Uncategorized

Challenged Young Men

When is the difference between
a terrorist
and a challenged young man
not a realistic distinction?

When the young man
grows up in an NRA culture
celebrating justified evangelical military violence;

Choices for death
by automated
ballistic
monoculturing
rabid
force.

Military cultures
teach mental illness,
social pathology
of living in a fundamentally dualistic world
that is ecologically anti-trusting
and theologically
notsecular-notsacred double-binding
LoseLose dualistic

MADenning
Mutual Assured Destruction
rather than Mutual Acclimating Restoration
WinWin polypathic pedalogical.

 

 

 

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Peace Not Mentioned

I was listening to our Commissioner
of Economic and Community Development
speak of how happy she is
our State and Federal tax revenues
now subsidize two,
possibly even three, submarines
per year
rather than the mere one per year
of the bad old unemployment days.

Her enthusiasm
continued over growth in military manufacturing
of fission and ballistic pathological outcomes
like huge hauling helicopter contracts

And all types of war mongering
and war supportive
nurturing assets,
arms racist buildups
providing three thousand new jobs
in Connecticut.

Admittedly jobs at perpetual risk
of costing three hundred thousand or more
loss of lives
of limbs
loss of organic livelihood networks
for restoring therapeutic multicultural health,

Loss of trees
and plants,
Loss of healthy soil
and water
and air.

This potential liability side
she did not mention
nor was it clear,
from tone and rhythms
of BusinessAsUsual voice
if she could even see
and hear such cooperative economic dissonance
with infusing love
of public health service reality.

She did not mention
any growth in natural LEED construction
for affordably resilient community housing.

She certainly omitted growth
of community college training
for natural built construction
of and by,
for and with,
cooperative self-help empowerment
builders becoming proud co-housing
nature-spirit goodfaith residents
growing shared organic
community developing
gardens.

She did not mention
thousands of new jobs opening up
to build bicycle lanes,
woodchip and bark trails
connecting GREEN EcoSchools
to goodfaith communit centers
perennial gardens
grazing greens
cooperative Commons
permaculture designed municipal parks
hosting outdoor classes
connecting
PositivEnergy CoOperatively Owned Democracy
incoming investment
for restoring climate therapeutic
Continuous Quality Improvement
public and private
secular and sacred
healthy wealth outcomes.

I suppose because growth in these sectors
is not newsworthy in Connecticut;
These cooperatively-owned differences
between mere public service non-profit sectors
and public nutritional empowerment models
toward WinWin ecopolitically fusing health-wealth outcomes

Replacing all those unnecessary
loud and stinky
helicopters
and ballistic-disempowering submarines.

The happier her competitive WinLose bubble glowed
as she enthused on and on
about manufactured growth
the sadder I became
about her ballistically manufactured tumor,
her absence of WinWin health service humor.

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Celebrating Heroes

I want to respond
to the retired Marine
who watched Democratic Congressional Leaders
during the State of our crippled Union event,
disappointed at how their patriotism,
their loyalty to sacred sacrifices of soldiers
appears too tepid,
jaded,
ungrateful
as compared to more thunderous enthusiastic applause
and standing ovations of Republican Leaders.

I have noticed this too
both during various national bipartisan rhetorical events,
and also within my conscientious objector self,
And I wonder about my own hesitation
to celebrate military heroism,
as if this were an oxymoron,
like military peace intelligence.

For me,
such internal heart-warming applause
is chilled by my own half-empty embarrassment
that I have gone through my recent months and years
perhaps too full of willing tolerance
for moral assumptions too big to fail,
that we are OK to predatively place
other men and women,
regardless of culture or religion or nationality,
and their necessarily neglected children,
in harms toxically unnecessary way.

An heroic investment
far too expensive for developing healthy persons,
plants,
or planet.

This is not how we wisely invest
in sacred Earth’s climates
and healthing cultures.

