If any of you were wondering what had happened to M. Paul, let me tell you I have been knocking on doors.   It has certainly been a strange trip that really started here at the Cafe of all places.  It could be the trip started in my mind over a year ago when I discovered how politically apathetic I had become compared to the person I had been in the past.  I had been just reading here and there and had not thought I was able to add to the conversation until I was goaded by number 47.  

I could hear the knocking even then but had confused the dull drone of indifference and the drumming of change.   Anyway I decided it was time to add my own voice to this dialog.  I recall a byline somewhere on the Cafe about a lot of caffeine and a lot of attitude.  Sounded a lot like myself.   But did I really have anything to add and of course what would I gain by participating?   Hmmm.  

I knocked on doors, broke a few down, had a couple slammed in my face, but generally found someone in each room willing to at least listen.   

My favorite comment was from Dan K.  His question was simple, "What is this supposed to be about?"  It made me really rethink how I was presenting information using a veiled oblique word structure with a low level vocabulary.  I guess my intention was to be deliberately vague so as to allow you the reader to get out of my sentences whatever you wanted.  I think I failed for the most part and found my most carefully structured blogs were the least commented upon.  Go figure!

I found it slightly comical that I had to offend someone to get any kind of dialog going but I really have never intentionally offended anyone here.  I did have a choice word or two for the Tuberous-wild-pig for posting some photographs of carnage in Afghanistan.  Could be we all needed to see those images but the shock of finding them in my safe little Cafe really pushed my profanity button. 

I really liked the short exchange with Kfreed when she was out looking for a fight but found instead that I was converted, as it were, to her point of view.  Try again some time and perhaps I will dare the ring with you, but first let me get my helmet on. 

Let's see, was there anyone else in our Cafe I offended?  Oh yes, there was a call for financial assistance for one of our Cafe club members.  Unfortunately this came after there was a shameful example of abuse on another blog I follow up here in Alaska.  I merely posted a caution but sure had my ass toasted.  Better safe than sorry and if I was off base then I apologize but then again I know I was correct in my warning; so there, roll that up in a tube and place it on your shelf!

That knocking sound was really loud this December,  I thought it might be the gavel of the House or Senate, but instead it was the sound of my head beating and beating against the wall of shame for the failure of our legislators to pass into law Insurance Reform.  My head is still sore and I have a couple of open wounds from the experience.  I think we were all so high on Obama winning the presidency that the let down we experienced caused us and the activity level of our cafe to suffer.  Suffer, yes that is certainly the correct word.  We must be suffering but what is the cure?  

Hmmm, the cure.

You know and I know where to find that which will at least bandage these wounds.  You and I know that only together can we with words stem the flow that cuts us and steals from us life.  Oh sure I know we only have words but what else has been used in the past?  What but words?  Sure it would be great if we could all get together and sing Kumbaya as Kfreed once accused me of.  I really am sorry the day of massed marches has passed us and I am sorry the television and movie screen touches so few who choose to act.  So, where do we find the answer?  It is right here!  It is in every Cafe page we write and each comment we submit.  It is right here between the electric lines for you and I to find?   We might both love or hate what we discover here but this is where you will find us, day or night, in black and white, and yes, now I know where to find you!

That knocking sound?  

Ok,  just leave it unlocked is all I ask.

M. Paul ;-) <3

Have you ever wondered how easy it is to lose sight of that which one has never seen?  Easy enough I guess.   What I would really like is some form of communication other than words,  something other then these slowly crawling letters our mind must turn into concepts: incomplete, distorted, or both.  Yet I must look to these words as both rain and shine, for without them this desert does not bloom.   

But what of those storms that pour and pour upon the barren sand?  If I dare not till and weed then your words will grow but naught.   Could it be your words rush and rush cutting deeper the gullies my tears only dampen.   A flash flood I dare not say; and in your hand the dew or cup.  Would your dam hold against the storm withheld too long?   See this cyclone twist closer and closer; just wave your hand, so hard I pray, just hold out your hand and I too shall wipe away your tears; wash away your pain.   

I wait this winter for the closure that opens.   Like flirting with chance but demanding so much more.   I owe no one.  I pay every cost.   I glue ideas about dreaming to the back of your eyelids.   Share my blue sky and birdsong.   With patience I wave away the dark with words and wish for joy that will learn again to walk into your arms.   

