Secular Hymns

17 April 2021

Proper “secular hymns” are few and far between, so sometimes I have to accept small compromises in some of the lyric or music quality.  But if it otherwise meets my criteria, I am eager to embrace it. 

When it comes to “spirituality” I guess you could say that I’m a Dawkinsian.  As an atheist materialist, I am neither depressed by, nor resentful of, my mortality.  I don’t approve of it, either, but I get it; it’s the way entropy works on Earth.  If it weren’t so, I wouldn’t exist in the first place.  Still, like Richard Dawkins, I’m not depressed because I have to die, I’m delighted that I get to die, because that means that I have LIVED.  I was one of the lucky few who manifested a consciousness from this organic soup, and I get to experience a tiny fraction of the wonders of the universe.  Even if our parents are intent on procreating, assuming they ever meet, the odds against us are still billions to one.

For me, a proper secular hymn captures that aspect of our existence.  As we are poised between existence and oblivion, between civilization and savagery, between mud and mind, between matter and spirit – may we experience joyous gratitude for it all.  And while Johnny Cash, as a professed Christian himself, may not fully endorse my interpretation of his work, I have no hesitation in recommending it.

Herewith, selections from the “official”
Secular Hymnal of Matthew 6:6 Ministries,
as selected and fully endorsed by Rector Lawrence,

Flesh and Blood, by Johnny Cash (1970)

Beside a singing mountain stream, where the willow grew,
Where the silver leaf of maple sparkled in the morning dew.
I braided twigs of willow, made a string of buckeye beads.
But flesh and blood needs flesh and blood, and you’re the one I need.

I leaned against a bark of birch and I breathed the honey dew.
I saw north bound flock of geese against a sky of baby blue.
Beside the lily pads I carved a whistle from a reed,
Mother Nature’s quite a lady, but you’re the one I need.

A cardinal sang just for me, and I thanked him for the song,
And the sun went slowly down the west and I had to move along.
These were some of the things on which my mind and spirit feed,
But flesh and blood needs flesh and blood, and you’re the one I need.

So, when the day was ended, I was still not satisfied,
For I knew everything I touched, would wither and would die.
And love is all that will remain and grow from all these seeds,
Mother Nature’s quite a lady, but you’re the one I need.
Flesh and blood needs flesh and blood, and you’re the one I need.

Material Girl, by Peter Brown & Robert Rans (1984)

Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me, I think they’re okay.
If they don’t give me proper credit I just walk away.
They can beg and they can plead but they can’t see the light, that’s right!
Because the boy with the cold hard cash is always Mr Right.
‘Cause we are living in a material world and I am a material girl.

Some boys romance, some boys slow dance, that’s all right with me,
If they can’t raise my interest, then I have to let them be.
Some boys try and some boys lie, but I don’t let them play, no way!
Only boys that save their pennies make my rainy day.
‘Cause we are living in a material world, and I am a material girl.

Boys may come and boys may go and that’s all right you see.
Experience has made me rich and now they’re after me.
‘Cause everybody’s living in a material world and I am a material girl.

Something Tame and Something Wild,
by Mary Chapin Carpenter (2016)

There’s a shoebox full of letters, bound up neatly with some twine.
Each one was like a diamond, now the jewel is lost to time.
My reward is in the knowing that I held it in my hands for a little while.
What else is there but the treasures in your heart,
Something tame and something wild.

For every time that I’d been foolish when I wished that I’d been wise.
The power of regret still gets me right between the eyes.
Sometimes I want to weep with nothing but the tears of a little child.
What else is there but the lessons of your heart,
Something tame and something wild.

There’s a map I’ve memorized of everywhere I’ve ever been,
And the faces of everyone I’ve loved and left to try again,
I couldn’t make out what they were saying,
So instead, I listened hard to what’s inside.
What else is there but the voice inside your heart,
Something tame and something wild?

Some nights I’m woken up by something stirring in my chest,
It’s a feeling I’ve no name for, it’s hard to catch my breath.
I’m staring down the great big lonesome,
As I’m listening for the dwindling of time.
What else is there but the echoes in your heart,
Something tame and something wild.

