Wednesday, 30 September 2009

A Murder of Crows - Volume 24

I’m probably going to upset someone with the things I am about to say, but the truth hurts. I haven’t had the ability to write much lately because the world as it stands makes me want to blather on and on about politics and to be honest with you all I don’t want to add to any of it. On the other hand I can’t stand stupidity, and the world seems to be an ever growing sphere of stupidity, and do like to throw in my resume to be the commentator for the end of the world now and again. Here is some real life experience to show that I can be the commentator and the color man for the apocalypse should it happen upon us as quickly as it looks like it might.

Here’s the first thing that will upset a few people out there, but it is a truth none the less and is very important to understand if you are going to understand any of this. “It takes hard work and perseverance to achieve excellence in this world,” and you can quote me on that. Those of you that follow the Michael Moore train of thought can showcase that as “One of the lucky ones in life says ..” and those of you that want to can quote it as “A brilliant person I know says ..” and others can simply forget what I am saying and go about their lives. In any regard I don’t care, but it is very important to understand where I am coming from in all of this before I start hearing quotes that start with “This arrogant bastard that is in love with himself says ..” and so on. I shall follow this with the examples of what I mean and then get on with the point afterwards.

I will be {God willing} forty years old this March and I am happy to report that on the outside at least I am in the best shape of my life. All ego aside, I had an excellent summer of working out, used the principals of nutrition, anaerobic exercise, and perseverance to finally sculpt a body that is smoking hot. I often find myself staring at myself in the mirror a lot more than a normal person should, and there is only one thing that can be accredited to this, and that would be ME! I started at 190 lbs 5 foot 9 inches, and a 34 inch waist last April, and in a little less than 6 months I am now 190 lbs 5 foot 9 inches {can’t fix that for some reason} with a 30 inch waist {and at that my 30 inch waist jeans still fall down off my waist} which will tell you that I lost the fat and put on a lot of muscle. My abs are all separated and sink below my chest, my upper back forms nice wings, and my chest does the little wiggle when I clench my hands. My arms are impressive and so are my legs. I did this all by myself, and I did it with diet and exercise that was strict, tedious, difficult, and in the end rewarding. Anyone who is reading this and thinking any of the myriad of things that could be called jealousy {ego, jerk, lucky, bragging etc etc etc} are already beginning the process of what I am trying to explain. I finally don’t give a shit what others think and the next part will explain why.

Now to do this I had to join a gym. Being poor {because I haven’t truly won that “life lottery” that everyone whines about} I had to join the cheapest gym in town, and most people know the cheapest gym in town is the one that brags about being “the judgment free zone” as part of its marketing scheme. In reality it isn’t a “judgment free zone” because in reality there is no place in the world that is truly a “judgment free zone” and in reality it simply employs the “more equal” theories that we have to go through in life as mandated by law. In my gym it is mandated by contract, and equally as unfair, albeit manageable because if I do become one of the “winners of life’s lottery” I can go elsewhere, which I plan to do someday. To be a reasonably “in shape” person at the gym means that you are a second class citizen, who is fair game for snarky comments {see above}, denial of equipment usage {people who sit on a machine with no intention of using it, and treat you like a jerk if you ask to “work in” but work in with you, and then refuse to let you back on} and outright whisper campaigns that are enough to drive someone insane. Usually I wouldn’t care about other people’s bad behavior, but lately I have been increasingly more intimidated by “more equal” status in the world because of our “more equal” president. I had to get a talking to by one of the gym staff the other day because I finally told a woman who was always loudly accusing me of staring at everyone to “mind her business” and I came pretty close to snapping said gym employees neck. Why does life have to be like this?

Now with the commander in chief enjoying an unprecedented level of excusism {I know, I’m a racist for questioning him} there are an awful lot of things that are starting to scare me about him, that go above and beyond the normal fears that a conservative would have about a liberal president. Until recently I had tried with every fiber of my being to be above the fray. I actually believed that Barack Obama could be a pretty good president and I said as much in my own blog, but the things I have seen in his very young presidency are alarming, and his “more equal” status, are beginning to make it impossible to point out his incredibly rotten faults, as well as his willing accomplices in the world. I like to think that he is becoming irrelevant because of all of the “racism” speak that gets thrown around whenever someone dislikes his policies, but unfortunately we aren’t as enlightened of a country as one would think, after electing a black president. That in and of itself should have taken the “racism” argument off the table, and the lack of true enlightenment that we suffer from still makes the country to ignorant to even understand what the word “racism” even means any more. Racism, at one time would have meant that a black man wouldn’t even be allowed IN the argument much less dictating the conversation outright, and with the growing acceptance of everything said against the “Most Powerful Man In The World!” being shrugged off as racism, we simply have a back door policy toward a dictatorship in the making. At this point I would love to be above the fray, and say that I don’t believe that he {and his people} are forming a dictatorship, but I would be a total idiot to rule it out every bit as much as I would be an idiot to accept that theory completely.

