Monday, May 14, 2018
Life's a Beach!
Let us wander; what say we amble down to yonder coast?
’Tis there we’ll stroll the strand; explore a frothy edge, where wonder rolls up on the shores of familiarity.
Hey, Life’s a beach!
When we’ve walked as far as landward ambling will allow, we find ourselves at the end of what we know.
There we gaze out upon the horizons of what we do not know.
If you take a right turn at that juncture and keep going, you’ll enter the realm of belief, or faith. Here’s what it looks like, because your eyes are blinded by the end of it:
If you take a left turn there and continue, you’ll happen upon the tree of knowledge. Let your eye follow its structure, but the end of it is somewhere out of your view.
Analyzing and Believing are two different paths; whichever you choose as your predominant life strategy—that choice will take you to the destination that is appropriate to your choice.
You may make a deposit in the dilemma of data.
Or you may find yourself reflecting eternity.
Selah and Serendipity to ya! Zippity do dah too.
King of Soul
Labels:
beaches,
belief,
circumspection,
data,
destiny,
Faith,
horizon,
introspection,
knowledge,
shores,
strand,
tree of knowledge,
walk on the beach,
wonder
Wednesday, May 2, 2018
The killing of God
Just because the potentates of old Europe wrangled the Bible away from its Hebrew roots and turned it into dead religion doesn’t mean God doesn’t exist.
God did, after all, create humans with a free will. We are not programmed bots. Just because we homo sapiens screwed it up over the course of a few thousand years doesn’t mean that God wasn’t in the midst of it all somewhere, trying to break through our cerebral density, carnal shenanigans and political bullshit.
Actually, God did break through. But look what we did to him.
In the Middle Eastern crossroads where our wayward cruelties had taken advantage of 1st-century Empire-building power politics to nail him, a stake was driven in the ground. It turned out to be a bloody mess and a sacrifice of universal proportions.
So, as the centuries rolled by, the movers and the shakers among us took that bloody sacrifice and ran with it, transformed it into a first-class religious system that rolled on through time and continent like a runaway ox-cart on a roman road. A thousand years later, we’d manhandled that pivotal sacrifice into high-powered religion, through which men and women worldwide were either convinced or manipulated (depending upon your interpretation of it) into the mysteries of practiced religion.
Long about 1500 ad dominum, a few upstart readers who were paying attention to the original scripts started to figure out that something had gone wrong somewhere along the line.
So they raised some issues. Well, long story short, all hell broke loose.
That great institutional juggernaut that had rolled down through a millennium of pox humana religiosity suddenly was under attack from men who were trying to get to the bottom of it all, which is to say . . . trying to get through all that institutional religiosity to . . . the truth.
The truth? What is truth?
Haha glad you asked.
This little question became a matter of serious debate.
Now that the snake was out of the bag, everybody and their brother was trying to figure out what the truth really was and how it should be used to improve the human condition. People like Rousseau, Hegel, Engels and Marx, Lenin and several other notorious bastards.
As the movement to replace God with human wisdom and government gathered steam, human history heated up quite a bit. And the conflagration of it increased exponentially because this historic development just happened to coincide with the 19th-century Industrial Revolution. So we had a lot more fire power to implement all the big changes that needed to happen in order to get mankind delivered from the great religious debacle that had held us in bondage for so long.
Some guys in Prussia figured out that, since the great juggernaut institution of religion had been exposed to be the manipulative Oz-like empire that it was, the immediate conclusion was that not only had we killed religion, but we humans had managed to finally kill God! Voltaire, Schopenhauer and Nietzsche made this point perfectly clear.
Several bloody revolutions and a couple of world wars later, we are in the process now of finally getting our ducks in a row and ourselves straightened out, now that we’ve finally gotten God out of the way.
Even though we had already killed him one time before, but that’s another story.
Actually, it’s The Story.
His-story.
You can’t kill it, because that death-sentence strategy has already been implemented several times, yet without conclusive results.
We humanos insist on perpetually resurrecting that Story. We just can’t get enough of the un-killable presence among us. It refuses to stay dead. Might be worth looking into.
King of Soul
Labels:
atheism,
Christ,
Church,
communism,
cross,
death,
Engels,
God,
humanism,
Jan Hus,
life,
life after death,
Marx,
Nietzsche,
persecution,
religion,
resurrection,
revolution,
Schopenhauer,
truth
Saturday, April 28, 2018
The Saga of the Stick
Herein is told the ongoing tale of them that do, doing unto them that get done unto.
Going back in time we find . . .Stuck in a perilous situation, homo sapiens grabbed a big stick and started swinging it.
His strategy worked sufficiently for subjugating wild animals and other scary intruders.
With frequent use, wielding of the stick became an habitual strategy for homo sapiens’ survival. Before long, he was expanding his use of the stick as a staff to herd sheep.