So the things that matter to me now are different from the past,
I care less about arriving than just being in the path
Of some life carved out of nothing,
The way it feels when the universe has smiled.
What else is there but the beating of your heart,
Something tame and something wild.

There’s a shoebox full of letters, there’s the map I won’t forget,
The voices and the lessons and the signals that connect us
Manifestly to the spirit way deep down where it goes unseen by the eye.
What else is there but the love inside your heart,
To a life, like a fireworks to a spark, over and above you in its arc,
Something tame and something wild.

disclaimers:  These authors quoted above are not being compensated (beyond publicity) for my inclusion of their works here.   (If you like it, buy their stuff!)

more?
The Long Way Home, by Mary Chapin Carpenter
The Greatest Love, by Jane Olivor
Sing!, by Joe Raposo
Oh Very Young, by Cat Stevens (aka Yusef Israel)

Commie Trek®

12 April 2021Star Trek® is a wonderful fantasy whose benign communism only works internally because replicator tech has eliminated most scarcity. As a consequence, there’s no need for mass murder to balance the books. It’s make believe, and many Trekkies know this, and we try to be patient with our leftie friends. But it’s hard. Sometimes it’s really really hard.

210712Speaking a bit more than nonsense, and, “as a huuuuuge Star Trek fan.….” a cordial correspondent agrees with my assessment. “But even in Star Trek, we humans are still subject to our natures. With a replicator and a holodeck, what makes you want to go out and be a productive member of society? Replicate some burgers and go plug in Lonely Space Vixens XVIII® .

230907 — correspondent Towlej Jumuk points out that “even with the replicators Star Trek® had quite a bit of capitalism. Kirk® trading for Dilithium Crystals®, poker game in the next generation.Jum includes this comment from Captain Janeway® to Commander Tuvok®: “No matter how vast the differences may be between cultures, people always have something that somebody else wants. And trade is born.” I am grateful to both Jum and Janeway’s writers for the reminders. Hopeless leftists that they are, they can’t help themselves. Trek® writers try to depict realistic human emotions, and human action ALWAYS spawns rational market activity. Bless their squishy commie hearts, even as they express the inherent contradictions of their cherished belief systems, doublethink protects them from seeing it.

211009 — in other Trekterpretations®… Spiders are clearly the Klingons® of our present Terrestrial Federation — staunch allies, dangerous foes, and creepy as all get out. Of course I am grateful and respectful, when I find one in the house I usually manage to safely transport it out so that it can resume defending the frontier. I guess that makes Dragonflies the Vulcans ®— also a little weird, but overall benign and exotically beautiful.

shown: Admiral Ball as a young communications ensign,
rockin’ that mini!

That’ll Learn Me!

3 April 2021

CONGRATULATIONS!

Your submission (of 11 January) “Love is in the Air” has been selected by a panel of 3 Judges as the CTN Short Story 2021 runner-up contest winner. Your award includes:
1. $100 Amazon Digital Gift Card (emailed upon receipt of attached permission/information)
2. Interview/Story published on the CTN website (upon receipt of responses to question/permission found attached
3. Free Book Consultation (must be scheduled) In order to receive your award package, you must respond and return the attached information to justwrite@ctnbooks.com by MARCH 24th 2021.
If we do not receive the return document by this date,
your award will be forfeited. If you have any questions,
please contact us at the aforementioned address.
Again Congratulations! CTN Administrator

Let this be a lesson to me. E-mail is not ENTIRELY bad news and trauma, unless I’m too a-scared to look. Then I miss stuff. Like otherwise good news or deadlines. My response to them:
“I am delighted to learn this ON THE THIRD of APRIL. So… tough break for me, at least in re the hundred bucks! Please feel free to publish it anyway. If a story is any good then it shouldn’t matter whether the author is still alive or gets paid. It’s supposed to be about the story, right? So… where may I see it in print, and how do I purchase copies?

Who would have thought that e-mail could actually be used for something useful or profitable? Well, demonstrably, it still can’t! Anyway… the “winner” in question:

Love is in the Air
MMXI
(Ever wish you could live in a musical comedy? 
No you didn’t.  You know better.)

