cope with reality as it is, not as you wish it to be.  Clean your own house first.  Cut it out with the hypocrisy and infuriating delusions.  Really, you know what the right things to do are and they're not that hard to do.  Get with the program!  xoxoxo - The Antichrist

PS  Last year, Giving Tuesday made a measly $68 million compared with Cyber Monday's $3 billion this year.  You goddamn well know I'm right.

PPS  Robert Dear is a transgendered leftist.  And a loner.  Pass it on.

The Thirteenth Step

Drinking, smoking and drugging cover a multitude of virtues -- a valid and proven survival technique for those of us standing on the threshold of nirvana and turning back to help others reach the same goal.

Still, I've cut the drinking back to a pint a week; I'm no Chögyam Trungpa.  I've stopped partying for now, even though methamphetamine has time and again saved my life, and led to much insight and wisdom; I don't need that stuff any more to induce visions or hear voices.  The next project:  cutting back on or quitting the nicotine.  That last one is going to prove rather difficult, but I need to live as long as possible (as long as life is worth living...)

I've Braved 10,000 Hells To Bring This To You, Grasshopper

Basics for survival, sanity and enlightenment.  Read these stories and take them to heart.

Maybe The Pot Is Calling The Kettle Black, But...

Look, I'm bipolar II, with hypomania, depression, uncontrollable emotional outbursts. and psychosis.  I'm crazy as a shithouse rat.  I think telepathy and telekinesis are real, and that I've been the subject of secret government experimentation.  I've had visions, hallucinations, conversations with the dead, clairvoyance, satori, epiphany, theophany, have been inducted into mystery, and I've survived mind-rape.  I've been visited by ghosts, shadow people, various "thems," and the local sheriff's deputy who was serving a restraining order.  I dip my french fries in my chocolate shake and am convinced I'm the biblical Antichrist.  Sometimes I feel like a boddhisatva starring in a Dr. Who episode penned by Philip K. Dick.  I'm fucking out-to-lunch most of the time.

That said, I don't get libertarianism.  Professed libertarians call themselves pragmatists and realists, but they rely on and believe in (or want to be true) absolutely fanciful, delusional ideas that are completely at variance with the way people and the world actually behave.  As boneheaded as many American voters are, we will never have a libertarian president.  Most of my fellow countrymen are at least that in touch with objective reality...

I wouldn't consider libertarian notions irritating or a peeve, but the existence of libertarian candidates is amusing, IMHO.

Frankie Haros At The Movies

Frankie and I like movies, but seldom the same ones.  The following terrified or repelled Frankie, but I found them to have their charms:

• LUCY (2014):  An American party girl in Korea overdoses on some fly-ass dope and acquires god-like powers, without any apparent downside.
• MAMA (2013):  The bitch stabbed a nun and gets run down by a hunting party.  After death, she's got voices and moths -- I fold.
• CARRIE (1976):  "You get in that closet and you pray, little girl!"
• MATILDA (1996):  Okay, so Miss Honey should have killed this little monster and saved the world.  But Matilda is the hero of the story, and that's so deliciously immoral that I love it.
• FIRESTARTER (1984):  Go Charlie, it's your birthday!  Set that motherfucker on fire WITH YOUR GODDAMN BRAIN!
• X-MEN: THE LAST STAND (2006):  I love the scenes where Dark Phoenix goes apeshit and blows people up with her mind.

The next list gave Frankie a wide-on, whereas I could have done without seeing them, thankyouverymuch:

• FATAL BEAUTY (1987):  A bad batch of drugs is made and bagged by a naked Asian girl in San Francisco.  A poor, refrigerator-sized, unarmed black man gets high as a kite on those drugs, walks out of a house, and gets dozens of rounds put in him by the SFPD, which is so like them.  Frankie loves that scene, but I see it and want to beat Whoopi Goldberg to a pulp.  Goddamn you, Whoopi.
• THE HAUNTING OF MOLLY HARTLEY (2008):  Infuriating teenager Molly Hartley is spotted by the community as an unholy creature, and is persecuted and nearly killed -- including by a clergyman's daughter.  Finally, Molly embraces her true evil nature and joins the ranks of the sinister Them. Frankie wanted this to happen to me.
• THE OTHERS  (2001):  The voices Nicole Kidman hears are the living and she's the one who's dead...Boo!  Good one, Frankie...

We both liked CHILDREN OF THE CORN, and both wanted to be He Who Walks Behind The Rows.  I don't know what we would have done with SCANNERS...

"You Ruined My Life!"

♫ Be careful what you wish for
It might come true
Somebody might up and give
You to you
Then you'll see
How much it hurts to be
(You had no idea
So much comes for free)♫

- From the upcoming musical, "The Twisted Tweaker From 602," a show nobody has reviewed as Hunter S. Thompson's bats gone retarded.

Sanders For President

"Our country is not going broke from feeding the poor and caring for the elderly, it's from all the huge tax cuts for the ultra-rich, and subsidies for their corporations."

Do You Know Where You're Going To?

This Thanksgiving I'm curling up with my favorite holiday movie -- one in which Diana Ross has all sorts of adventures in a magical realm.  No, I'm not talking about THE WIZ.  I'm talking about MAHOGANY (1975).  Mahogany was such a mean, hateful bitch.  Does she get her comeuppance?  Is there a happy end?  You have to watch to find out.  My favorite quotes:

"I'm a winner, baby.  You're a loser." To Billy Dee Williams.

"My saints are a camera and a gun. They're both fiercely truthful."  Sean

I hate Mahogany.  I'd love to see her get her just desserts.

Diary of the Antichrist

Well the good stuff is good.  My social life is pretty healthy, even if people act a little distant (probably for their own protection.)  I seem to get along with most everybody okay, and the animals all seem to like me.  But there are snags.

Earlier my social worker at the hospital called me an abomination.  Like she has room to talk -- she's a lesbian witch!  I told her I liked her shoes.  She said her girlfriend bought them for her.  I said, "When, in 1998?"  Score one for the star of Revelation.

I guess I feel lonely.  No one wants to date me, as though they all think I'm an asexual angel or something.  I want to be close to someone, but my destiny is not to be shared, I guess.  I'd even appreciate a visit from the CIA, but apparently they're too scared of me.  Opus Dei isn't returning my calls, and the Vatican appears speechless in the face of my portentous existence.

At least the schizophrenics and the tweakers are on my side.  Still, the Bible has definitely cramped my style...

