Millions

Haven't been doing a lot of political reading lately. Looked a Mark Steyn just now though, and he is as always right. Speaking of Mitt, he wonders, "Why is the stump speech so awful? 'I believe in an America where millions of Americans believe in an America that’s the America millions of Americans believe in. That’s the America I love.' Mitt paid some guy to write this insipid pap. And he paid others to approve it. Not only is it bland and generic, it’s lethal to him in a way that it wouldn’t be to Gingrich or Perry or Bachmann or Paul because it plays to his caricature — as a synthetic, stage-managed hollow man of no fixed beliefs."

Indeed. It's obvious. Really really bad writing. Obama bad, in fact. The sort of thing I parody here, when the Spirit so moves me. '... our children's children, and our children's children's children, and our children's children's children's children's children ... what, did I skip one? Uh, um, er, eh, let me start again, tee hee .... We shall go forward into the bright and shining sunshiny brightness of tomorrow's glorious sunrise unto the last recorded syllable of sound and fury, signifying nothing, that our children, and our children's children, and our children's children's children's children ... what, I did it again? Well, America, the failed policies of the past 8 years, no, 11, um, no, er, uh, 11 minus my 3, which is 8, but it's not my fault...'

Mitt seems to be doing the same thing. Mitt should not be uttering the word "millions." It's like what the CIA did in Chile in the seventies ... put pictures of Allende in the newspapers, next to pigs, and garbage, and funerals ... subliminal. Mitt is a millionaire, see, and it resonates. When he says millions we automatically put my in front of it and of dollars after. You'd think some of his hirelings would be more than just yes men.

I am troubled by the field. Newt is erratic and unethical and a great juggler when he's on, but when he's not on he's on the couch next to Pelosi. A moonbase would be cool, and I'm all for it, but it's off-topic re the issues of the day. Mitt is competent, which is the beginning and the end of what we need ... but in between, we need someone who can get elected. I don't care if he flip flopped, which he didn't. To change one's mind is not a flip flop. It's a flip. I'm all for flipping, from wrong to right. Who could complain about that? Fools, partisans, hucksters, hacks ... pols and their tools. Mitt has not flip flopped. Try to tell anyone that though. Does he have a soul? Do robots dream? I don't care. Get the job done.

But for all that Mitt is caricatured as robotic, he sounds frantic when he speaks. Like a high school debater. Slow down, Mitt. And keep the rhetoric simple. I just heard that Obama's State of the Union List, I mean Address, was analysed for content and grammer, and it appears to have been perfect for 8th graders. So much for eloquence. "And then the werewolf reared up on its hideous haunches and launched itself at the black-caped vampire! 'Grrr,' it snarled, hideously!" Maybe that's too simple? But grasping for high-flung oratory is not the job of bottom-line businessmen, which is what we'd be hiring Mitt for. Don't be all things to all wo/men. Play to your strengths.

Well, there's much to be said. My dick can deadlift 120 pounds now. I'm going to get maybe two hours of sleep tonight. Are these things connected? That's for me to know. But stay tuned.

J

Manly

No, I still haven't bought a computer. What the hell is my malfunction. I just sent a "text" to my son, however, seeking council on the subject. I don't want to pay for more, or less, than I need, or pay more than I should. I'm frugal. Maybe a little too much so, but we'll count it as a strength. The weakness would be a tendency to procrastinate that is effectively pathological.

I'm not feeling very manly. I've been thinking about how people carve out a place for themselves in the world, select and build a career, find a good woman and start a family, buy property, invest, save ... find a place, and status, and respect. I did all of that, once, not well but it was something, and the world rose up like a mounting storm and took it from me. Not self pity ... I am God's fool, and for that I deserve what I get. But I never rebuilt. I went to ground, like a wildman in the wilderness, and stayed crazy for a decade or more. It's not manly.

I've got a friend who made a little self-deprecating joke that went largely unnoticed. Call it about height. And I think, being as I am in a certain frame of mind, that he has a beautiful wife, and great kids, and material prosperity and personal accomplishments, and he has earned my respect and won my love, and he's certainly the most manly person I know, in the fullest meaning of the word. Lest there be any confusion on the matter, that doesn't have anything to do with height. I would give up a few inches, to have a better character.

But that's not how it works. There is a swelling melancholy in my soul, a sense of squandered potential. Well, of course you recognize my potential. It is self-evident, as in this blog. But this blog is smoke signals, ephemera, incunabula, and it's almost all I have done in many years. Insignificant. I would like another family, a son and then a daughter, and foster kids maybe, and a house, and a faithful woman who loves me.

Know any available fertile women, who like sex and kids and have a sense of humor and are into health and fitness and have enough patience to outwait the diversionary defensive tactics of a really weird but loyal and fundamentally worthwhile man? No? Well screw you then. Wasting my valuable time.

J

A Few Observations

Beautiful:

because caprice is delightful,

and meaning is invented,

and because butterfly wings do not cause chaos;

... and because we have a right to aspire.

Not beautiful:

because choices are responsibilities,

and not all effort is rewarded,

and because, as the twig is bent, so grows the tree,

and because cruelty is so casual.

I knew this guy in high school.

Hm, seems harmless enough ...

... oh.

You just never can tell.

Gonna mess you up.

Perils abound.

J

mdck

It occurs to me that I have not been speaking enough in recent days about my dick. My dick is powerful. It loves oatmeal and has a cholesterol level of 7. My dick is ambidextrous. It can do backflips and can deadlift 115 pounds. It can tell the difference between every type of American southwest elm tree with 100% accuracy. It was once runner up on a Jeopardy! celebrity edition, and shook Alex Trebek's hand. It tastes like a gingerbread man, with a hint of cinnamon. My dick can drive a motorcycle. It once dug a hole through 3 feet of river ice so it could go fishing. It is vegetarian. My dick can type 87 words per minute. It is an expert in Bulgarian pop culture. In a fight with a hammerhead shark, my dick won. People claim that they have seen it breathe fire. It would be on Mount Rushmore, but there wasn't enough room. Everyone respects and is in awe of my dick, especially women and gays. It is the best dick that has ever lived.

On a less interesting note, it came to me as a flash, or shall I say, a flush, of blinding inspiration: Occupoo. The Occupoo Movement. The Big Movement. The BMers. Yeah. Git it? Cuz they pooped all over the place and didn't clean up after themselves. See?

It's been an odd week or so. I am surprised by my fragility. Once more, if not constantly. I'd like to think it's some sort of peptide imbalance, disrupting a more pacific thought process. Easy fix, that -- just identify the remedy ... a pill or something. Meds. But I think it's a problem of the soul. I've been fine, good, for, what, months? Consciously aware of it. Observing the fact of non-depression the way I have been known to do with depression itself. An objective disinterest, almost. Hm, I am depressed, there is the shape of the darkness. Or, Ah, is this happiness?

But now it's here, again. Not profound, but sullen. And despite improved material circumstances, with reasonable long-term hope, it gets bothersome, burdensome. I look for past causes, but the reality is that it's not the past but the present that matters. But that peptide thing, where some slight incident from the distant past pops up and burns as if from just a moment ago. It's a sort of madness, and I'm sick of it but in its clutches. Ho hum.

I wish there were a drug I could take. Maybe I'll consult my dick.

J

Rhapsode

Victor Davis Hanson has written an utterly damning analysis of Obama. One of his points is that Obama is a mere rhapsode, a reciter -- Hanson cites Plato's Ion (available free on Kindle or the Gutenberg Project), which I have just gone back and read. (A little slow, but okay. Socrates is a man I would have liked to argue with, back when I liked to argue. He makes assumptions in the premises of his syllogisms that I would question.)