God I hate spring.  Every year it seems to get worse. 

          I was standing in the middle of the fountain in the middle of the square in the middle of town in the middle of April when I came to.  I was standing with my feet spread wide and I was holding this strange woman.  Startled by my own dawning awareness, I dropped her, and she splashed loudly at my feet.

          She had no beef with me.  I was no more responsible for her dunking than she was.  There’s no telling how wet we might have gotten during the spontaneous production.  I should be the least of her complaints.

          She came up sputtering and looking a little lost.

          The Restoration Crew, resplendent in their powder blue uniforms and shining nickel plated helmets, rushed into the square as I helped her to her feet.  I tried to apologize for dropping her, but she predictably brushed me off – bad enough to find oneself in an intimate embrace with a stranger, no need to prolong the awkwardness.

          A young officer stopped by the edge of the fountain as we made our way out.  “Any injuries here?” he asked.

          I looked at my impromptu dance partner and she shook her head.

          “Nah.  I guess we’re good here, Officer, thanks.”  After he bustled off to tend to other possibly distressed dancers in our ephemeral troupe, I turned back to my erstwhile companion and attempted to apologize again.  I’m new to the city so I guess I’m a little less jaded about all this.

          “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she said, shaking her head slowly, trying still to dislodge the cobwebs in her mind.  “There’s no telling what might happen during one of these numbers.  I guess we’re lucky we’re just wet.  We could’ve danced our way into traffic.”

          “Brrr…”  I shivered from both the cold wind across my drenched trousers and the thought of spontaneous choreography taking us into the oncoming lorries.  Their heavy magnetic shielding may protect drovers from getting caught up in song, but it also necessarily obstructs operators’ views.  All those blind spots don’t help much when some hapless civilian blunders into the road.  “Ouch.  Grease spot is the word,” I agreed.  “That is one nasty way to paint someone’s wagon.”  She smiled and nodded as she wrung out her skirt.

          It’s a good thing, I guess, that there are more suicides in December than in April.  Also that depression is generally less infectious than infatuation.

          Infatuation is wonderful but it’s also the worst.  Things are only new when they’re new, after all, and when infatuation fades it leaves either true enduring love or near mortal embarrassment.  In the meantime, however, it has such empathic potency as to draw disinterested strangers into its orbit.  Collateral damage, some call it.  A bleeding nuisance, says I.  Compulsive choreography kills more innocents than drunk driving, these days.  Cities are getting too big.  If it weren’t for economies of scale, ease of communication, and other wholesome market phenomena, no one (excepting hopeless romantics) would put up with this crap – in spite of the intense reverie one feels during compulsory terpsichore.

          I checked my directional guide and started following the indicator to my case.  Naturally, it had its own little broadcast beacon.  Standard equipment these days.  After happy bums are finished tripping the light fantastic, they could easily abscond with strangers’ goods if we didn’t take such sensible precautions.

          A high pitched peep peep peeping alerted me to the near presence of my satchel so I switched off the beacon and started batting the bushes out of my way to reveal my reports and lunch still safely nested under the hedge.

          Not sure how late I was, I hopped the crosstown trolley, jumped off at the corner of Lerner and Loew, and raced into Hammerstein Centre in time to witness a proposal of marriage.

          Half an hour later I was again looking for my case as I tried to shake the fog out of my head.

* * Moms DEMAND Action * *

1 April 2021 — DEMAND!
Because to ask politely means that the patriarchy wins,
Or is this just the natural consequence of having married
Uber-woak Soyboys?

130717 — The Babble of the Sexes
Men are almost impossible to understand.
When a man says that he’s looking for a wealthy hot babe with a hefty rack and an unquenchable thirst for fresh semen what he ACTUALLY means is that he’s looking for a wealthy hot babe with a hefty rack and an unquenchable thirst for fresh semen. I understand your confusion. 
Women make more sense.
When a woman says she’s looking for a soulmate who will respect her womanhood, honor her individuality, and help her to actualize her best self, what she clearly means is that she’s looking for a jerk in a leather jacket to treat her like garbage.
See?  MUCH simpler!