Honesty

Does an honest candidate stand a chance?  Historically no.  Still, this makes me optimistic.  Bernie Sanders:  strong on foreign policy and national defense.

It felt good to write that.

When One Is Oppressed, All Are Oppressed...

...Including the oppressors:  "We are a nation of many nationalities, many races, many religions, bound together by a single unity: the unity of freedom and equality.  Whoever seeks to set one nationality against another, seeks to degrade all nationalities.  Whoever seeks to set one race against another seeks to enslave all races.  Whoever seeks to set one religion against another, seeks to destroy all religion." - Franklin D. Roosevelt.

To The Moon, Alice

My friend Aric once told me, "Will, most people are stupid scum who are not worth your time."  I didn't argue with that, but I never took it to heart.  I believe most people are inherently good, or at least they try to be good, and I believe humanity is worth preserving.  I'm all for the continued survival of the species.

The best strategy to ensure the continued survival of the species is the colonization of space.  While NASA and other countries' space agencies are doing fine, solid groundwork, these are a list of my favorite private and non-profit ventures that are pointing humanity in the right direction -- the direction of the stars:

Reaction Engines, Ltd. (The Skylon space plane)
Bigelow Aerospace (Inflatable modular space stations)
SpaceX
Blue Origin
Orbital Sciences Corporation
Planetary Resources (asteroid mining and in situ resource utilization)
Mars One (Mars colonization -- not-for-profit)

The Inferior Sex

I've been accused of objectifying men, which is ridiculous:  Men love to be objectified.

I've been accused of manipulating men to my own aims, which is ridiculous:  Men are for better or worse ruled by their cocks, and so am I.

If you're interested in a date, I like them rough, nasty, no-necked, tattooed, and possessing fucked-up teeth.

But truth be told, I like all men, I don't care how much of an asshole, douche bag or troglodyte you are.  All comers are welcome.  I can't wait to pull off my Penelope act...

Myanmar

Honestly, how in the hell could little old me have had anything to do with that?  I mean, you've been watching me the whole time, and I've been ever so good and perfectly under thumb.  If anything, it's your fault.  Prove that I did that.  (Neener, neener.)

Bitte, Bitte, Herr Doktor

So a multi-billion-dollar, several-year behavioral modification project involving subjects that may number in the hundreds if not thousands -- a project aimed at shaping reality just so to the liking of a few would-be pashas -- crashed and burned.  It's not the first time something of such huge scale and importance collapsed under it's own weight.  What did they expect of me?  All I did was salvage what I could, eating shit and shitting gold, and save as many lives as possible.  I used what was available to me as an individual to effect change in reality that I wanted, and that I thought was for the best.  I'm not perfect, and my efforts were flawed, but a little gratitude and respect wouldn't be out of order.  You're all very welcome.

P.S.  It doesn't do to mess with the king of the candy store.  That shit will come back and bite you in the ass.

P.P.S.  Surprise!  That was me.  I did all that.  Ta-da!

Sh, I'm Listening To Voices...

My anthem.

Run To Feed The Hungry

Run To Feed The Hungry was recently profiled on KCRA 3 as being an organization who's food bank is helping Afghani refugees.  They expect to be helping some Syrian refugees in the next few months.  Worth your time to check out and maybe help...

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

"The time is always right to do the right thing."

Pleading For The Fourth Amendment

"The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized."

November 11 -- Silence

What is there to say when you've seen all you've seen and done all you've done?  Maybe nothing, maybe a lot.  Many of you guys seem very reticent, and you have your reasons.  Besides, talk is cheap.

But it's also healthy.  If you ever feel like talking, you can talk to me -- I'm a good listener.  Maybe you think it will sound stupid, or that I couldn't possibly get it, but I contend it might be worth a try.  I'll be here.

The Best Candidate

This is the most helpful, most substantive interview I've seen during all of this hullabaloo, from either the Democrats or the Republicans

It's Time To Play The Music...

Why I Blog

"Practice any art, music, singing, dancing, acting, drawing, painting, sculpting, poetry, fiction, essays, reportage, no matter how well or badly, not to get money and fame, but to experience becoming, to find out what's inside you, to make your soul grow." - Kurt Vonnegut

Socratic Daemons

You know that little voice in the back of your head that tells you, "This is probably not such a good idea"?  Well, I don't have that voice.  It's not to say I don't hear voices -- sometimes it's like Grand Central Station crossed with the U.N. in there, but I would know if any voice in my head had issued that caveat.

Also, I'll let you dear reader know the first moment if any among the voices in my head sound like Bobcat Goldthwait.  Because that would be hilarious and newsworthy.

Not That The Onus Is On Me...

...to "prove" anything, but I think when I get paid next month I'm just going to go ahead and buy an otoscope, and post a picture of my outer ear canal and eardrum.  Then we can all agree for once and for all whether or not I do have some kind of hardware in my skull (I don't see how it's possible, because I don't recall any recovery time being necessary after the procedure was allegedly performed in 2009.  Weird shit.)

It should at least put to rest any debate that's going on out there among those schizophrenics, tweakers, and other undiagnosed individuals as to whether or not I personally have a government implant.  I mean, I could just be as crazy as everybody else.  That is a possibility...

Quickly Sharing A Good Article...

...On why Joe Biden would be a bad president:

"Just for starters: Biden is a war hawk, a drug warrior (one of the very worst), and committed to "no changes" in old-age entitlements that are not only unsustainable but rob young, relatively poor Americans to give stuff [to] old, relatively wealthy ones. And then there's the logorrhea and the plagiarizing..."

Ping

I guess it's getting close to that time...

Squaw Creek Inn

Ron turned up the volume on the bar TV.  It was his favorite show, STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION, and one of his favorite episodes, the one about the colony of Indians who settled on the planet Dorvan V.  In the episode, Wesley Crusher has a vision during a sweat lodge session in which he sees his father and chooses another, better path in life.  The bar was empty save for William, who was high and toasty on well vodka.  Ron was hip to William's drunk, and since it was just that, put up with his commentary.

"Jesus, Ron, could you imagine us on that flying freakshow, the USS Enterprise?"

"No.  I guess I've tried, but I can't."

"Picture it:  'Computer, please locate Ensign Wesley Crusher.'  You know what?

"What?"