As I say, damning. And I've said before, O got elected for one reason only -- not his race, white-ish, or is it blackish? -- well, black, by declaration and against any loyalty to the people who actually raised him, you know, rather than abandoning him. Not because of his shrewdness or craftiness or innate political cunning. Not because Big Lib was behind him, that snapping hydra of media and unions and entrenched interests and other loppable heads if only there were a hero among us. No. O got elected by the gullible country girl called America because of his sweet sweet talk.

Two speeches, specifically.

So this is what occurred to me, just now. Who ever before has gained so much from so little? Two speeches, masterfully delivered, poetry actually, rhapsodic indeed, inspired and imbuing the enraptured throngs with, with, well, inspiration, with enthusiasm. Inspiration: to be possessed by a spirit. Enthused. To be indwelt by theos, god.

If such a thing were possible, this would be it: Obama sold his soul for two speeches, which ushered him to the Presidency of the United States. Not magic beans ... or rather, yes, truly magic beans, were there such things. It may be happenstance ... a perfect storm of empty oratory and a profoundly unthinking electorate. But that's almost always the case, an unthinking electorate, and empty oratory. There is no actual need in this case for Satan to be actively involved. Native stupidity answers almost every question, and a smooth sand-dancer like O had only to sway his hips a little bit and we all just spread ourselves wide-open for the penetration.

You must pardon my imagery. I did some heavy static holds earlier this week and I'm all hyper sexual.

This smirking punk is president. Shame on you, America. You are so stupid you deserve what you get ... knocked up and abandoned. And who is there to save you from yourself? Hope you've enjoyed your pottage, and that roasted goose, you know, the one you killed for the golden eggs ... and, uh, how's that golden touch working out for you, now that you've destroyed your little child? -- and Pied Pipers, and poisoned apples, and any other fairy tales about bad bargains.

Who will save us? What gallant horseman will ride in and slay this slight dragon? What kinsman, what father will step forward and defend his ravished fallen daughter? Gingritch? Romney? Some other? Please. It may be that idols are broken and the pieces lost in the dust, all so that we may see how great dust is, made, as it is, by God. That may be. But this idol has yet to be broken, and in any case even unworthy kings cast long shadows, and in falling bring much destruction.

Ah well.

I am no longer surprised that I am alive. Does this mean I have given up? How long will I wait before I find the comfort of meaningful small talk? -- not even banter, just the sounds we make that stand in for touching. Between silence and noise there is a third choice. God has never been alone, and he has a compulsion to create. We are made to be the same way. We might dream that we are strangers, then wake to remember our love for each other. Or I might dream of you, imagine a life complete, only to fall awake and find myself still alone.

So much for soul-selling, and sex.

J

Hard Truth

Christopher Hitchens died of his cancer on the same day, 12/15, that Obama quit Iraq. Not ironic ... just a coincidence, in the literal sense of a meaningless correlation. Nine Eleven made a sort of conservative out of Hitchens, changed, then, in a way that I for one could not have been. It doesn't take attrocities for me to recognize how to deal with evil. Hitchens, too, had a profound sense of moral outrage. That I believe is the root cause of his unalterable atheism -- not just a disbelief, or a belief against, but an enmity. Like what we share toward, say, OBL. Hitchens saw God as an evil enemy.

His death has troubled me, because I liked him. He died in his sins, and since there is a God, who forgives if asked, and since there is a hell, for those who refuse to ask, well Hitchens died and woke up on hell. The more one should think about that, the more unsettling it becomes. Life is a very serious and dangerous thing. It is a very sad thing. There must be, my moral sense demands, some absolute need for life, since the stakes are so high. If God could have found some other way, I'm sure he would have done without hell. But he couldn't, and didn't. It's not just us, though, who risk or actually suffer an eternity of hell. Jesus feels that torment, eternally radiating out from the Cross. No. If God could have avoided damning his Son, I suppose he would have. Even God has cancer.

Steve Jobs' last words were, "OH WOW. OH WOW. OH WOW." Sounds beautiful, one might think, and it was reported that way in eulogy. I looked it up however, and Jobs was a Buddhist. What am I, in my narrow understanding of salvation, to make of this? Jobs' presumed wonderment was merely a psychological process, and his spirit, unredeemed, not born again, dead, remains dead, and now, with Hitchens, in hell.

There is no satisfactory answer to the torment of the innocent in this world. There are reasons, but no answer. Our craving for justice must wait on faith, a trust that the cruel will eventually, in a time beyond our immediate apprehension, meet with a fitting response. But faith is just philosophy, and for all that etymology makes this a good word, the root of such things is opinion, and happiness depends so much on temperament, genetics, that it might as well be luck. Free will? Of course -- from a faith point of view. Change your actions, change your temperament -- stop brooding and get to work. Of course. And same with God, and the problem of evil, of injustice, of good people going to hell. Just don't mind it, and get on with your life.

That was the answer Jesus gave, sort of. "Why did that tower fall on all those people?" "Just you make sure you do what is right." Mind your own business.

A universe in which we cannot understand ultimate meaning may as well have no meaning at all. Aside from faith, that is. Most unsatisfying. Faith becomes the meaning. Trusting, hoping, believing that things will work out, for the best, ultimately. How childlike we must be.

For my part, I am an odd and grim man, trapped for a few more days in the Christmas season, understanding its importance to so many people, but soured and privately resentful about the whole pageant. I feel some social pressure to give presents, but I rarely give in to it. What the hell is my problem. It's just that it feels like a compromise with something unclean -- the lies of my childhood, which I survived, alive if not whole, by resolving never to succumb to lies. I rarely relax, because I'm still expecting a next betrayal.

I will buy myself, but not for Christmas, a laptop computer. I want something with a big enough keyboard to actually use. I was thinking about a, um, notebook, but the screen may be uncomfortably small. I just want, need, a tool that will get the job done. My old computer stopped working some months ago, which is a primary reason there's been so little activity on this blog. I am encased in amber.

I will buy some things for friends, love ones -- the same thing, really -- but only as the need presents itself. Pride, you see, is one of my most endearing traits. I will not compromise, or not often, when it comes to the neurotic structures I have erected to protect my soul from rapists.

All that being said, I'm doing okay. Hope you're the same

J

Wind

This is my favorite time of year. It feels like weather.

Someone asked me what I wanted for Christmas, and I said I have everything I want. Meaning of course everything that can be given as a Christmas gift. It's not that I have a lot, it's that I have what I want -- small, purchaseable things of the sort that people might want. It's all so philosophical. What does it mean, to want? I want a 1949 Chrysler New Yorker, convertible of course, and red. Who knows, maybe it's true. I want one of those little computers that you can take anywhere, but the screen is big enough, that has a keyboard and gets internet for free out of the air. I want my life to have more purpose. I want to be loved as sincerely as I have loved. You know, the meaning of Christmas.

By any measure I am in the autumn of my life. Very little to show for myself. Not well done, not good and not faithful servant. These things come in fits, of course, these feelings. I'm much better than I have been in recent years. The critical depression has subsided. But I'm empty, and that's not good. I've missed my purpose. I don't think I've said it outloud. I should have written my novels, by now. I've written some of the nonfiction, but that doesn't sing and I long to fill the air with music. Not enough to do it, though, apparently -- and I'm not getting any younger.

There's that self-destructive, self-loathing rage that I can't express without irreparable harm. Everyday I think about my father, getting pretty old now, isolated in his high tower, probably in a pretty bad way, and I feel empathy and pity, but he got that when I was a child, as well, and that certainly cannot be the order of things, a small boy pitying his father. Point is, his demand for it was toxic, and damaging to the children entrusted to his care, and now I am simply repulsed by the idea of him. All this talk in the news about coaches abusing boys. I have no memories of anything like that. But I'm so fucked up.

I have a lot more energy now that I'm getting some sleep. Kind of disorganized though. Someone is telling me I should enter the CrossFit Games next year, but it's only like six months from now and I'm not ready. Not strong enough. Not really motivated either. Encouragement helps. It's how I think of myself, as an encourager. I like that about myself. But nobody can live anyone else's life for them. A very painful lesson -- that we can hardly even help anyone, let alone save them.

