11-21-08 Sunday I agree with all of your statements about the evil. IT is so evil that I have no hope of it ever being any other way—oh well: Maybe someday far off yet. I understand how the evolution of this 'western' culture we have to try to live within has regressed from our natural state to where it is today, for us of this end of our world. The evil began quite long ago when we, in this end of our humancentric world's population began to merge from hunter gatherers toward agrarian pursuits and animal domestication. In Daniel Quinn's book, My Ishmael, he laid the scenario out wherein which, as the agricultural intensification intensified, and the surpluses had to be warehoused, which in turn, required guards to sageguard the storage areas; and then troops to protect the outer perimeters from marauding hordes of people who were hungrier than them. From, say, ten thousand years ago, this scenario has morphed into all the histories of wars and warring.
One qualifier has to be stated here, and that has to do with how our brains and their mentalities had been conditioned from the very earliest times to kill prey and deal with the blood and guts and emotional qualms one feels when killing and butchering. And in the course of this even lengthier history, we developed a hardening of the softer sides of our hearts. Some even developed a lust to kill. Now, today, we more highly evolved (?) humans feel a hurt terribly when confronted face-to-face with having to kill another life form—at least I do. I felt bad and sad when I had to dispatch one or another of the dozens of wild life forms—skunks, coons, squirrels, and ferel cats. I cried inside to have to deal with the death and dying of the half-dozen or so turkeys that I either killed or had to deal with when they got attacked by predators or wrecked themselves by flying into unyielding stuff—fences and tree branches—as they flew down from their nightly perches high up in the fir trees. In fact, I think I felt something similar to what a pregnant woman feels when she aborts her fetus, when I had to resign myself to the tragedy of unnecessary loss of one or another of the turkeys—even the littlest ones; and their were dozens and dozens of sad losses of the very young.
So, taking into consideration that for hundreds of generations we males (mostly, now; earlier cultures, women also did a lot of the butchering too) have been killing animals and dealing with the blood and guts. It is such a crying shame that Christianity's book tells us that we are the masters, overseers of all life and were given dominion by god over all of the earth and its life forms. Very unfortunate indeed, and false, false, false to the nth degree, wouldn't you agree? Another example of evil influence pedaled upon the uneducated poor-but-normal (more normal; or maybe not so evil-hearted) and propagandized since a couple thousand years, already—or more; probably more.
Even if he wanted to, Obama can not dismantle the police state already mucho in place. THEY would rise up and knock him off if he tried. Such is the evil that you lamented in your last letter. Evil as hell—pun intended._______________________________
Gramma Sybil was born in 1888. This would make her as having formed most of her base personnae before autos and electrification has much of a beginning. Having started college at age seventeen (1905) and earned her doctoral degree in music and the piano by 1908, or thereabouts. And getting married at about those years. Her first born, William, was born about 1910; then Barbara in 1912; Ned (Edward) about the time the first big bloodbath in Europe wiped quite a large percentage of our best and brightest males. A stillborn male (Alfred) was born in 1917 while millions more died in the influenza epidemic raged in 1918 and 1919, and Hilda in 1920.
As a liberated female of the early twentieth century, she organized and demonstrated for womens' suffrage, the right to vote, and prohibition, until the constitution was amended to give the right to vote to women. Still in her youthfulness as the roaring twenties blew in and up, she took up smoking, and, no doubt, wearing higher=hemmed dresses than had previously been verboten by the higher society types who place such a seeming inordinate value upon how one presents him or her self; and wore o bobbed hairdo. She married a stable hard-working man who also knew how business worked and kept her in a stable situation while she raised her children. Of course, that they each generated income only added to this stability. They bought the family home in 1908 for $7,000 and she told Hilda before Sybil died, that she sold it in 1950 for $8,500 . . .42 years in the same house: wow! during which time, the evil was exponentially grown solider and solider; disintegrating the family unit and relocating 90 percent of everybody from off the (potentially, always) self-sufficient agrarian lands and into the cities. Sybil was born at home in the Sierras into an agrarian setting and lived in this situation until she went off to college, so she learned from her mom and dad what all it took to manage everything to do with providing year-round sustenance for a family out in the country: gardening, animal husbandry, and harvesting, preserving, and storage of foodstuffs. A lot of these smarts went pretty much out the window as she grew familiar with the use of electric things (phone, fridge, washing machines, etc.), cars, and the social whirl of an urban college community. After Hilda moved away (with me in 1944 to San Francisco, and then beyond to Marin County after marrying Paul (Jan.1946), and in that same year: mu uncle Billy (William) got killed in the second world war, I think Gramma gave in to desires to experience other things than her husband of forty some-odd years and all that raising of