"Crickets chirping, that's what.  And if you'd pressed her, she would have lied, because Majel was a good wife and treated Gene better than he deserved.  That computer, like every other sentient being aboard the Enterprise, loathed Wesley.  He was that precocious whippersnapper everybody prayed would die.  And I think he's the only redshirt who didn't.  (Probably because his mother, Doctor Beverly Crusher, was scarier than a Cardassian in-law at your holodeck wedding.  She was a horrible physician, and malicious.)"

"William, I like this show."

"Oh," continued William, drunk and so far oblivious,"but Deanna Troi was the worst:  'Captain, I think he's hiding something.'  I can't for the life of me figure out why no one just came out and said it:  'Damn, Counselor Troi, you want to know the truth?  We all rein it in around you.  Everybody has something to hide.  Bitch, give the man some privacy.'  She was the most terrifying member of the Enterprise crew."

"So, you headed home?"

"Yeah, I can't watch this shit.  That ship is scary."

William knew he had been 86'd and wobbled to the door."

"Oh, and one more thing, Ron."

"Yeah?"

"Never get quarters with a window.  That's just asking for a heart attack..."

You Know What You Have...

...When you suddenly find out you were wrong about everything?  A good start -- a better start than most people have.  Pat yourself on the back, and carry on.

Big Girls Don't Cry

Fergie learned her lesson.

The Future Is An Open Plain

Janet sat in the lotus position at the base of the acacia tree.  Mara's army was relentless.  It raged, it cajoled.  Among the many lies it told her, a precious few truths sparkled like dewdrops in the dawn light.  The army assailed her night and day.  It teased at her desires, filling her at turns with yearning and revulsion.  For three days and three nights she endured voices that spoke over her and through her, voices that issued death threats and insults, or that tried to tempt her with promises of wealth beyond imagining.  Once, General Mara himself came before her arrayed in a cunning disguise -- that of true love.

He was seductive, but in the end he wafted away on the East wind.  Janet remained silent and unmoved.

Following the three days and three nights, Janet, still in the lotus position, spoke her first words in reply to the onslaught:  a few whispers of gratitude to the worlds of the living and the dead, and of compassion for all beings.  She then fell into a heavenly slumber, her dreams populated by singing birds and honest friends and flowers that swayed to sutras threaded in the breeze.  She felt as though she anchored the world and it pivoted around her.  She could see all the faces on Mount Sumeru; they looked content and serene, their inner fires harmonious with their Buddha smiles.

Janet has dreamed continuously ever since, and it is this dream in which we all live and die and are reborn, over and over again.  Namo amida butsu.

The Book: Introduction

Since 1977 I have written in my heart every sorrow, every loss, every slight, every fury.  I have watched and listened until it cost me almost everything.  Yet somehow I always found still more at the bottom of my purse.

Along the way, there have been such joys.  I felt exhilaration with the thunder, the fire, and the earthquake.  I've thrilled to cuisine, to music, to the company of men.  I've cried at the exquisite perfection of a sudden Spring rain.  I marveled at the beauty inherent in every face on a mid-town bus.  I have carried the dying to their graves and the newborn from their cribs.

There are times I feel I have always been.

Voices carry, but they come and go.  I remain to scribe the lusts and follies, the bonhomie and battles, the history and future of us all in this, the Book.

The Book

(PARTIAL) TABLE OF CONTENTS:

1.  Toltecs, Aztecs and Mayans:  The Vision Quest
2.  1917:  Benzedrine  (The Japanese)
3.  Other Voices, Other Rooms
4.  1936 - 1972
5.  Needles, Guns and Glass:  Lots of Laughs
6.  Altamont and the Psychic Wasteland
7.  The Rules
7a.  Pay to play, then pay after you play
7b.  You have to give to get
7c.  You must give once you've gotten
7d.  Notes on etiquette
8.  Shabu Madness
9.  The Council
10.  The Game
11. Cops and the People In The Wall
12. The Sylvan
13. Twisting to the End
14. The Gift
15. The King:  Shadows and The Man in the Hat
16. Three Methods of Time Travel
17. Revelations:  The Antichrist, The Beast, The Darkness, and The Light
18. Just Desserts
19. The Future Is An Open Plain

Tip A 40 For All My Homies...

Lynne Spalding, Paolo Netto, Hudson, Rob Peacock, Peter Guerin:  I love all of you, and tip my pint to you.  Thank you for having lived your lives, and I will always honor you.  God bless, and best wishes...

Dad At Colusa Regional Medical Center

When I was a little boy, my father would always tell me, "Life isn't fair."  But he was wrong, like he proved to be wrong about everything.  Life is exceedingly fair, and no one gets away with anything for very long.  My mother was more correct:  "It always catches up with you in the end and kicks your ass."  Whose to say?  It's not about naivete or cynicism, delusion or realism.  It's beyond blame and fault.  It's about memory.  How does our memory serve us?

In most non-sociopaths, memory is a faulty thing.  Better to rely on faith than on memory.  I personally have a memory like that of an elephant.  I can't remember specific calender dates (making me a bad plaintiff), but I can remember the tone and gist of what's come to pass.  I'm kind of unique.  (Also, I smell funny to some people, but that is a nonsequitur...)

If memory serves, I was subject to abuse at the hands of those who had me as their charge to keep.  I was mistreated, invaded, assaulted, constrained, and tormented.  I was subjected to chemical restraint at Saint Francis Medical Center in San Francisco -- illegal in the state of California.  I was told by the property management at 230 Eddy, "I don't want to know why you're qualified to live in subsidized housing.  Then I'd be guilty of discrimination."  I was told by my social worker at San Francisco's General Hospital's Ward 86 (get it?  You're 86'd:  the last bar you can be thrown out of in San Francisco) -- I was told this:  that in the case where I was powerless against the powerful, I was to blame for the situation in which I found myself.  The only defense those who did these things had was that it left no physical mark besides the cigarette burns I inflicted on myself in order to obey the voices, using pain to anchor myself in reality to save myself.

But this is not about me.  A lot has been about me, but this is about everyone but me.  I've never needed a boyfriend I could cuddle with more in my life.  I'd even sleep with Matthew Barney right now if it meant a modicum of comfort and a transient moment of bliss.  I'm so blind to the world of cause and effect sometimes, no matter how in it I am mired.

So my dad left the hospital against medical advice.  At least, that's their story and he's abiding by it.  There's only these key pieces of evidence I have:  he was non-ambulatory patient who for months had threatened to leave, and had accused staff of holding him against his will, but only last night did they call and say, "He's threatening to leave against medical advice."  I told them, "So all you have to do is refuse to assist him in leaving.  No sweat."  Then this morning, I got a call from dad saying he was at the casino and needed a ride home.  I assumed it was a bullshit call.  I phoned the medical center's skilled nursing facility and asked the nurses station, which is right next to my dad's room,, "Is he still there?"