I said tonight that I must be a lot easier to get along with now, than some years ago. I always had to be right, in those days. I still want to be right, but I can keep my mouth shut. As I've said before, when a child falls, it's not the bump that hurts. It's the idea that no one cares. Kiss the child, not the booboo. We all want to feel good, or better. It's surprising how good a hand on the back can feel. I had forgotten.

J

Current Events

There's been a lot on my mind, but I find myself inarticulate with dismay at the incompetence and irrationality of, well, the news and suchlike. You've heard how moslems in Paris are blocking off whole streets and holding whatever the moslem version of religious services are called. Native, real French are stuck in their homes, not allowed or daring to leave. Public services of any faith are unlawful in France, a secular benefit of The Revolution. But the PC apologists dasn't confront the alien. Only the traditional, Western traditional is verboten. What ever is to become of France. So sad.

And there were massive riots in Great Britain, disaffected youths, unskilled, undisciplined, entitled, useless. Surprised at the relatively stiff sentences they've been handed by the overwhelmingly leftist magistrates. Whose policy is to let "first offenders" (by which is meant first-time caught) walk. Only murderers, and self-defenders, go to jail in England. And now, a passing fad no doubt, a few rioters. Still, it's a twitch in the right direction, and away from the left, gauche, sinister.

And something about the EPA, trying to forbid fracking. You now, cuz oil is bad? Better to get it from Venezuela, at a premium cost plus terror? So it seems. Cuz Chavez will protect the environment so much more than Americans. Victor Davis Hanson has a phenomenal reputation among conservatives, and he absolutely extols the new energy technologies ... the salvation of America ... a new golden age. Energy Independence is like the Philosopher's Stone. As opposed to funneling money to terrorists. Well? Somewhere in there, the EPA, patriotism needs to have a presence. We are not citizens of the world, if for no other reason then that the world has no government ... heaven forfend.

Another way we subsidize terrorism is via the drug industry. I mean illicit drugs. Is it $50 billion, or $100 billion? More? Annually? From America alone? That's sort of insane. The cartels have become much more corporate nowadays -- not so much blowing up airliners as subverting whole governments. Well, I'd do it too, if I were a monster. We, decent people, want monsters to be stupid and crude. They've smartened up, like any well-run corporation, and figured out that profit is the bottom line. No duh. And in their corporate interest is that there be a number of terrorist states ... that is, lawless, from which cartels can operate safely. Get it? Drugs and terror are effectively the same thing.

If we buy their oil, we empower them. If we buy their drugs, we empower them. Seems obvious. I thought for a moment about the math of the thing. 100 billion dollars divided by 300 million Americans. But it's not all Americans who use drugs. Hm, let's see ... let's just guess we're talking about appropriate adults, say half the population, and 20% of "Americans" identify themselves as liberal, and we'll say half of them are the drug users. What is that, 15 million? No one can ever really know for sure that 150 divided by 5 divided by 2 is, but we'll just suppose it's 15 million. Who are sending 100 billion dollars to monsters. Nearly $7000 a year per liberal, on coke. Seems like a lot. Seems like a misallocation of welfare payments.

In a sense, the lefties are right. It's not the terrorists. It's us. Paying them.

More public flogging, please.

These past few weeks I've been grappling with the sad intimation that it falls upon me, for the next 10 to 20 years, to take care of my aged mother. I had sort of been thinking I'd like to have another family, but I have such an unskillful personality, and such poor social skills, and I am profoundly untrusting, and private, that I can't envision a situation where I trick some fertile female into loving me. And I really don't want to be a sixty year old mamma's boy. It was pretty depressing for a while there, facing this potential future. I'm still sort of angry about it, not that I can blame anyone else. It weighs on me. Trapped by duty. Self-sacrifice is noble, in someone else. In me it blows chunks.

My experience has been that God does not rescue anyone. He seems to enjoy making us go through hardships. Some shit about it making us stronger. But mercy would have been nice, you know, being rescued, from our own follies even, let along from the general evil of the world. Every life ends in death, though -- hopefully in a timely manner, but inevitably in loss and grief. To depend on the intellectual construct, that we are saved from unseen hardships, so don't know about them ... that takes a lot of faith, and I'd like proof, once in a while.

Well. We must be thankful for the blessings that we know about. Because ingratitude is as ugly as injustice. Same thing, in fact.

J

Pragmatics

By which is meant, politics ... as opposed to theory or ideology or religion or idealism. Getting things done. Not the perfect thing, or the right thing -- rather, the less-bad thing. The distinction has been made in these pages before, between politics and tyranny. Tyranny is when one person only gets his way. Everything else is compromise, that is, politics. Jesus in his Kingdom will be a tyrant, a despot, an absolutist. Good. Anyone else though, no please.

The grownup understanding is that it's cyclical. They win and that's bad, but we'll win too. We'd like it to be the 1971-72 Lakers winning streak, unprecedented and unmatched. We thought they'd never lose. But, first, it's only a game. Second, everyone dies. What, you think it will always be the American Century? Our decadence is manifest. China is not good, but it will be great. Why not? Resources and drive. Human rights? Hardly anyone cares about that. The Russians in WWII would through themselves in front of tank treads just to slow them down a little. That too is human nature. Neither good nor bad ... were they fighting against Nazism or for Communism? Or just demonstrating human nature -- loyalty to what you know? We as a country no longer fight so very much for the purity of or institution, witness open borders. So we are losing. Something else will take our place, if history lasts long enough.

My point? Ethics matter, in public life more than almost anything. Make your own list. But in this world virtue does not prevail. That would be a religious law, but it is not a physical one. Strength of purpose prevails, when supported by resources. Is that us? America is like a bag full of cats -- lots of movement, and perhaps a tenancy to roll in a general direction; maybe a hard blow from outside with a stick will change the direction. Not all power is physical. Human power in fact is almost entirely psychological -- intimidation, or inspiration, or what have you. So when we speak of power, and greatness, we wish put are not promised that the individual be considered. There is no guarantee.

Four years ago I read a lot on candidate Fred Thompson, and decided he simply lacked the energy to be president. We get in line behind whomever, because the other guy is worse. Thus ... oh, I'm blanking on the name ... McCain. This time, well, Cain had his blip, but he is so utterly not ready. We want more than a theoretician who mouths the party line. Perry likewise, manifestly unready. Bachmann is a non starter as I may have said. Paul is unelectable. Romney sounds like he's class president trying to win a debate -- talking over himself trying to rush out all his good ideas: it's nice that he has good ideas, but he should slow down a bit ... seems a bit desperate.

Gingritch? Deeply flawed. Like Giuliani. But he's the adult. Hey, junior, this isn't a popularity contest. We want tough, in fact, we want mean. I want, for once, a real asshole to be president. An openly mean guy, ruthless in the cause I espouse. Like, I'm for waterboarding, not because it's the least tortuous technique, but because it's the most torturous that we allow ourselves. Not only do I believe in hell: I want more of it. There is too little justice in the world.

So, so what if Gingritch was a lobbyist for Freddy Mac. A man can't work, for money, in this country? You have a wrong and unamerican idea in your head. Did he give them good advice? He says they didn't take it, so he must have. Unless he's lying. What a surprise that would be. Let's hope he's good at lying, then. Cuz that's what we hire pols to do, and I am not being cynical. Lies I don't find out about, I don't care about. He is an adulterer? Yes. And since you're taking the principled position, you must respond to the fact that he is a repentant adulterer. Or is it just point-scoring that you're interested in? In which case, first, I refer you to Clinton, and second, to your own character. I never did and do not believe I ever would have cheated on my wife. That does not mean I'm not a pig. But maybe you're different.

