Dystopia with the Loss of Electricity and its Residual Effects

The bait hit the muddy pond water with a slap then the sinker went “thud”. Josie Dick cracked open a natty light and reached his hand down his pants, itched his sweaty asshole after having diarrhea that morning from eating too many pork rinds with filthy hands. He sat down finally after a hard day’s work—it was finally back to fishin’ and eatin’ more pork rinds with dirty hands.

This old pond wasn’t really known as a fishing pond, but Josie ignored the yellow scum over the top and the repugnant amphibious smell. He didn’t care. His main aim wasn’t to catch any fish, but merely after a hard day of selling Rattlesnake Fang earrings—the last thing he wanted to do was go home to his wife and kids.

Josie was named after his fathers first girlfriend which his mother never knew and that might seem odd, but she didn’t really know much outside of what Josie’s dad allowed her to do which meant mostly giving fellatio, cooking up Rattlesnakes from the hunt and being on the receiving end of sodomy—which Josie’s mom considered a sin against God, but she did it anyway because she wanted to be a good wife.

Josie’s wife was pretty much the same way, she wanted to be a good wife, give her husband fellatio and basically just be a good wife that doesn’t say much. When they first meet in high school Josie was astonished by her figure and voluptuous hips and breasts, her smile too was like a shinning star and her lips were irresistible and luscious. They fell in love and went to prom together. Josie was the prom king and she was the queen. Everybody envied them and as they danced together and gazed into each other’s eyes. Love emanated off them like kaleidoscopes of fizzing ether.

As Josie sat there with his pole in the pissy pond and drank his beer he thought momentarily about the past, but only very briefly because it made the present moment hurt even worse. Here he was fishing in a cess pool of dystopia with diarrhea under his finger nails. A fat, heinous pig at home with three snotty kids. “How did this happen?” he thought. Then he took a big drink and finished his first beer. Immediately reaching for another he suddenly got a bite. He missed hooking the fish by just a second, cussed the yellow water and opened another beer, then ten more, finishing his twelve pack and never having another bite.

Now it was time to go home. Josie pulled in his line and tossed it in his old ford F-150, sat in the truck and took a deep breath before he drove down the county road back home, but the truck wouldn’t start—his battery was dead. He popped the hood and then got an idea...two days later some hikers found his body with his head blown off and his twelve gage lying by his side.

The Heinous Boys

The first thing I heard was one of the Heinous Boys say, “Goddamn—it smells like a bunch of hippies just had an orgy inside a wool tent.” These were screw-heads, drop-outs, meth-heads, the most fucked-up, niggardly band of misfits and losers in centuries. They lived off their parents, they stole from their friends and fornicated with forbidden lovers— This was General Hickory Leaf’s platoon; he came out of retirement to be their General because he believes in their potential... They were ragged and beat, they were rough and lighting blunts when their General walked in—The sun was rising and all of a sudden Hickory Leaf said, “Turn on your cloaking devices, soon you will all by guilty of espionage—so listen to your Goddamned General boys!—Don’t hesitate, shoot on sight. We have no time for lessons—do battle.” The misfits all disappeared and then quickly came back striking terror into their enemies, appearing as demons in their dreams and planting poison in their hearts. They struck with broad swords—terrorized them so that they would never sleep safe or feel safe even for one moment feel secure. Meanwhile, Hickory Leaf preached the word of God and praised His name. He lead a life of service to his Creator while his demons did their jobs.

It was the middle of the night. People stood in line at the SSmart to buy razors, high-fructose corn-syrup and stock up on toiletries and coffee. “Beware of your neighbors! Beware of those who can see you or hear you! Report any activity! Report any activity!” Then smash a suicide bomber blows up the SSmart intercom and all chaos breaks loose. A weeping woman cries, “Honey, I told you not to let the kids play with those non-conformists down the street. This is what happens. “You dumb fucking asshole! Even though this isn’t us; you ought to be ashamed.” The women froze as solid as a salt crystal and her fear was intensely piercing through the SSmart shoppers as they stood still in line waiting for their turn. Hickory Leaf starred her down and desecrated her mind and then the ashes blew away. The Heinous Boys all were provoking her and wanted to follow her out to her car and decapitate her, shrink her head, dance around it, driving away the evil sprit that she was hosting. This was the soft side of the Heinous Boys. After that they taunted her in her dreams for the rest of her life and as a result she cut her visits to SSmart in half.