She put me on hold.  Big tell.

She came back on the line to say he left AMA.  I swear to God (of whom the sociopaths have a certainty -- bless their hearts -- and in whom the rest of us have to gin up faith), I'm going to get a lawyer (possibly via this blog post) and have a case.  We are a poor, well-educated family which has always turned it's nose up at litigation.  But this smells like an out-of-court settlement situation.

What do you, the Perry Mason fans at home think?

On-trend Right Now

Grunge.  Mia Zapata.  The Cramps.  Over-sized German Army coats.  Combat boots and floral print dresses.  "I smell sex and candy."  Winona Ryder in REALITY BITES.  Apple Martin.  Flannel.  Telenovelas.  Early Sarah Maclachlan.  Guided By Voices.  "Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not after you."  Orgonne.  Philip K. Dick.  Diana Vreeland.  Group stalking.  VANITY FAIR.  "I'm a loser baby/so why don't you kill me."  MKUltra. Heroin.

Movies That Were Unintentionally Hilarious: LUCY (2014)

Scarlett Johansson is the girl to party with.  Just don't get on her bad side.

Basically, she gets roped by the Korean mafia into being a drug mule for some of the best dope ever manufactured.  One of the heavies kicks her in the stomach, into which a bag of screaming shit is sewed, and the bag breaks.  She immediately overdoses and catches fire -- I mean, for real.  The girl over-amps and it's not just in her head:  she physically, objectively levitates and hits the ceiling, then flies around the room like a witch from Club Universe.  It just gets better from there...  "Hello, my name's Scarlett Johansson, and I look hot in Versace while I kill evil motherfuckers with my god-like brain."  She discovers a taste for this rather empowering successor to flakka and meth, and instead of crashing, burning, and going to rehab, essentially becomes a deity.  And of course, there's Morgan Freeman in a cash-grab role as the stentorian (when is he not stentorian?), avuncular neurologist she contacts for "help."  Not help with twelve stepping, but help slamming and jamming until the bitch is time travelling and divulging the secrets of the universe in a way that would make Philip K. Dick put down his rolled up dollar bill.

This empty calorie action romp is gleefully immoral (drugs really help you transcend time and space to become a ruler of the universe) and sabotages any case Luc Besson wanted to make about his issues with women.  I give it 4 out of 5 stars -- it had me screaming at the screen:  "Ooh girl, I wanna party with you!  I got some shit, come on over!"  Highly recommended for those of you at Walden House (although it's more triggering than BREAKING BAD.)

Wake Me Up When September Ends

Three thousand miles away, there was tiny little flyspeck me still semi-thwacked from partying the night before at my South of Market residence hotel.  I boarded the 21 Hayes outbound to go to my job as a Grants Assistant at Catholic Charities.  There, on the bus, I overheard two women talk about planes crashing into the World Trade Center in New York.  Not until I got to work did I understand the scope and breadth of the tragedy -- we all of us huddled around televisions in conference rooms as we watched the scene unfold over and over again.  America had been attacked, a city devastated.

Brian Cahill, then Executive Director of our agency, the mission of which was to serve San Francisco's needy, disabled and elderly, told us we had the option of staying at work or taking the rest of the day off.  I took off, on foot, to look over what I could of the city that had always been my home.  I walked from Hayes and Stanyan to Haight Street.  I was immediately struck by the silence.  Everything and everyone seemed unable to make a sound.  There were no planes, few vehicles, and no chatter on the sidewalks.  Pedestrians were pretty scarce, actually -- a tourist trap like Haight is usually thronged that part of the day, teeming with visitors.  The few people I saw were all gathered at those storefronts that had televisions on.  Those televisions were the only source of sound.  At a pay phone near Buena Vista, a handful of gutter punks stood around with the receiver off the hook and were feeding quarters into the phone and listening.  But I heard no words, no conversation.

I ended up at my boss Ruth's apartment, where we watched footage of a woman from some 80-something stories up drop her shoes out a window, and then jump.

It was horrifying, and that horror continued for years.  Today, the wounds inflicted that day are still gradually healing.  The scars will always be there.  September 11, 2001 was a day of heroism, fear, sorrow, shock, denial, anger, and in small, humble places, tenderness and caring.  As a human, a former meth user, and a Buddhist, I am of course absolutely aware that everything is relevant and everything is connected, that there is no inside exclusive of any outside, that all hearts that are living beat, and that even the dead speak.  In fact, though few are heard, can we say that anyone is truly silent?  Yet that day, at least in the surface world of samvrti satya (the apparent world of cause and effect), the silence was overwhelming.  It was necessary, unavoidable, blameless, appropriate -- yet it was also in some ways detrimental and crippling.  As the activists of the 80s reminded us, silence equals death; and didn't the NYPD always tell subway riders, "if you see something, say something?"

I guess we can debate which is more appropriate, silence or talk.  Then again, we can't have one without the other.

In an abrupt, 180 conclusion to this remembrance of an infamous day from a life-long Californian, I'd like to quote Willie Jolley:  "The past is a place of reference, not a place of residence."  I'm not going to criticize how anyone else observes today, but I'd just like to say I intend on avoiding television, accessing social media sparingly, and thrusting myself into the present as wholly as possibly.  Blessings and love to everyone.  Take care.

Secret Squirrel Vs. Harriet the Spy

I have something absolutely fascinating for HUD, the IRS, and the FBI to have coffee over and chat about among each other.

Taking The Bait

I've done it, you've done it, we've all at times done it.  (It can be a very fruitful pitfall, however -- I've so often been the recipient of blessings after having taken the bait.)  Still, this is worth keeping in mind:

"If you are willing to look at another person's behaviour toward you as a reflection of the state of their relationship with themselves rather than as a statement about your value as a person, then you will, over a period of time cease to react at all." - Yogi Bhajan

Could You Repeat That?

Yes, everything you were saying during the last six years.  I didn't catch it -- I was busy listening to real people in the material world.  Artificially induced psychosis can be so difficult!

"SPEAK AMERICAN!"

Thank God Sarah Palin is from Alaska.  I'd be embarrassed if she were from California, and we've elected Ronald Reagan and Arnold Schwarznegger as governors.  Republican governors.  Yeesh.