Get it? Of course old sins matter. They matter if they are unrepented, as showing a low character. They matter if repented, as showing an improved character. I don't want a little boy in office. Sort of what we have now. I want an adult, warts and all.

It's like hiring a lawyer. You want the guy who will fight hard, and win. That's ethics, professional ethics. A vigorous defense. There's a code of professional conduct, ultimately the Constitution. Or the Bible. The Koran? Something outside oneself. Point is, it's a pragmatic thing. We hire someone to do work for pay. I don't care if my plumber has a gambling problem. I don't care if my lawyer cheats on his wife. I don't care if my preacher can't fix a transmission. I want them to be true to what they're paid to do. So if Gingritch sits down with Pelosi to say we need to do something about climate change, well, he has a reason that doesn't show up in the ad, but that is still a good reason. Not great communication on his part? Off with his head. But wouldn't you hate to be on the opposite side of the table from him, debating?

I wish but don't think he'll be the nominee. A safe bet, then. My guy hardly ever wins. Romney is just another pol. Right side? Good. I hope he wins. But this isn't really the time for more of the same, alternating between incompetent left and uninspired right.

Alternative history is a cool genre of science fiction. I'd would have liked to see what it would be like, in real life.

J

Junk

I'm sure that was very unpleasant for you. I'm not even going to look at it. I'm not that way in real life, all morbid and depressive. I bottle it all up, like real men should. FP is where I allow things to leak out. It has its own fascination, for all that it's tiresome. But no one holds a gun to your head.

Just needed some sleep, is all. But I make it a habit of integrity to always say everything that comes into my head. Everyone always finds that utterly charming.

I'm finally looking at The Myth of Junk DNA. It's the sort of think I love. And hate. The shoddiness of the Evolutionist logic is, well, shoddy. Really, really breathtakingly bad, their reasoning such as it is. A primer in logical fallacy, and hypocrisy, and blindness. So it's irritating, being exposed to it, as is required in a book like this.

Every protein is made from the blueprint of a corresponding gene. No protein is made without a corresponding gene. Chromosomes are rife with psuedogenes, however -- genes that do not code proteins. Ah ha! Evolution is true! For what Designing Intelligence would allow so much extraneous trash to clutter up his elegant, um, design. QED.

See? The materialist presumes to know the mind of the God that he does not believe in. The materialist supposes that his own grasp on theology is more subtle that that of the religionists. Well, I'm arrogant too. Some arrogance is merited. Some is not.

The "theological" and logical error of the atheists lies in supposing that what is now called junk is actually junk. Non-coding genes could, first, simply be unexpressed -- environmental factors, known to epigenetics, have not yet activated them. They represent unselected but real potentials -- like unordered items on a menu: simply because no one has ordered the sautéed rat fetuses does not mean the cook isn't ready to fry them up. Second, some genes could indeed be obsolete, in the sense that they are mutated into non-functionality. What powers, what attributes, might all lifeforms possess, were these genes to become active, as they would have been before the Fall? If silent genes are not junk, than what might we suppose of Baalam's talking ass? Well, we see talking asses all the time. Wherefore dost thou smite them?

Yes, the Fall, a theological concept, but also a scientific one, completely unacknowledged by the Evolutionist who presumes to refute the Intelligent Design position. Because strawmen are so much easier to beat, than real men.

The clutter of the current genome, demonstrated in mutations if not by Evolutionarily vestigial DNA, is comparable to any other product of entropy. Decay, death, is not part of God's primary design. Vandalism has occurred. God's masterpiece, his paradise, was ruined. So? What great artist would put a useless ugly mustache on the face of a beautiful woman? Clearly, such a mustache is the work of randomness, not of a great artist. But, um, hey, stupid, it is not da Vinci who put the mustache on his Mona Lisa. That you pretend to suppose any serious person would think so is just surreal. Git it? Is it not possible to start with a high order of organization, and fall away from it? If one supposes otherwise, I commend him to the Second Law of Thermodynamics.

I don't have my copy with me, but last year Dawkins said 95% of the human genome was junk, and the year before another polemicist said it was 50%, and that alone tells us that one or both of these dudes is pulling the numbers out if his or their butt or butts. Well, when you're right, facts don't really matter, eh?

And we've been told about the long strings of mindlessly reproduced DNA, somehow recopied and mislocated on other parts of the double helix. And because, we are told, genes are selfish, they somehow, for hundreds of millions of years, trick or manipulate an organism, or species, or order, no, class -- well, phylum and kingdom ... no, all biology, life itself -- to carry the baggage of these parasitical genes. Even though natural selection conserves resources, rewards efficiency, and pares away useless attributes as a non-adaptive drag, this principle does not apply at the genetic level. ??? Sure.

I've only finished chapter two. It's a short book, but all intro so far. Upshot is, though, that the presumption is demonstrably wrong, that genes must either code for proteins or else be junk. It is known that very much "junk" DNA regulates RNA -- a non-coding process, but a vital one. Well, I had not known that. I haven't paid a lot of attention to this field for the past 10 years. It's been a hard decade. But all along I have not bought the idea of junk DNA, or of useless strings of replicated and misplaced material.

Because there's this thing called polyploidy. Common in plants, and I do recall occurring in fish -- were whole sections of DNA are mistakenly reproduced, and are expressed in the resulting creation of a whole new sustaining species. I think I have a chapter on this, in one of my books, but it's been 15 years so the the precise examples escape me.

See? The same genetic information, cut and pasted onto a different part of the double helix, is or can be functional, adaptive, and vital. What does this do to the heart of "junk" DNA as support for random Evolution? I leave the answer to one's own capacity for logic and critical thought. Of course refuting a given position need not prove some other. But how many of this monster's heads need to be cut off, before it dies? Always, it seems, at least one more. Thus with all religions. Gods can die, and still be worshiped.

Well, I wish this were a discussion group, in which we could go paragraph by paragraph through the book. The author is very solid -- coldly logical, which is my favorite. Here. Or you could borrow my copy, but you'd need to return it.

I am generally so reclusive now, or publicly non-communicative, that it's a bit of a waste, my vast knowledge and amazing intellect. Every once in a while someone is lucky enough to enjoy my tutelage, but it's rare. So sad.

At least they have something to be thankful for.

Like the chicks, who are all so into me, and always listen when I talk about the things in my head, and they're all like, Oh Jack you are so hot and I'm like sure I know that bitch, now go make me some toast, and be quick about it.

J

French

Okay, maybe I should buy myself a computer. One of those little ones? A tablet? Do they have internet? Is there a keyboard? I haven't even ever seen one. But it seems like a good idea. That's why I hardly write, here, anymore. I do get my usual inclinations and intuitions, but opportunity is lacking, and obligation is what you owe to me, not the other way around.

I find myself more fluent in French than I was after two years of "study", in my teens. Languages are easier than math. You don't have to think -- just do it. You don't understand my meaning, but have you ever?

Thanksgiving is imminent. I will do nothing. My urge to isolation is increasing. I wonder if I'm giving up. I had a disturbing insight into myself the other day. I'm not going to share it. But it does not bode well for a happy future.

Likewise, this time of year obligates one to consider one's previous family. You know, birth family. My father's birthday is in a few days. I can't fathom why I am so repulsed by the thought of sustained contact. I thought earlier today that all he wants is pity, and he got all he's going to get from me when I was a child. Doesn't that seem pathetic? A child obligated to pity his parents? Burned that gland out. Only it didn't.

It's hard to forgive someone his weakness, when he pretended to be so strong. I believed the lessons of my childhood, about how a man should be. That's how I am. Unyielding. Well, I'll get the forgiveness I'll give. Which seems not to be too much, where it counts.

It's easy to be all weepy about puppies and orphans. But they don't need forgiveness. My idiot father does. I do. Forgiven of my unforgiveness.