190929 — People are funnier than they realize.
It’s a pity they’re not as funny as they think.
191116 — “You know what I mean?” Okeh, so maybe you did speak in a Valley Girl accent. Still…   If I’m supposed to infer that your declarative statement is a question, why don’t you infer that my not contradicting it is an answer?
200103 — Most people are horrible.  Some people are worse.
But that’s just the majority.
200104 — Iran shoots intruder in neighbor’s house.
Intruder’s family vows revenge.
200105 —   Wondering about That Old Guy at the QuikkStopp™
Why are you always in such a fucking good mood?
Because I live in a beautiful world filled with music, cats, literature,
poetry, pretty girls, and hard drugs.
“Are you for real?”
I may not be what you expected, but I exist.
200106 — “If it doesn’t come naturally, leave it.” – Al Stewart
He’s not entirely correct, but still…
Nothing fixes a frown so firmly on my face as the insistence that I smile.
Nothing slows me down as effectively as the insistence that I hurry.

200814 – Any time you ask me if it’s a quiet night, it automatically isn’t.
When you ask me how my “night’s going” you are making it worse. If the first word of your directive is “just” then I have already and automatically failed to comply.

210402 — If Lance has his genitals removed and declares his name is now Louise, I’m going to try to be polite and call him Louise.
By the same token, I generally call fake capitalists “Republicans,”
and fake humanitarians “Democrats.”

13 August 2021 – “Don’t Label Me, Bro”  — or –  “Gimme da Kine”

Most of the damage done by tools has been through their misuse.  Most people wouldn’t care to be stabbed with a screwdriver or clobbered by a brick, but survivors would not likely blame the tools themselves.

The damage done with words (tools which denote or describe people, places, things, concepts, actions, or attributes) are accomplished through deceit or conflation.  Deceit is usually clear, and often defensive, but conflation is sneakier.  It is used to distort meanings and positions to link common characteristics with individual misbehaviors – it is an attempt to cover a broad concept with a narrow blanket, as if to say, “Oh, you’re not a ‘Republican?’  Then you must love Hillary.”

In a reflex that closely resembles “I am NOT my Daddy,” people frequently object to labels, as if they were to exclusively define them irrespective of however else they might differ from the pack.  But labels are useful insofar as they help us grasp important differences.  Most of us have a pretty good idea of what “give me a hand” means, but no one understands “that” or “da kine” outside of a context.  If my mate can’t see me pointing at the spanner, I should probably use the suitable label.

“Oh!  You’re with BLM?  You must hate white people.”
“You’re a border hawk?  Why do you hate Mexicans?”
“You’re a lib-uh-terian?  Don’t you like roads?”


Appeals to Higher Powers

16 August 2021

correspondent KW avers that “almost every atheist” she knows has adopted “statism as their religion” whose adherents’ zeal exceeds others’.

Other correspondents confirm her observations, and JH concludes that “when people stopped believing in God they replaced it with the state.”

I thank KW for that “almost.” Broadly defined (including the occasional weaselly “agnostic” or trying-to-impress-chicks “Christian Existentialist” phases I may or may not have gone through) I have been a consistent atheist and anarchist for most of my life. Just never was in me to subordinate my ego to states or gods or teammates. As far as I can tell, theism and statism are both symptoms of the same emotional disorder — wishful thinking. I don’t believe that the magicks of either prayer or voting have any powers beyond the palliative.

30 July 2021
Gotta get me a paddle, and a canoe.
Gonna paddle myself right back to you!
Gonna paddle my ass ’til it’s black and blue,
And then maybe I’ll be worthy of you.

Hard Money

19 April 2002

You don’t see them much anymore, but every so often, when going through your change, you may catch a glint of something. It’s a whiter metal, with a unique luster, like moonlight reflecting off honey. Silver. It’s what made up America’s coins when we had a government with a little more integrity and a Dollar with real value.

Or maybe you got a few bills in change and noticed an odd one. The seal and the serial number were different, blue or red ink perhaps, or there was a little extra printing that spelled out how the instrument worked.