By herding sheep and scattering seed, sapiens man was able to survive on a higher level, and so he ascended to a certain sovereignty over his surroundings.
By ’n by, by finding fire, he discovered he could roast and toast and scald food and in so doing consume stuff more satisfactorily. This utilization of incendiary power also supplied heat sufficient to smelt metals from ores and to cast tools from stones and then to strike utensils for use in shaping a new way of life and ultimately a society.
"Hunters and gatherers we will be," said the shepherds in their new society.
"Shepherds and smelters we shall be," said the scions in their new ascendency.
Such satisfactory progress afforded sapiens some time to ponder the universe he was espousing. Moving right along, sapiens man began scribbling squigglies on stones, scratching symbols on papyrus, and certainly scrawling scripts on scrolls.
“Scholars and stargazers we shall be”, said the Scions in their ascending hierarchy.
“With swords and sceptres will we assert our sovereignty; with scythes and scripts we shall extend our authority.
Take ye these instruments," said the sovereign to the scion.
"Distribute these scythes and sickles; supply these utensils to yon peasants to scatter and to sow seeds in our fields.
Take these here symbols and scripts; scribe them upon the hearts of our people and in so doing implant our sovereignty over them. Establish our legendary sacrifices that such may become a sacrament unto them. Sow the seeds of our royalty, and thus harvest surplus with which we shall surely abolish the scourge of scarcity.
Clothe their servitude with civility. Sever their discontent with circuitous servility. With sword and scepter and script shall ye establish our ziggurats of slavery by which we shall dissemble them in the latest greatest viral-spinning splendors of sensuous satisfaction.
Urge them to spin in circles of superfluity.
Like them and tweet them and retweet them and thus sheepify them, deleting from them their former certainty and by ’n by their very liberty.
Cast ye the rising symbols of our datified sovereignty over them.
From search engines squeeze forth pseudos of science, as the tube yieldeth toothpaste until it is rolled and trolled and empty as a zero hero. Quantify and datify and pacify these scruffy malcontents. Render them thereby castrati and technocrati and couchpotatoati.
Swing ye the sword of censorship upon their scribblous postings while they yet cannot detect our tampering with their turbulent protestations.
Tell them to Get thee to a neutereing nunnery— lest their spurting emissions prolong the cursed progeny of our climate changing catastrophe!
Eliminate their emissions!
Publicize their scandalous commissions!
Narcotify and opiafy and entertainify them until they’ve been sufficiently socialized to binge upon the fodder of fakenews foolishness until the cows come home while the social medias drone on and on.
Stick it to ‘em,” said the hierophant to the sycophant.
Herein was told the the ongoing tale of them that do, doing unto them that get done unto.
So . . . of which group are you?
Glass Chimera
Sunday, April 22, 2018
Give me America
Give me America anyday because
I hear America bringing
politics gone mad
into process.
Just give it to me:
America.
Give me America anyday because
I see America clinging
to an old notion
of liberty.
Give me America anyday because
I still feel America flinging
the deadends of malice
into arcs of goodwill.
Give me America anyday because
I know America’s still singing
an old song, just with
a new beat.
You can’t beat
America.
Give me America anyday because
I can sight America winging
its way o’er terrains of pain
and strife.
It’s just life, y’all
to have to put up with
this stuff.
This stuff that’s goin’ down now:
them with their their guns and butter
vs. them with their lgbt muttering—
just give me America, you guys!
Give me America anyday because
I feel America clinging
to hope and justice
and even God
is still with us,
y’all.
King of Soul
Labels:
america,
Black Panther,
Black Violin,
electric car,
Faith,
Hope,
liberty,
poem,
poetry,
reconciliation,
singing
Thursday, April 12, 2018
The Ancient Rime of Pandorro and Zuchaburq
'T'was many and many millennia ago in a mythos by the sea
that Pandorro opened a magic jar and set the demons free.
For centuries upon centuries the humans attempted to correct
the myriad of maladies that Pandorro’s foolishness did eject.
Every now and then and by ’n by we’d find a way to block ‘em,
but always the little demons would scamper out to unlock ‘em.
By the time the twentieth century rolled onto the world’s time zone
them varmints found copious means to make themselves at home.
Along comes Marco Zuckaburq, some time in the early twenty-first,
flinging myriad platforms for vain fancy faces to they go forth and burst.
With all them billions of faces splattering themselves in cyberspace,
suddenly we had every kind of trolling vulture online in human race.
It all came down on Marco when he got grilled by political critics;
they badgered him about unleashing all them demon analytics.
It seems every demon came trolling from Pandora’s ancient blunder;
Faceless faces and drooling trolls came ripping cyberworld asunder.
But let us face the facts of freedom, y’all, far-flung in facebook data.
Every deviant spirit’s now unbound to show its Face sooner or lata.
