Mind of Mansel: Tribal Sufferings on American Highways

Bleak understandings as the country spirals off camera. The sermon hasn't been heard and the traffic camera that caught the beheading transferred the image to the hovering news helicopter by mistake and the family of the victim is now doing public service two mile markers down for smashing the front door of the station.

They found out by changing the channel moments after the news crew burst into their small apartment. Strange enough to be true, horrific.

Campaign donors disguised as pederasts are moving through the lobbies of the some of the finest hotels in our country. Their influence can be utilized by both parties and the controling interest is transferred through newsprint in passable spanish.

The kitchen staff of any Hilton Hotel on the east coast of america in the sixties and seventies could name for you any underage starlet who moved through the steam of vegetables and noodles to the arms of donors and politicians. It would always be on a reserved floor, the button you couldn't push because the elevator operator, a tired and jaded African-American who had seen it and heard it wouldn't allow you to under threat of subpoena or violence.

The largest expose of our times has still not been written. The dark paths cut across the streets, highways and yards of New Hampshire for the last fifty years in this time of information. One can imagine databases on every resident of New Hampshire auctioned off every four years for the price of first born. Places like Sugar Grove in West Virginia who listen to every phone call in America and every email and blog entry like this one house individuals that if they were to ever truly speak on the record would certianly be admitting to highs crimes against humanity.

The watch fiends of this new century are spoiled like jackels at a Revelation book signing in the Cambodian jungle. Fear emanates from these narrow passages and our childrens children will lie across the ditches of hell to keep the peace while the jackels nip at their heels. Our only hope is to move to the country and give them the cities.

- Chris Mansel

Mind of Mansel: In response to Jake in response to Random on Lou Dobbs

In response to Jake's letter I came across a letter of Hunter S. Thompson's to Charles Kuralt from March 1, 1965.

The letter appears in The Proud Highway: Saga Of A Desperate Southern Gentleman 1955-1967.

"I have a definite suspicion that most minds in this country's power structure view the poor as Mistah Kurtz in Heart of Darkness viewed the Congo natives: "Exterminate the brutes!" Which would not bother me so much were it not that I'm one of the poor."

I have said for years that Poverty Knows No Color. When you start thinking you are better than others, smarter than others you are reeling down a slippery slope of intestines that look errily familiar. The sharks swarm on the land and the blood in the water is coming from the pens that were used to sign bills into law during every administration from Washington to the current Bush. Today's consequences are tomorrow's convictions.

What to say about Mr. Dobbs, in a perfect world, the CNN scrawl would say, Mistah Dobbs...he dead.

- Chris Mansel

RE: Bush the Irrelevant and Other Concerns

Dear Mr. Random:

I read your worthy article, "Bush the Irrelevant: Alone in His Tower" (Dissident Voice, July 28th, 2007) so I am writing to you. A few comments:

"... if it were in the father's power to disown the presidency of the son, he would do so for the son has shamed the family and laid waste to the Bush legacy just as he has shamed the nation and its legacy in the world..."

---> And yet George Sr., apparently some of the others in the Bush family, and some of their business acquaintances have made a LOT more money thanks to his son's administration. If the son messed up such that they lost that money... ooh, THEN you'd probably see some criticism of Dubya that hurt!

And another, longer one:Like you, I despise this administration, but for another reason as well - a reason that you apparently are ignorant of. (I state this because you wrote, "... No, the Al Qaeda terrorists that killed Americans on 9/11 are still in the mountains of Afghanistan and Pakistan - our sometime ally."). Actually, it's HIGHLY doubtful that it was "Al Qaeda terrorists" behind those attacks. In actuality, the Bush administration higher-ups (Cheney is a very probable suspect), in collusion with top brass at the Pentagon, and probably certain elements of the Israeli government, were almost certainly behind the attacks of 9/11. Also, bin Laden is reportedly long dead.

I recommend you read David Ray Griffin's books, which are well-reasoned and encompass much of what happened without overwhelming the reader with details. A very good 'first step' is "The New Pearl Harbor - Disturbing Questions about the Bush Administration and 9/11 (Updated Edition with a new afterword)"; 2004- Olive Branch Press. ISBN 1-56656-552-9. It's calm, logical & doesn't exaggerate.