Let’s be honest here, but I didn’t believe that Obama’s speech to the children in this country during school hours would be indoctrination. As a matter of fact I was looking forward to him doing it, and I have always thought that EVERY president should have done what he did. I watched the speech and I personally think it was his best ever, and that is saying something, since I think he is an excellent speaker. I think he is a better speaker than Bill Clinton was {and he was damn good} and on par with my hero Ronald Reagan. On the other hand watching everything that this clown and the Chicago mob do, I could very easily believe {now} that he might have had a different speech ready and changed it when he was “outted” before the speech took place. I realize to the unintelligent who can’t formulate an argument that this makes me a racist, but all of the “songs” and “poems” and “speeches” that are flooding Youtube, and making the rounds on the conservative talk shows, are COMPLETELY indoctrination. These things are completely approved of, supported, and I bet in a lot of cases encouraged by the NEA {a well proven, and often ridiculed arm of the DNC} and this type of crap has got to stop. I proclaim that it is racism, that they are using Obama’s “more equal” status to justify all of this, because it would have NEVER been accepted for ANY president in the history of this country. It is perfectly acceptable, and supported by every educational association in every dictatorship around the world.

Coupling all of this with the speech that Obama gave at the United Nations, then followed by a string of the Western World’s harshest enemies praising the man, the myth, the legend, and it creates an environment of animosity that “racism” can’t cover, but will be used at every convenience. Even if you don’t buy the thought that most of Obama’s plans for this country are socialism, or that many of the things that seem to happen on his behalf are indoctrination, you would have to be a total moron, a total sycophant, or a total asshole to disrespect other people’s concerns about al-Gaddafi, Ahmadinejad, and Ch├ívez praising your president, in conjunction with doing things that many think are un-American. Calling someone a racist for bringing up these things is not only disingenuous, but it is at the very worst going to create a new level of “actual racism” that has less to do with the color of someone’s skin, but more to do with the old world values of keeping the minority, the minority. Throwing down the gauntlet on these things now could actually do a lot to finally destroy the whole belief system that equality is created by elevating the minority to an un-earned level of prominence. Our president should be the first person to come out and say that he is NOT a minority. He is the president of the United States, which makes him a majority, and equal to everyone. We will never actually have a colorblind society when certain colors are elevated above others in the name of equality.

I will shut up after I give one more glaring example of what I am talking about. Take the Police Officer in Cambridge Massachusetts, who the president took time out of his busy speaking engagements to call an idiot. Picture going to work one day, and doing your job to the best of your ability, just to have the President of the United States call you an idiot on national TV, not having a single clue about what he was talking about. Let’s imagine that you are White cop, in a town run by a Black mayor, in a State with a Black Governor, and then the Black President of the United States calls you an idiot because an elitist Black University professor at the most prominent University in the world completely disrespected you and the authority that your job is supposed to give you. Who is the minority here? How is this supposed to create great race relations, and foster the belief of equality in this country? I’ll admit that I am pretty biased on this one {I know it’s because I am a racist} but it was the first thing to finally force me to open my eyes on the whole President Obama administration. A REAL person would have simply said “I can’t believe I said that, I feel like an idiot, and I hope to not do something like that again. I’m sorry,” but that isn’t what we got from the President. What we got was an orchestrated “sit down” to have beer. We got to continue believing that the officer was wrong. We got to continue to believe that Black people were the minority in all of this, and we got a simple example of the way they do business in the Left Wing Dictatorships all across the world. That’s not racism .. That’s indoctrination ;8o)

Other Crap This Weirdo Publishes... Mental Notes& Random Musings {Daily Blog} The Crow's Nest {The Homepage of J~ Crow}