I know you are really wondering how I dare the emotional risk?  You wonder how will I pay for each failure?  Failure?  I am certain that the failure lies only in doing nothing, in lying here static, letting inactivity turn my hope to stone.   Failure in dreaming?  I think not.  Failure in giving? Never!  I will never close these eyes!   

And so this is where you will find me, perhaps just a footnote, an addendum without reference.  Fear not, I am used to the ice and cold; it too is my like and kind; the one I become more familiar with as the ages pass.   I have my whole life to note each flicker of light and every smile.  I note too the passing of those winter buntings and blue sky as each race the clouds across time.  So yes, take note: either tears of joy or tears of loss; it is those who never dare cry who fail. 

M. Paul ;-) <3

EXPEDITE

Once again I find my feet frozen to the idea that if I might start this race others will follow, and if those who choose to invest their future will find across the ever advancing finish line, not glory or gold, but instead a laurel of truth; this idea that crossing now together will empower;  as sure as leading alone leaves us all to blow back across the barren ground of our past.

I know these small steps seem to your eyes unsuited for the pace but like Aesop's turtle I choose to finish this race.   Will you walk with me?   It is only that we need to hurry the start, did you not hear the gun crack, see the green flag wave?  The crowd has rose to their feet, hear them roar!

I expect it to get quiet there in the back stretch but now is not the time to take a nap, to lay down on the track, those worn and tired strewn about are counting on us to pass the baton, or if history deems us worthy, to claim reward for the race well run.  Here let me hold you up.   Thank you for the outstretched hand; for saving my stumble!   None of us are so strong to stand alone. 

I cannot see that we are doing any good with our fighting. I could try to find what that mean thought is trying to overcome.   I am looking for the reason to trade in this downward glancing stance...  Well, let me tell them, it is not all about me this time but more like a song we should be singing.   All together now then: us and we;  I try to function, but find instead more glittering garbage.   Dumpster diving or friends, grabbing the gutter; who else will hold my hand, alley cat crushing, tin can music, eardrum crash, car smash, this should be the future.

I cannot hide any more here in the dirt and dust.    A wind blows from the north and fallen from the sky a star once found in the east.   Rise you all!   Rise: like bread, like beer, lambic bubbles yeast.   I swallow the beast, he rears my head and words spill, past my teeth, vomit up at least.    I cannot swallow another glass of liquid poison, another shot of heat, tumbler, stem, on the rocks, neat.  God what a mess.   On my knees one more time, on my knees I pray to no one.   On my knees, from the front or behind.   You will beg and don't mind.  

Some of these dreams should stay just that.   Some of your dreams are the poison I would fear to take, some of your words are poison I am afraid to fake.  The truth would instead poison you, pull your tongue, rot your teeth, acid bile, bark and smile, go fight to the end, in the cage, once again.   This bowl is empty, these thoughts are gray, there is no thought, there is no day, we might find here breaking the dark, here we go again, will you start?   I want nothing. I want it all!  I want teardrops: to fall, the weight it bends, breaks this back, the clouds of anvil, broke on the rack.  Tighten, twist, slice wrist, heat cannot hear, blood cannot feel, flesh it fears, crying tears, iron thorns.  I chose blindly for there is naught, the price unpaid, the cost not bought by lies and rage,  I can forgive, not feed on anger.   We are running in the stretch of thoughts too thin.  Bending bones, muscles win, ideas rule, these feet are frozen, this mind sin.

M. Paul ;-) <3

Zip says,

I am disappointed with the Netroots, most especially Markos. The 50 state strategy with fighting Dems and Nascar Dems was seen as crashing the gates. The concept was clearly labeled with a caveat: we would be electing many conservative Dems who were placeholders. Much talk of re-framing and frequent dropping of the Overton window made this all seem well and good.

Then, reliably, we snapped. The election of Obama was too heady a tonic I guess. Nobody broke down the new structure and saw the current picture. Our government is still right wing. The SCOTUS and federal benches are still right wing. The halls of Congress are still right wing, and the executive is still at a rightward tilt. The nation did not transform overnight. The hard work BEGAN on November 4th.

I am not going to accuse Obama of betrayal. Instead, i accuse the netroots of betrayal. Markos, Hamsher et al have shown a woeful grasp of political reality and are now actively saying and doing stupid shit. They are showing they would rather be right than win. They are showing that it is hip and kewl to wax indignant and withdraw support than fight.