The night glitter was all around. The moment was still, serene and silent. Surreal energy filled the air and the lady looked at the General and talked. Hickory Leaf could see the evil spirit in her soul—it seethed when he confronted it. Beyond her eyes was a dark and dead barren wasteland. She spouted, “Just what are you looking at?” The General stood tall, but humble and stated, “You.” “Why are you looking at me?” she asked. Without a second going by, “Because you look ridiculous.” “Well, this isn’t any of your business.” The evil spirit was now shaking the lights, the florescent bulbs inside SSmart then got brighter and Hickory Leaf vaporized into spirit and the evil spirit fought back. The docile customers never noticed anything. Now the Heinous Boys were in their element. They were alive and life is what they lived. The Heinous Boys painted the walls of SSmart red that night, then went home, drank whisky and had a fight.

Lets be honest, if Palin got shot in the head...the media would be cracking jokes about it!

I believe perhaps with folly that the world we see is a reflection of collective human mind. When I read about these shooting rampages that seem to come with some degree of regularity I don’t attribute them to the heated discussions, arguments and resentments people express; I think anger is worth expressing and I think it is more detestable to lie about it and hide it. I attribute violence to each individual’s secret loathsome desire to control other people’s beliefs and our own beliefs; we cast war against our own destiny, thinking we can create our own world. I’m reminded of something Ram Dass said, “ You can’t wage are against your destiny. So let the law of karma unfold as they’re suppose to. Play out the role that’s been assigned to you, because when you do that, when you’ve totally surrendered to your dharma, when you are no longer trying for anything, that’s your way through.” We create nothing. Everything that exists always has and always will exist. The only powers human’s have is the power of transforming and shaping what exists already. In other words: Humans have the power to control. I for one am willing to hand that power back to the source from which I was created. It isn’t that I don’t care what other people believe because what they believe is important and is powerful, but it’s that I don’t mind. Having said that, the process of transformation we see manifested in physical form we call nature seems to be harsh at times, suffering and joy its elements. Then this transformation’s form in art the same paradox. Even as a lassie faire bystander, the process of transformation causes shivers, ticks, tears and sorrow. Endure the pain of every being that lived up until now and you shall know less pain than the pain of those who know joy also. No one cries as deeply as the person who can ascend into the ethereal on command, go back and forth from heaven to earth and hell...

Last night it was snowing and I was cozy in my cabin, reading about the recent shooting in Tucson. I read the initial reports earlier that day and now I there was more information coming out about Jared Loughner, his personal life and his family life. I read one article about Loughner’s obsession with lucid dreaming. http://tucsoncitizen.com/three-sonorans/2011/01/10/video-alex-jones-and-waking-life-jared-loughners-lucid-dreaming-connection/ It turns out Loughner considers his dream life to be real and the physical universe to be an illusion. He stated once:

“When you realize you’re dreaming, you can do anything, you can create anything.”

When I read this I thought to myself if I posted this statement on my Facebook status their might be quite a few people who liked it (as long as I didn’t give Loughner credit).

As I read more about Loughner I learned that I had really quite a bit in common with the murderous asshole. I was reminded of why I started writing in the first place. I want people to understand why people want to make a statement by murdering a bunch of people. I want people to understand what drives a person off the edge. I want people to feel the emotion that I feel and other people that "go crazy".

The most offensive things in the world are things people do that they are mindless about, that they don’t ever think about or consider. At the core of resentment is a lack of consideration and resentment is justifiable. People have good reasons for what they hate. Sometimes it’s wise to hate, but sometimes its stupid. Jus depends. It’s hard to say much about him at this point, but it’s easy to say a lot about our society.

