The Corner Turned? -- Who's Going To Hurt Them Now?

By the looks of things, a corner has been turned.

The turn is muddy, and we are muddled . . . but we are moving.

You see it, suddenly on T-shirts, sold at Target. A visit to that heaven on Earth will find a nice gold T with an anatomically exposed head, wearing earphones branded "Universalmind," with a banner: "FREE YOUR MIND."








Another has doves exploding in flight from the barrel of a tank cannon, a white Peace symbol beside it.





Yet another has a crowd over a city scape in silhouette, with one baggy-clothed young man raising a fist. The banner "POWER TO THE PEOPLE." Below it "Is The Message" in faded letters stands on a totem of dove and peace symbol.

This is commercial merchandise, at a Target. A national merchant, on the heels of Walmart. Hard to imagine a place more mainstream. What does it all mean, Batman? What Hath Wrought in Gotham, O Great Global God? . . .


Then . . . the Sunday NY Times displays big color pics of U.S. soldiers permanently damaged. One is being tenderly touched by his pretty wife. Another is a boy -- who looks junior high age -- strapped in a wheelchair, with a pencil, trying to comprehend the papers before him. Both were shot in the head. Both survived. Now as totems themselves, of a war gone terribly wrong -- just as so many had feared -- they live unknowing the deceptions that took their minds.

Seeing the seriously wounded men struggling with recovery like that -- even pictures of them in the moment of their bleeding crisis -- on the Sunday front banner, is a rarity, given the media record on this war. But it is also a revelation.

I couldn't help imagining that the woman in the picture was not the first guy's wife but a surviving warrior herself; that they had gone through this crucible together, as equals; then, surviving, returned home to rediscover not only their lives (which after losing part of your brain, must seem slightly unimaginable), but their selves, their individuality, their humanity, and the nature of their difference, as men and women.

I stared at the front page color, thinking of both men and women soldiers. Victims, ultimately. Lest we forget, men and women are fighting this war. Then I realized what could help turn the corner we need to turn . . . and with traction.

I imagined seeing a wounded woman in the Times pictures. The pretty girl we see here at home, there on the helicopter stretcher, in the arms of a medic, her blood everywhere. And then a shot of her in a wheelchair, trying to comprehend . . . the pretty girl we see at home. As Van Morrison once sang, back in the 'Nam days: "Caught one more time up on Cypress Avenue, conquered in a carseat, and there's nothing I can do . . ."

It's hard to keep emotion out of it. Soldiers are blown to death in faulty vehicles; innocent citizens are destroyed callously in the crossfire; billions of U.S. dollars disappear into the hostile environment, coming back as enemy bombs; the war excuses proving to be lies; and the real villain (?) bin Ladin still at large . . . it's hard to not get emotional.

So much waste and destruction -- in many ways, record destruction. (If you keep war records.) We address it as any number of things, besides bloody God-damned war. We try to treat it as just another issue, on the global table. Or -- as some claim -- that it's the "deciding conflict of our age." ("And I'm the decider!" sayeth the Bush. [Bush 43])

But we are, still, above all, Americans. We believe -- truly -- in freedom and liberation. And we love having friends, all around the world. We really do want everyone to be able to travel all around the world and visit each other. It's just that our intentions keep getting usurped, somehow; put to some dastard's design. A disaster here, a disaster there, and the whole fabrication falls in, and along comes Jones, on his high-horse, to protect the investors' heads. Whaty is their "national interests." But we are still freedom-loving Americans, the regular you-and-I's. We don't want this crap.

But how to end it? Huh? Come on -- let's have some ideas over here, kids! Think a minute beyond your comfortable routine ('cause if you don't, it'll soon be gone, for your kids, anyway).

I daresay, if a bleeding beauty female soldier is slathered across those Sunday pages, and the story of the women in war is told -- really told -- this whole myopic "mission" will come to an end. And quick.

"Women dying . . . for this?" the John Wayne cliche would go. "Not on yer life, pilgrim!"
Not because the war position is not true (though it is truly not). But because men do not want to need women to fight.

If the truth be told, and all other things militarily equal, to have women fighting suggests a weakness in the men -- a failed ethic, a cultural crisis. It is a sign that something has gone drastically wrong with the race, with humanity . . . in the hands of men.

