THE WHITE BUTTERFLY

Originally written September 1, at 3 p.m.

******

Tranquil. That’s how I’d describe the moment. But not a good type of tranquility: it isn’t the kind that simply drowns out the background noise and let’s you get lost in your own thoughts; it’s not the kind that soothes every nerve to the point of ecstasy. This tranquility is almost superficial. It is what is imposed on you by the elements – by circumstance.

It is the dead calm of the day. It is the single and distant bird whistle or squawk. It is the all-too-audible humming of some machine. It is the lonesome white butterfly making its way through the wind, seemingly lost. The sky torments me: the dead, grey lump above me that threatens me with a deluge, but dares not move a muscle. It doesn’t even breathe hard, for the trees don’t dance. A few shake their leaves slowly, almost like a nervous wave, but they don’t move like in times of life: when you feel alive in Her Bosom. No. Now, they just wave stealthily, as if hiding.

But from what? Perhaps from the same thing that everyone else seems to be hiding from, whatever it may be. This desolate place speaks loudly enough. The lonesome and lost white butterfly reflects this place – this moment in time, which is naught but confusing and lost: it glides back the other way now, flapping its tiny wings in the opposite direction, hoping – really hoping – to finally find its way…a path. But she’s blossomed already; she flies with full confidence, even in the face of error, for she knows to always search. Not the rest. Not these larvae, still cocooned in their homes, fearful of the dead calm outside their doors. Like me, they mourn this tranquility, but they fear it to the point of death and paralysis. They dare not storm the beaches; to come out of their vessels – of their cocoons. They remain larvae. But my Wings Are Tearing Skin.

And, as they say, that a butterfly’s wings in one place births a hurricane in another, so has my metamorphosis begun. The skies are parting and the oceans’ reflection begins to emerge. Somewhere, the sun shines, for change is inevitable. Evolution never stops. Still lost and nervous — “dizzy and unable to stand on my own” — but flying. My wings move to the tune and winds of the “Great Magnet”  — to wherever it may lead. Avoid the wasps along the way by manoeuvring skillfully: the white butterfly glides, flies, weaves in and out; she knows to survive to see the Ocean in all its glory: gleaming under the twilight.

Alas! Wings are Truly Earned!

THE BEAST GETS CLOSER…IT GROWS BIGGER

Originally written on Sunday, May 5, 2013

4:43 p.m.

A Much Needed Change of Pace

I’ve just returned from a small, personal excursion to the London Museum of Archeology and the Medway Valley Heritage Forest, IMG_20130503_205244 which seems to surround the former. Despite the Museum’s small size (it was just a bit bigger than my apartment, minus the separate/divided rooms) it held a few interesting artifacts and facts about the First Nations that settled in and around Canada. These included the tribes that settled at the Lawson Site, which apparently bordered the edge of what now is the Museum; at the back, past the parking lot, a re-creation of that village had been propped up, displaying a Longhouse (and a smaller Longhouse), Tents and a few other landmarks that created a vague, though palpable resemblance of what those pre-modern times of hunting and gathering must’ve looked like. But more inviting that the Museum itself, at least to me, were both the forest behind the recreated Lawson Village and the Heritage Forest, the latter of which I traversed until I found a nice, quiet place by a stream that seemed to flow with crystal-clear water, and where I sat alone with my thoughts as I tried to return to those simpler times, traveling inside a cloud of smoke that seemed to linger in the air for just a few moments before entirely vanishing, just like those figures in my mind…Yes, it was among all that nature that I felt the most free.