I wrote a little poem for you:

Religion, pride, order and control—possess cruelty, brutality, wrath and force—it’s a worm in dirt...Meanwhile, Heathen Souls, guilty of folly, chaotic and free—deliver love, grace and power—the warmth of the light to the cold and they give the sparkle to the snow.

I hope you like it, I do. I’m looking at the light of the sun through the snow and the glimmer of it off the snow.

Its too late right now for the Lit Generation, but I hope you say a prayer for all the Jared Loughners of the world who are going to bed with loaded guns and justifiable hate, who are multiplying like cancer cells and drinking booze and pacing in their basements...and I hope you have a drink for the Lit Generation—a puff from the blunt or a hit from the bong, we need your support. Peace and Blessings, your brother Ty.

Intentions and Reflections for the Dawning of a New Eon

This all started while I was drunk and high, it was winter solstice and the only light came from the blood-red moonlight—a few stars—whatever burns inside.

I was celebrating in the best way—I was celebrating in the way I end up celebrating all holidays. I was alone and taking apart my metal shelves.

My metal shelves actually aren’t mine I stole them fair and square though. I took them from my father’s old business partner who left them behind. He was a weirdo and anyway that’s the past so it can stay in the sewer for all I care. The fact is these metal shelves are always a part of my most cherished holiday celebrations.

You see these shelves are really big and I can’t move them anywhere, especially in a little cabin like I live in. So every time I take them apart is in the middle of the night how I love to do on the holiday’s, rearrange things...

Some of my favorite moments in life have been these times, alone in the silence of the night, changing things around. I did this even as a child, I liked to change my room around and it seems like around the holiday’s, when the moments were surreal, is it would happen the most...its much like a secret life I have—secret love affair.

As I took down the shelves to move out to my new tool shed after making myself some bookshelves out of old barn wood I knew exactly what I was doing, I remembered how much of a pain in the ass it was the first time I did it. I’ve gotten much better with my hands since then. Now I can build things; I can take things apart even easier.

The difference was that all those other times when I was rearranging things is that I was now where I wanted to be. I am taking my old shelves out to the shed because even though they are still good shelves, they are too big for my cabin. I don’t need anything that is too big, that’s for sure. I am convinced now more than ever that fame and fortune would kill me fast—I’m too weak for that. The big-time isn’t for me. What a man like me needs is solitude and to be around other people who need it to. The best friends I have, I rarely talk to or hang out with, I can live with that and so can they, but when we do see each other its always magical. I love it that way and so do they. I am however coming into alignment with more people now than ever before who I believe are going to influence my life beyond what I could have thought of myself.

These shelves have held my, baseball cards, my stereo, my tapes and then my cds, my records and record player, any book I’ve ever owned spent at least some time there, they’ve held my artwork, my cloths, my beers, my journals, checks, business papers, IRS papers, the pocket pussy my friends got me for my 18^th birthday. I can date my life and use the times I’ve moved these shelves to remember points of complete solitude when my soul was radiant with swirling energy and my mind was still and silent.

This solitude that comes during this time, I have noticed over the past few years has increased, partly by my own effort to create more of it such as spending 120 in the woods, but also by plain carelessness. I’ve also met this solitude while I was tripping on magic woo. At first that was accidental and due to carelessness, but after the first time it became a deliberate action. I always felt like anytime I ate woo was not an experience that I chose, but an appointment with my Creator in which it was not my place to be a chooser. It has been these experiences that have allowed me to map out the progress of my own consciousness.

I was reminded very much of these experiences, tripping on woo, the solitude of rearrangement, the holidays...by two things, the mystical night brought on by the cosmos upon winter solstice (a term I keep hearing lately) and Mike Lewinski’s blog:

Ontological Anarchy

A Libertine Takes Communion With Darkness

http://www.wildernessvagabonds.com/zp/index.php?p=news&title=a-libertine-takes-communion-with-darkness#.