When the men have to be joined by women in the trenches, the moment is dire. It is very close to the fall . . . like Moscow and Stalingrad. (If you watch the war channels.) But even worse. It is a situation drawn very close to global religious apocalypse. Far closer than either Kennedy or Johnson would have let it. Or even Nixon.

But "religious apocalypse" -- where does that language come from? Oh, yes, it's the "word of God." Well . . . Which one?

Is it about the Bible's god, or the Koran's god? Which god do they propose we fight? For to engage in the battle, one has to be fighting someone's god, in defense of their "own." And so it is with religious language, the "holy" words we use. Is it really about a true god and a false one, and therefore the beievers in the false must ALL be destroyed? Or is it just about the oil? Or maybe . . . merely about a man's legacy now? Not Man . . . a man. One man, and his chosen sociopaths . . . for whom women are dying. (Seems they wouldn't mind seeing one killed at their own word, either, for marrying the "wrong" man," as the Scooter Libby trial shows.) Forget about the females in the Iraqi population, the little girls. Just focus on the American losses. But show it -- show how American women are dying, for Bush's brood, for Bush's language. The war would lose its biblical righteousness if we see real footage of American women and children dying -- maybe even Christian women and children -- oh my god!

Both sides, and all the fractions therein, will have to call off their God's holy holocaust. Revelations will be saved for a later day. The Rapture? The final "ascension of man"? . . . let those men do it who want to, way off in a desert somewhere all by themselves, like kids in a neighborhood war games. But leave the rest of us out of it.

Because fully-developed people want to live. Normally adjusted people want to get along and have fun, but not by playing war. They want at least for the wives, mothers, and children to live . . . war-free someday.

In the land of heavenly cypress and hanging gardens of delight, where the mythic Tigris joins the legendary Euphrates, where civilization itself is said to have developed . . . women and children lie bleeding and dead. Ours, theirs (if you keep sides). But not on the cover of the Times --
Oh no! My god! That would be unpatriotic!













That said, Senator Murtha is a fool. Another perfect example of why the Democrats can't do their contituents' will. They simply cannot unite around a unified policy, and follow the correct diplomatic steps to see it succeed. Murtha, a most powerful man, suddenly, worked up his admirably-conceived war-curbing bill all on his own, and pushed in out to the public before having his party members review. He either wanted all the glory or feared losing because he knew it was too radical. Not even his buddy-in-arms Nancy Pelosi (who, by the way, is superbly adept at Capitol politics) saw it. Murtha just went ahead and broadcast it -- the unrefined, unshared bill, over -- get this -- an antiwar website!

Smooth move, Ex-Lax. Another asshole, clogging up the works.

The Republicans, pressed to the wall, couldn't have been happier. Suddenly they have a campaign issue they can beat the Dems with, mercilessly, like a big lead hammer, 'til the population is stupid. (Hey, it worked in 2000, and 2004.) Their most desperate dream had come true: Murtha had self-destructed. Better, he "exposed" the party's character, as being worse than antiwar -- as being anti-troops. Thus, anti-patriot.

Thanks, Murtha. You wasted as much national empathy from 11/7 as Bush wasted after 9/11. And not only will it now not stop the war, it will have the next Democratic presidential candidate under a nasty spotlight, and the wicked label: anti-troops. Almost as bad as Commie Pinko or neo-Nazi, or "towelhead."

And we've already seen how good Howard Dean and the Dems are at getting out from under spotlights and labels. Of their own ignorance of words, and timing, and methods -- basic diplomatic stuff -- they help create the Republican disasters. They are unconscious accomplices, because they, too, are maladjusted. We know the Republicans love playing "brain police," but if no one else appears to have a brain at all, what choice do they have?

Don't get me started on brain issues, and whose is in a frying pan . . . that really fries me! . . .

A whole other tissue.

In fact, a whole box. 'Cause they're gonna keep dying, and we'll keep crying.