Nothing that was printed here was intended to offend anyone, and if it did, screw ya, you begged for it. If you believe that there are some measures that can be taken to change me, then please feel free to pray for me, and while you are at it yourself, because you read this far, and if you hated every minute of it, then you are an idiot, not me, or the other people who like what I have to say! .. Jeremy

All writings Copyright © 2008 .. The Crow's Nest

Wednesday, 23 September 2009

Autumnal Equinox comes rolling in

The Autumnal Equinox comes rolling in today (September 22, 2009) at 5:19 p.m. E.S.T. I came into my witchery before the days when this astronomical event began to be called Mabon-- that is to say before Aiden Kelly created the word-- and this particular Sabbat will more than likely never be "Mabon" to me. Also, many witches consider the equinoxes and solstices to be lesser sabbats. I don't. Within my practice, the equinoxes and solstices are the major sabbats. (Thus May Day, Lugh's Day, Sam Hain, and Brigit's birthday are the minor ones).

Today I did a welcoming to the new season and am also engaged in some fall cleaning. I have set specific goals related to the purging of some of my possessions and organization of what is left, to be completed by the Winter Solstice. At some time after 5:19 p.m., I will renew the protections (or wards, to use the old-fashioned word) around the property.


sapphoq n friends

Wednesday, 9 September 2009

Happy Anniversary to Me

29 years of freedom from bondage to active drug addiction arrived this morning at 10:18 am.

spike

Wednesday, 2 September 2009

Redneck Daze

1978 was the year that Baton Rouge Louisiana survived my presence along with the hurricane that touched down at Blue Bayou. In November of 1977, it dawned on my drug-fogged brain that it would really be a good idea to look for a job since school would be finished in December. I was babysitting a little red-headed autistic kid named Brett when I grabbed the family's newspaper and turned to the want ads. I promptly discovered that VISTA wanted me. I signed up and a couple months later off I went.

After a whirlwind trip-- through Connecticut (ate a meatball bomber), Boston Massachusetts (stayed at the Little Copley; saw Marshall Tucker in concert, and the movie "The Sting"; went up to the revolving bar; ate crepes downtown and listened to a bagpipe player from Alaska; called Johnathan Kozol up on the telephone and got to meet him and his sheepdog), up on through Salem (toured the House of the Seven Gables), into Maine (Route One), turned left at Bangor, went skiing in Jackson, New Hampshire (Wildcat Mountain; a stoned New Year's Eve at a local's log cabin in Concord; ate dinner with an old lady local at a restaurant who liked to chat with travelers), on through Vermont (more skiing perhaps, memory falls now), and home again-- I packed up the car with pretty near everything I could cram into it plus one cat and headed off for San Antonio, Texas.

I snuck the cat into every motel I slept in, caught a tour of Tuskeegee Institute, and got drunk in Freeport, Texas. My friend Madelin had arranged for me to stay at her two aunties' house there. In return for washing dishes at their Mexican Restaurant, I was given as much as I wanted to eat and plenty of beer to wash the food down with. I (and the cat) slept on their very pleasant screened in porch. The two aunties were actually one aunt and her lover. They were my first exposure to a non-heterosexual couple in which I was able to put aside my xenophobia long enough to discover that prejudice was a prison that kept me from enjoying people.

In San Antonio, I met some other VISTA volunteers and our trainer who was a proud drunken Chicano. I went on a tour of The Alamo, walked the river walk, ate at a cool Mexican restaurant, and got drunk too. I was there for three inches of snow. In amazement I watched the city shut down over it.

After a return stop to Freeport and the two aunties (I believe they must have agreed to watch the cat during my training), I was off to Baton Rouge. Johnnie Oliver was our VISTA supervisor there. I quickly established myself as a party animal and was off to the first of five apartments and my job assignments. I worked in a nursery school mornings (hello Robert Brazeale if you are reading this) and at a literacy center afternoons. I found the bar across from the literacy center and my custom quickly became to drink three frozen strawberry margaritas for my half-hour lunch break. I found that working was not to my liking so in early summer I ditched both assignments, having talked my way into working part-time as a literacy tutor at L.C.I.W. (women's state pen) in St. Gabriel, Louisiana.

I was always high. I got high before reporting to the prison and I left joints visible in the ashtray for my return trip home at the end of the days that I did work. One woman from Connecticut by her self-report was in prison for three years for having been found with three joints while passing through Lake Charles, Louisiana. Perhaps there was more to that story but it didn't occur to me then that there might be.

