All posts by Joseph

Usual Rubbish

Fire works.

Jesus. You can READ by it, for crying out loud. When the hell are they going to run out of bottle rockets? Where the hell are the cops? Oh, right … we’re off the books. Never mind.

Another late night here at the previously abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill in upstate New York, our adopted squathouse of longstanding and that of a pack of crazy people with a fondness for pyrotechnic displays. Our upstairs neighbors appear to be celebrating some obscure personal holiday this week, marking the occasion with obscene displays of fireworks over the mill every night and raucous drinking, dancing, fist-fights, etc., in the afternoons. At least they’re quiet for a few hours in the morning, when they are apparently sleeping off the previous night’s bender, but that’s short-lived.  And here we are again, at 2 in the morning, blinded by the rockets’ red glare, deafened by bombs bursting in air. (And strangely, the flag was still there … their family flag, with some strange runic symbols on it. Very creepy.)

Actually, our mad science advisor Mitch Macaphee has a plan to oust the new squatters. He’s starting to get annoyed, and that’s never a good thing with Mitch. We’ve been asking him to formulate something … anything that might, I don’t know, calm them down or something, make them civilized. For weeks, he kept giving us the same old bromide about it being far easier for us as civilized men to behave like savages than it was for them as savages to behave like civilized men.  (Mitch gets philosophical at times, but only to the extent that it may be expressed in terms of Star Trek dialogue.) Then they dropped a cherry bomb into his bedroom, and sophistry was out the window.

Yeah, great, Mitch. Just watch the trophy case.

I think it’s fair to point out at this juncture that Mitch has a lot of tricks up his sleeve. Granted, Marvin (my personal robot assistant) was one of those tricks, and as such, is not terribly impressive by automaton standards. Still, this is a guy who can make whole continents disappear. Not real good at making them come back again, but then half a loaf is better than no bread at all. We are encouraging him not to go too, too far. Most of what he’s suggested thus far is fire-related: atomic flame throwers, combustible gases, etc. He has taken up residence on the second floor, in the room right under their master bedroom, so …. if there are any vacancies at the mill in the next week or so, we’ll let you know.

Political Rants

Ugly truth.

He did it again. Trump flapped his jaw and violated the UN charter without even blinking. This past week, he was sitting in the White House with the Pakistani leader, chatting with reporters, and out came this:

“We’re not fighting a war. If we wanted to fight a war in Afghanistan and win it, I could win that war in a week. I just don’t want to kill 10 million people. I have plans on Afghanistan that, if I wanted to win that war, Afghanistan would be wiped off the face of the Earth. It would be gone.  It would be over in, literally, in 10 days. And I don’t want to do that—I don’t want to go that route.”

I don’t have a lot of Afghan friends or acquaintances, but the one I have any regular contact with was appalled by this, and rightfully so. This, of course, isn’t the first time Trump has casually tossed out the notion of blowing some country sky-high, whether it was North Korea or Iran or Venezuela. But I believe this is the first time he has made this careless threat against an allied (if invaded and occupied) nation. The man is just a total sociopath, and one in possession of nuclear launch codes. It’s a sobering thought.

More of this for Afghanistan?

Of course, what’s interesting about this utterance is more in what it says about the power of the presidency than about the madness of this president, and in this respect Trump is almost performing a public service. When he says he has “plans,” he’s likely talking about actual contingency plans the Pentagon has presented to him – I’m certain they have contingency plans to reduce every nation on Earth to rubble. That is the underlying threat that makes every President a potential mass murderer (or an actual one, in many cases). The part about “winning” by destroying is largely self-inflation and imperial hubris, but it’s not that different from the kind of arrogance we’ve seen from America’s leaders in the past, as well as its military commanders. “It became necessary to destroy the town to save it,” as one U.S. unnamed U.S. major famously said of the bombing of Ben Tre in Vietnam in 1968. The formula still applies.

Since the dawn of the atomic age, our government has consciously chosen the path of greatest risk, not because it meant greater safety and security for the people of the world, but because to do so conformed to the logic of global empire. And because Trump says the quiet parts out loud, we can see this madness on full display. Yes, I am grateful that he apparently doesn’t think the mass killing of Afghans is a good way forward. What bothers me is that such a policy remains an option for this … or any president.

luv u,

jp

Usual Rubbish

Latchkey musicians.

I thought the light was on your side of the stable. Jesus … just reach over and click it on, will you? What? No electricity? I paid the light bill, damn it. Oh … I see. No wiring in the barn. Got it.

Well, friends, you know what they say – if you’re planning on spending years in a squathouse, it’s a good idea to spend the night there before you sign the paperwork. (Yes, even squathouses require paperwork. Look it up.) That’s what we elected to do, since our nasty third-floor neighbors in the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill started driving us out of our longtime squat with their loathsome habits and noisy weekending. It’s not easy to contemplate giving up the home you’ve known for nigh onto twenty years. But if nothing else, we of Big Green are practical. That’s why we only tour venues that are deep in interstellar space – it keeps the competition down.

Anyway, we got a tip on an old horse barn a couple of minutes from the hammer mill; apparently no one has used the building for a decade or more. We trooped over there, on foot, and bunked down for the night. Now, when I say “bunked”, I don’t mean to suggest that there were actual bunks in this place. It was kind of like a stationary hay ride … not that I’ve ever been on a hay ride, but I’m guessing it’s a slightly more kinetic version of what we experienced last night. Am I making myself clear?

Is it morning yet? Mother of pearl ...

Then, about 5 a.m., some dude came in and mistook Marvin (my personal robot assistant) for some kind of agricultural implement. I think he was digging post holes or something else kind of farmer-y. That’s when we pulled up stakes.

Okay, so the red barn isn’t going to work out. It was worth a go. We’ll just tough it out on the ground floor and basement of the Cheney Hammer Mill for the time being, checking the classifieds and the local Pennysaver for affordable rentals, then X-ing them out because we can’t afford rent. Mitch Macaphee, our mad science advisor, is working on some kind of force field to throw up between us and our feisty neighbors upstairs. (I told him there’s at least two floors between us and them already, but hey … he needs something to do.)