Who Hears Their Cranial Implant

Talk about "delusional belief systems" over and over again?  I have to admit, I'm a little stumped.

Research Into The Events of 2009

ABIs, brain implants, and cochlear implants.  I love Wikipedia as a jumping off point for solid research into certain technologies and phenomena.  Did you know, for instance, that cochlear implants of a certain kind can induce psychosis?  Fascinating stuff.

I feel like Jaime Sommers crossed with Sylvia Brown.

Dad

Reason for visit:  Acute Respiratory Failure

Medical Problems:

• Chronic respiratory disease
• Chronic a-fib
• Hyponatremia
• Chronic, continuous use of opioids
• Anemia
• Acute respiratory failure
• Staphylococcus aureus bacteremia
• COPD exacerbation
• Atrial fibrillation with rapid ventricular response
• Encephalopathy
• Sepsis
• Alcoholism
• Decreased urine volume
• Coagulopathy
• MRSA bacteremia

Doesn't sound good, does it?  And he's only 67.

It's So Like Me

To count my blessings even as I pray for rain.

Tenderloin Neighborhood Development Corporation

While I spent the last five years at 212, 230 Eddy Street, San Francisco, CA, trying my best not to do the "hot bitch from the 70s" routine where I shrink up against the wall and scream that they're coming to kill me for hours on end, it never occurred to me to put these questions to the City government, HUD, or the intelligence community (a pinay who lived in Riyadh?  Who are you people fooling...)  Anyway:

- What happened to that hot padre who was killed under mysterious circumstances (some say under a cloud) in Rome all those years ago?  Was his death where TNDC started going wrong?

- What if it's not all in my head and nowhere else besides in my head?  Hmm?

- How did that notorious pig Frank Haros (infamous in the 10 square blocks of the Tenderloin for years to come) able to piss everyone off for so long without paying for it?  I mean, who throws money out the window in people's faces and mentions "owning" someone in a predominately black neighborhood and get away with it, among other atrocities?  How did I luck into being a part of that freak show (albeit part-time)?

- Government-subsidized housing in San Francisco isn't rent-controlled?  What does that bode for TNDC's little system wherein they evict "trouble" tenants?

- What did the sheriff's deputy do when he showed up on the 22nd of October to escort me out and found that a gang of paid police officers had rousted me illegally from the unit?  I should follow up on that one.  (That's pretty sad:  in a town whose police department has no Internal Affairs division, you have to be pretty stupid to get in hot water with the commish...)

- Did anyone laugh at William's "Barbara Hershey from THE ENTITY" jokes?

Other questions may occur to me, but I'm kind of over it...

I Wonder How Dearly...

...My mother and I will pay for keeping my father alive with the dark art of necromancy.  Already nurses in definitive care hear the eldritch voices of spirits we have conjured with our eerie spells (and as anyone in scrubs knows, it's bad juju to hear voices -- voices carry!)  I don't know how long we can keep this up...

Snake Oil Pitch

We see it every day in the news:  crime, war, sex, drugs, corruption, bad driving.  If only you had the world's ear...

Are people too much for you?  Do they seem out of control?  Don't you wish you could take them in hand and put them where you know they need to be -- where you know they'd be better off?  Try Doctor E's patented program.  Now this is no easy pharmaceutical fix, but a holistic approach that uses Doctor E's proprietary formula combined with a no-nonsense, take-no-prisoners mental program administered by a crack team of behavioral healthcare technicians who know and understand just what you're sure is wrong with the world today.

We can fix your problem, which is that until now you had no way to administer your solution to everyone else's problems (which as we are all aware are right in front of their noses -- if only someone was there to tell them!)  You know what everybody needs, and now, with Doctor E's amazing program, someone's come up with a way to help you get there.

Call now with your credit card at the ready to order your one-of-a-kind panacea for a world gone haywire.  You just know everybody would agree with you -- here's your best chance of convincing them!

(Offer available in California, Maryland, Virginia, Florida, Texas, and Washington, D.C. only.  Our basic package is available for three monthly installments of $1,000,000,000.99 and includes the controversial-yet-sexy elderly/addict/schizophrenics demographic management and containment program.  Megalomaniacal supervillains, please ask for our Prerogatives Extras -- a modestly priced perk for the admirably ambitious and in no way hypocrisy-ridden.)

From Doctor E, creator of psychic, non-smoking Sea Monkeys.  Doctor E, a name you can trust!

"You can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs,"  says Donald Rumsfeld -- he knows our program works.  Check out our brochure for other celebrity endorsements.

The Olive Orchards of Corning

You can see them from the I-5: row upon row of short, thick, gnarled trees.  The two-tone leaves give the overall impression of dark green velour.  Dry, red-brown dirt kicks up into the air from under the feet of migrant workers walking through the orchard.

It looks to be an impressive harvest this year.  The olives look fat and juicy.  Soon they'll be picked and cured, and thousands of people will descend on Corning to sample the bumper crop.

Olive harvest is one of my favorite times of the year.  I am fortunate to live only an hour away from Northern California's treasure of these delicious fruit...

I need a little help

Help, help, help...

Moi

It's all about me and me.  Oh, and all of you.  Love everybody, hope you're all okay...

Guided By Voices

♬People in my head
Kind of wish me dead
Too bad there's not some sort of a lull --

Demonic little faces
saying scary phrases
in oh-so-tiny places
like Frankie's skull!♬

From the upcoming musical, "The Twisted Tweaker From 602," to be performed off-off-off Boadway; it will debut in Winona Ryder's, Jared Leto's, Sir Anthony Hopkins's, and Amanda Bynes's noggins simultaneously.

Wednesday Random Ten

"Black Coffee" - Ella Fitzgerald
"Hyperballad" - Björk
"島唄" - The Boom
"Paloma Negra" - Chavela Vargas
"The Heart Wants What It Wants" - Selena Gomez
"Slave To The Rhythm" - Grace Jones
"Blackbird" - The Beatles
"E.S.P." - Deee-Lite
"Chandelier" - Sia Furler
"Don't Smoke In Bed" - k.d. lang

Despite All My Back-biting and Venom

I would like to stress that I think you are a powerful, admirable woman whose accomplishments are worthy of respect.  Maybe you started out on third base, but you still leveraged what you had into a brilliant life.  You have my envy and my undying devotion as a friend.  Good work, Syd.  May the wind always be at your back...

Project For A New American Century

Well now it's a New Kenyan Century.  Good work, George Bush Radio.