children to adulthood and the (teaching at) college routine, because she divorced her hubby and married another one, who died in '46, leaving her again to seek out and search for meaning; and I bet this has some bearing upon her becoming infatuated with L. Ron Hubbard's 'new' psychoanalitical approaches to what essentially is an offshoot of mainstream psychology. And yeah: I agree with your statement about having lost family to Scientology. But hey: I was an only child (until ten, and by then, my personnae was pretty much set in stone) and well-acclimatized to being alone and doing whatever it was that interested me. Hilda's young womanhood and sociopathic leanings left in-the-way me on my own and to my own devices a lot, and I grew accustomed to this aloneness and learned how to operate within its shortcomings. (Shortcomings, as defined by the sociopathic puritanical retro—and evil—mainstream values of the day.) I didn't feel that much shortcomed—at least consciously, that is. But of course, in my inner sanctum, an unease festered. No one ever mentioned such things as my subsconscious and the 'science' of its workings until I was in my fourteenth year; and it was to be another near fifty years before I understood all of its parts thoroughly enough to become able to forgive myself for all that I was unaware off and just did not have the wherewithall to incorporate, maybe, some finer, more noble protocols into my behavior patterns. Sure, I learned to eat only what it takes to survive in a healthy condition—over-eating is an unhealthy behavior; and learned to not just give my all to the man and his evil desires that I give him my everything and be-all and end-all about the time I hit thirty years old, but it was not until I hit darn near sixty before I began to forgive myself as having really not had much chance to be toher than who I became and was. Whatever Sybil had in the way of rural smarts went by the wayside and she raised her kids into a world already pretty far gone from what and where it was just before the civil war fucked everything up pretty bad, already, as pertains to the type of family cohesion and community solidarity that did exist in pre-wars America in all but the wealthiest of blue bloods. Hilda grew up with all the modern conveniences and finished her teens up in the awful times of the depression of the thirties; but in a stable house in which no one ever went hungry or got their lands and homes taken away from them—but barely middle-class, yet. I am sure that Sybil social-climbed. And I know that Hilda definitely social-climbed and wanted to, in marrying up to Paul Fourman, who was definitely upper middle-class, and knew lots and lots of really upper-class people from his many contacts as a part of his business, and as a member of a very high-class mens' club in San Francisco—as was his father before him, who turned over the business to Paul when he retired in the early fifties after building it up from nothing in the early twenties. Paul's father had owned three apartment buildings in Manhattan at the time of the crash of 1929, and though he lost all of them, he still came away from those times with his stocks and bonds intact enough to keep him far away from the poorhouse.
You just know that Obama is not going to be very able to make much of any, if any, dent in the international private-banking consortium's grip upon all of the world's lives—animal, vegetable, and mineral. I feel that it will probably only happen when everyone has annihilated everyone else and there just aren't enough infrastructures and people to run them anymore and then . . . maybe then we, if there are any of us left at all, could begin anew to try to get it better next time—if there is a next time, even. I get so---I used to get so disgusted to know the crime and criminality and downright unhuman-friendly so-called civilization that has grown to allow such a total domination over us by the bigwigs and fatcats as is currently the Zeitgeist of our 'western' world order. So disgusted, angry, dismayed, and disenheartened that, in an abject near-helplessness of despair, I gave up trying to do anything other than just survive and try to find what little happinesses I could outside the box, and to hell with 'em—fuckum! as my only seeming recourse as an individual. I like what you say and I sense about how the web has done so much to open—or at least try to—the eyes, ears, hearts and minds of the people about the evil—and I agree: real ba-a-d onery malicious evil by design that is presently about and has been, in one form or another for at least ten millenia—or eight, anyway. God damn xtians really fucked it up worse than ever. All they preach about has just prompted those with evil leanings to capitalize on the evil of shame and judgment of sin, and the laying of guilt upon the masses of darn near all of us poor folks and blue collar types. I feel lucky to have grown to incorporate green collar attitudes and endeavors, but am just one very small and now old guy and will not have much sway upon those who will follow in mine and other enlightened souls' footprints to grow the movement and maybe win out in some future end that does not just end up with with humanity exterminated by the evil-doers now doing such abhorant evil throughout this land and beyond. Unable to fight the truly monstrous beast and unwilling to waste my precious life trying, I have lapsed into friendlier spaces where nicer thoughts have a better chance of guiding my actions, thoughts, and life's course, and taken on the mantle of the loner, the hermit, the pastoralist, and curious naturalist, and learned to find enjoyment in puttering about with the small and inconsequential, yet still of mighty interest and curiosity-prodding, with mystery and intrigue thrown in for good measure.