Also, his follow-up book, "The 9/ 11 Commission Report: Omissions and Distortions", "... provides excellent analysis of the commission's report, clearly demonstrating that the commission's account of 9/11 was written to clear the Pentagon, White House and Justice Department of any wrongdoing." (quoted from: www.cooperativeresearch.org/project.jsp?project=911_project)Oh, and www.cooperativeresearch.org (the very worthy site just above) likely has the most complete, fact-based 9/11 Timeline available anywhere. See: www.cooperativeresearch.org/project.jsp?project=911_project. Other interesting reads:
"9/11 Synthetic Terror - MADE IN USA" , by Webster G.Tarpley;

"Crossing the Rubicon: The Decline of the American Empire at the End of the Age of Oil ", by Catherine Austin Fitts (Foreword), Michael C. Ruppert; www.fromthewilderness.com/free/ww3/071204_final_fraud.shtml. www.911citizenswatch.org/modules.php?op=modload&name=News&file=article&sid=336.

"The Final Fraud: 9/11 Commission closes its doors to the public; Cover-Up Complete" By Michael KaneWe must not forgot that horrific day. I now firmly believe that the attacks were at least somewhat orchestrated by the higher-ups in this Machiavellian administration, together with some in the Pentagon. Of course, not everyone in the administration nor in the Pentagon would have been involved. It appears that the prime suspects are:

* "Tricky Dick" Cheney, the incredibly greedy actual "President";

* Rumsfeld (who predicted the 3rd plane (missile?) attack on the Pentagon - remarkable clairvoyance from a guy who's been quite lacking in foresight when it comes to Iraq, etc.);

* Paul Wolfowitz (a true 'chicken hawk', warmonger, and seeming Israel-firster (Zionist), who is now - guess what? -back at AEI ...

* George H.W. Bush, who reportedly had a late-night discussion with Cheney in the White House on 9/10/2001; Just a coincidence??

* Air Force Generals Richard Myers & Ralph Eberhart; and probably others.

BTW, a hypothesis about 'Dubya' (in Tarpley's book, pp. 273-5): George W. Bush was almost certainly not involved in the planning, but may have avoided being assassinated {on the morning of 9/11, by some 'reporters' sent to 'interview' him} by acquiescing to the plot. Likely he was told what the planners felt he needed to know, and as a result he didn't look surprised in the Emma E. Booker Elementary School in Sarasota, Florida when he was told of the second plane hitting the WTC by WH Chief of Staff Card, and didn't panic at all (indeed, he hardly reacted at all, and even dawdled around, having a good chat with the people in attendance - after finishing reading about the pet goat!).

**On another front, some foreign nations' spy networks were possibly involved, to some extent. For instance, Israel's Mossad is highly suspect, Pakistan's Intelligence service is possible, and perhaps the UK's intelligence service was involved as well. Other countries - Russia, France, Germany, etc. - which attempted to warn us that something was up are seemingly innocent of involvement.

Well, I hope this email is informative for you. Please be careful out there... another 'false flag' terrorist attack (maybe for this summer) has been warned aboutby at least three well-known Americans. All the best...I'm fortunate that I now live abroad...

Peace & Justice, Ray Hrycko

The Beatlicks: A Short Story by Joe Speer

[A new short story and we just finished a short film - 11 minutes - strong imagry and great soundtrack including wZ when the flute meets the sea - peace, Joe]

Setting Sun

JJ drove toward the setting sun when he passed a stalled car. He pulled over to the side of the road and backed up to where a man was standing. JJ opened the door and the man approached.

“I’m glad you stopped," Algernon said. "My car went kaput. I stepped on the gas but it didn’t do any good so I pulled off the road."

JJ fixed a broken fuel line and gave Algernon a thumbs up. He walked away as Algernon shouted.

“Hey, where are you going? How much do I owe you?”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Listen, I don’t live far from here. Why don’t you stop by for a visit?”

“Sounds good,” JJ said.

JJ followed Algernon off onto a dirt road back to a remote homestead.

On the porch sat an old man in a rocking chair with overalls tucked into his cowboy boots. As the two men approached the old house, Algernon clued JJ, “That’s my grandfather, Mr. Lucero. He doesn’t see very well. He likes to sit out on the porch and wait for the sunset. We have to describe it to him. He likes to tell stories about the old days on the railroad.” Introductions were made and Algernon slipped off to gather refreshments as JJ found a chair near the old man.

“How’s the sun looking now?” Mr. Lucero asked.