The path was long and sinuous, resembling a snake that stood still. The sun was beaming with full force, though its strength diminished a bit since it had to poke through the foliage that rested so very high above my head, at the very tips of awesomely huge trees which seemed to, indeed, scrape the sky. At my sides, through the intricate web of trees and branches that separated the darkness and bowels of the forest from my apparently forsaken path, an orchestra formed and carried me along with its tune: a marvelous melody of birds’ songs that repeated their beautiful pattern with clock-like precision every four seconds or so, and then the response from their aviary comrades which would come shortly thereafter, extending and fulfilling a melody that uttered a love story. The shrubs shrouded from time to time, and twigs snapped as little but lightning-fast feet scurried around the floral-maze…It almost felt like eyes were peering at me from behind the bushes, but they were kind eyes – at least they felt as such – which made the path no longer feel deserted and forsaken, but rather like a live, breathing organism that accompanied me. The Snake, it seemed, had regained its life…And perhaps, I felt, it was my presence that had had something to do with it.

As I continued walking, enjoying that serenade emanating from within the very Soul of the Forest, the peculiarity of being alone in a new place – though not really alone – became apparent to me again, just as it had on those now long-gone days when I had traveled the Venezuelan streets alone, armed with nothing but my recorder, my pen and enough money to refuel on ice-cold beers. Yes, the magnificently impactful experience of being alone in a new city, or country, or forest, or house, will never leave me…I’m not sure if that is an experience that most travelers share; I have met so many experienced travelers from all over the world and with so many IMG_20130505_142025different personalities, goals, vices and stories, that a really focused conversation or analysis of their feelings at being alone once again has never materialized. But, as in many things in life, and without at all descending into that banal “individualism,” which really is egoism (and, sometimes, border-line anti-social tendencies), that plagues most of the world, if not all of it, I must admit that in this case, the feelings of other travelers on the matter is really of no concern to me, at least in regards to my purposes, which focus on deep and critical self-analyzing and on the creation/implementation of a revolutionary process for self-evolution.

Into the Grinder

What I mean by all of that, is that I’ve realized that it is when I’m thrown head-first into the Grinder that I feel most alive, most free, most useful. I wither with routine; I find myself rotting, both from the inside and the outside, whenever I have (or choose) to do the exact same thing every day…and that includes the things that my eyes see, that my ears hear and which, thus, create the images and ideas that my brain propels. It is the excitement and panic that I feel – the Fear and Loathing, in the words of the Good Doctor – that seem so wild and pleasing at the same time. It is knowing that things have changed, that the walls have morphed, that the ground has gained life. It is knowing that at any given time, I may find the Stairs that Lead Straight Up, just as likely as I may find the Elevator that Plunges Downwards. It is knowing that happiness and utter despair are both new friends and foes that wait for and lurk behind me, and that I may come out all the better at the other side precisely because of them. It is knowing that I am taking steps nearing either the Head or the Tail of Snake…but that I am, indeed, taking them.

As a matter of fact, I will never forget the steps I already had the pleasure of taking in Mexico, or Cuba, or Venezuela.

Particularly in the latter – in the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela – I experienced some of the most amazing things in my life, including, in its own way, a desolation of the soul that blinded me from any reason and which nearly destroyed my sanity and my health…Yes, for some odd reason – and certainly without being a masochist, for I abhor unnecessary pain (and likewise, cherish the opposite) – even those depressing experiences taught me something; they made my brain and my thoughts react a certain way which, sooner or later, would come to form some of the most powerful convictions in me. Of course, in retrospect, if I could choose to do things differently – to have taken a different path among the Long Snake that was that trip – I certainly would do so; but, for that, I’d need to think like I do now, which is physically/metaphysically/mentally and any other kind of degree of impossible, given that it was precisely those experiences from which I learned and eventually evolved into the Beast that I am today…Indeed, as a Wise Fool once said, He who makes a Beast of Himself, gets rid of the Pain of Being a Man….And pain, there is!

And it is in this way that my experiences here in London thus far, and those to come over the course of the next year, are surely to teach me something…For much more than just becoming a Journalist – a profession which I admire with all the Integrity in me, and which I’ve devoted myself to entirely – my time here will be used more like narcotics for an addled brain: uppers, downers, herbs, medicines, whatever you want to call it, the experiences will all cause new chemical reactions, feelings, thoughts and behaviours to go along with it. And all of this will accumulate to a Refined Me; to an individual that, much like the Snake, has Shed its Old Skin. The essence remains – the soul is intact – but the Ideas Grow.