As to black folks and how I grew up to become familiar with them and their culture. They never really figured in my life until we moved over to the far larger house on the eastern slopes of Mill Valley and my mom had three small daughters to raise and care for and Paul hired housecleaners—the cleaning woman—to help mom keep the house spic and span and the laundry done when I was in my tenth year. Some of those gals' friendliness and tolerance and wit must have had some effect upon how I was to pretty much totally accept the thousand blacks who populated my high school years. Sure, I had engendered within my by the outside influences toward a prejudice toward them, but I had to accept that they were just as human and smart and able, if not more so in many ways, than me. It was the blues that sucked me into a further integration of racial equality feelings and refusal to go along with the whites' program. I played with them—and good music; exciting music; music that made my heart sing—sang with them and sang their many songs. One of my very best friends in high school was Nathanial Johnson, a large tal balck fellow who played a great string bass and we sang together in high school choir. One of the very first gigs in my seventeenth year was in a black beer bar in the predominately black Fillmore district of San Francisco: The Shady Grove. Yeah: They were all filled up with beer, which is probably why they expressed such intense feelings to us three 17 year old white boys about how much they loved us and how we were so great; but I came away from that gig with no more sense-of-hostility or better-than, anymore about black skin-colored folks. In fact, it was ten years later, upon experiencing the psychedelic experience that I found myself ridiculing myself's previous and lengthy attempts to emulate being a black blues musician, and began to seek out my whiteboy musician's roots and preferences. The middle class white folks in middle California coastal areas never had any kind of troubles as occurred in the southern states because all of San Francisco bay area had integrated in the war effort of WW II era and most of the high schools—except the 'private' ones—were integrated by the time I started high school in 1953. I think that, having gone on collections in the mainly black area of Marin City when I worked for Brown's Furniture store in Mill Valley, I got an eyeful of the way black folks lived and as to how they struggled so hard to keep on the right and bright side in spite of their horrible economic situations due to their poor opportunities for other than lousy dirty and demeaning job. I felt awful pangs of sympathy for them every time I would park the company truck and take my collections book with me to their doors and have to remind them that they were behind on their payments; and I am sure this job over six months of my twentieth and twenty-first year had a lot to do with erasing any further prejudicial leanings. King filled me in greatly as to how much evil there so-definitely was in our american end of this world, and when he was killed, I got so darn mad and sad and dejected and so on; only further driving me over the edge of any further desire to keep trying to chase the American Dream type imageries foisted upon me throughout the young uears of my life. andthat are so intently and intensely promulgated throughout the length and breadth of every aspect of this 21rst cent. society's mainstream media and schools, movies,churches, militaristas, politicians, bankers, and money-lenders ad nauseum. Well: fukit then; fuck'em all, the mean, cruel, geedy, glutinous basturds.
Have I responded to your letter with enough? Can I go back now to my weed and wood carving, book-reading, food preparation, sleeptimes, and fire building and maintaining now? It's all I got, really—and a weekly twenty-four mile round trip to town and back. I am gladdened to read of your recognition of the huge disintegration and dissolution and dismemberment of the family unit that the leaders of the industrial age fomented—and fomented so successfully. This knowledge gives you a leg up, as it were; although it also precludes a lot of involvements that force you and I and everyone to have to try to talk sense to a lot of very exceedingly dumb, under-educated, and evilly-brainwashed/braindead people n so many aspects of your, mine, and everyone's daily fare; and shuts you out of fat government jobs, etc. Even as a straight blue collar guy at twenty-three, I remember feeling real scared about getting sucked in forever into the post office job (civil service.) It really was a great relief to have United Parcel Service steal me away from the USPO . . .and pay me forty percent more than the post office did . . .
A totally un appealing fantasy I have about renting the other cabin/structure there and us really working up some musical performing stuff together, seems so not me at this moment, here; but I can't help the thoughts erupting anyway, due to the nice idea it would seem to portend. But I am so-oh stuck here for the near future couple/few years it will take to clean up and clear out all I've collected and assembled here; and I cannot just leave such a mess for others—and family members, no matter their total disregard for who I seem to be to them—to clean up and make nice again. I have that much sense-of-what-is-honorable and decent and 'right.'
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