My celebration of military heroes
remains perennially muted
by my unease about planting future threats
by paying springtime federal taxes
because I conscientiously object,
for spiritual experience
and religious belief reasons,
how large the mountainous percentage
invested in threat of death and dying
and paying ever-mounting interest
on past military industrialized deficit
overheating budgets.

Stolen from potential health
and well-being
of Earth’s future generations
spread throughout all Earth’s sacred residents
now terrified of upcoming ballistic climates.

I should have tried harder,
more conscientiously,
to invest in restoring ballasts of co-operative climates.

So, I intend no disrespect
for courage
and honor
and heroes
for those who have survived
violence and
fear and
anger and
greed and
political pretensions of Elitists
too old to fight themselves,
but just rightwinged enough
to invest in further armaments,
and thereby profit nicely.

I feel no disrespect
for those who have not survived
and will not survive,
much less thrive in pathological death-culture.

But nationalistic applause
and praying for God’s blessings on U.S. First and Last,
Right or Wrong,
feel consciousness unsettling
when I experience God’s applause
for love and peace
and not our hate and
fear and
anger and
violence against each other,
regardless of religion or
culture or
national origin
or gender
or color
or age,
born,
long gone,
or yet unborn.

I know God too omnipotent and omnipresent
to respect inhumane national apartheid boundaries.

Heroes
are those who have gone well past their patriotic duty
far beyond what anyone could honestly
and reasonably ask,
beyond what most of us might expect of ourselves,

Especially while those left behind
remain in free-markets
to profit off the tanks
and submarines
and rifles soldiers bravely carry,
bullets and bombs they aim,
often at the even more profitable investments
of these same 1% Elite,
regardless of International Conglomerate Status.

For those who are persuaded
what was asked
was itself a positive democracy protecting moral act,
standing ovations of buoyant applause
feel resoundly called for
from warmly celebrating hearts.

But, for those of us
who empathize with heroes both alive and dead
regardless of religion or culture or national origin,
who feel such violence reflects our own democracy protecting failures
to conscientiously love all sacred life sufficiently,
Such unmitigated happiness feels heart-wrenchingly wrong.

In face of such selfless investment
in violence and risk to healthy futures
for threatening death
and objectives of destruction,
we more likely bow our disinvested heads,
take a humbled knee,
silent in awe of such uncompelling bad-breathed ambiguity,

Yet not wanting to offend
against such sacred gifts
offered at an unacceptable cost
We never had the conscientious right to ask
another soul to pay.

I do not believe disrespect
is democratically intended
for lack of con-celebrating our violent history’s heroes;
but respectful listening grows more conscientiously compelling
for humility
of political and economic enablers,
co-investors like myself,
with guilt and shame about what others have paid
because we did not act sufficiently
for waging and investing peace,
Incarnating God’s love
for all Earth’s SacredTribes.

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How Do We Say God?

How do we say God,
and why does it matter?
If whatever I do say
both is and is not good.

What is sufficient
to define a Creator?
The Sufis remind us
we face God each way.

How do we fix this
divine restoration?
To put back together
what anger tears apart.

Why do we want peace
and not just between terrors?
If God is our Alpha
then hate’s not Omega.

Why do we punish?
Our great hurts need healing.
How are we judging
those we have not yet faced?

How do we see God,
and why could this matter?
If health’s stretched out planning
builds more arms creating splatter.

If God is for health care,
and how could S/HE not be?
Then Love can’t be measured
in automated artillery.

Where is our rich soil
and how have we tilled it?
Or have we over-drilled it
for more blood and gore?

Why do we say God
and how does it matter?
For restoring Christ’s graced peace
sacred seeds grow together.

 

 

These lyrics more or less work with “Foregiveness”, by Susan Werner, on her The Gospel Truth CD.

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Random Acts of Grace

I wonder if our reasons
for growing random acts of violence
are similar
to our dwindling random acts of reasoned healing,
kindness,
gratitude,
unrequited love,
uncommodified,
unconscripted,
unscripted,
uncontained
restoring cooperative ecopolitical relationships forward
not just because this is our right and healthy familial thing to do
but because we multiculturally know and extend,
believe and intend
actively faith
these are our greatest
most noble
most therapeutic gifts of hope
given before punishments
for random acts of violence
could even have become conspired.