Capt. Dreadnaut

Captain Dreadnaut: What Abuse Hath Wrought

Captain Dreadnaut: What Abuse Hath Wrought-- Comments on Iraq and House "debates"

What Abuse Hath Wrought

Listening to the 5-minute speeches in the House "debate" -- actually a non-debate, made to a nearly empty chamber over these past days -- in snippets on NPR, I feel much emotion but still hear no clear voice, no one speech that NAILS it. In my frustration with my democratic republic's despicable behavior so far this century, on my daily 100-mile commutes to work for/in this great land, I find myself composing my own speeches. What would I say? Hmm.
Of course, by the time I reach home, I'm completely fagged out, able only to grab a bite and flop in a soft chair, and fall asleep before one pablumatic TV crime show or other. And before dawn, I'm up doing the whole routine all over again, my intellectual and pariotic wheels spun out in fitful sleep, only to be overrun by the very real and weary wheels of my car on the endless American freeway to Hellenback (Texas).
So tonite I force myself onto my laptop to try and grind out at least ONE statement on the state of things, to alleviate my frustration . . . even though I know maybe only three people will ever log on to read it. But here goes:

Simply, what has our military adventure in Iraq wrought? (Facts only, please.)

1) 3100 US soldiers dead.
2) Uncertain number of US civilians dead (contractors, mercenaries).
3) Tens of thousands of Iraqi civilians dead, mostly innocent victims.
4) The removal and execution of bad regime leaders, the Husseins et al.
5) A failed state, fallen into near-total chaos.
6) Mideast infrastructures, including oilfields, and political check-and-balance alliances, destroyed or badly deteriorated.
7) Native defensive insurgencies, initially staunched against brute alien power (not unlike the "insurgents" of the 13 American colonies), overtaken by radical Muslim organizations and turned to sectarian exterminations -- in fact, a civil war.
8) Hatred of American government and Christian values instilled in a whole new generation of war victims, their families and communities.
9) Usurpation of governing and legislative powers by the US presidencial administration, bordering on illegal conspiracy.
10) Gross intimidation and manipulation of media, a de facto loss of freedom of the press.
11) Dilution of US judicial system and process.
12) Creation of secret prisons overseas, run by corporate contractors beyond the reach of legal or moral oversight.
13) Condoning -- and practicing -- of state torture, declared boldly.
14) State violation of basic constitutional rights; illegal wiretapping.
15) The "disappearing" of whomever the administration targets, simply by labeling them an "enemy combatant."
16) Complete depowering of the Legislative branch by the instituting of Executive "signing statements" as legal case precedence.
17) Suspension of habeas corpus by the Executive branch, unreviewable by the Judicial branch. (Even Lincoln couldn't get away with that in our own Civil War.)
18) The direct loss of billions of dollars, some of which was itself simply "disappeared" . . . likely returning in the form of bombs and bullets.
19) Dangerous distress to the US economy, serving us into indebtedness to a communist country which past brave patriots battled mightily and died to "contain," for decades, and which now owns perhaps a third of our national economic assets.
20) Loss of US stature as the standard-bearer of civil liberty and human decency in the eyes of the world, making our military posturing all the more frightening and irrational.

What, for all this loss, have we gained?

1) More oil, and cheaper gas? No.
2) The capture of Osama Bin Ladin et al? No.
3) Diminution of terrorism, and the will to do violence? No.
4) Worldwide coalition alliances? No.
5) Freedom and rights for other people and countries? No.
6) Majority support from our own populace? No.
7) A closer union within the United Nations? No.
8) "Free World" trust and faith? No.
9) Admiration of the principles of Chritianity? No.
10) Greater opportunity and quality of life for our children? No.
11) Stronger nation, economy, environmental stability? No.
12) Pride in our actions for humanity, like we felt after WWII? No.

Certainly not.

Oh . . . and as for America's vaunted War On Drugs, by which we virtually dictate policy to other countries by dangling money on a big stick? . . . Our actions have fostered the greatest increase in heroin poppy cultivation the world has ever seen? AND, left us too crippled to battle warlords and druglords, who now operate with impunity, where once they feared US military force.

For the life-loving potheads of the world, maybe that's a good thing. But for the crack addicts in our alleys (and increasingly in our homes!), and the heroin overdoses in our hospitals and morgues, that's a very sad thing.

And don't get me started on Nixon and Reagan, and where these boys like Cheney and Rumsfeld learned their neighborhood wargame tactics, and their pathologic paranoia . . .

Don't get me started, America. For Eisenhower, the supreme commander perhaps on a par with Napoleon and Caesar, did warn us of the military-industrial complex. And Jefferson did say the best thing for the health of the United States was a revolution every twenty years.

Do I mean violence? Hell, no. I mean stuff like go see Al Gore's movie. And support the HEALING of the troops more than the arming. (Ironic: arm them so they can come home legless.)