Every correction he ever gave, was harsh. Every time I change the radio station I remember him snarling at me when I was, oh, ten, that it wasn't a "channel," it was a "station". Why so violent? Now, around him, I try to keep my mouth shut, lest his voice come out of my head, so angry, aimed at him, old now, and feeble, and pathetic.

I just can't forget. Betrayals like a pursuing pack of wolves, I flee, I howl, useless and self-consuming.

How did you last, without me?

J

Finger Pointing

Jerry Sandusky, retired defensive coordinator at Penn State, is in the news. Arrested and charged for, so far, 40 counts of, well, rape? -- child molesting? Ah, thank you Wikipeda: "seven counts of involuntary deviate sexual intercourse; eight counts of corruption of minors, eight counts of endangering the welfare of a child, seven counts of indecent assault and other offenses."

Sandusky, if guilty, needs to be executed. He enjoyed not just the peccadillo of oral intercourse, but actual sodomy, on 10 year old boys. A janitor, say, heard a rhythmic slapping sound coming out of the shower area. Jerry's man-sized dick fucking a little boy's asshole. Not that there's anything wrong with it. Between adults, I mean. The difference between an anus and a vagina after all is a matter of mere inches.

Jerry it seems adopted over the course of his family-man years some six children. Boys? He also had numerous foster children. Boys I'm guessing. Those who are bringing charges are not guessing. Either they are speaking the truth, or they are lying. In any case, reports had been made over the decades to the University authorities, who did nothing. I was a teacher for many years, and as such was a mandated reported, obligated by law to report suspected child abuse. Is it different in Pennsylvania? Psychologists are mandated reporters. Janitors, perhaps, are not -- but the janitor reported it. Why didn't the administrators who received such janitorial reports? They need to be ruined, the way these kids have been ruined.

But that would be sweet justice, which we find almost exclusively only in works of fiction.

The little fantasy I have is that some parent confronts Sandusky with a shotgun, and explosively castrates him. Maybe takes out his prostate and bladder too, and the terminus of his large intestine. Collateral damage. I don't have the stomach for such justice -- it's not hypocrisy, just a peccadillo, a kink in the wiring between my moral sensibility and my ability to act. Not everyone can eat meat. But we do need the swift bloody men to whom butchery comes easily. I'll write the soulful poetry -- they can wait in the shadows to cut the throats of creeping monsters.

So there's that. Then there's Herman Cain. Great speaker, attractive personality, down-home man of the people demeanor. Is he a ladies' man as well? I don't care. clinton disabused us of the fantasy that sexual fidelity matters. And clinton reeducated us so that we now understand that it's okay to lie and purger yourself about it. In any case, the worst I've heard about Cain is the accusation that he put his hand on a woman's thigh, and his hand on her head urging it to his crotch. And he stopped when told to stop. So maybe he misread the cues?

Not my sort of behavior, but I was just thinking how the phrase "living in sin" is as obsolete as "shine my shoes, boy", or, um, "sodomy". It's not my style, groping woman. Never have. During my unfortunate marriage, I can't say I was not approached by interested females, and I affirm that I understand the temptation. Opportunities present themselves. But even then, in my frustration and anger, I did not consider the option of betrayal. Some men are different than that. If Cain has an open marriage, so be it. If he lies about it, well, lies are common. Knowing men as I do, I expect it's not unlikely that he's a player. Attractive in his way, type A, confident, a traveling man ... do the math. It should be easy to test.

But isn't injustice an ugly thing? I do happen to know something about false accusations. Were I another sort of man, I would buy a shotgun. But I am mild in almost every way.

Who should the nominee be? Well, the one who can win, but maybe that's not such a small number. Romney is okay, I guess. Perry seems erratic. Bachman is a non-starter. Cain is a business man, but that means all he's ever risked is money. Cain is like Fred Thompson -- attractive and authoritative seeming, but it may be that there's less there than meets the eye.

Gingrich is the smartest guy in any room he's in, and profoundly experienced, and hugely capable, and not unwilling to, say, shut down the government. Very very hated though, as anyone who remembers the 90s will recall. He would make mincemeat of BO in a debate though. Please let that happen. I liked Guilliani. Notice a pattern? I want competence. Don't care so much anymore about peccadilloes.

Discuss.

J

Mute

I heard today about some sort of online game ... just looked it up, CityVille, by Zynga. You build a virtual city, or a farm, and no doubt other things as well. Like Simcity I should think, although I've never played or even seen any of them. Last video game I played was Super Mario Bros, in the mid 90s. I understand things have evolved since then. What struck me was that while the game is free, you can buy, with real money, at drugstores or somewhere, credits with which you can purchase things ... yachts or tractors or the ability to do things faster ... to augment your virtual environment.

On the one hand, you're buying nothing at all. On the other hand, what is a crossword puzzle book, or a paint by numbers set, or music, or any passtime? That it's virtual doesn't mean it isn't worthwhile. It's a sort of art. I build things. I'm building something right now. For my foolish mother. So I understand creating. And anyone who's read as much as I have shall have no reason to complain about how people spend their leisure time, or their entertainment dollars. It's not a new thing after all. But, um, Zynga is now a billion dollar company. They sell imaginary merchandise for imaginary places. That's a new thing.

Brilliant.

Yesterday I heard on the radio about what they're doing with genes nowadays. There's a machine about the size of a microwave oven that takes jars of powdered nucleotides and combines them into genes with measurable attributes. You want your E. coli strain to smell like bananas? Can do.

Then they talked about a woman who gave birth to two children, but when she needed a donated kidney the kids were not a match because they didn't have any of her DNA.

Not a typo.

It seems when the woman was a 4 day old pre-blastocyte, she was actual twins, which incorporated each other and segregated various functions to one or the other. Blood was one sister, kidneys another. One person, two sets of unique DNA. She is a chimera. How odd.

Then they talked about a college student who wanted to do the experiment: inseminate her own egg with chimp sperm, implant it in her womb and chart its development. What would she do with the, uh, child? "Oh, abort it of course ... it's just for the experiment."

Would it be human? What would its attributes be? Its rights? None, of course, since it would be aborted. Half-chimp fetuses are beings of an inferior order, and altogether unfit to associate with the white race, either in social or political relations, and so far inferior that they have no rights which the white man is bound to respect. So says the Supreme Court, and there is no higher authority, whether moral or civil. I might be getting my centuries wrong, but whatever.

Then some guy was talking about how he envisioned a day when kids and housewives had at-home DNA splicing kits, where you could cut and paste together your own unique species ... part fish, part bat. Cool. Part octopus, part koala bear. Neato. Man, this could be fun.

Given the microwave gizmo, this may not be too far away.

There's a late night radio show, usually utter crap, but one guest said that UFO implants were not tracking devices but a prototype of the mark of the beast, function of which would be to alter DNA. Very interesting. As in the days of Noah. Nephalim were a hybrid mix of angelic and human DNA slash spirit -- angels have biological bodies when they materialize in this dimension. There's an idea that DNA is a sort of conduit between the quantum and the chemical worlds, through which spirit manifests. Mutate DNA and you mutate spirit? In any case, doors are closed, or opened.

We are very near the end, my friend. These are strange and interesting times.

J

SF

"We have lost our ambition, our imagination, and our willingness to do the things that built the Golden Gate Bridge." So says The Idiot.

First, when he says "we", you know he's not including himself, cuz he's the smartest guy in the room. So he means you. Why are you like that? Why are you so lazy and unimaginative and uncooperative? Tsk tsk. You're the reason America is not great, not that it ever was.

Second, he's not saying "We are losing..." -- nope, we have lost it. Past tense. Ship has sailed, then hit an iceberg, then a tidal wave flipped it upside down. And you know he means it, because he's so eloquent and skillful and nuanced. He couldn't not mean it. That would be gauche and boorish and incompetent and inarticulate and really breathtakingly poor leadership. We would NOT elect someone like that. So he means it. Sadly, the aforementioned incompetence applies if he does, which he does, mean it, and also if he does not mean it. A paradox then. We got into our time machine and killed our grandmother. We elected someone we could not have elected. Like Humpty Dumpty, BO is the master of his words, which mean whatever he wants them to mean.