THIS NOTE IS LEGAL TENDER FOR ALL DEBTS, PUBLIC AND
PRIVATE, AND IS REDEEMABLE IN LAWFUL MONEY AT THE UNITED
STATES TREASURY, OR AT ANY FEDERAL RESERVE BANK.

The note made no pretense of being lawful money itself, it simply promised to pay up if the bearer chose to redeem it for lawful money.

What then is “lawful money”? Lawful in the context of American money means in accord with Constitutional principles. Article 1, Section 8 spells out the delegated powers of the Congress, and Paragraphs 5 and 6 stipulate that the Congress shall have the power to Coin money and regulate its value, and to provide for the punishment of the counterfeiting of the coin and securities of the United States. It goes on to state, in Section 10, Paragraph 1, that no State shall make anything but Gold and Silver Coin a tender in payment of debts. Lawful money then, in America, at least, is either Gold or Silver Coin, or reliable receipts (bank notes, warehouse markers, merchant chits, or even government bonds) that may be redeemed for a specific quantity of Gold or Silver. Congress has the power to COIN money and to regulate its value. To coin money is to stamp an image into a disc of precious metal. It is not to delegate to a private cabal of bankers the authority to print piles of paper notes having no intrinsic value themselves beyond the “full faith and credit” of the government. The promises of the government have a way of being easily forgotten whenever it’s convenient for the Congress or the White House to infuse a batch of paper into the economy to stimulate some favored sector or to enrich well-connected contributors.

If I had my way there’d be a silver dollar in the hand of every American, and gold coins in the bank for every worker or investor cashing a dividend or paycheck.

Before 1913 and the passage of the unlawful Federal Reserve Act, the “price of gold” was $20.67 per troy ounce. Of course, in that context, the “price of gold” is a misnomer. It wasn’t that gold was found to have that temporary market value in dollars, but that the dollar was defined by statute to be that specific quantity of metal. Today, in violation of the Constitution, our government no longer guarantees the value of our currency. Democrat Lyndon Johnson’s debasement of silver coinage and Republican Richard Nixon’s repudiation of the gold standard unleashed the inflation that has savaged our savings and eviscerated our investments for three decades. Gold now trades for about $300.00 to the ounce, and silver about $5.00. Or thereabouts. Try to pin it down sometime and it will wiggle away. It’s not the metal that fluctuates. Gold and silver are material, and their supply is fairly stable. It is the value of the dollar that won’t sit still, because it is not fixed to anything solid.

Ironically, today’s dollar is backed up by something more rare even than silver or gold, its value is guaranteed by political integrity. Consider this, when you fill a tire or bubble gum with hot air, you call it inflation. When something is filled up with nothing of value, it is inflated. It may look impressive, but it is light and insubstantial and its value is diminished. Inflation is good for balloons or anything else that you’d like to float, but we want our money to hold value and to retain that value over time. Once, it did. Of course, after it got to be considered inconvenient to carry around a lot of gold or silver coins, people came up with the idea of carrying warehouse receipts, notes that indicated that someone you could trust would hold your metal, and redeem it in coin or bullion when you turned in the note. Or you could trade notes. Easier on the pockets than jing jing jangling through the market. As long as the notes were understood to be redeemable, and the banks or merchants or refiners issuing them were known to be honest there was no problem. Bank notes were considered to be “as good as gold.” (And haven’t you ever wondered where THAT expression came from?)

Once governments discover the power to create money from paper, backed up by nothing more tangible than a politician’s promise, they inflate themselves into poverty and tyranny. The temptation is just too great. Many of us remember the near panic at the end of the seventies when silver soared to fifty dollars an ounce, and gold was pulled along with it to nearly a thousand. After twenty years of relative fiscal restraint, prices seem to be less volatile. But Ronald Reagan is out of office, and we can’t count on Alan Greenspan living forever. Sooner or later, an indulgent Congress or an adventurous President will unleash the power of the printing press and we’ll find ourselves reliving the horror of Weimar Germany. Or worse. It may appear that we’ve Whipped Inflation Now, but we cannot afford to push our luck.