Hell, the promise of a college education and a $40,000 signing bonus would've turned my teenage head around too . . . as long as no one showed me pictures of the poor guys and gals sitting back in the ghetto with no apendages, missing organs, no balls, no faces, no family, no hope, no future . . .

Like Vietnam? Well . . . thank god a freak from Hollywood turned me on to acid when he did; and my high school buddy came back from 'Nam in 1966 and sat me down over beers between sets of my rock band, when I was holding my final draft notice, and told me, with tears in his eyes, "Man, don't go, whatever you gotta do. It's insane. Fred's gone, man -- he's dead. The guy we played football with. If you let 'em get you, man, I'll personally find you and break your neck! I swear, I'll f___ you up. 'Cause if I don't, they will."

". . . They come from here and there and you and me, and brothers,
can't you see, this is not the way we put an end to war? . . ."

Humbly yours, Capt. Dreadnaut

FLIGHT FROM BABYLON: Reggae Novel a Unique Masterpiece

The reggae novel FLIGHT FROM BABYLON: The Legend And Quest of Draxie Dread, by author William E. Jackson, is at first view a story about the reggae music world -- the ONLY reggae novel in existence -- and it certainly is that, but it is SO much more. This is an epic tale of interracial passion of profound proportions.

The storyline: A young white artist goes to Jamaica for the first Bob Marley Memorial Concert in 1982 and falls head over heels for Jamaican culture; it resonates deep within him, on a karmic level. And so he changes his life completely -- music, girlfriends, lifestyle -- and relentlessly pursues a career in reggae music. When his band final "makes it," you feel as elated as they do . . . but still that dread wariness of crossing over haunts them. And the dangers lurking are very real.

From Draxton Welles' (aka Draxie Dread's) first encounters in JA -- his first ganja score; being the only white guy at a druglord's rural party; learning the runnings -- to his historic comeback after an assassination ambush in L.A. that kills his African American wife, this story of spiritual and artistic striving rings true and loud in your head over and over.

You will never forget Draxie Dread. And you will truly wonder how you ever missed hearing about him before. The book is that real.

The insights into racial views, feelings, and actions are remarkable, the reflections on humanity's inhumanity and inherent tenderness stunning. The characters are incredibly true-to-life -- especially the women, strong and determined. And the dialogue is top-class. This book is the very best in novel-writing. It is so well rendered you'll even feel empathy for the bad guys! And the Jamaican patois and site descriptions are spot-on, Rasta.

At over 600 pages, it is a daunting-looking tome; but you'll find it impossible to put down. The tale just keeps unfolding, deeper and deeper, the mystery, humor and tension dragging your into places you never dared to imagine but find thrilling and delicious, terrible, hilarious, profound.

Notice: In this story you will find a novelized version of the actual eye-witness account of the murder of Peter Tosh -- herein portrayed as reggae superstar Hagian Foss. What you will read are the unvarnished facts as related by one of the surviving victims, applied in novelistic tradition to a story that weaves the good, the bad, and the dread-glorious together in a classic tapestry of love, daring, death, devotion, and transcendence.

The author Mr. Jackson knows this world intimately. He led reggae bands himself in the 80's; was interviewer and program dj assistant to the legendary Mis Wire Waist of "Sounds Of Jamaica" on KPFK (L.A.); interviewed artists from Big Youth, Mutabaruka and Ras Michael to Steel Pulse and Burning Spear; and published his own reggae culture magazine JAH GUIDE in 1986. He is now married to a wonderful Jamaican lady and has a little yard home overlooking the sea outside Montego Bay, in the humble community of Barrettown, surrounded by wonderful family and friends.

His next novel -- ADASSA -- is due out in March 2007, and then a photo book of his island experiences titled NEW JAMAICA CENTURY, to appear later in 2007 -- all under the Infinity Publishing imprimatur.

Go to the infinitypublishing.com website and look up FLIGHT FROM BABYLON!

It has not been marketed in traditional fashion -- the "industry system" hasn't gotten its claws into this masterpiece yet. (Mr. Jackson is not in it for the money or fame, you see, he just loves to write good literature.)

So be among the first to uncover this treasure trove of human experience.

As everyone who reads it marvels -- Jamaican and American alike, "Man, this would make a FANTASTIC movie! . . . Imagine the soundtrack."

But don't just sit there imagining -- look it up!

Capt. Dreadnaut