Hey, moron: ambition for what? Building Golden Gate Bridges? Great Government Sponsored Five-Year Planned Projects? Y'ever hear of this thing called individualism? Cuz we haven't lost that ... it's just being highly demotivated by your eh-hole sophomoric masturbatory policies. I got yer too big to fail right here. Stimulate this. Sorry, yer highness ... I am unwilling to be a worker in your hive. Not a problem to imagine what that would be like.

So we've got another carter, giving another Malaise Speech. Hey, moron dumbass, "presidents" have this thing called "the bully pulpit" -- a phrase coined by a good president. Browbeating the country by telling us what "we" need to do isn't actually helpful. Leadership requires more than cheerleading. Cheerleadership? A phrase coined for a crap president. Tied with carter for second worst. Pierce was the worst, what with Kansas bleeding all over the place, but then again, BO could be reelected, and then he'd be the worst. Out carter carter, the highest superlative of naive arrogant incompetence.

Oh, it certainly could be worse. I could be on fire. That would be worse. But please, America, what we need to do is be willing to build some imagination with our ambition, envision a Golden Gate Bridge to Nowhere, for our children, and our children's children, and our children's children's children. Never mind why children are having children. My sex ed policies will eventually take effect, in just one generation beyond testable limits, and then Global Warming will be halted because all the body heat from these extra fetuses will quantitatively ease.

Thank you, thank me, and Allah bless The United States of Mexico. Good night.

J

Extinckoreneous

I'm having a lot of promiscuous sex nowadays, unprotected of course. Oh, didn't I tell you? I've joined the Occupy Movement, and to dramatize how the Bankers want to screw us all, well, that's what I'm trying to do. Also, I don't bathe, do demonstrate how dirty they all are. And I'm using an assload of drugs, to demonstrate their greed and lack of self control. Mostly crystal meth, but whatever, I'm a real garbage head, to show the world how bad they are. I defecate publicly -- that's just me .. sometimes I don't even drop my pants -- or when I manage to find an indoor john there's no need to flush, cuz I do it on the floor. I make sure not to buy anything from the store, because capitalism is evil. In fact I do a little shoplifting, to share the wealth.

My "gig" is to recite spontaneous poetry, accompanied by mandolin and bongos, while girls dance with scarves. Here, let me make one up now, totally extempore.

Ooooh (moan)

woooooooo!

Hugahfuhbuh

hugahfuhbuh hugahfuhbuh

hugahfuhbuh

flap!

Oh u man wit duh big briefs ... case --

think ur so macho but u ain't the shiz!

Bulging in ur pants like that all

beefy

&

bulging

but nobodyz looking at u hot cakes

&

ur money don't make u no man!

Big man! Dat

BULGE

itz in duh back!

uv ur pants!

U carryun a wad all rite ...

of shiz!!!

HUGAHFUHBUH!!! FLAP!!!!!!!!!

Thank you. Thank you very much. I call it Wad Man, no, Wad St. Man -- yeah. To symbolize how phallocentric they are, and how they want us to live in the streets. I think I'll submit it to the New York Review of Book. I was a History of 20th Century English Language Liturature Major, you know, before I dropped out because Major sounds so militaristic and homophobic.

Now I'm getting all these rhymes, like street and sheet, and, um, I forgot.

Oh, another poem:

Occupy Movement!
Occupy ur moment!

ur street

ur sheet

ur bowel movement

ur toilet moment

ur tp role

ur 1-ply street!

Write on the wall, street!

Right on! Rite on! Write one ply

ply ur trades

all day

triple play

okay no way

in ur tie and ur brief

brief

double cross

case!

Thank you. Thank you very much. That one was in danger of actually becoming good, so I had to stop.

But man that Obama, he was the best prezident ever, but since they're all bad, he's bad. Ironic.

Now excuse me while I shiz.

J

What If Cannabis Cured Cancer

As I was wet-vaccing the gym floor in my capacity as parttime night janitor, I was also listening to the local communist homosexual radio station. It's their Fall fund drive, and they were touting the cancer fighting miracle of marijuana. Well. Quite a wonderful thing after all! And did you know that the very document of the Constitution of the United States of America was actually written on hemp paper? And can you name one single person in the history of the world who ever died even once from marijuana excluding of course accidents and shit? Why, you'd have to smoke 15 tons in an hour and then you'd just die from lack of oxygen, lol. Um, and, you don't even know the real history of cannabis, it's been used medicinally for centuries and in 1974 the University of Virginia did studies that showed cannabis stopped tumor growth but the US government shut it down. And the body has receptors for isocannaboloids that occur naturally in the body and increase appetite and cause cancer cells to die. Lots of really good science, literally dozens of studies, and a new video documentary narrated by Peter Coyote.

Who knows. Maybe it's true. Of course it's coming from the same Global Warming crowd that thought An Inconvenient Truth proved some sort of actual case. But maybe it's true. Of course it's the same mindset that thinks occupying public parks, bridges and streets is a terrific way to share the wealth and eliminate greed, crony capitalism and, uh, greed. But maybe it's true? Even if it is from the UFO vaccine/autism crowd.

Well. I have such an abiding and profound contempt for drug use, it's hard for me to be open minded. Truth, however, is truth. Lot's of toxic things act as medicine. The body has receptors for opioids as well -- is that an argument for heroin? Of course there are receptors. Otherwise the drugs wouldn't have the effect users love so much. Duh.

But what if it is true? Then I do, really, have to change my position. I don't like that. But I realize that I don't respect alcohol or its use, and its benefits are, um, negligible. There are entrenched social evils, that we have to find ways to live with. Minimal levels of abuse, but abuse there will be. Prostitution. Public, and private, intoxication. Deliberately inhaling noxious smoke. Moronic.

It's just these moronic people who argue for it. I have such contempt for them, or rather for their discernment, therefore their character.

Ah well. Just had to share my dilemma. Because maybe it's true.

J

fabbook

This facebook thing is quite disturbing. I went to my page for some reason ... maybe they're always sending me emails ... and there up at the top were four pictures of ME. My name, my image, together, on the internet. For all to see? There was some poorly written stuff about privacy, that I'm not following. Unclear prose: yet another justification for public flogging.

So apparently, if anyone in the world "tags" your name or account to a photo, it appears everywhere? Or only on your own page, and theirs? Or everyone who's friends? A post-highschool photo of a group of us at the wedding of a friend. Three of me getting my brown belt. Man, I am not photogenic. Sort of a Max von Sydow slash Ted Danson slash Charlton Heston slash Patrick Stewart thing going on. Lots of unforgiving shadows. There's another of me on the same original account, shirtless in the midst of a workout. I gave it some thought, and figured, if three are up of me in my gi, then I might as well get a little ego gratification and "tag" the workout photo as well. Cuz I'm not bulky but I am "cut", as you kids say. So there it is now. One of the few genuinely immodest things I've done.

Oh! Hey! Maybe you'd like to see it? Oh, okay.

drumrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrroll

No, on second thought, I won't.

But that moronic facebook interaction from a year ago with a highschool friend, I replied briefly to it. I'm finding messages that I didn't know were there. Bit late now. I just don't get it.

Oh all right. I will show you a picture of me. Get set!

Okay, here it is:

Ready? So brace yourself, kay? Cuz here it comes:

Right ... now!

Well, no.

Okay, yes:

No, just kidding. But here I am, for real:

ahem

So brace yourself. One ... two ... three ... get set ... steady ... and .... go!

Go!

Here it is, right ... NOW

BAM! I think I can see Jesus.

I'm deliberately flexing, really hard, total unnatural pose, cuz that's how I am.