It has been speculated
by military-industrial hypnotized media
seeking short-term sensational profits,
and by cynical economic and political prophetic voices,

We have become numb
to millions of homeless children,
many of whom are now being burnished,
refurnished
and retooled
as LoseLose suicidal nihilistic soldiers,
pawns for burning with emotional hate
without ever having known love’s potential maturity.

Permanently stuck on pre-adolescent
survival of the All MonoCulturing Male Unit
erasing hard-fought memories
of compassion
for growing up among millions of homeless children
of all multiculturing genders
and nearly all species
with possible exceptions
for scavengers,
like cockroaches
and river rats
and millions of starving children
drowning
melting
fired-up fuel fading from view of homeless futures
requiring further punishment
for bothering to persistently survive
on air waves
and water
and plants
bought and sold
and too-patriarchally owned by other,
supposedly adult,
mature people,
presumed to only know how to play
I Win
so You Lose
competing evolutionary MightMakes GodRight games.

I wonder if our reasons
for random acts of restorative justice
to achieve healthy WinWin
outcome reminders
our troubling predators with our disturbing prey
could become permaculturally relearning opportunities
revolutionarily expanding
mentors among these already starving homeless children
and non-consenting adults,
sibling and tribal groups
health care giving and receiving as best we can,
not having seen or heard or felt bilateral co-operative WinWin
opportunities for renewing climates of health
since successfully departing
our long dead EarthMothers’ wombs.

When punishing weapons
for addiction to violent choices
are accessible to those who believe they,
and we,
can holistically afford them,
can afford to compromise investments with integrity,
our rights of WinWin ownership requited,
then those raised more through retribution’s fear and anger
than restoration’s love and healthy synergy
will always flood our gun shops first
and ballistic associations last
through clouding media’s ecopolitical marketing of death
and terror
over cooperatively-owned matriarchal-patriarchal balancing life
as yin with yang restorations,
preyors of benign predation
loving bilateral revolutionary relationships,
mutual creolizations within all ecotherapeutic EarthTribes
for social arts and communication,
and scientific enculturation,
deep learning cooperative restoration
of mutual education.

Deep learning
among homeless childhood memories
of double-boundaries
for healing lost compassions.

Violence corrupts this void
left through grace’s wrongful absence.

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This Is UnFinished Feminist Us

It’s peaceful here in my backyard.
The crows sound happy
with warm October sunlight.

I just read about a deadly gathering in Las Vegas.
Absence of sun-drenched peace.
Inconvenient this time of lost loss.
Death is always inconvenient,
even when invited.

A veteran,
about my age,
this shooter.

I feel like it took more than one
to hold and fire this mental illness rifle.
In a sad and guilty complicit sense,
we have collectively achieved what we bought
and sold
and settled for.

This malformed soldier
is a remnant of what most believed we needed to create,
back in the 60s,
brainwashed into believing
we were protecting wives and kids, somehow
by killing Vietnamese husbands
and many times their wives
and napalmed children,
trees,
forest.

Not exactly breeding ground for growing healthy minds
and well-armed bodies.

I dimly and darkly recall
a much earlier disagreement
with the new commander of the U.S. Navy’s
Officers Candidate School.
A first woman commandant,
something atrociously surprising to men-only militia violence,
similar to Medea
planning an angry hostile life.

This earlier time also started peacefully alone,
but inside,
waiting to be called in to her office,
at the beginning of her second week
in her new exalted position
over new violence-empowered candidates.

I had just completed a gratuitous violence first week of abuse
and militarily precise neglect,
as ruthlessly systematic as racism,
in frigid first week of January,
Rhode Island.
We were so close to the Atlantic
it felt like we were in the ocean.