“The sky looks like a well used coloring book,” JJ said.

“I dreamed about my brother Cash last night," Mr Lucero said. "He spent a lot of time in and out of jail with one hitch of several years in the pen. He met an old man in the lockup that was a whiz at cards. He liked my brother and taught him all his card tricks. They spent hours everyday handling cards. My brother became quite proficient, quick and deft.

“When Cash got out he spent all his time at the card table. And he won most of the time. He learned about marked decks and got a little group of gamblers together. They worked the camps along the railroad or the wheatfields, or where ever a lot of men with money were gathered. They spread out, each one getting into a different card game. They won most of the time. Then late at night they would meet at a hotel room and split the take.

“Cash would disappear for long periods of time then suddenly turn up and leech off Mother. He was loaded with money but never gave us anything. Instead he’d get drunk and buy his companionship. After his last binge he hung around the house for days and got on Mother’s nerves.

“He tried to come up with some quick claim deed so he could sell her property. When I found out about it I ran him off. He finally died passed out on the tracks when a train ran over him in the dark. I felt guilty about it for a long time. Maybe if we had tried to reabilitate him. How’s the sun now?” Grandpa asked. Algernon responded out of habit as he returned to the porch with cold Tecate and lime.

“It’s half gone, below the horizon, Grandpa.”

“Your grandfather told me a story about his brother,” JJ said. “I have a brother who is a baseball umpire. He got me interested in baseball because he was always talking about it. I went to a few games with him and just watched. Then I started to practice by myself. I collected a pile of rocks and laid out a playing field in the empty lot next to our house. I had a cracked baseball bat, a castoff from the Little Leaguers. I tossed rocks up in the air and tried to hit them over the far fence. It was frustrating at first because I would swing and miss. With daily practice I got better. People saw me in my imaginary games and called me “rockhead".

“I had two imaginary teams with some of the best players that ever lived on my lineup. There was Ty Cobb and Willie Mays. I got to where I could hit a rock over the fence almost every time. I could also hit the rock in different directions, like down the right field line. Mother was the only person who understood my devotion to these imaginary games. She watched me from the window sometimes. She never interrupted me while I was playing a game. My team won most of the time and I would come inside sweating and smiling. Mother smiled, too.

“I went with my brother once to a pickup game. They came up one man short and asked me to fill in. I told them I hadn’t played a real game before. But they didn’t care. Told me to come on and play. Fill out the roster.

“My brother was behind the plate and called me out on strikes my first time up. I came to bat in the bottom of the ninth. We were behind by two runs. There were two outs and two on when I stepped into the batter’s box. I felt a new pressure that I had not experienced hitting rocks. My teammates were depending on me. The count was three and two when the pitcher served me up a high fast ball. I saw a rock falling through the air. I saw the picket fence in the backyard and thought about my imaginary teammates. I concentrated every muscle on the point where the bat met the ball over home plate and sent it with great force over the left fielder’s head. They told me later that my home run had set a record, a real tape job. When Mother heard about it she just smiled and nodded. I quit hitting rocks after that game. On that one showing I had an offer to try out for another team. But I felt my fantasies had been realized and I was free to pursue other interests.”

“Where’s the sun now,” Grandpa asked?

"Gone down," JJ said. "The lightshow is over."

"You can sleep here," Algernon said. "We have an extra room."

"Sounds good."

We all slept soundly.

Joe Speer

Jake's Word: Deport Dobbs

[RE: Jazzman Chronicle: Deport Lou Dobbs -- Why CNN is Worse than Fox]

Another timely, important piece. We're all sick of Lou Dobbs, for any number of reasons, but primarily because he won't leave the immigration issue alone, or even give other, equally important issues the same air time.

Something else I've noticed in the news generally is that where once politicians and media (is there any difference?) once spoke of the poor, now they speak of the middle class. When John Edwards recently spent a day or two talking about the poor FOX News promptly asked the question that was on the mind of every conservative in the county - Is discussion of issues regarding the poor socialist? By labeling any concern for the poor as socialist they dismissed the poor from the agenda entirely. The poor were already of little concern because most of them don't vote, those that do vote are divided, and none of them contribute significant amounts of money to political campaigns. Welcome back to the gilded age when things were right with America. Corporations and their ultra-wealthy owners ran the government, the poor had no rights and certainly no assistance from the government, and all good Americans were supposed to get rich or die trying. In light of all this it's important to recognize the new poor, namely, the middle class. It's PC to lament the fate of the middle class, but this is only the corporate media's way of bidding them a fond farewell while assuaging their own consciences. In a world where wealth is the only, true moral value, those with the most wealth are the noblest citizens. Those with little or no wealth are a weight to the system and should be discarded from the concerns of the nation, and too bad they can't all be deported for failing to succeed.