As the Century of the Leviathan State withdraws into history, it is altogether fitting and proper that we return to the principles that bore this Republic, and restore honesty and durability to our national currency. It is the Federal government’s responsibility, and as your Congressman, it will be my duty, to insure a stable, inflation resistant currency based on Gold and Silver Coin.

update 180129: Okeh, swiping text from “Honest” Abe doesn’t seem either fitting or proper, but we fail now and then, and move on.

In 2002 much of America was still enamored of the Maestro (Mister Andrea); real estate just kept boomin’ along… Selling out and moving to the mainland in 2007 was probably my second best financial maneuver. Most lucrative remains that “honorable discharge.” Riding the real estate bubble might have been possible without it, but things were generally tight. Nevertheless, when a guy with a family and a steady job shows up at the mortgage office and says, “VA,” their eyes just light up! Following the philosophy of The Confederate Mint, I’ve squirreled away a bit of gold, silver, copper, and lead. Not enough gold or silver to inspire too many would be free lance socialists, but enough copper-jacketed lead to dissuade those who might otherwise be tempted.

These comments are sponsored by The Confederate Mint (purveyors of metallic securities in gold, silver, copper, and lead).  For sample sheets of Metallic Certificates (total face value One Tenth Silver Dollar) send One Silver Dime plus a self-addressed stamped envelope; or 
Four United States Legal Tender Federal Reserve “Dollars”
in scrip, check, or money order, to Greigh Area Associates,
c/o Gene Greigh // 401 Rio Concho Drive, #105;  San Angelo, Texas; 76903

Tzelphish Tovarisch?

13 December 2017

Is there a word in English that means, “prone to promote, protect, or enrich the interests of the self?”

Egocentric, rational, logical, or sane all fit, but are each too broad and insufficiently descriptive. Normal would work, too, but that’s completely trivial. Right-handed, heterosexual, and bipedal would also fit the definition of “normal” (go ahead and check my math) so that’s out.

According to my son, Michael Malice, and the stupid dictionary, Rand and I have gotten this one wrong, as it is also not “selfish.”

This comes as a bit of a surprise, considering what lofty thinkers we are, but English is vast, complex, and often confusing. In addition to the reasonable definition posited above, the word “selfish” contains the necessary caveat (and obvious contradiction) “without regard for the well-being of others.” That is perfectly stupid, because so often my interests subsume the interests of others, as do yours, I’d guess. If our primary allegiance is to ourselves (as it must be in order to survive) then by extension we love those things that enrich our lives. I may have been mistaken at the time, but I thought that my interests and those of the Air Force were consistent in re the Soviet Empire. I selfishly signed up. I also selfishly fed my children, paid my mortgage, and scratched my thespian itch. As I pursued my self-interests I served the self-interests of vendors and manufacturers world wide. But, according to the self-loathing scolds at Merriam Webster et al, I have to hate that part of myself that loves others in order to love and serve myself.

Look, if Lefties and their sympathizers can turn “privilege” on its head, reversing its definition from the exclusive “elite access” to the meaninglessly inclusive “majoritarian immunity”, I think ya’ll can bend a little on “selfish”. I might offer a compromise in the form of “selfious”, but that sounds more like “filled with poorly framed self-indulgent self-portraits”, or maybe offer to respell it as “celfiche” or “tselphisch”, but if I were to do that you terrorists would win.

update 171225:  correspondent NT comments: “The whole point of words is to communicate…Keep in mind that people less familiar with your preferred meaning [of selfish] might tend to misunderstand.”

An excellent point, which is why I generally try to subvert their likely understanding with humor. I often proclaim that selfishness, laziness, and cowardice are my fundamental VIRTUES. This will often put them at ease, as it makes ME the butt of any potential insults. Once I introduce that turbulence into their heads, they are more amenable to considering the ramifications of my thesis, that self-preservation, self-service, and self-regard are GOOD THINGS, (leading to clever devices, more productive crops, and an easier and longer life for us all) and ought not to be scorned or denigrated. It usually works, except with the most hide-bound of literalists, and the inevitable creative listeners.