Or maybe it's not me, but rather some magnificent beast I found on the internet, a glorious Adonis, an incredibly ripped mega stud that all the chicks totally dig, resplendent in his blinding aurora of virility and unbearable hotness. Maybe.

Or maybe it's me, not posing, not flexing, just doing a workout, the way I do, and that's just how I am.

What?! Kuhdaffy is dead!?!

J

Progress Report

I've been watching a lot of gay porn lately. There's a cable show called 1 Girl 5 Gays, which says it all. Talk show, on something called Logo, not a Christian channel. One of the commercials was a bunch of drag queens ... a gaggle? bustle? ah, a glee of drag queens, sashaying on a runway or in a hallway or something, coming in and out of doors, not closets, while giving condom advice. Quite tasteful. I forget what the advice was. But 3 out of 4 AIDS cases are gay males, and a quarter of those are unaware that they're infected. Good to know.

The show is this chick, lesbian I seem to have gleaned, asking questions, and the dudes all chime in. What line would you use to pick up a guy in a bar ("I'd ask him what he thought of my eyebrows"). Describe the lips of the guy sitting to your left (I missed the answers). In a 24 hour period, what's the most penises you've had in your mouth (no zeros: one to 20 -- "What, you've never been in an orgy?"). Whose life coach would you be? ("Sarah Palin -- I'd give her all this shit-advice." ("Oh, I hate her so much." ("I do too.")))

Some of them have the stigmata, lisps and odd vowels. Well, I have an odd vowel. They are all committed, of course, to their lifestyle choices. Lots of fashion, lots of grooming, lots of verbal mannerisms. Of the guys on this show, who's the most rebellious? None of them. They all conform perfectly to their culture.

I don't know. I think we've lost. I think it's too late. Gays openly in the military. So what. Except it's a movement away from one thing and toward another. Legal gay marriage. So what. Except now what's the argument against polygamy? Against incest? Against sex with "mature" 16 year olds, or 14, or 12, or 8? I taught 4th graders who had breasts, large ones. Very mature. All social limits, all mores, are arbitrary. Somebody decided, most others agreed, and society was cohesive -- a necessary element in the definition of society.

Short of a Black Death or a global cataclysm, or takeover by ChiComs or a Great Awakening, there is no hope. These things can happen, but they are rare (plagues) or catastrophes (asteroid strikes), or localized (absorption of Tibet) or miracles (salvation). In other words, unlikely. So what remains for us? The political will follow the social, and this decline will be answered by some horrific and repressive movement from the left, perhaps disguised as the right. It's just a matter of the timeline.

Consider this incredible Occupy thing. Thing is a weak word, but I can't think of a better. Movement is clearly wrong. Phenomenon is not it. Ploy might work, organized as it is by Soros cabals and leftist unions and Canadian radicals. Utterly moronic. They're demonstrating against ... greed? Puh. Thetic. They want all debt forgiven? My mind is boggled. A living wage for all, working or unemployed? Need I say it? Why work at all then? If you can't support yourself, move in with your grandmother. Stupidity does not say it. It is a moral blindness. Like thinking that having 20 penises in your mouth within a 24 hour period is just a thing that can happen when you chance to find yourself at an orgy. Hey there, glad to meet you, I'm Xantu ... here, let me suck your dick. And why not. It's nice to have your dick sucked. Who could turn down an offer like that? Would you? I admit that I have, turned down a few over the years, flattering though it be, but I'm not a normal man. Nice to be paid $20 an hour for being unemployed. Nice to think that behavior should follow desire.

Describe yourself. I have a brutal forehead, an arrogant nose, angry lips, a dimpled chin, sad and watchful eyes, a muscular neck, broad shoulders, narrow waist, wide hips, bow legs. Blond, blue eyes, more hairy than not, lean, almost sallow, increasingly asymmetrical. I don't lie, I will never betray, I weep easily, I rarely trust, sporadically brilliant, underachieving, broken, valuable, not normal, holding my breath. I crave nobility. Of more or less, I am less than I am.

Flawed, then. But it is men like me, you, who will save America, if we do. How? How? America does not have parents. TV, and schools, and peers, and so on, have passively conspired to undermine discernment. Even the not-impressive education I got in the 60s and 70s was orders of magnitude better than the warehouse system we have now. It's not enough to parent our own kids. We have to parent the adults around us. How do you do that? Quietly, patiently, subtly. With moral authority that is discovered, not declared.

But I'm being an idealist. For there to be hope, there has to be a God.

Well?

J

The Center for Non-Reproductive Rights

My conscience has been tormenting me, about how small-minded I am, and self-righteous and hypocritical, so I finally decided to stop being such a coward for a moment and actually tried to slightly lessen if not overcome my probably invincible ignorance. I am speaking of course about the The Center for Reproductive Rights, which I am pleased now to inform you is a legal innovator seeking to fundamentally transform the landscape of reproductive health and rights worldwide, and which has defined the course of reproductive rights through their victories in regional, federal, and local Courts around the world, as well as at the United Nations, and also influences the law outside the courtroom, by Reporting on Rights and Engaging policymakers to promote progressive ideas and defeat proposals that are discriminatory, punitive, or dangerous to women's health. Why, The Center is expanding the world community of knowledgeable, committed reproductive rights champions. It sponsors Conferences and Trainings for lawyers and other advocates. And their Law School Initiative is revolutionizing the way reproductive rights law is taught in the U.S.

Okay, I admit, nay, affirm that I just cut and pasted a lot of that, with maybe some changes in pronouns and concomitant grammar. I wanted to preserve the raw, the authentic style -- not entirely conforming to the conventions of standard English usage, you may insist, but that would be paternalistic. We're talking about women here, and their Reproductive Rights, and you want to quibble about capitalizations and dashes. Pathetic. What a hater. The Center people are such committed reproductive rights Champions! Hooah! We shall overcome! They are rights Champions, thrice so, Champions of the Third Right, Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of ... no, wait ... ah, liberté, égalité, fraternité, except not fraternité cuz that's phallocentric ... sororité ... Reich Champions, I say, Aryan heroes I mean heroins, and not Aryan, Venusian, who are reproductive!

Understand that by "reproductive" is meant "non-reproductive." Cuz we're talking about abortion. Burn baby, burn. What is the word? Sterile? Let's see ... re, pro, duce. From "produce," a section of a supermarket; see "duct," from the Latin, ducere, to lead (c.f. Il Duce, a one-time leader of Italy); "product," to lead forth ... re pro duct, to do so again, generationally, from "generation": the process of creation (c.f. Genesis). "Abort": to interrupt a process. "Process," from the Latin processus, a going forward, root, cedere, to yield, surrender. See "pro-choice," favoring the negative; antonym: "pro-life," opposed to the right to choose.

So that's that. Clarity has been achieved. I feel so much lighter now that I've opened my mind. It was getting crowded in there, what with all those trapped words.

And on The Center's webpage we find the satisfied smile of a lovely young woman of color,

content in the memory of a job well-done. Minorities after all are the major beneficiaries of the right to choose reproductive services. Oh! LOL! Minorities are the majority!!! Haha! That's funny. If there were more of them, they'd be majorities! Hm. I wonder why there's not more of them. It's a puzzlement, a Mystery Rite to Choose, git it? Almost like somebody doesn't want too many of them, these minorities. But that would be racist, and we know who the racists are.

And The Center's webpage also had a cartoon caption contest, and here's a winner:

Right on, man. Word. Cuz the Man is so like that. Ho! Stop, in the name of the Law! Unhand that damsel, you blackguard! Man, that Perry and all those Republicans. More like, um, ReFascisticans. Yeah.

Oh! That cartoon's by Jack Chen! I wonder if it's the same Jack Chen who did such stellar work for the Peking Review (one, two) back in the mid-60s.