When I read this I thought immediately to July 4, 2008. I was at Harris’s Point. I was feeling the heat from the woo coming on and flowers blossomed in the sky. Here is and excerpt from my “Notes from Rattlesnake Hill” about that moment:

10 years—10 years—everything 10 years apart—every dot—every four way stop and room of mirrors—everything I was realizing I was realizing after 10 years and after 10 years, I was ready to develop the willingness to face each painful truth—to shed the skin of shame from my personal mythology and when we passed by the spot where the three ghost where talking and my ghost was feeling his stomach surge with surprise and envy swirling it and I thought how strangely eccentric and depressing ol’ Adolph was and how I hadn’t seem him for a long time since being roommates with him—just recently we got reacquainted and we went out a couple times and drank a few beers together then I had told him about my short relationship with Dixie and soon after that he contacted her and now they where in a relationship again—all just plain to see how the picture just slightly reshaped and magnified itself again and again. I began to think of how until I met her on the forth of July on Harris’s Point back in year nineteen hundred and ninety five where she was camping in a tent in Maggie Rodina’s yard across the street and overlooking Harris’s Point—how we had never done anything very sexual except for innocent hugging and kissing and how strange it was now to know Jean Von Pierre who’s love was also entangled at that tiny peninsula and Martin Stanley who also shared fate with us had something do with the little green peninsula. I was observing my mind’s consistent and subtle adaptability as each serendipitous event took place and told me the story of my becoming in this space-time place and my space-time understanding of the world I lived in—I began to feel waves of body heat from the effect of the magic woo and time began to lose it’s relevance when we arrived at Harris’s Point—then I heard Ray tell me, “I have no name. I have no time. I have no hours. I have no minutes.” in my head for he was not actually there. I wanted to get my mind to stop reflecting now the intensity began to increase—thunder rolling, it soon became so intense it was just a constant buzzing then one single high-pitched tone as I soured through the multicolored vibrant cosmos— I just wanted and did watch the sky like a child in awe at the Display and enjoy the annual trip in delight—colors bursting in the air like I did burst every July fourth somehow except for one when I had sex all day with Dixie and two breaking out of a dungeon prison at Jethro McSanto’s farm. I actually was in such oblivion during the Display and it lit my mind with such intensity I lost consciousness, but later I did find a poem about it written in two languages and juxtaposed so I had to decipher its code, but it was certainly in my hand writing and it goes:

-Frozen Moment-

Perfect Joy—

Perfect Bombs Bursting like Benzedrine Boiling Blood to oblivion

Averted craving stretched to purity

Is

Flashing Beams Ingenuous hashery

Light distant in another world—

Me, observing, laughing hysterically—

at the madness and mayhem before me.

BRILLIANT rays encapsulating the Valley—

Observers of the moment with abundant prosperity—

in celebration.

Freedom Flagrantly Expressed FIEND INCARNATE

WAVING PENIS DISPLAYS- phallic staged symbols of the age

Masons and clam old silver hairs—

smiling at the sky—

smell of coconut oil in the AiR—

visions of dark tanned skin—

evidence of a long tenure here—

GRINS

Sun burned faces Acceptance drinking in the rays—

White pale shriveled up dicks in a ruthless struggle to—

Holes that desire to be controlled

Golf bellies, ego’s all aglow

I’m the magnanimit dumb saint

standing, my pure being insulted by

aggression behind friendly abscessed wounds

Black holes and secret asshole tears

Sheer experience is Enlightenment even in a bad tone

SCOUNDREL’S ACTS

“WEALTH is an endless supply of the white port you fool”

Hydrostatic flow is not for me—

give it to me all at once in Poetry.

Transcendence- observing…sheepishly

tuning into my childlike

PRIMATIVE CODE

Geese fly away in a flock

and demons tend to the lie—

a heathen hides inside

Nostalgic bliss hums along the road occasionally spurting out semen overhead and into the cesspool I worship100 foot Tall Georgia Pines—Rock Pillars—Swing-set- boat docks— Stone Tables and Weddings that mean nothing…

Then I thought of the Age of Aquarius; the Age where nobody gets thirsty.

Romans 12:2a “Do not be conformed to this eon, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind.”