Mind of Mansel: Burn the Carcass at Half-Mast

As I. Lewis Scooter Libby's plane dips its wing in triumph as it leaves american waters and heads into the darkness towards havana, the nation can rest well and awaken to celebrate the nation's holiday this fourth of July and know that the stable environment once enjoyed in the nation's capitol has been wretched onto the floor of a DC-10 as storm clouds gather at 5,000 feet.

Personal power unchecked in the Nixon administration and fueled by the confusion and wrath of a bitter jungle battle in Vietnam sent plumbers to jail, testimony to the floor of the house, once determined and clear headed journalists to the parking garages of the collected unconscious of an american public that now shrieks at staffers for more oily residue over their person as they await not a better tee time but a better table at the hanging.

Libby now downing a few drinks and stroking the side of his laptop and composing emails to the editor of the Washington Times shrugs off a call from Fred Dalton Thompson who wants him to consult on his campaign of dirty tricks before it has officially kicked in. Thompson said, "Surely, Scooter, surely you gotta know a few Puerto Ricans who slobbered over Bill in a steak house john somewhere in Virginia." Scruples run deep for Scooter who enjoys connections straight up the biker chain to Dick Cheney and down to Rupert Murdoch.

- Chris Mansel

Mind of Mansel: Obituaries In The Passing Lane

How long have I been dead? You could theorize that I was never born. I was born after the Tet offensive in Vietnam, during the protests against the war in Vietnam, in a time of assainations, and during this time we were supplying weapons and training the very countries we would fight later in the so-called global war on terror. Has my generation had a chance to grow in a time of peace? If you think there has been any extended time of peace at all during the time of the late sixties till present day war in Iraq then you are sadly naive and it is that kind of naive voter who throws america into the line of fire.

Turn your back on Afghanistan and you process the executions of american soldiers in iraq at an alarming rate. To try and outlast, to try and kill off an idea, an idea based on religion, has never worked nor will it ever work. To surround yourself with the same kind of fervor you are fighting against sends the signal of imminent disaster.


- Chris Mansel

Mind of Mansel: American I.E.D.'s

Burn the wheel and roll it over the graves, exhaust the I.E.D.'s but wait is this american soil? How far into the future can this be? How far off? Would the N.R.A. arm themselves against their own? Would they seek the resources of Mexico in a state of crisis?

What brought terror to our shores in 2001? As Noam Chomsky says, read the public record. The public record is scary enough, like any theory built on video evidence the rest isn't too difficult to amass. Sure you'll be called a bunch of scary names and maybe even driven off to an abandoned warehouse and shot full of something you couldn't even pronounce even if you were a registered Republican (but wait some of them don't believe the cover story) but it's ok, really it is, you're not alone.

But like I asked at the beginning: how far off are I.E.D.'s from the american shores? When was the last time you read your Civil Rights history? Seriously, know your history. IT MIGHT DO YOU SOME GOOD.

- Chris Mansel


They made a wasteland and called it peace.

- Tacitus

Mind of Mansel: Don't You Ever Get Downtown?

A sad day at the Gates of Hell as Dick Cheney and Henry Kissinger have died on the same day. The devil addresses the two men and tells them the sad news. He only has enough space that day for one more soul to torment. If they go up to heaven they will have to share a bed with Bill Clinton and have breakfest served to them in bed each morning for eternty by a scantily clad Gloria Steinman (sic).

So it is left to Kissinger and Cheney to prove which of them is the worst person. They are allowed to use props and if they are drawn into a corner they can use the call a friend feature. In the end Cheney's pictures of Iraqi children being burned alive are no match for the twenty seven dump trucks of documents Kissinger has driven in and the witness testimonies. He even offers to call several now deceased dictators and one in particular, a small man named Uncle Ho standing next to the gate with his arms folded against his chest who works in the kitchen.

Cheney must return to earth for another life as Ann Coulter BDSM partner without the use of his arms and legs and a liberal streak a country mile wide.