We had also been frigidly outside,
and hotly inside,
yelled at,
systematically starved,
force marched in gusty zero-degree 3 AM darkness
without coats or hats or gloves,
in fact I think we were in our boxers and Tshirts one night,
due to someone’s sin of omission,
whether contrived on schedule
or spontaneously erupting
from pneumonia reduced and disabled minds,
I do not know.

The hardest part for me
was less than two hours sleep per night.
Industrially guaranteed to reduce oneself to crazy.

When I was first ushered in
for my early exit interview
by none other than her Military Medea Mightiness,
she took one look at miserably civilian dressed me
and asked why would I think it appropriate to disrespect her
by not bothering to show up in uniform.

I started to mention that I had never been issued one
when she told my keeper
that we needed to do an about face
and try again when I looked right.
Or at least as righter
as I might become.

So, he had to go out among my now-former classmates
to beg and borrow,
hopefully he didn’t steal,
boots and belts and pants and shirt and hat.
Later that same long and tedious day
I was once again summoned
for a second shoot.

She wanted to know
why I thought it was OK
to be the first to go
from this new class of officer candidates.
Did my recruiter not explain about this first hazing week?

Well no,
in fact I thought he told me hazing is illegal
in most States.
We develop soldiers;
we don’t grow bullies.

I understand you didn’t make a total ass of yourself.
So if you want to change your mind,
now that we turned the heat back on
and keep the lights off all night
and have turned the verbal abuse down a notch,
or maybe two,
I might be willing to listen
if you beg me nicely to stay here
with us in Navy Officer Paradise.

No thanks,
said I,
I’m already quite disgusted enough
by your shocking lack of even militarized intelligence
to see this as a navy not invested in preserving,
much less protecting,
real live humanity
hanging onto some semblance of sanity.

Oh but you see
this is not true.
Our rules of first week operationalization
are to save your sorry ass
because,
as we all know,
teamwork builds through ego assassinations.

Well no,
actually,
your own recent research on these issues
lies at my fingertips.
Required reading for psych and communication majors,
attitude change and persuasion students
where I hail from in Michigan.

It is a clear and present common threat to survival
that most quickly grows cooperative trust and teamwork,
cooperative co-investments,
especially among those who have learned to trust and respect each other,
including for our recognized
and understood and
appreciated diversity
of talents.
and shared sufficient simplicity of sleep
and active co-listening for harmonic voices.
Or maybe that was just for choirs
and military orchestras.

Well this is fake news to me!
she exclaimed in her sternly patriotic face.

I believe you,
which is why
I want out
of this absence of healthy care
and any semblance of sanity,
disloyal to my family’s investment,
my nation’s rational self-governing future,
and anathema to Sacred Mother Earth.

Are you Native American,
asked she,
as if she couldn’t care less or more.

No more or less than you
I would surmise.

It came as no surprise
when she eagerly accepted
my request to be relieved
of further dishonored service
and cast aside my various borrowed parts
because of ecopolitical leaders
confusing noble grace of unity
with bare-knuckled
bare-headed
frozen uniformity.

I wonder how the Green Beret shooter
in lost loss of Las Vegas
might have suffered from this same sad loss
of militarized teamwork disabilitization,
chronic and critical climates of constant stress.

When the enemy is down
and out of sight,
we cannot afford to have disaffected grunts
sit on angry-fearfilled butts
rethinking who is truly in my ego team’s best interest
and whom we might agree to take out next,
because healthy mental care giving and receiving
has nothing to do with formation
of militarizing violence.

In this same way,
a Presidential God Bless You,
twittered to victims of our own militarizing violent formations,
feels so empty,
fake as the blesser
would do even lesser
mental health care and receiving
for all God’s militarizing
and industrious We Win
So You Must Lose
soldier candidates in deformation,
but also neglected children
and trees,
and starlight
which could bring us together
in one mind of great thanksgiving.