Like Paul of Taurus, I think we live right now in a corrupted state of things—It doesn’t matter how it gets rearranged...but to conform as I see it is to not change, to stagnate and stay the same, getting worse. I think to be a non-conformist, implies that change is always occurring, a true non-conformist is never the same person as time passes. And to not violate the rule of participating in corruption means being disloyal to your own rules...I’m trying to adjust myself to what I know is true, rather than act as I am wired to be—its not easy. It’s hard to live simple these days and takes a lot of expensive education, physical and emotional disease. Not to mention the fortitude to stand criticism and judgments from nearly everyone. When I wrote the title to this blog I thought of this passage from the Bible, but I had just read it in a book by Paul Tillich called the “The Eternal Now” where he points out ...Eon in greek means “world”...

“These are the dawning of a brand new days”,Mr. Lif, Lif means to “up-lif”.

I’m uplifted and inspired by what I’m witnessing in my own experience. For the first time on earth a truly inspired and matured art form, molded in spontaneous events has manifested. The bonds of conformity have been snapped. I am happy and grateful to see the birth of this new eon as well as the death of the old one. It is as simple as night and day. Its happening all around me—people are looking at the contrast of the light and the darkness in a new way.

It has been the hardest year of my life so far. I’ve done nothing, but work. About a year ago I started a project at 720 Arkansas in Lawrence Kansas:

This was a green remodel to the nth, romantically idealistic and idealistically romantic (maybe a little impractical). I teamed up with my good friend Asa Collier who is a carpenter, a mason, an environmentalist as well as a visionary artist who’s work, I am proud to be a part of. We are basically like rock stars, we do what we love and the rest is up to Wakan Tanka, the Great Mystery.

We started with a crack-house and ended up with a work of art. 720 more or less is a visionary model for small, smart living in a culture that is about to eat it self to death by living too large. We needed something to do I suppose, we had fun and we made a statement. Now it would just be nice if someone would by the damn thing.

Financially, I made some dumb decisions, but that’s to be expected of me. I’m still banking on the whole system collapsing and everyone having a new start. I am convinced more than ever that this not only could happen, but has to happen. Most people in the world would benefit from the shit hitting the fan. I’m sure after the initial shock is over people realize they’ve seen the first signs of living in a new eon. I do hope that my investments go through before the new eon begins. I am a fan of Dr. Brad Blanton’s idea he presents in “The Korporate Kannibal Kookbook”.

“Just the top twelve hundred richest people, or just the leaders of the top one hundred or so corporations is all we have to do in! By my estimates, killing and eating less than .001 percent of humanity, and taking all their shit would solve damned near all of our problems! Redistributing their wealth and possessions could save half of humanity! That is, by killing and eating less than.001 percent we save 50 percent of humankind! The scheme involves sacrificing twelve hundred and ninety-two people, almost all of whom are rich, fat, thieving scum, to ensure the lives and well being of three billion other people, mostly children.”

https://store.radicalhonesty.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=1&products_id=78

I also managed to start a business reclaiming lumber. Last spring I started a project taking down a timber-frame barn built over a hundred years ago. We were able to salvage nearly all the building materials including a cedar timber-frame, saving at least a few trees in the process. The interesting thing about it is how I got into all this mess. By mess, I mean wood piles, more than one wood pile—I have many. I came up with the business model in the winter of 2009 while I was writing “Rattlesnake Angels”. In the spring when my solitude in the woods came to a sudden halt, I began working as a hod carrier for Asa, on a project located in the flint hills.

The drive was the crazy part. I drove to Reaction about a half-hour then we went to the flint hills which took an hour and a half, an hour and half back to Reaction, then another half hour home after that. Four hours of drive time a day sucks no matter how fun the work is. Luckily the work was fun, the setting was beautiful once we got there and the customers where a pleasure to work for. Plus we smoked hella tea the whole way, each way and ate all beef dogs at the snack shack out in Wabaunsee county, where the Beetcher Bibles came from back in the day, where the underground railroad gave people a way home—

It took me a while the people we were working for was a gay couple. Right from the start the job was different. The first guy I met on the job was the “architect”, he was a tall skinny guy, he cussed a lot, he liked my beard and told me that he was raised in Mennonite family. He also liked to drink gin and tonics and smoke tea. At first just meeting him alone was worth the drive. He liked working for gays; I think it was part of his rebellion? I cherish my time with him. Cancer came to him while he was on the job and he left it behind and kept drinking and smoking. I’d go on, but I’m saving him for later...he worked with two other guys, one was short spoken, but when he spoke he did it loudly and the other guy looked like death.