- Chris Mansel

[christophermansel@hotmail.com]

Jake's Word RE: Bloomberg

[a response to the Jazzman Chronicle "Bloomberg: Wrong Man, Right Idea"]

Absolutely, literally, on the money!

The nation-state is dissolving and being replaced by corporate feudalism. This is pretty much the future that Philip K. Dick, William Gibson, and William Burroughs envisioned. At the time they wrote it seemed dystopic, dark, but still romantic fiction - a possible future. Turns out they were prophets with stunning accuracy. The solutions they suggested were not democratic, but anarchic. I am hoping that there is still a chance for democratic change, but that would require that the populace awake from the deep video dream.  Only great discomfort on a massive scale would wake them. The feudal lords aren't likely to allow that to happen. That volume of Emma Goldman on my shelf looks increasingly attractive.

Rave on,
Jake

(Jake Berry is the author of Brambu Drezi and other works of contemporary genius)

Mind of Mansel: On Account Of

Translate the Constitution into any language on earth and I am sure more than a few laws would have to be re-written. Imagine the section on liberty being translated into some of the little known languages of the amazon and suddenly life inside our borders changes dramatically. Imagine the right to free speech being changed into the right to listen. Imagine having to try and explain why you need amendments in the first place.

- Chris Mansel

"Writers imagine that they cull stories from the world."
- Arundhati Roy

Mind of Mansel: Listening Posts

Iraq, the grim reminder of foreign policy based upon a racist ideal. When in history has hate ever ended without overwhelming bloodshed of innocent lives? The war in Iraq is based upon more than oil, more than greed; read through the rhetoric and you'll find despair. There is no Lombardiesque speech underlying the message. When you see an interview with those in the Bush administration, the true believers that are still in their employ, you can sense that even in their cultish period of determination there is a craziness bleeding through, an ominous aftermath you can see in the eyes of the true believer. You can almost see how they will fall. You can almost hear the screams at the Fox Network, "W is Great, W is Great!" the voices echoing down into the street just before they dispense another report of misinformation.

- Chris Mansel

"Hushed in grim repose, expects its evening prey."
- Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Mind of Mansel: Kick out the Jams

"Kick out the jams Kissinger baby!" - George W. Bush

The president appears to be boarding Air Force One until you realize the blip reflecting against the metal building across the tarmac. Could it be a GOP reunion of the Capricorn One landing or a Weapons of Mass Destruction anniversary of some sorts? No, it's just another beer run to the Crawford, Texas, ranch and isn't it a good time for it? I mean seriously citizens of the United States, the man lost his watch that was given to his grandfather by the great Karl Rove idol Nazi propaganda Minister Himmler. So cut the guy a little slack.

So he is flying coach to Crawford, Texas, and tasting those wonderful nuts we all love on the great airline that is Southwest. He'll land in Houston and have to take a range rover from there but it'll be stocked with beer and the interior is done up in one of those pants suits Condi wears so just draw your own mental picture ok?

Enough said.


- Chris Mansel

The Right Wing Colonoscopy (The Polyps, The Scars, The Gas, Oh My)

While the right-wing immortalizes Fred Dalton Thompson and now pisses on the mere distant memory of McCain and the ol' straw boys round the bucket, they sight Thompson's height at 6'6 except for ol' puppy blood himself Robert Novak who in his column cited Thompson at 6'7. Now you can draw your own conclusion why Novak cared to give Thompson that extra inch, but pardon the pun, I'll take a stab at it....

Maybe Novak has a thing for sailors like Genet or Capote and after seeing Thompson in that movie as an Admiral (rear admiral?) he just got overwhelmed? Seriously, James Carville's bald head wasn't enough for Novak, neither was Tucker Carlson's cute little bow tie so who knows maybe Novak has been waiting for just such an event since Fred Dalton Thompson kicked country rag-o-muffin Lorrie Morgan to the curb.

- Chris Mansel


"The sun comes forth, and many reptiles spawn."

- Percy Bysshe Shelley

The Democratic Debate: Scoring the Contenders

RANDOM JACK: DISSEMINATE FREELY.

By Jack Random


While it is difficult to call the rhetorical exchange that took place in New Hampshire tonight (June 3, 2007) a debate, I will accept the term as a convention. Hosted by CNN, the infamous promoter of mainstream politics, it featured two hours of roaming commentary by eight candidates, six of whom can be considered contenders for the Democratic presidential nomination (the remaining two serving as agent provocateurs).