See how "Uncle" Sam (the United States) is making that little man jump through hoops? Looks Irish. Imperialistically oppressing Ireland. Looks like Jack got the dollar sign backwards, but he probably didn't really speak English so much in those days. Oh! It's John Bull! Ha ha. Who's the imperialist now, little man?

And here's the Reptile of the North, oppressing Latin America in the 60s. Take that, and that, Serpent! Those gringos are always trying to sneak into the south. Here's a video about Jack Chen, CIA agent who follows the case for six years...!

Babe is hot. Jack must be a double agent, secretly fighting for the People's Republic and Justice for the Common Man and Women's Rights.

Is Jack still alive, fighting the good fight? Must be. Keep on truckin', comrade. You rock for an old dude.

And here's another The Center cartoon (not by Jack though) caption winner:

Oh, that's rich, baby, rich. Situation comedy, dude. Laughter is the best medicine. You can't make this stuff up. So. When you're a winner you're a winner. Wit like this, it's, um, cutting.

Just thought I'd share my new perspective. Death to the unwanted fœti! We shall overcome their persistent and inconvenient impositions and so-called "lives". Nothing but organized mucus. Fuck 'em.

J

JK

The untoward consequences of my intemperate lifestyle have overtaken me, and Monday night I had a sore throat, and yesterday I was a bit shaky and fevered, and today I'm a tad drippy. What ever shall tomorrow bring? Yep, I stay up all night partying with my chicks. Sunday morning around 7 AM I snorted a punchbowl of cocaine and threw a credenza out a tenth story window. Then I went to Burger King and ordered 11 raw paddies brought to my table by a Brazilian hooker. I screamed at the guy, "That's right sucka, I WANT IT MY WAY!" Then I pulled out my wang and peed into the potted plant ... well, mostly down my leg. So? I do what I want.

Usually, about once a year, I feel it coming, and just get more sleep and tighten up my diet. This year it came too fast. Raspy voice Monday, sore throat Monday night, and there it was. Gotta get more sleep.

It's coming toward the end of the year now, and I was giving some thought to a charity, International Children's Fund. Very efficient, doing what needs to be done. Then I thought it might be nice to sponsor a child, and went looking for an organization. Save the Children is highly ranked, but I looked them up on Wikipedia and guess what? Closely associated with Planned Parenthood, the world's largest provider of abortion services.

Also closely tied to Population Action International, mission statement, to "ensure that every person has the right and access to sexual and reproductive health, so that humanity and the natural environment can exist in balance with fewer people living in poverty." You know, poverty, cured by fewer people.

Also closely tied to The Center for Reproductive Rights, "a global human rights organization that uses constitutional and international law to secure women's right to an abortion in over 45 countries." Why, not long ago the Center "expanded human rights to its work in the United States. It is now documenting U.S. rights violations through fact-finding reports and holding the U.S. accountable before U.N. bodies that monitor compliance with international treaty obligations."

You might very well call it toxic. I couldn't possibly comment. But. Save Only the Born Children. No thanks. I prefer that humans be killed for capital crimes, rather than for being inconvenient.

Then I looked up World Vision. Again, high ranking, but a bit shady in their advertising, as I see it. No actual sponsorship of a child -- they do communities. That's great, but don't manipulate.

Then I looked at Compassion International. Slightly less efficient, in their higher advertising budget and administrative costs. But I couldn't find any ethical issue, and I figure that's, like, the cost of doing business -- burn 3% extra of a donation, to buy something that gets the job done.

I don't care much about humanity in general. Individuals matter. So they've got a bunch of pages of kids waiting for sponsors. All over the world, all ages. Well it's a big world. Who to choose? It could break your heart. My people, the Scandinavians, they're doing fine. Then I thought, I've got a buddy, let's look at his people. His wife is Laotian: a country not listed. Okay, Thailand then, right next door. Boy, cuz he has boys. Ages 6 to 9, cuz his boys are 6 and 9. And they're all so cute and sweet. Some waiting for over six months. Break your heart. And I figured, the ones with AIDS, or who are crippled, well, they'll get sponsors. After all, we're Americans. So I picked a healthy little six year old. Oh, here:

Well. What a horrible place the world is. I mean, there are actually highly ranked charitable organizations that promise to save children, but support abortion. All you can do is shake your head. What is there to be done? Yet as long as we have the means, something must be done. A small thing, but necessary. So what is it, a 12 year commitment? All of my neckties are more than 12 years old.

When we have the means, generosity is not a virtue, but a duty. Thus, it's not even generosity. As I say, I have a buddy, and for that I count myself blessed. How do I merit kindness? Well, we don't deserve kindness. We deserve justice. But how is the world to be saved? Call it compassion, international. The world is redeemed through kindness.

No.

I am redeemed through kindness.

J

Fortune

Sorry, but somehow it just isn't funny to me. The obvious jokes won't do, for some reason. Sarcasm seems inappropriate, and even bitterness toward God, mankind, parents, society -- it just seems like silence is the most appropriate response. What else is there? We see, and we speak or we are silent.

Saini, 25 miles east of New Delhi, India. The little girl, aged one month, is named Lali, meaning "red". The condition is called craniofacial duplication, or diprosopus, and is exceedingly rare, but well documented.

Such infants can have surprising functionality. Little Lali eats with both mouths, and all four eyes blink at the same time. Says the mother, Shushma Kumar Singh, "She's fed through one mouth and sucks her thumb with the other. We use whichever mouth is free to feed her."

Her parents have refused any special medical treatment for the baby.


Doctors in New Delhi wanted to take a CT scan to determine the state of the infant's internal organs. The father, Vinod Kumar Singh, declined the offer. "I don't feel the need of that at this stage as my daughter is behaving like a normal child, posing no problems," he says. "My baby is fine." Singh, 23, is a poor farm worker, married in February of 2007. The village doctor, Brigdal Nagar, has grown exasperated with reporters. "She is very normal," the doctor once shouted, wagging a finger and shoving the father aside. "We don't need the media here. She's not an abnormal baby. It's just that she has two faces. And she's living a very normal life. And if she dies in the future, it's as God wishes."

The parents view her as an incarnation of the Hindu goddess of power, Shakti, or alternatively as Durga, the fiery three-eyed deity of valor. They have installed loudspeakers outside their home, that blare religious hymns all day.

"Lali is God's gift to us," says Jaipal Singh of the local village council. "She has brought fame to our village." Head of the council is Daulat Ram, who hopes for a temple to Durga. "I am writing to the state government to provide money to build the temple and help the parents look after their daughter." The crowds of pilgrims have dwindled, however, and local curiosity seems to have been sated. Worshipers are rare.


On the other hand, consider Lakshmi, here aged 2, of the state of Bahir, India. Analogous situation. Born with four arms and four legs, remnants of a parasitic twin, anacephalic.

Sometimes babies are born with only one body, and two brains.

An Egyptian girl, Manar Maged, victim of carniopagus parasiticus. The identical twin, unnamed, although having no body of her own could still smile, blink, look around and sleep independently, with a reportedly fully functional brain. Manar died of a brain infection after the twin was removed. Likewise with Rebeca Martinez of the Dominican Republic,

who bled to death after a corrective operation.

As for Lakshmi, surgeons have removed the limbs, transplanted a functioning kidney, and reconstructed the child's pelvis.


After recovering from the 27 hour surgery, Lakshmi was able to stand for the first time in her life, "which is remarkable," said chief surgeon Sharan Patil.

She was taken back to her rural village in eastern Bihar, where, earlier, she had been worshipped by some Hindus as an incarnation of the eponymous four-armed goddess of grace and fortune. After two years, however, she started going to school. No ... she started walking to school.

She has developed scoliosis, which may deform and cripple her. She has other problems as well -- no buttocks, bladder and intestinal issues, abnormal nerve connections to her spine, pelvic malformations. When she walks, it hurts.

But she walks.

What a pretty little girl.

J