Glass Chimera
Labels:
Congressional hearings,
data,
data analytics,
demons,
Facebook,
Pandora's box,
poem,
poetry,
satire,
spirits,
trolls
Monday, April 9, 2018
The Justice/Righteousness Struggle
Maybe it’s because I studied philosophy in college many years ago. Maybe it’s because I grew up in the deep south in the 1950’s-60’s. Maybe it’s because I was raised Catholic and then, at the age of 27 turned to the “born again” approach to spiritually.
Maybe it’s because I, like Jacob of old, have had to wrestle with God before I could let him into my way of thinking and doing. Maybe it’s because of Moses, or Paul, or Jesus himself that I had this wrestling session yesterday. For whatever reason, I spent yesterday, Sunday, wrestling with God.
Not literally, of course, but mentally, spiritually.
Let me try to explain this.
On Saturday evening, my wife and I shared an evening meal, and several hours, with a small group of friends whom we have known and loved for a long time, since the early 1980’s. We are, as they say, Christians.
These are people with whom we have, on a regular basis, gathered, prayed, worked, laughed and cried, for most of our adult life. We have all raised our now-adult children together and released them into the great wild world.
My struggle yesterday was precipitated by an ethical dilemma. The problem was working through my mind all day because our host friend had shown us a video link. The half-hour online presentation introduced to us—and to the world, generally— a work of ministry that is being carried out by our hosts' son-in-law, whose life and struggle is being worked out in his chosen hometown, Ferguson, Missouri.
In the video, Jonathan “JT” Tremaine presents some historical information along with some gospel enlightenment, and he then goes on to explain his vision for justice that is linked to a Christian call to righteousness.
As I ruminated all yesterday (Sunday) on what Jonathan had said, and the images he displayed, I became perplexed while wondering about this thorny question:
Just what the hell is justice anyway?
Is it equality instead of inequality? Is it income redistribution? How does this monumental concept of justice really play out in history, American history?
For many blacks, that idea of "justice" is defined largely by what color of skin a cop sees on the face of some citizen that he is trying to protect, or . . . protect himself against.
And how does justice relate to this “righteousness” thing that we so-called evangelicals like to claim for ourselves?
These are the two primary points—justice and righteousness—that JT raises in his podcast, and in his ministry in Ferguson, Missouri, which he calls “Meet me in Ferguson.”
For many people, especially honkies, neither of these issues is any big deal. Yet that unawareness—that insensitivity— is part of the problem.
The bottom line I’m working toward here is this. Both of these issues—justice and righteousness—are very important issues that we Americans must address if we are going to move forward in our great, historical experiment with democracy.
As the Hebrew prophet of old, Amos, presented a challenge to his people—and to all people throughout history. . .
“Let justice roll down like the waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream!”
This is a message of many prophets of old, and many modern prophets as well, such as Frederick Douglass and Harriet Tubman, Rosa Parks . . .
And Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
And Dr. Billy Graham.
Say what? Billy Graham? What's he got to do with social justice?
You probably didn’t know that back in the 1950’s, Billy Graham insisted that the ropes be removed—the ropes separating blacks and whites at his very own gospel crusades. And when racist ushers of that day refused to do it, Billy himself did remove the damned things. So that blacks and whites could, together, participate in the work of bringing in not only righteousness, but also justice.
And we are, y’all, still working on it.
Let Jonathan JT explain. This thing goes way back . . .
https://www.facebook.com/meetmeinferguson/videos/618272528508148/UzpfSTE3ODQxMTQ5ODg1Njc2NDoxODI4MzQ4NjE3MTk2MzY5/
I'll finish this struggle session with a song:
Mountaintop
Monday, April 2, 2018
The Second Dumming
with apology to W.B. Yeats
Spinning, spinning on internet spires
the demagogues have lost sight of our foundation;
Polls spread apart; the moderates cannot hold;
Seared extremities are loosed upon the land,
The opiate tide is loosed, and everywhere
our old consensus urge gets lost in the noise
The worst gain all attention, while the best
Are mired in mediocrity.
Um, um, some revolution is at hand,
like, like . . . absurdity rules the land.
It’s ridiculous! Immediately as the tweets is tweeted
with some viral bizarrity from lala land,
it occludes our sight: somewhere in the pixels of the dream
a shape with venus body and head of man,
gazing blank and shiftless as The Cloud demands,
is moving its slow members, while all around
retweet droppings splatter from our looney clowns.
The narco takes the cake; so now we reep
as two centuries of freedom deep
spin downward now to chaos bleep by bleep.
So what rough beast, its hour come at last,
slouches toward America to delete our past?
King of Soul
Labels:
chaos,
decadence,
demagogues,
extremism,
internet,
pessimism,
poem,
poetry,
political polarization,
politics,
sarcasm,
The Second Coming poem,
tweets,
W. B. Yeats
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)