It may seem foolish to rank the candidates according to their performance but it is no less foolish to listen to the absurd post-debate spin of pundits and politicos. My rankings are based on substance rather than style, though it should be noted that the only legitimate candidate that showed real passion was a surprisingly impassioned Senator Joe Biden. Senator John Edwards would come in second on style with Senators Obama, Clinton and Richardson losing style points for their usual bland approach to reasoned discourse.

Given a distinctly progressive-populist-antiwar-libertarian bias, I ranked the candidates on twenty topics, with a maximum score of two and a minimum score of minus one.

Accordingly, the winner of the June 3 Democratic Presidential Debate was clearly Bill Richardson, Governor of New Mexico. The rankings are as follows:

GOVERNOR BILL RICHARDSON: 14. Positive scores on Iraq (2 points for the call to de-authorize the war), Immigration, Health Care, Gay Rights, Energy Policy (2), Environment (2), Veterans Care, Darfur, Education and the Budget. No negative scores.

FORMER SENATOR JOHN EDWARDS: 10. Positives on Iraq (2), Health Care (2), Energy (2), Iran, Pakistan, Darfur, Tax Policy and Poverty. Negative on Gay Rights (something about states rights).

SENATOR CHRIS DODD: 9. Positives on Iraq, Immigration, Energy Policy (2), Environment, Military Spending, Human Rights, Military Draft, Education, and the Budget. Negative on Darfur (bizarre objection to boycotting the Chinese Olympics).

CONGRESSMAN DENNIS KUCINICH: 8. Positives on Iraq (2), Health Care (2), Assassination Policy (what a loopy question on taking out Osama bin Laden), Trade Policy (2) and the Budget.

SENATOR JOE BIDEN: 5. Positives on Energy Policy, Environment, Iran, Darfur (2), and Election Reform. Negative on Iraq (defended his vote to fund the war).

SENATOR BARRACK OBAMA: 5. Positives on Iraq, Immigration, Health Care, Veterans Care, Pakistan, Darfur and Tax Policy. Negatives on Military Spending and Assassination Policy (too quick to let civilians die in a hypothetical strike on Osama bin Laden).

FORMER SENATOR MIKE GRAVEL: 5. Positives on Iraq (2), Energy Policy, Environment, and Military Spending. (Gravel disappeared in the second hour.)

SENATOR HILLARY CLINTON: 1. Positives on Health Care, Hypothetical Assassination of OBL, Tax Policy and the Budget. Negatives on Iraq (equivocal as always), Iran and Pakistan (she believes she must be perceived as McCain tough).

CNN: Zero for wasting our time with irrelevant questions and for not bringing up Afghanistan, Lebanon, Palestine, Global Warming, New Orleans, Poverty, Wage Decline, Individual Debt, Social Security, Human Rights, Civil Liberties, No Child Left Behind or Fair Trade. What planet on they living on?

For the record, as an independent Green Party member, I have no horse in this race but I think it fair to conclude that the overall winner was Senator Edwards. Governor Richardson has policy but he does not have the flair and commanding presence to win a national election – except as vice president.

In my estimation, Senators Clinton and Obama are both suffering from the equivocation disease that affects those who perceive themselves as leaders of the pack. Hillary has never shown the kind of passion that inspires. Obama seems to have lost the magic he displayed on the floor of the last Democratic convention.

Would anyone in this group make a good president? Would anyone succeed in ending the Iraq war, resolving the crisis in Afghanistan, reverse criminal policies on pollution, civil liberties and human rights? Would anyone really establish universal health care? Would anyone take on the critical issue of trade policy?

Discounting Kucinich, sadly, it is unlikely. Then again, would anyone be worse than what we have today?

Vote Independent. End the war.


JACK RANDOM IS THE AUTHOR OF THE JAZZMAN CHRONICLES (CROW DOG PRESS) AND GHOST DANCE INSURRECTION (DRY BONES PRESS). THE CHRONICLES HAVE APPEARED ON THE ALBION MONITOR, PEACE-EARTH-JUSTICE, THE NATIONAL FREE PRESS, PACIFIC FREE PRESS, LEFTWARD, DISSIDENT VOICE AND COUNTERPUNCH.