The Individual who Propels the Great Wheel

I remember thinking at some point today – as I rode the bus through what I could only describe as one of the quaintest towns/cities wherein I’ve had the pleasure of residing, however briefly – that while it is very true that Ideas Never Die – a maxim not only true and widely known, but which has regained its fervour after the unfortunate death of Commander Hugo Chavez – they are insufficient to really Propel the Great Wheel forward. As important and powerful as they are, it’d be a sin (to put a religious twist in there) to allow the Idea to remain static and to eventually become sedentary, if not regressive, within the context of the ever-changing societies and conditions around the world. I had in mind, at that moment, the aforementioned events of Chavez’s death, and the subsequent battle between the two opposing (political) sides.

Though it is very true, again, that the Movement and Revolutionary Fervour that he revived in Latin America will continue – for, as we’ve agreed, Ideas Never Die – the Greatness and the Supremacy (not in terms of class or any other such exclusionary terms, but rather in a sense of greater preparedness, both physically and ideologically), of the Individual (now in the true sense of the word) is vital…Nay, Unforgivably Necessary!

Indeed, to conclude with the Venezuelan example and the political implications for the Latin American continent, if we allow the ideas that Chavez left as his legacy – what we could, to use his own term, call 21st Century Socialism – to stagnate, to become an unchanging model, then it only becomes dogmatic; worst, it becomes antagonistic to the context of the society. My faith resides fully with President Maduro, for he’s proven himself capable – at least thus far, in his short terms as both interim- and elected-president – to not only continue Chavez’s legacy, but to nourish it and allow it to Grow and Evolve. Nevertheless, new Individuals must be born and moulded with the Revolutionary Ideas that are overtaking the Continent, so that they may lead said Ideas towards their Ideal – so that they may continue to nourish them and perfect them.

And it was with that thought, as I rode the bus, that I regained the consciousness of being, once again, alone in a new place…and with all the tools that are therefore necessary and available  to Mould a New Man out of myself…To pry deeper into my Real Self; into all my “Wild Dogs,” as Nietzsche would say. For my ideas and convictions, as ingrained and solid as I know they are, hunger for Change and Evolution and Progress

Alas, I am getting Closer to the Head of the Beast!!IMG_20130503_202245

******

Hasta la Victoria Siempre!

Patria, Socialismo o Muerte!

HOME: THE PROTOTYPE OF THE COMMUNIST COMMUNE

The Cardinal Rules

It’s become apparent to me that by faithfully following the Marxist-Leninist maxim of “From each according to his ability, and to each according to his need” –  and doing it so naturally, to boot! – my Home has come to resemble a Communist Commune/Community.

Everyone here contributes all that they can, whatever their skill and/or level of ability may be, and we all contribute through our own accord. That voluntarism, more importantly, applies to everything, even to the level of ability and skill that we want to put forth; in other words, whatever our individual trade may be, we individually – though with the strength of that entire human-network behind every decision – strive to excel at it. No decision, though in fact taken wholly individually and resolutely, is made in the name of one person, or of some interests over others, or without the consideration of the entire network – even our two dogs! Everything is debate and argument in the best sense of the word; everything is a consultation over and consideration of the ultimate goals, purposes and repercussions for everyone. But most importantly, above absolutely any other consideration – the very Essence of our Commune: Our Manifesto, as it were – is the thought of whether or not we, as individual ambassadors of our Home-Base – our own Anthill – are acting with the utmost integrity, with the most transparent sense of dignity, and with pervasive, unmasked and blunt sincerity…ALWAYS and FOREVER!…Sacred Principles violated FOR NO ONE! Not even God!