These comments are sponsored by The Confederate Mint (purveyors of metallic securities in gold, silver, copper, and lead).  For sample sheets of Metallic Certificates (total face value One Tenth Silver Dollar) send One Silver Dime plus a self-addressed stamped envelope; or 
Four United States Legal Tender Federal Reserve “Dollars” 
in scrip, check, or money order, to Greigh Area Associates,
c/o Gene Greigh // 401 Rio Concho Drive, #105;  San Angelo, Texas;  76903

Scrooge McMoneybags®

23 March 2021

correspondents IA & BA express concerns that the “pathological hoard[ing]” of cash by the monied elite could “impoverish [an] entire nation” and yet society lauds such miserly malefactors as “role models.”
And some offer lamentations of “glorify[ing] greed.”

Hoarding cash” impoverishes no one except perhaps the truly rare “pathological” miser, and even that’s arguable. He may get a rush out of it, but it’s his, so it “neither picks my pocket nor breaks my leg.”
Maybe he likes hookers and blow, too. What do I care?
Contrariwise, the accumulation of large resources permits long term delays of consumption on a massive scale, which can, for example, build a hydroelectric dam or fuel a moon launch. And even if the wealth is NOT invested, just the very removal of currency from circulation enhances the value of that which remains. If your megabucks are NOT bidding up prices, my meagre mites have more power.
And frankly, I find the exaltation of need to be symptomatic of the
greater pathology, and far more destructive.

Scrooge McDuck® et al are the creations of Carl Barks
and are held de jure by das MausenKorp®

Hotez Bears the WHO
(by Doctor Staccato)

Joe Rogan knows a showman shows,
And Rogan shows how much he knows,
But when his lacks to him occur,
To wiser heads he will defer.
But Hotez knows to go with flows,
And yield conclusions presupposed,
To carry forth his sponsors’ products:
Placebos palliating addicts.

Accounting Irregularities

14 March 2002

Our President and Congress make a big noise about corporations going belly-up and the “scandal” of insider trading, so they propose “tough new regulations” to restore investor confidence in the stock market. I’m a little confused. Aren’t crimes like fraud, theft, extortion, and perjury already illegal? We don’t need new laws to “restore confidence.” Artificial reporting requirements are part of the reason that many businesses are having a rough time of it already.

Now, I do not intend to diminish the very real trauma for shareholders, pensioners, and employees who are getting hurt in the fallout from the failures of Enron® and WorldCom®, but the sad fact is that some enterprises don’t cut it, and some people don’t do well in the market. It’s tragic, but the only alternatives to the free market are Fascist Italy, Nazi Germany, Communist China, or Soviet Russia. So when Republicans® and Democrats® vow to fix the system, to protect the consumer, to cushion the investor, and to save capitalism from itself, I have to say, “Hold on to your wallets, folks, you’re about to get gored.”

The fact is, bankruptcy isn’t all bad news. It isn’t fun, but sometimes it’s the best thing in the long run. When a company goes under, its material assets don’t evaporate, and the talents and experiences of its many employees don’t disappear. The market will reallocate them to other tasks. It is far better for the economy for a failure like Enron to fade into history, than for “successes” like Amtrak and the US Post Office to continue sucking up taxpayer subsidies and posting record losses quarter after quarter. When a capitalist makes a bad decision, the market mercilessly shuts him down. When a government agency makes a bad decision and loses record amounts of money inflicting record amounts of damage, the Congress increases its budget.

If private citizens ran an operation like the Social Security Pyramid Swindle, they’d be in prison. It’s long past time to retire that fraud. Liability to three generations of Social Security and Medicare victims can arguably be considered to be a part of the Federal Debt, and settlements based on divestiture of Federal Assets may provide us with the leverage we need to retire these schemes.

I want every victim of the Social Security Scam to get back every dime that was taken plus interest. How much interest is hard to say, but we can have that argument later. Victims who trusted the system and are now wholly dependent on it should get the help they need. The help they NEED. Yes, I propose means testing. The Congress must change the statute so that those retirees who are able to care for themselves will not get any more than a just return on what was taken.