From time to time I would see another guy, who reminded me of myself, he would do odd jobs, like clean out some of the outbuildings and shellac some of the wood trim. He had a peaceful presence and a childlike persona. Later, I found out that is was one of the owners of the home. He was a successful attorney; he was working with us after an unplanned retirement. I’d never met anyone so successful who at the same time was so humble, kind and genuine.

We gradually became friends as I worked out there that spring and most of the summer. It turns out the reason he had a sudden change in a career path from being an attorney to becoming a construction grunt was that he had been struck with lighting.

This was before I even met his partner. They were on vacation when it happened having lunch on a park bench. The lighting he said, came from six miles away, it threw him a long way when it struck and he has some back injuries from it along with the burn damage. His partner wasn’t hit nearly as bad, but both were discovered lying unconscious by hikers. This happened along theAppalachian Trail. It wasn’t possible for him any longer to practice law, to recall procedures; it had damaged his short-term memory. So now he can’t do trials, but has moved onto writing books and taking down barns. He also died after that. He told me when he died; he didn’t have any emotional attachment to anything and all he noticed was goodness.

Later, we were hauling cut stones from the barn to their home. He said, “I didn’t think I’d be doing this in my retirement.” I guess I never thought I’d be hauling stones either...I never thought I’d work with such brilliant person. He is close to finishing a true-crime novel and him and his partner, a Minister, are writing a book together called, “The Gay Couples Guide to Walden.” They are living the good life and doing good things. I’m just happy I can play a small role in the becoming of their dreams.

Hardships somehow build friendships and the mutual suffering people experience together somehow creates bonds. I hate working so hard, but I’m grateful for the bonds that have been made. I’ve been obviously in the good graces of Wakan Tanka. It’s amazing to think about the people I’ve come to know over the past year and who have also come to know me. Its remarkable how my consciousness has been influenced and rearranged. You really get to know someone when you take on a big project. You learn everything about them, but I don’t think any of those things are as interesting as the events that occur seemingly spontaneously, causing people to find themselves traveling along the same path...

So for this new eon... I have an idea! I’m going to bring my favorite writers back to life. Because that’s what the world needs, more writers.

Jack Kerouac, “The poets and writers will ultimately have to be the priests...sexy illuminated priests who will stand up... and take responsibly for spiritual guidance in this country.”

I’m tired of the truth being covered up! I’m tired of liars having all the success, the greedy kapitalists, the plutocrats and barons of konformity. I’m bringing out the biggest most savage weapon in the arsenal...my imagination and I can imagine pretty much anything I want. Whatever I can imagine in my mind might come into form. It has before; it could happen again. I don’t know if next time it will, but I know there isn’t anything, anyone else can do about it besides me.

This is what I see happening right now: I don’t know what everyone else is looking at, but I see a beautiful becoming, a poetic becoming and the blossoming of human consciousness. I don’t mind at all how things look now. This is just the beginning. We have barely scratched the surface. Never mind the conflict and struggle, everything exists to bring us to this point and now we have arrived. This is the big show up to this point. Like I said before, it’s only the beginning—there is a long way to go and who knows what might happen? I love the way Richard P. Feynman puts it,

“Why do we grapple with problems? We are only in the beginning. We have plenty of time to solve the problems. The only way that we will make a mistake is that in the impetuous youth of humanity we will decide we know the answer. This is it. No one can think of anything else. And we will jam. We will confine man to the limited imagination of today’s human beings.”

