Yet More on Suppression

Go here and read and be concerned. You'll have to get past Salon's free pass, but its worth a minute or two of annoying ads. This is a very serious matter for which there can be no excuse. Once again, the Big Lie inherent in Bush's babble about the spread of democracy is exposed. Again, I wonder...how can anyone in this country go along with this? How can they get so cranked up about a badly done attempt at covering up a blow job, and not even peep about something like this? Are we that far gone? Anyway, its stunts like this that have me convinced that the second Bush presidency is as bad for this country as just about anything else we've ever experienced.

A Quickie

Wow. That brings a lot of things to mind. Now, get your mind out of there. This isn't about those things.

Today they held a memorial for Alan Dundes, a monument himself in the field of Folkloristics. It lasted for about two and a half hours. Not long after, a tropical front moved in and it rained like hell for about half an hour. It would have to be the hardest rain yet this season. It's still dark and weird out there. It reminds me that three days after my grandfather died, the grandfather clock in the foyer of our house fell flat on its face.

Hmmmm....

Acanthus

I've had a certain affection for acanthus bushes since we moved to Berkeley in 1965. They are large and solid and have those great big waxy leaves. I used to hide inside them when I was about 7. They were big enough, and I was small enough that I could get in under their arching stems and be invisible to my older brother. Any advantage was a big advantage in those days. Being that he was 9, he was much bigger and stronger than me, and didn't always balk at reminding me. To be fair, he wasn't a tyrant. Still, to have a friend like the acanthus was now and then a wonderful thing.

Chunks of Flesh

This morning was a classic early spring morning in the SF Bay Area. The Berkeley Hills were slighty damp and freezing cold as the sun had not yet topped the ridge. The air was clear as a bell, and snappish in that refreshing way that makes nightcrawlers late sleepers wave their hands in derision and make the vomit sign with their forefinger. That's OK. As Neal Cassady said, never knock the way the other cat swings. Or , as he supposedly said. Anyway, a morning like this makes you feel good.

I was striding down the road, enjoying the smells of grass, flowers, and a breakfast being cooked somewhere. Dogs were barking in Live Oak Park. Crows were swooping around looking for some nice succulent garbage. Then I saw the squirrels skittering around, running from me, and after each other. Perhaps one had a golden acorn. Then a dark image took hold, and I haven't been able to shake it yet. A picture arose in my mind of a fence line topped with perhaps fifty squirrels, all cute and cuddly and staring at me. All of them. I was seized by a hypnotic force and backed up to a parked car, against my will. Try as I might I couldn't break away. I stared at them, and they stared at me. Then an especially fat and malevolent squirrel began that horrible ragged chirping noise they sometimes make. All the squirrels joined in. The racket became intolerable. Suddenly I knew what was coming next but I couldn't move. I was to be the object of sacrifice for 4 dozen squirrels to appease whatever god they worship. They leapt down from the fence en masse, and before I knew it, great chunks of my flesh were being stripped off my legs by the leaping fat, furry little devils. I screamed even but could barely hear myself above the horrible chirping and squeaking. I went down swinging, finally able to move. Squirrels flew in every direction and the crows swooped down to take them as they hit the pavement. Ah yes, crows are my friends. The squirrels scattered, squeaking in fear as the corvids fell on them with relish. When I recover I will moblize an army of them and ravage the squirrel population from Richmond to Oakland. I will have my revenge, and the crows will have a feast. Ahhhh hahahahahhahaaaaa....