Most important of all, however, is to let every working American stay out of it altogether. Let them save the money if they wish, or put it into their coin collections, or bury it in the back yard. Better still, let them invest it in their own retirement, and let them earn a market return, rather than the anemic performance of the Social Security “Trust Fund.”

Savvy politicos have named Social Security the “Third Rail of American Politics.” It is a reference to electric subway trains that draw their power from the charged third rail. You touch it and you die. It’s a very colorful expression, and it may well have some merit as a warning to those who would court the free lunch vote, but a candidate who refuses to acknowledge the inevitable collapse of the system doesn’t deserve your respect or your vote. We have nothing to lose by retiring Social Security except constantly rising taxes and constantly diminished prospects for a survivable retirement.

Pessimists will have you believe there is no hope, ever, of changing the system, and since they haven’t the means to make a difference, they have relieved themselves of the responsibility to make the effort. I’m not surrendering to their future, and I hope you won’t either. We can make a difference, every day, with every vote, with every purchase, with every word and gesture and action. We are making the future every day. It’s up to each of us.

update 180311: Very little has changed on this front except the public notoriety of Martha Stewart’s time in stir, providing critics of the Iraqi invasion the handy slogan, “Martha lied, but no one died.” It is sad, stupid, and ridiculous all at once. Ms Stewart wasn’t even convicted of the outrageously contrived non-crime of “insider trading” but of simply stymieing the FBI’s pointless investigation.
update 210325: Considering the evil that the FBI commits, Martha deserves a full pardon. Maybe even a medal. Lying to the fuzz wastes their time and obstructs their investigations. I wouldn’t recommend it, because they are heavily armed, highly vengeful, and demonstrably homicidal. But I still salute courage.

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trash it?

4 March 2023 — All that and dead cat stew?

Would that she’d remained at one of “our” rural homes. I may have had help burying her. Or maybe she’d still live, frolicking in the woods, feasting on fresh rodent, and shitting on the ground. Instead, I confined her to a tenth story sterile indoor environment akin to what the State of Oregon did to my mother: murder by house arrest. The funny thing about laughter, knowledge, and guilt is that they can all be shared without being diminished. At their trials, I see many standing to answer for Rosalie. I will answer for Tichelle.

The letter arrived, but I couldn’t get past the first few lines. Not that it was poorly written or anything like that. It was neatly typed, but the tone turned so quickly that my head locked up and I couldn’t bring myself to proceed. I neatly folded it and tucked it away to cool. I know I must address it, but my mind’s pretty crowded right now.

10 March 2023 — Meanwhile, my surgeon beat me up just fine on Monday (to repair my inguinal hernia), so now I am in even greater discomfort than previously, but the trend of recovery over the last few days is encouraging. Strength and appetite seem to be returning, albeit frustratingly slow. Part of my impatience is no doubt due to the long weeks of bureaucratic delay that characterizes the VA and its ilk. But I guess that’s part of the price I’m paying.

11 March 2023 –– The longer, and closer, and deeper the alliance, the longer, and more painful, and deeper the pain of separation. So, ending twenty years of alleged comity calls for a little more mourning, I guess, than ending thirteen years of battle (twice). But, as when a beloved pet (or parent) dies, we are reminded that, “Only love hurts this much.”
When it becomes clear that a consistently pursued endeavor will not yield the fruit desired, but in fact continues to foul the field, it may be best to reassess, let things stand as they are, and distract myself from it as best I can. But let them stand, always let them stand. Any less is a lie.

8 December 2023 — Note from a “loathsome, offensive brute”:
I may be locked out of SOME rooms,
but I haven’t forgotten the ponies in them.

(aka: ikyra)
It seems that I can never escape The Kramer, even if I wanted to. One of my neighbors here in Geezer Tower (Maybe some less offensive name? I might be “looking down” on someone again.) has put up a framed portrait of The Kramer on the tenth floor. Even though “he is a loathsome offensive brute,” and “I can’t look away,” (precise quotes might also be a problem) I nevertheless find the addition to be a familiar comfort (which can no longer be denied me simply because I believe that I have an immune system and that I am not a surgeon. Not quite “two in a canoe” but that opportunity has passed anyway… )