I live in Kansas and the state motto is Ad astra per aspera, which is a Latin phrase which means "Through hardships to the stars". This state was born of blood. It was in 1855 when John Brown, a broken down old business man got a letter from his son that stated, “We need arms more than bread”. His son’s camp had been attacked in March by proslavery border ruffians. It wasn’t until October when he arrived and found his family dirty, sleeping on cold moldy hay and diseased. He then learned of other violence that had been committed against Free Statesmen’. And its funny to me how when some sick fuck is murdering people, how then when someone stands up against them and blows the whistle...they get attacked as if they are the one guilty of being a sick fucking murderer. John Brown was and still is regarded as a ill, savage mannered man in history and by the media. Nothing could be further from the truth, he did what I believe any decent human being would do for their family in times of peril. Later Brown went onto met with Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau, although both the famous intellectuals were pacifists and wanted to end slavery on peaceful terms after meeting with Brown he had their blessings. Proslavery forces had already violated the rule of law with violence and manipulated a democratic vote. Brown told them, “I hate violence, but accept it as God’s will.” He even met with William Lloyd Garrison who practiced non-violence as a matter of principle. It seemed like Garrison liked him, but thought he was crazy just like most others including Abe Lincoln. Garrison thought he was a “liability”. Garrison thought of God as gentle, Brown thought of God as rough and gentle. He also gained financial support to wage war and acts of terrorism on proslavery forces from wealthy abolitionists for his small band of liberators who would soon be destined to invade Harper’s Ferry becoming the biggest news in the world during that time. John Brown by this action effectively polarized politics and brought the true issue of slavery to the conscious forefront of discussions during that time in the pages of history. The civil war was fought over slavery and anyone who say’s different is a delusional elitist. The elite have always been for slavery and still are today. Nothing scares the elite class more than the potential liberation of on of their slaves. Slaves aren’t allowed to know things for this reason, not allowed to be educated or given the freedom to have a weapon in their hands. Even a slave then might go to the stars. Quickly after the raid on Harper’s Ferry John Brown was hung for treason, his involvement in the liberation of slaves got him hung in a country where freedom was supposed to be a revered value. He was hated and ridiculed by the press in large or at least labeled a madman. Ralph Waldo Emerson supported him and said, “The Saint, whose fate yet hangs in suspense, but whose martyrdom, if it shall be perfected, will make the gallows as glorious as the cross”. Thoreau said, “Some 1800 years ago Christ was crucified, this morning Captain Brown was hung, his is not Old Brown any longer; he is an angel of light.” Have things really changed today? If some act of evil is being done, if people are being robbed from and killed...and someone stands up against it, does the public cry out that they are a worthy hero or do they instead attack that person’s credibility and claim the person is some kind of coward for what they have done, that they must be a hypocrite in some way? Guess what folks the truth can come from anyone! Hypocrites and saints and scalawags all the same can recognize a lie when they see it. Still today, Brown and those like him, people like Bradley Manning and Julian Assange who stand up against disgraceful misuse of authority and the lies of tyrants. Anyone who knows the truth and takes any action, in our society is considered to be a mad person who must have some kind of psychological disposition... We live in a world now where you can be considered a terrorist just by expressing what you know. Extraordinary people are sure to be cowards in our society as they are changing with the times rather than stagnating with the past. We are all liars and hypocrites as well as cowards anyway and the more we try not to be, the more we infect the world with lies and contaminate the truth with lies. There isn’t anything we can do about it, but I’m lying and surely I’m a hypocrite to, a coward to, for speaking against the elite class I suppose. I’ve tried to explain this in a simply way and someday if I’m a good enough artist, I will explain it simple enough that it will have some kind of effect on the world. I am reminded of a quote by Frederick Douglass, “The thing worse than rebellion is the thing that causes rebellion.”I guess the same thing could be said about treason?

Perhaps now, I will buy some port wine and if my favorite writers do come back to life like I intend then I will have a drink to offer them...if humanity decides to rise out of swamp of delusion, perhaps I will have some confusion of my own to offer it to? Cheers to the Lit Generation...whoever they are, Happy New Year!

“The question is not about the weapon, but spirit in which you use it.” Henry David Thoreau, A Plea for Captain John Brown