And most everyone else who keeps doing the ITOLDYOUZO dance and threatening to turn their back on civics are the real sellouts. Not the mendacious politicians but the too kewl for skool Correntewhiners who plant and harvest apathy like it is the left's cash crop.

I am fed up with it. Scapegoating Obama and telling their peers that they drink Kool Aid is destructive lazy sabotage. I have been critical, but not stupid enough to fold my tent and pray for the next FDR.

Anyway, good blog. Excuse my rant."

Posted by Zipperupus 
December 16, 2009 12:07 PM 

Thanx for rereading if you missed this, 
M. Paul
p.s. instead of line dancing the ITOLDYOUZO lets all "slam-dance cosmopolis..."

;-) <3

I would like to make you a deal.  What deal you ask?  I am getting to it.   We have a couple of problems in our country with our youth: both being a product of poor education.   Now those on the right want nothing to do with sex education and are in the habit of getting there proverbial shorts in a sweaty bind over the issue and then there are the others on the left who without a doubt would go absolutely ape shit if a curriculum of gun education was available or even worse made mandatory in our State's public school system.   You are starting to get the picture now.   

 Crazy?  Could be.  Let me explain.

Jody.   That is the real name of my older brother.   He was shot.  He was shot by his best friend.   He was shot in the head by his best friend after school.    Jody was shot in the head by his best friend after school while making a peanut butter sandwich.   Jody was shot in the head with a gun found in a kitchen drawer while making a peanut butter sandwich.  The last words my brother heard his best friend say were, hay, look at this.   

Peanut butter sandwich.  

Rose.   That is not the real name of the girl I helped raise from the age of ten to eighteen.  Rose was one of the only girls in our community, and I mean only, who did not become pregnant before the age of nineteen.  At least she never told me if she had.   The small isolated Alaskan villages we live in have the most horrific teenage pregnancy statistics in the nation.   I am sure that the STD rate is also right up there with the worst of them.   Rose went to college last year in Anchorage.   Rose is now pregnant.    Did Rose stop taking the pill?  Did Rose get tired of condoms?  I will never know.  We do not talk anymore.  I do know Rose had dreams.  I do know Rose had a plan.

I also know this.   We are all loaded guns.  We trip with our fingers on the trigger.  We shoot our selves.  We shoot our loads. We shoot our dreams.   We shoot the people we love.  We shoot out windows of opportunity.  We should be shooting blanks!

So, lets make a deal!   First we get the NRA to assemble a curriculum of gun safety then we ask, say, planned parenthood to put together a real program of sex education.   Now this gets even better.   I will let you provide a program of hands on gun training.  Lets get the local Police in on this; using their gun ranges and safety protocols that have been in place for years.

Now for the really fun part.  No, not that; get your head out of the gutter.   We should also have the state provide at schools all available forms of birth control.   I would like to see each preteen male provided with a two part voucher for a free vasectomy and it's reversal at such a time as he and his partner decide to have a child. 

Crazy?  Could be.  

M. Paul

I really believe Halloween is the most honest day we celebrate here in America.   This Thursday we will sit static stuffed as we are with all manner of clichés.  Upstairs my hostess is franticly mixing up yams and braising the big bird while her partner sits in his recliner reading the paper.  Do not get me wrong, I am most thankful for sharing their hospitality; I just don my mask.  

Our stinking economy caused me to close up my shop, move into the big city, and take a day job for the couple of months I usually just hibernate.   I adjust my mask. 

The smells of stuffing and hot rolls should be comfort.  I do not know?   Sorry, let me adjust this mask.  

I had this idea that instead of being reminded of all manner of loss I would instead go downtown and see if I could be used as a volunteer at one of the soup kitchens.  Instead I just tighten the straps holding to my face this mask.   

Stuffed!   Damn, am so lucky!    I am not hungry,  I am warm, friends, hope, dreams, self worth, health.   Then why do I feel like that turkey upstairs is trussed up on its back, legs tied together, and stuffed full of, well, full of soggy mixed metaphors and half baked clichés?  

M. Paul ;-) <3

You know, it just had to be my luck that the best high school teacher I had was in an A.P. Biology class and not Civics or US Government.  What a shame.   Now I can tell you how a cell divides, but I have to be up front with you, I have no idea how this nut-ride Stupak thinks dividing the house vote was going to insure his long term political survival.   