Mind of Mansel: Falwell & Lords of Discipline

The Lords of Discipline and The Mothers of Invention

Imagine a multi-ethnic Green Zone, forces united in freedom, much less fries all banded together in blood and torutre cartoons, american and Iraqi, all having to show their I.D. cards to prove thier americanism.

Imagine a rash of wild fires now dying out in Florida and Georgia now that Jerry Falwell has been put into the ground. Never mind the fact that one of his own was armed with bombs. But that story went away as fast as it arrived didn't it? Just how fast did the minor White House spokesman hit the Interstate when the bombs were discovered? How much cover can a post mortem on the truth cover? Imagine that much fire following Falwell into the already sulfur stinking smell of hell.

Imagine the photographs of the Democratic leadership backing off of the Iraq plan so fast they fall head first into one another's asses so far as to breed new dwarfs of entitlements.

Just imagine.

- Chris Mansel (christophermansel@hotmail.com)

Wizard's Corner: Ancient among the Ancient

[Editor's note: The wZ -- aka Jim Wizniewski -- is on pilgrimage in India.]

Ancient among the ancient
Thousands of crows making their flight each morning
Across the river to the city...
Never letting me forget...
Remember the canyon...
The sacred shot into the void.

Vast plains of India stretch before me
With foreign sounds and crow caws...
Sending you a perfect shot into the moment.

wZ

A Call to Warriors: Stand up for Leonard Peltier!

To All Indigenous People. To AIM. To Leonard's Sisters, Brothers, Friends and Supporters

"Where are the warriors?" Remember? These words of the past motivated The Movement and are still pertinent today. Have we forgotten how to be active and strong?

I'm calling out to all women, the children. I'm calling out to the Warriors who carry the honor of their fathers' and grandfathers' and great-grandfathers' names. Stand up for your people. Call yourselves out. Show yourselves to Creator and present yourself, with pride, to the world.

Stand up until the seats in the UN represent every nation of people in Turtle Island.

Stand up and call for protection of Mother Earth.

Save Bear Butte and All Sacred sites.

Stand up for all nations and all peoples,

Stand alone together forever.

Where are the warriors?

I am making a plea to all AIM leaders and members and to all Native peoples, especially the young people. I am making a plea to all of Leonard's friends and supporters. Gather this June 26th in Oglala and show Indigenous support for our brother Leonard Peltier. His parole hearing is one short year away.

Stand up. Stand up for The People. Stand up for Leonard Peltier.

Where are the warriors?

Contact www.oglalacommemoration.com.>

Be in Oglala on June 26th.

In Peace,

Keith Rabin - rockartist1@earthlink.net

Johnny Got His Gun

***

David went to Canada
Dick got a college deferment
Charlie was a conscientious objector
George joined the National Guard
Sam was classified 4F
And Johnny got his gun

We all know what happened to Johnny
Shot down in Nam
A victim of the Tet Offensive
A living thinking mind trapped in a body
Paralyzed to the eyes

Johnny got his gun and 58,000 of his brothers came home in a box
Millions of Asian Johnnies died by our bombs
Hundreds of thousands came home with broken bodies
Broken hearts broken minds broken spirits
Souls shattered by the horror of war

Forty years later a terrorist strike
We send our kids to war with bitterroot
Star spangled distorted sight

How many more must die to appease the god of vengeance?
How many more for an imagined victory parade?
How many more to pretend they did not die in vain?

Fallujah and Wounded Knee
Ramadi and Sand Creek
Abu Ghraib and the Trail of Tears

My Lai and Haditha

We can bury the dead but we cannot bury the truth

David went to Canada and Johnny got his gun


Jazz.

The Wind by James Wisniewski AKA wZ

[Note: The wZ is on pilgrimage in India. Here are some of his thoughts.]