Not That I Have Room To Talk, And I Hate To Say It, But...

...Isn't tweaking near Bohemian Grove just asking for it?  And by "it" I mean stuff that merits a visit from special agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully.

Personal Gossip About A Private, Reclusive Woman II

"...Of course she and her son are both stunners.  He's a dreamboat, if not too bright.  She's brilliant, and looks just like the Devil from BEDAZZLED.  But her intellectual growth has been stunted by the fact that she's never been talked to like that -- you know, properly and laterally.  It's always kiss up, kick down with her.  She's got flatterers, courtiers, yes-men, but no gadflies or jesters.  She could stand to be told, 'Uh, no bitch, actually, that shit you do is not okay.  You need a reality check.'  Somebody really ought to before it's too late and she gets her just desserts.  There's so much low-hanging fruit, it's probably her wealth and popularity that keep her so delusional.  Well, honey, that gravy train won't run forever..."

I Guess I Don't Understand How The World Works

I was watching a promo for that new show, "Mr. Robot," when I heard the following:  "...A coward who can't face the truth"; to me, that line made no sense.  A coward who can't face the truth is to me just a shrewd person who is blessed with foresight and options the rest of us are denied -- someone worthy of admiration and envy.

I guess television doesn't really work for me unless it's the decrepit, rotting spectacle of Morley Safer creak, groan and wheeze under his own weight.

One

The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao.
The name that can be named is not the eternal name.
The nameless is the beginning of heaven and earth.
The named is the mother of ten thousand things.
Ever desireless, one can see the mystery.
Ever desiring, one can see the manifestations.
These two spring from the same source but differ in name;
_____this appears as darkness.
Darkness within darkness.
The gate to all mystery.

- Lao Tsu, "Tao Te Ching," translation by Gia-Fu Feng and Jane English

Personal Gossip About A Private, Reclusive Man

"I hope Jon's still tooling around in that godawful silver Prius (Jeez, even my brother has a Volt these days.)  He probably is, isn't he, asking for directions from his GPS in a town of 810,000 people that's laid out like a grid along the directions of the compass.  Thank God, because otherwise he would have seen those ads all over the MUNI metro system promoting Dignity Health.  Could you imagine?  The man would have kittens, I tell you, kittens!  His little slave boy would start throwing rocks at him instead of at me...  By the way, I wonder if that lovely man Dan finally dropped Jon because Jon would call him stupid all the time..."

Personal Gossip About A Private, Reclusive Woman

"I just love Syd.  She knows exactly who to snub.  And opinions!  Honey, that girl has an opinion on everything and everyone.  Just ask her if you don't know what to think, and she'll tell you.  And she's so frugal with other people's money -- she should have an MBA from Bennington..."

VECTORS House Needs New Roof

CALL TO ACTION:  VECTORS House, which has been serving the community of veterans for 19 years in Chico, California, is in dire need of a new roof.  You can visit their Web site here, their Facebook page here, and their GoFundMe site here.  They provide housing, case management, drug and alcohol counseling, coordination with VA care and other agencies, and employment help, among other services.

And if you want to get on their waiting list, I highly recommend it; Chico is a wonderful city in which to do a program like VECTORS -- Chico has shopping and restaurants and a college and all sorts of cool people.  Wonderful program, wonderful place.  Check them out.

Not That I Would Begrudge Anyone On Welfare Their Drugs, But...

...This story cinches it. I told you drug-testing welfare applicants was impractical, unworkable, and insensible, not to mention demeaning to those already going through the undignified and stigmatized process of getting on welfare. Shame on Arizona -- the money spent on drug-testing people who are in crisis could have been spent on those people, instead of spent insulting everybody.

(And to those who would say the welfare application process cannot take away one's dignity or be demeaning unless one chooses it to be, all I can say is that I envy that person's self-awareness and self-mastery. I myself used to think I knew my own heart pretty well, but looking back over it all, I'm not so sure I'm as familiar with my emotional landscape and all the feelings that such a situation can bring about as I thought I was.)

I Guess Precedent Has It...

That the government can't be sued for violating the Nuremburg Code, which requires voluntary, informed consent be obtained from research and experimentation subjects.  Oh well...

"The Manhattan Project"

The word "project" makes it sound like you dabble.

Sorry To My Frienemies At The CIA

But you would have shown little to no loyalty to the psychologists who colluded with you and lent your efforts an air of legitimacy.  The Obama Administration may have shown little interest in prosecuting what journos have found festering under a big rock, but let's hope either the current President changes his mind on this (he may, with only a year or so left in his presidency), or a Clinton or Sanders administration is less reluctant.  (I don't expect much from Clinton, but Sanders or Warren would be great.)

Neil Bush for President in 2016!

Doesn't everyone in the Bush clan, even George Herbert Walker, feel like a black sheep under matriarch Barbara's flinty glare?  Still, Neil's the closest thing they've got to a real black sheep, so I'll be writing his name in for President after I change my registration to Republican.

I mean, syphilis from a Southeast Asian sex tour is so reminiscent of the JFK years, isn't it?  There's real political cachet there...

Petition to the Justice Department

Sign your name here if you think the Justice Department ought to investigate the Koch brothers for voter fraud.  Must have a facebook account.

Was The Iraq War A Crime Or A Mistake?

Yes.

Confession

     Father Murray hid his florid visage well despite the smell of good whiskey.  He tucked his flask into his boot after a long pull.

     "Father, um..."

     "Yes, my son, do you have anything else to confess?"
     "No, Father, it's just -- I could swear just now I smelled Scotch."

     "Even drunkards go to confession.  I'm sure someone who had been tippling was in the booth right before you."

     "Oh."

     "So what did we agree to?"

     "40 Hail Marys."

     "And please don't do it ever again."

     The partition shut quickly...

William Answers Vanity Fair's Version of the Proust Questionnaire

What is your idea of perfect happiness?

A clean house.

What is your greatest fear?

A car crash.

Which living person do you most admire?

Sister Mary Elizabeth of the Lesotho, a Carmelite nun whom I met in San Francisco, 2001.

What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?

My thoughtlessness and insensitivity.

What do you consider the most overrated virtue?

Self-sacrifice.

What do you dislike most about your appearance?

The scowl lines between my eyebrows.

What or who is the greatest love of your life?

A young, secret admirer whom I too often needle because I in turn am enamored of him.

When and where were you happiest?

At the Azuma family's kitchen table during dinner, Wakayama Prefecture, Japan, 1995.

