Sunday, March 21, 2004

<Pagan> 

Dr. Menlo

I was able to sneak a quik pic of my paramour, Dr. M., the other nite while we were in the U-District, waiting for the Metro. He doesn't know I'm posting this, so we'll see how long this post sticks. Not only is he one of the most beautiful human beings that I have ever had the honor to know, he is definitely one of the most talented.

Manifesto in Hypertext
By Dr. Menlo

Everything is easy in retrospect. It's easier at least--what was wrong, what was right. No, wait, this always changes per age . . . hm, here is the truth: history both cycles and evolves. Hope springs eternal, baby.

Anyway--there has been one universal struggle going on--the power of man and his mind and his own, individual superb abilities to manage himself and his own affairs . . . against the tyranny of those who wish to control others solely for the purpose of furthering their own material advantage. This is the fight, traditionally, of the underdog vs. the giant. Of Robin Hood vs. the crooked rich. Of Socrates spreading the world and paying with his death. Of David vs. Goliath. As the women vs. the men who would suffer (suffrage?) them, as the blacks who were whipped and chained vs. their white American masters, as the powderkeg of the massive young getting together to just say no to 58,000 American kids killed for no good reason, not to mention all the Vietnamese and their neighborhood, too . . . and now, there is the greatest battle of all: the people of the world vs. the corporations and tyrannies who control it. It's about globalism all right--about the globalism of the world by the people who live in it, rather than those who would exploit it.

This is the present state of the eternal revolution that has been going on since human society began. Not everyone immediately gets this. But they will. Be there first: Get there now.

It will not look like any revolution that has come before, as much as they tell you that. This is the newest--and it will be the greatest--nonviolent truly global revolution there ever was. (The people, anyway, would like for it to be nonviolent. The American/global police state has other ideas.)

So long as I presently know, the internet was first used to organize revolution in East Timor. Without the internet, the success in Seattle--nay, the birthplace nascent of this modern badass movement--would not have been so meta.

This learning curve will only improve. Support the open access movement: buy a friend a computer. More will happen in this direction. This energy is pure. It will win out, no matter how many heads they bash against the sidewalk, no matter how many people they beat up and jail, no matter how many lies the corporate media keeps turning over and over in their tacky glitterboxes to the world--this is the way our society will evolve: fighting for human rights, liberty and justice for the people and the ecosystems they live in all over the world, and goddamn well nigh beyond. Or die trying. Zapata: "I would rather die on my feet than live on my knees." So would Patrick fucking Henry. And Thomas Jefferson, too?

But it doesn't have to be like that. More likely, the revolution will take place behind that screen you're presently looking at--and here's to ya kid--sitting out there in the lone and reading your computer: the future of the universe is in your hands. And let me ask you this: what takes more intelligence, really--making a living offa fucking things up or producing a legacy out of creating something new that will leave your cerebral-powered birthmark on the ass of this mind-boggling metaverse we all now presently share? Time magazine--as much as it sucks--gave it's man of the century award to Albert Einstein, not Ronald Reagan.

Be a genius, not a stomper of ants.

And log on to saving the world today.

[This manifesto was originally published in Andrei Codrescu's Exquisite Corpse, as well as Jason Lubyk's New World Disorder Magazine.]

</Pagan> <!--5:11 PM-->

<Pagan> 

japattack

(via)

<Pagan> 

Two Dollar Poem

There was a lovely young man that I met the other day on Broadway. He had dark curly hair, light eyes, and braces. He was standing next to an old guitar, holding some papers and called out to me as I approached.

"Hi, my name's Noah. I'm a singer/songwriter from Boston and . . ."

I stop.

"Oh, thank you so much for stopping. I really appreciate it. I've written some poems and I was wondering if you'd like to buy one?"

"Sure, how much?"

"Whatever you'd like to give."

I walk down this street every night after work and during that daily trip I must get hit up for money at least five times. Normally, I'll smile and politely demur, while on the inside, I am alternately saddened and irritated about having to make my way through what amounts to a gauntlet every day. Of course I am compassionate toward the homeless, but the kids on this particular street are largely young and punky and in almost no way evocative of sympathy--at least the kind of sympathy that would entail me stopping and giving then and there.

But this kid, he looked fresh to the streets; he was healthy, enthusastic, and seemed sincerely sweet. He was different. I wanted to help.

I looked through my purse and realized I only had a couple of dollars and I think, what an insult.

"Is two dollars O.K.?"

"Sure!" he says, beaming.

I hand him the two dollars and he hands me the poem.

"Thank you so much," he says, stuffing the money into his pocket.

"Good luck," I say and I walk around the corner out of view.

I read the poem as I walk home. It is a single photocopied piece of paper with text only on one side, surrounded by doodles. The central poem goes like this:

"Have A Mind And Do Not Be Blind! Give Me Clothes Give Me Shelter, Had A Chance Should Have Felt Her. Now I'm Lonely Now I'm Cold, I Can't Believe The Lies You've Told. Step From Darkness-In To Light, You Don't Love Me You Have That Right. En-Amored Heart There's Pain To Follow When I Awake Alone Tomorrow."

He's no Bukowski, but the kid has heart.

</Pagan> <!--4:19 PM-->