Besides being high, I was not really suited for prison work. (N.B. and still not). I did not have a commanding voice, I was shy, I had the appearance of one who was gullible and easily manipulated. Fortunately for me, the woman who taught upholstery determined that I needed watching. It was through her direct intercession that my "office" where I tutored women in reading and math was moved from the chaplain's office to a trailer directly in view of where she held her classes. It was the upholstery teacher who told me that if a prisoner asked me to bring her anything from the outside to say NO. Thus when I was approached by two prisoners who asked me to get them a National Enquirer or some other yellow sheet from a Piggly-Wiggly supermarket, I was able to tell them I didn't know what a Piggly-Wiggly was (I didn't, it's a supermarket chain). They gave up quickly, saying to each other "Come on. We will go ask [one of the guards]. She'll get it for us."

Baton Rouge was a university town and a cesspool of drugs. My last apartment was a small loft among other lofts in what was known as "drug alley." There were bars up the street and bars down the street. There were bars all over town then, along with the dirty movie house called the Regina which the locals changed to rhyme with the word vagina. And yes, I had my obligatory trek to the Regina-Vagina where I saw "Seven Into Snowy" as well as the perennial favorite "Deep Throat." The gas station was up the street from Drug Alley. Having quit VISTA and rendered virtually unemployable by my inability to show up anywhere sober, I and some other hippie freaks spent our nights at the gas station. The gas station held the distinction of never having been held up. My guess was that it was because of the ever-present stoners there at night, all night, every night.

During my time in Baton Rouge, I drank, smoked dope, smoked hash, smoked opium once (and I wanted to immediately crawl into a cave in Southeast Asia somewhere with the other opium users and never come out), did shrooms (they grew in the cow shit of the Bramen cows present along the levee of the Mississippi which was rented out to farmers, did a bunch of pills, did mescaline, and participated in the rush of Mr. Natural blotter acid for a couple of weeks which was my undoing.

Baton Rouge was a city which had redneck pride. Yeah there was a gay bar (karate whites were "in" that year) and a definite presence of students from far off places (notably Iran-- I had lunch with several of them in their apartment and went to a meeting of Students for a Democratic Society which was showing the Joe Hill film that night) and certainly it was not a "whites only" kind of city. Interracial couples-- no big deal on the eastern seaboard-- were just allowing themselves to be out in public. The Ku Klux Klan had an office on Florida Avenue and a listing in the phone book. New Orleans was an hour and a half away (and requires its' own entry to do it justice).

I was hanging out with The Shitdogs, a local punk rock group whose music showed a definite influence by the band Devo. I was a foul-mouthed drugged up drunk. When I called home, I told my dad that I wanted to get a pistol for my own protection and he started to really worry. I told people lies about how I was doing and myself even bigger ones but the Bad Acid Trip stopped most of that. There was a rush of Mr. Natural blotter acid and I tripped every night for a couple of weeks. I had stored them in the freezer and the hippies at the gas station said that made it "stronger" but I don't know if that was true or not. At any rate, my last acid trip found me laying on my loft listening to Jefferson Airplane sing "Go Ask Alice" [White Rabbit] over and over again because the stereo for some reason refused to play through the whole album. Instead the stereo tortured me by having its' needle play through the song and then return to the beginning again. After several hours, my brain determined that I needed to get the hell out of there. So I walked to the gas station where several hippies saw my condition and took me out to get me drunk. After a stop for Italian food at the only Italian restaurant in town, we went to the pool-players bar. I promptly began loudly proclaiming that the pool players were "all a bunch of rednecks." The hippies got me out of there quickly and took me to a quieter bar where they plied me with enough beer so that the Bad Acid Trip was no longer so Bad.

The next day I called all the relations in search for A Way Out, and as luck would have it, my grandfather upstate New York on the farm just had a heart attack. I promptly volunteered to relocate "in order to help my grandmother with the cows," once again packed up everything I owned (minus the cat Dylan who turned up with four kittens one day but plus Herbie the puppy who I snuck into motel rooms stoned out on anti-carsickness pills obtained from the five dollar vet in Baton Rouge), and was off again.

Upstate New York was a whole different living experience. I had left acid behind but after a few weeks found the bar. My grandmother never did let me help her with the cows. I was assigned to watering the calves. Cows are expensive.