 

So I was feeling badly,
sad,
because I share our mutually complicit status
for my compatriot’s difficult terrorizing
chronic stress disordering
time.
I too have been there,
lost there,
to a more moderate extent.
I just walked away.

I wish I had done more at the time
in the Navy’s January frigid spaces
against cooperative ecopolitics,
about being of more general use
if fascist critical events of the mid-seventies had been recorded,
freezing dark military-academic preparation time
industriously repeating
away from deforesting further virgin ecofeminist Vietnam forests
and their matriarchally cooperative villages,
to become watched on YouTube
by all prospective soldiers
and NRA advocates,
by patriotic nationalists,
thinking about possible antecedents,
before Bad Ol’ Daddy’s Country-Western Concert
went so very wrong.

I wish we could have recorded
this matriarchal confused and frightened patriotic
loyal commandantish face
when I shared with her
I felt ecofeminist disgraced
by her
Bitch!
Shoot at me again and I will Take You Out!!!
defacement,
in a most homophobic frozen officious place
of mutually inflicted terror.

So then I was feeling a bit more glad,
but still sad
I had not actually said more,
done more,
so I began trimming my twining tendrils
enveloping what’s left of uprooted deadwood trees
malingering in my back lot
and having a rough go of it
as my hedging shears
are no longer what once they were.

As usual,
I tend to speak with my plant recruits
and candidates for future flaming victories,
and felt required,
“I apologize
for this jab
and grab
and pull
and pushy ecopolitics,
but Mommy needs sharper,
and probably newer,
scissors for shutting up her
RightBrain EcoFeminist Diva Voice.

Apologizing to the entire human race”
of potential soldiers and ballistic deadwood downsizers
for your not yet having seen
that anti-feminist patriotic face
glare me back into space
with timeless time exclaiming
BITCH!
Shoot your GLBT EcoFeminist mouth OFF AT ME?
I DON’T military anti-ANTIfeminist THINK SO;

but I wonder how I feel about being this predator
in this eternal frame of egopolitical ignorance,
lack of cooperative military research
and economic-educational-formational intelligence gathering.

As I continued with hacking scissors
and played-out ecofeminist sawsall balls off
and the big manly Yang chopper offer
with their underdog heads!
I kept going back to those January freezing eyes.

IF LOOKS COULD KILL!!!
BITCH!!!!!
YOU DO NOT KNOW ME
and think you can punk your gay white ecofeminist butt
in my guest chair
and think your MidWest Academic BullCrap
will even so much as reach one
WinWin Ping of inspiration
aspiration
hope,
YOU DON’T KNOW ME!
I might have majored in BullDike Fascist Terrorism!
YOU DO NOT KNOW ME!!!

and maybe I don’t either.
Who wants to be that angry lose-lose antagonist
of military industrial absence of intelligence,
would you?

I wish this imaginary spacetime scene had played out
in RealTime frames just that audio way,
but even without sound,
with just her
I AM NOT YOUR BITCH!
but you are not going to be mine
either.

She could not sign those exit papers fast enough,
continues visual only images
of how I still feel,
more or less
about these tangled vines
and tough deadwoods
hanging out in my wanna be ecofeminist backyard.

I will chop them up
and paint them
into diva totem poles
and frames
in which ecofeminists
always play in YouTube Blue and Green Estates
of most polyculturally
matriarchal peace in this back lot solitude,

Although occasionally the patriarchal husband
makes a cameo appearance
for a few All Lives Matter Moments,

But usually just me,
in an early October day
preferring to forget dark frigid January anti-feminist nightmares
of militarized neglect
of basic health assurance and safety
delivered by angry matriarchal commandants,
and hedging shear divas,
depending on which lens is in play,
the full-staged historical tragedy
within my more personal back lot comedy.

 

It’s still peaceful here in my backyard.
The crows have flown off
warning descent of warm October sunlight.

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Dorm Love

Ours was daily mysterious,
sometimes near mystical,
rapture;
a sensual yet platonic
dorm-mate love affair,
within the only male grad student corridor
at SFSU.