Pro life, give me a double back flippen break.   What could be more pro life than health care reform?   

So lets see, I am sure he has split away the votes of women; done.   He has probably pissed off our lovely DNC; done.  Who else has he alienated?  You! Me!  Damn Bart, you are not stacking fire wood here; but I can guarantee you it is going to get hot!   Well, except for the reception you will get at the ballot box next time around.

"If you don't want an abortion don't have one!"

M. Paul ;-) <3

I have lost all account of direction.  I was sure I paid the toll. I have burned another page from your play book to light my way.   I burn and burn.   I have no doom you can understand; both my mother and sister; tear after tear, too wet my hell.   Sure there is heat enough for all of us to keep warm; to dwell.   I am bound to not even my self.   The morning comes but spring is forever wrapped in white.    I give orders, scream out each command, but static are the others stuck in mental mire.   I run.   We hide.   

Trust,  you have got to be fucking kidding.   Stop the presses, stop the earth, I want to close my mouth, close my eyes, shutter my ears deep under ground.  There is no sleep.   No wings to flight, the dust I teeth, air I might.  I do not really feel anymore.   Can you not hear my scream? I have no senses.  I have no cure.  The priestess opens her skin bound binder, lighting fire to my eyes, and the pages just turn to ash in my hands. 

I am awakened by the shrieking air brakes and the mechanical crunch of the double doors, the overweight Maori tattooed driver turns his head, holds out his huge hand, and asks, do you have the fare?  The librarian points a finger.  I question, in there?  

M. Paul

CULTURAL MATURITY

I know, I know, you are asking yourself what am I aiming at with this cultural maturity?   Let's just say it's not a phrase I pulled from some web site or blog but just came to me as fitting in regard to my belief, there is that word again, my belief that humanity has the power to outgrow its ability to exterminate itself whether by greenhouse gasses, economic greed, or simply pushing the atomic bomb button.   Pick your darkest fear.  Mine was fanned by early grade school fire drills only we had the earthquake bell, the fire bell, and then the bomb bell.  

I do not recall how or even when I decided there was hope for humanity.   It probably had a lot to do with discovering science fiction novels at fourteen.  It seemed someone both smarter and more imaginative than myself had hope for a future I had never considered.  Then why could I not?  Let me give you one clue: President Reagan.  There is this punk song from an LA band that ends in " Ronny baby you are forgiven in hell! " it always seemed to sum up my feelings about the mans administration completely.   If I was freaked out by the thought of his posturing I am sure the rest of the world had to be.   

President Clinton allowed a belief that sanity might prevail but then who would have thought Bush junior would get the nod from our beloved Supreme Court.  Fear: Dick Chainy, torture, rendition, WMD, war, body bags, and collateral damage?  I was afraid those freaks would push the button just to win an election; and why not those representatives pushed every other partisan button.  They sure pushed mine!

Anyway, you get the picture, but what of this so called cultural maturity I was looking for?   Was it just a dream of a few sci-fi writers that infected my mind?  Could it be humanity is really just a rotting carcass of walking talking self aware cannibalistic parasitic maggots?  I know that even looking in my own mirror there stands before myself the horror.  I can recall after 9/11 watching those jets flying into the World Trade Center over and over again and hoping Bush would have the balls to drop a few tactical nukes on whomever was responsible.  The horror looks us all in the mirror.   

Cultural maturity.  I had given it little thought until yesterday when it became the basis for a few of my blog comments regarding President Obama's Nobel Peace Prize.   I will agree there must be members of humanity who are more trustworthy then myself, then you, or you, or even you.   Fortunately we have the ability to entrust these leaders of the people at our ballot box.  Perhaps that is what I am looking for.  Sure we may not have the strength to keep from pushing the button ourselves but we are capable, most of the time, to discern those with such strengths.

Cultural maturity ?  In the last chapter of Stienbecks East of Eden ( as well as I can remember it has been about fifteen years) Adam Trask is dying but while in the progress of forgiving his son he has this discussion with his Chinese domestic about what makes us human. He used a Hebraic term "timshel"(sp) which meant choice and it is this choice which defines us.   Perhaps this cultural maturity I seek for humanity is this timshel (choice) but coupled with both a share of speculative possibility and just enough fear to keep from pushing buttons better left un-pushed.

M. Paul ;-) <3

M. Paul ;-) <3