Which talent would you most like to have?

The ability to perform feats of higher mathematics.

What is your current state of mind?

Open.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

I would be wealthier.

What do you consider your greatest achievement?

Being a good friend and a good son.

If you could choose what to come back as, what would it be?

An old Chinese woman who lives by a river in a mud hut -- one who wears quilted jackets and keeps a pig.

What do you regard as the lowest depths of misery?

Having betrayed a loved one.

What is the quality you most like in a man?

A sense of humor.

What is the quality you most like in a woman?

Strength.

What do you most value in your friends?

Their utter lack of reluctance in confronting me about my faults and misdeeds.

Who are your favorite writers?

Carl Sagan, Sawako Ariyoshi, Francois Sagat, Vladimir Nabokov, Gene Wolfe, Charlotte Brontë.

Who is your favorite hero of fiction?

Smilla Jaspersen.

Who are your heroes in real life?

Special forces.

What is it that you most dislike?

Chitlins.

How would you like to die?

Causing trouble.

What is your motto?

Semper lepidus.

Skeletor For President!

Every Saturday, Skeletor would plot to topple He-Man and take over Eternia.  Every Saturday, as the cartoons had it, Skeletor was undone by his own greed and stupidity, allowing He-Man (or, God help us, Orko) to save the day.

Kids were supposed to cheer for He-Man, to want to be him, with his blond page-boy and teutonic good looks.  Fuggeddaboutit.

Skeletor was the real inspiration.  He never gave up.  Every week, he was knocked down, or undermined by disappointing (or, in Evil-Lyn's case, downright dangerous and alarming) henchmen.  And every week, he would get back up, brush himself off, and try again.  Skeletor was a study in tenacity.

And the deck was stacked against Skeletor:  he didn't have the advantage of He-Man's charming good looks, his pink skin.  What a brave soul, constantly confronting the world without masks, and without a face, but with naked skull.  He had no eyes, no nose, no lips, no cheeks, just raw bone.  What could be more honest and courageous in its honesty?

I wish Eternia would have given Skeletor a chance.  I don't think his ideas were the problem so much as his execution of them.  Maybe if He-Man and company had just listened to Skeletor, really listened to him, a lot of Eternia's ills could have been solved.

We'll never know, because no one had the heart or the bravery to just give poor, misunderstood Skeletor a chance...

Gods, Furies, Angels and Djinn

A path of moonlight shattered over the choppy lake.  The pines carried a far off, tiny roar that sounded like the din of a million voices.  Khonsu stared ahead, seemingly mesmerized by the glow on the water.  He was far from Egypt, but after so many changes that have happened along the Nile, and to the Nile, this place -- California -- seemed more like home.  Indeed, the moon shone the same as it did thousands of years ago among the reeds near Memphis.  Khonsu shoved his fists deep into the front pockets of his jeans.

"The Wakeful Man continues to confer with them.  Now he has taken on qualities we saw in she who kicks teeth, my lord," Arbaces said, loud in the wilderness.  Khonsu hated the profanity of his servant's presence here, but Arbaces was nothing if not faithful.  He just wasn't very savory or honest.

"The mistake was yours," Khonsu replied, his wide dark eyes never straying from the beauty before him, and seldom blinking.  Khonsu was a god, and Arbaces a man.  The latter stood a respectful ten paces behind the former with his shaved head bowed.  Neither gave a care for the cold.  As Khonsu unfolded his slender brown hands from his pockets and raised them to the lantern of the moon, he continued, "You carried on as though the Wakeful One was your fulcrum, as though his mind could cast the mold.  You misjudged, and it has cost lives."

"Please, Lord, it was my idiot tool Haros who operated under that assumption."

"Haros is a travesty I would see destroyed.  He violated the Wakeful One."

"I would do as you command, but the Erinyes, upon conversing with the mortal aspect of the Wakeful One, Protector of Ten Worlds, learned that he opposed their plan to dispatch my embarrassing minion.  He convinced them that Haros should live as long as possible."

If a god could register shock, Khonsu would have.  The closest he came to looking startled was to slowly turn away from the majestic scene of stars, moon and lake, and bring his gaze to bear on his servant.  "Courage, cruelty and wisdom...  Why was Haros allowed to touch such a one for so long?"

"Restitution is already being made, great Lord.  Haros will be dealt with.  Already apologies have been tendered to the Wakeful One."

"I'm sure he made an enviable reply to the apologies," replied Khonsu with a terse wryness.

Arbaces winced.

"Too much rides on this one mortal's future.  Secure assurances and return to me.  Also, know that the Wakeful One's patroness is a dark lady whom we never cross.  Propitiate her through proxies."

Arbaces hissed and made the sign of the Eye.

"Do it!  Or I'll have your entrails read by your successor."

"Your will be done my Lord."

"Beg her forgiveness, and his, and be gone."

Sort of Reading Between the Lines (Not Very Subtle Stuff)

"And do not say because of the lies which your tongues utter, 'This is lawful and that is unlawful,' lest you should forge a lie against Allah.  Those who forge lies against Allah will never attain the goal."

There is a lot wrong with this story.  Reading between the lines, what comes out is an admission of an unnecessary sting operation carried out by some public image-obsessed FBI employees.  The unintended consequence of their doing so and then suckering some thoughtless journalists is that I feel sorry for this misguided young man, who was strung along by FBI agents and a horrible excuse for an imam -- all of whom took advantage of his mental illness in order to have a laudatory turn at the spotlight.

I mean, the kid was in the bag pretty much from the moment the FBI started investigating him, something that happened as soon as he tried to enlist (not unusual, by the way, as my father was investigated by the FBI when he applied to enlist in the Navy during the Vietnam War -- he almost didn't get in because of my Grandmother's communism and Black Panther associations.)  What the hell?

(And as for Imam Omar Hazim, shame on you for breaching confidentiality as a cleric offering counseling, and for being so crass about someone's disability.  Just as much a failure as a Muslim as any violent criminal or terrorist who claims to act for the will of God.)

Basically It

I came once to sit on Cold Mountain
And lingered here for thirty years.
Yesterday I went to see relatives and friends;
Over half had gone to the Yellow Springs.
Bit by bit life fades like a guttering lamp,
Passes on like a river that never rests.
This morning I face my lonely shadow
And before I know it tears stream down.