I had already swept the monkey poo off the balcony, stretched, showered and chanted..... gazing out the window running through the different Indian flutes that I have collected... trying to get the hang of their playing style ... when a large wooden boat with a banner for a new High rise stretching the length of the vessel appeared.... It seemed totally out of context with all the row boats and Hindi bathers amongst the water buffalo.... It set my mind into motion of the Friends that I visited last night having gone to see a 'Bollywood" movie about a woman falling in love with a Cricket star and leaving her husband.... the theatre was in the new Mall that has been constructed somewhere near the city.... they said it was just like America... with a McDonalds and everything... air conditioned... clean... the theatre better then any that were in Israel, where they are from... sounded quite gross and they too were repulsed... so glad that I haven't come close to any of that thus far.... My mind looking at this boat with its big Western obnoxious Florida type pull behind the plane advertising, right here in this holy city of Varranassi, India.......sitting next to me is the Journey To Ixtlan, by Casteneda... just finishing chapters on calling of the allies and their tremendous power..... at the Very moment that I am thinking that 'Damn" nothing you can do to stop this infection.... I see a big dust cloud roll through the herd of buffalo, two seconds later the bamboo framing holding the banner Snaps with sound of a gun shot, flinging the massive billboard into the water, with the boat attendants scurrying to rescue the intrusion. With a smile of content acknowledgment of the great spirit and the irony of it all... I knew that there was a force to hold it all back and when the time comes that it will show its power.... Beautiful.

Finally falling back into a groove with time and practice.... Awaking an hour before sunrise... watching the first bathers arrive... it gave me contemplation as to going into the Ganga myself at this time... before all the human waste starts pouring in from the city and all the soap, animal funk, people and boats stirring up the now quiet, serene rolling reflection. Learning Balance.... everything cleared out of the room so that the sound is best from the concrete walls and also that I can stretch doing the yoga thing ... basically just standing still for twenty minutes breathing until that near perfect balance is achieved ... almost hallucinogenic watching the mist and swimmers crossing on their daily journey..... as in a dream a murder of crows speckles the sky flying straight towards my window and over the building .... mystical stuff..... It was the caw of the crow that got me to leave the flat today... I was relaxing then the insistent cawing caused me to investigate the sound...outside my window It took a minute to find the bird of omens and when I did I saw that it was cawing at two boys who were comparing watches..... immediate instinctive knowing that I needed to leave because I didn't have enough time to complete all my task... Thank you crow... Thank you Don Juan and Carlos for Your shamanistic outlet in your books.

The water goes out about as often as the electricity ... fortunately the bucket method is what I have grown used to and I had a full bucket to rinse off with.... No such thing as hot water in my building,,, the water is refreshing like a baptism and I get to put on the new shirt and freshly bucket washed white cotton pants to sport about town in....

Figuring out how to keep the placed locked up tight with the cheap locks that are offered ... just have to hope for the best... They haven't got door knobs over here.... any one could come along and lock you in your own place at any time ... a sliding hasp on either side of the door is what the standard door fastener is ... instant cell for a whole civilization.... My place has double doors on al the entrances....the one to the balcony had a big enough hole to let the monkey in so the landlord came down with a hammer and nails.... the hammer was about six inches long on a broken down handle ... no claw ... just a hunk of steel to pound with ... the nails were three or for bent up used ones and a few tacks in a rusty can ... then we were supposed to get a nail through the dense dry hardwood on a termite eaten, sun beaten, falling apart frame of a door.... it took about twenty minutes of trying ... using bricks and scraps ... splitting wood ... bending nails ... till we finally got a tack into the board enough to keep the whole covered ... though even a baby monkey could rip it apart and come steal my bananas... I keep the large room sealed off in the morning so that the sun wont heat up the room ... after a couple hours of flute in the small room ... the big room is more private where no one can really hear me, a better place to chant vocals when timid... Lighting some potent Incense and grabbing the shruti box onto the bed...it was mesmerizing watching the seductive dance of the smoke through the cracked light fragments piercing the darkness....giving the atmosphere a vehicle in which to be seen....the fantastic further dimension revealing itself to all who care to pay attention. Deep guttural hints of Tibetan monk chanting keep seeping out of my lungs as I peek at the glowing red tip of frankincense sticking out of the large old mortar and pedestal by the broken door. The scent eludes me...as it is the motion, the dance, the revelation of sound...something new something sacred, delicate, raw, fresh and innocent joining in the encubance of one thing ... the ever present moment ... no future ... no past... only the now.....

The sound of a persistent author on his/her typewriter just across the temple has been with me since before I awoke ... some dedication ... makes me think of my True artist writer friends back in the states ... the jake berrys and jack randoms of the world ... filling pages with important thoughts, bearing their souls for the sakes of others.... Makes me think of Carlos Castenada's dedication and the story of warrior mentality ... consulting death as an adviser for every action ... there are no miscalculated movements ... pay very close attention ... every move could be your very last one..... act as if this is so.

[Note: Forward comments about this and other postings to jackrandom@ earthlink.net.]