He was the presumably straight Vietnam veteran
southern white good ol’ boy,
athletically studying Japanese,
with a gentle passion for young Japanese women.

Did his all things Japanese culture love
precede his Vietnam War experience,
or was this a response to West-East violence,
inviting vulnerability and compassion?
Embracing romantic remorse
and male responsibility for technology’s aggressive habits,
but,
regardless,
knowing constant passion for peace.
I don’t recall ever asking which came first.

I do recall his first words.

“Hi. Delighted to meet you,”
in a Louisiana-slash-MilitaryOfficerSchool
creolic mashed-up engaging smile
up across and through his raised blond eyebrows,
guileless,
or ruthlessly contrived,
“Ensign Jake Ruford,
Eastern Language student.”

Hi.
just Jerry,
gay epistemology student,
wondering why we are roommates
when I specifically said
“Anyone not homophobic.”
You would think Student Residential Services
at San Francisco State
would know what the word means.
Including probably not a straight Louisiana
military officer
even if he is Navy.

As he turned back toward his desk,
where he had been reading something that looked like a textbook
in an encyclopedic hard-bound scale
of inscrutability,
“Do you agree human nature
must have evolved from a bottom moral line
of eat or become stew?”

It seems we have this old reptilian thing
about eating our young and vulnerable under duress,
overpopulation or starvation
of a struggling to hunt and gather species,
especially before we figured out the matriarchal gathering part.

“I want to come back to those matriarchal parts later.
But why, do you think,
do we continue to see Golden Rule cooperativity,
WinWin strategies,
as contrasted favorably to WinLose
sacred MightMakesRight Traditions
of
Always eat others before they eat you?”

I don’t think WinLose,
much less LoseLose,
Eat first and fast,
because we all fall prey to death
in our not quite foreseeable future,
is authoritatively sacred,
or exegetically scriptural,
or fundamentalistically spiritual,
nor even evangelically Christian,
which was supposed to be about Good News
of a God defined most ecologically,
and satisfyingly,
as love and beauty
and polycultural Eden’s Original Creator.

“So you would give divine grace credit
for why we beg for multicultural Golden Rule self-governance
through WinWin inter-relationships,
rather than continue eating our young?”

No,
I think premeditated organized violence
through conscripting young adults
is how we continue eating our young.
I give God credit for non-patriarchal Golden Rules,
which do not include mutual assured violence,
nor Better Ballistics Bureaus.

But, I give the Sacred Gaia Hypothesis
and matriarchal creation stories and parables and paradigms
credit for existing
and any future
and most, if not all, past WinWin abundant inter-relationships,
rather than Mother Earth
eating Her DNA regenerative
Left and Right BiLaterally Balanced CoIntelligence,
synonymous with EcoLogical,
and oxymoronic as Military WinWin Intelligence.

“Left and Right,
like Yang and Yin.
Which is kind of the opposite
of LeftBrain dominant ideas like
Maybe it’s OK for hungry single Moms
to sell their children into slavery
to invest in better dying
through chemistry.”

Yes, and other xenophobic behaviors,
paranoias like homophobia
and patriarchal “just war” theories.

“How do you feel about Japanese ladies?”

Hopefully about the same way you feel about radically dipolar gay gentlemen
at the beginning of an AIDS epidemic.

“That’s an interesting, but dark, analogy.
Are you coffee or tea?”

I don’t think I intended an analogy.
Perhaps more of a eulogy
for continuing relationship
with much of anyone ever in risky futures.

Coffee.
If I have any idea where this inquisition came from
or might be heading.

“Oh, that’s good.
See, we already have something in common.”

Something.
Yes.

And so we went on from that first moment,
as if resuming where we had just left off,
or last eaten,
with an Ensign I had never hoped to meet,
much less eat,
and would never wish to know a last farewell.

Two travelers
along love’s mysterious,
sometimes mystically ambiguous
journey,
soldiering on.

Better thriving together,
than surviving inscrutable textbooks
apart.

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