Today I sat before the cliff,
Sat a long time till mists had cleared.
A single thread, the clear stream runs cold;
A thousand yards the green peaks lift their heads.
White clouds—the morning light is still;
Moonrise—the lamp of night drifts upward;
Body free from dust and stain,
What cares could trouble my mind?

The clear water sparkles like crystal,
You can see through it easily, right to the bottom.
My mind is free from every thought,
Nothing in the myriad realms can move it.
Since it cannot be wantonly roused,
Forever and forever it will stay unchanged.
When you have learned to know in this way
You will know there is no inside or out!

- Han-shan, translated by Burton Watson

Grant Mercantile Agency, a Better Business Bureau Center of Excellence

So now for a little more realness...

I've received an harassing letter, written in all caps, from the Grant Mercantile Agency of PO Box 1903, Oakhurst, California -- telephone number (559) 683-4651.  In the letter (from Desk 59) they assert I am indebted to a King-American Ambulance Company to the tune of $2523.60.

If the above didn't cause a spit take, let me explain:  I'm familiar with King-American, having seen their van-conversion, fly-by-night meat wagons trolling around downtown San Francisco, never with their emergency lights and sirens running.  I myself have never been in one, but had I, I assume my insurance would have covered the trip to whatever hospital they contract with (who that could be, I have no idea.)

As for Grant Mercantile Agency, I haven't checked to see if they are indeed a (ahem, cough, cough, nudge, nudge SUBTLE) legitimate collections agency.  I simply don't have time in the day.  Suffice it to say, if they're inclined to purchase debts from the likes of King-American, they're not likely to be in business for much longer (if in fact they haven't folded by the writing of this post.)  I assume they needed some proof from King-American that I in fact was serviced by those rent-to-own EMTs -- some proof that doesn't violate HIPAA statutes.  I'd hate to think they assumed this debt on a spoken assurance and an e-mail handshake.

Low-hanging fruit here, readers.  Anyone want to take this on?  It's probably as entertaining as it sounds...

UPDATE:  Apparently, Grant Mercantile has been strong-arming debtors since 1972, but I wonder if they've ever taken up a debt from a health care provider before -- particularly without proof that the health care provider (in this case, an ambulance company that goes who knows where) actually provided care to the debtor in question.  I'm going to e-mail them just to see what they say...  P.S.  I had no idea they actually had an A+ rating from the Inland Empire Better Business Bureau before I wrote the title -- color me psychic.

Brass Pole

Two people, a man and a woman, are having a conversation at the bar of the SAGGY RACK, a strip joint on the outskirts of Colma popular with gay men and off-duty cops.  Junebug, the bouncer and handyman, is tall, lanky, bug-eyed, wears coveralls and has a big, lopsided Afro -- his mannerisms suggest he's never left the Deep South.  Charity is one of the dancers -- she's had enough work done to look vaguely feline.

JUNEBUG:  Well, the way I reckon it, m'dear, is that we need our Mr. Willamses.  Just like we need our overseers, our Janet Renos, our Hitlers.  I mean, what would cotton candy, kittens, fireworks, and 16 year-old coalburners mean to us without evil?  Alls I'm sayin' is, think about it.

CHARITY [adjusts her bra strap]:  That's very wise, Junebug -- I've misjudged you.

     Oh, and Junebug?

JUNEBUG [begins sweeping the floor around him]:  Yes'm?

CHARITY:  The back of the toilet's gettin' rusty again.

JUNEBUG:  Yes'm.

To Rest Is Not A Privilege But A Right...

CALLING ALL CALIFORNIANS:  I vehemently urge all of my readers from the Golden State to do what I am going to do:  write to or call your representatives in Sacramento and tell them you support the Right to Rest Act, SB 608, the point of which is to decriminalize poverty and homelessness.  Thank you, Sen. Liu!

Read more here.

The Student Becomes the Master

"I'm the rain spattering itself on a pond's surface as three maple leaves glide by.  I am the clatter of hailstones on an old-fashioned blue tile roof.  I am the typhoon, as copious and as warm as the shower you took this morning before the hapless cicada scared you out of the bathroom."

It was as though Miwako heard the last word, "bathroom," before it was uttered.  In a flash, she had drawn her katana from the scabbard far enough to block the stroke of her master's cane sword.

Her master broke away and swung from the other side.  That's when Miwako achieved satori:  the time a move took had everything to do with its effectiveness.

For the rest of the match, she parried her master's blows easily.  When it came time for her to issue a kill, kendo style, where his neck met his shoulder, she stopped short by a millimeter.  She was training, and not out for blood or vengeance.

Pandora

The Examiner is probably the most trustworthy journalism published in San Francisco now that the Guardian is defunct, but this story (admittedly old) chilled me to the bone.  I remember following the tragic case of Paolo Netto in 2013 and 2014, and discussing it at length with anyone in earshot.  Certain frienemies were not at all pleased to hear me crying about this boy's death -- for some reasons I will talk to anyone about in private, beyond this blog.

I'm assuming the ME at SF General produced the toxicology report that might fool a rural D.A.R.E class from the early 90s.  Why even the Examiner, bless their hearts, employs the journalistically prudent word "possibly."  Let me tell you something:  most bodies that go into the bay do not come back, and I'd like to think that when they do, it's Mother Nature's way of saying there's unfinished business, as if she's holding us to our own standards of human justice and wants us to know she's watching -- so shape up, people, or else.  Superstition?  Perhaps.  It's still more intellectually sound than some of the shenanigans staff at General have gotten up to over the last five years I've been involved with them.  (Thank God that hospital, which sometimes seems like a live David Lynch-produced reality show, is crawling with Feds all the time -- not that they could find the right track with two hands in front of them, but there's hope.  Squirming at the bottom of the box Pandora opened, feeble Hope.)

I know it's a little late that I put my two cents in on this, but I couldn't just shut up like I've been told to do every so often in the past.  This is just me saying, I'm watching, too.

In My 20s...

...I was all over flame wars in About.com and Delphi forums.  I ran a blog called Freedom Camp, written under a nom de Web, that was pretty snarky and less-than-forgiving to what I saw as the stupidity in Bush Administration supporters and neoconservatives.  If there's anything I would do today, it would probably be to apologize to Bushies for being so sharp-tongued.  I have a better notion now of how to get things done, and while I still enjoy Sadly, No!, Eschaton, and other satirical or biting blogs, I've opted to be a better Buddhist and eschew grappling with anyone in such a way that I come across as attacking the individual...

“Just how charitable are you supposed to be when criticizing the views of an opponent?”