Moreover, everyone is free to take as much as they need or want. There are absolutely no restrictions, and yet, not one person dares or even enjoys falling victim to the predatory hands of excess. No one takes/buys/spends more than they really need, and whatever they want, is only within the confines of what they needed it in the first place. And curiously enough, everyone adamantly insists that the other “take more”, whether it be food, money, time, or any other thing under humanity’s shared blue skies, or within our own, womb-like abode. We never seem to be in dire need, simply because we never seem to go beyond them in the first place. Thus, there always seems to be abundance, as our very souls are seldom afflicted with true need or, worst yet, with true excess.

And it is interesting, once again, the “natural” way in which all this comes – and the way it all feels – even though it has all been learned: learned from the time we could barely walk; learned from the time when we were Knights inside our very own Kingdom, in the throes of childish ecstasy and innocence; learned throughout our young lives, through the years of school, sleep-overs and personal awkwardness; learned at every corner and instant of our lives, as the cardinal rule, that life was much sweeter when the sun’s warm and tender rays hit you, than when you’re accosted by millions of jewels; learned that the less that I had, the more I really gained; and learned that the only way to really gain that authentic enrichment, was to share from the little or the lot that I had, with he who didn’t have at all, or with he who had a little less; and learned, in my adulthood, that all those years when they were telling me those things to the point of redundancy, to the point of saturating my nerves, to the point of instilling angst and resentment towards them, was all so that it would now feel natural to do it, and, likewise, feel repulsive to do otherwise.

And yet, as with life, which so often seems naught but a paradox in itself, we also learned to have our little claws always sharp, albeit hidden – or rather tucked – under our inviting paws. We learned – as we were taught with the utmost poignancy – that precisely because we were to extend our paws to absolutely everyone who was in need of it, there would inevitably appear those who aspired to bite them, if not completely chop them off at the wrists. Yes, we were taught that with the responsibility of helping he who needed it and, at times, even he who wanted it, also came the resolute and absolute right to defend that spirit and that fight with everything, even with our lives! Particularly in a home where it’s doors are always opened to absolutely everyone, our guards, we were taught, should always be up.

We learned that peace and sharing were the Key to a happy life; and that strength of character and the resoluteness to defend it with violence where necessary and, more appropriately, against whom dares attack it, were the Locks to the doors. And curiously, it was in Nietzsche that I found the two sentences to express a lifetime of learning: “The lonely one – [free from all material wealth and pain] – offers his hand too quickly to whomever he encounters,” he says. “[But] [t]o some people you may not give your hand, only a paw: and I desire that your paw should also have claws.”

Not long ago I found it expressed again, but this time in a popular song by a hip-hop group called Calle 13, where they say, much like we were taught as kids: “No le tengo miedo a las confrontaciones/Porque yo me crié con invasiones/Y como las hormigas si tengo mala suerte/Defiendo mi hormiguero hasta la muerte” (Loosely Translated: “I’m not afraid of confrontations/Because I was raised amid invasions/And like Ants if misfortune should befall me/I’ll defend my Anthill till Death herself Calls me”).

However, despite that militant nature and constant vigilance over our own little Revolutionary Gains, the very coveted and seemingly evanescent virtues like Harmony, Peace, Love and Fulfillment are always constants, never variables. And though the building may be shaken by violent winds from time to time – by the “invisible hands that ben[d] and [torture] us the worst”, as Nietzsche puts it – the core of the structure remains as real as the sun’s daily rise. But, perhaps we have an advantage, because more than jewels, green-backs or vacation get-aways into the various oases around the world, satisfaction in our life consists on the harmony of the system; on its self-fulfillment; on its perpetuation of itself. As I see it, as long as the Sun continues to rise, our days will be bright, even the nights; even the unavoidably dark times that life cannot be without…The Sun always seems to shine inside our home.

The Individual Within the System

Moreover, in regards to our family dynamics, more specifically about our individuality within this seemingly enveloping organism/system – and much like the revolutionary guerrilla fighter Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara points out in one of his works about the New Socialist Man – I’ve noticed that we have not only not ceased to be individuals – lost our personalities, as if to say – but we’ve, in fact, gained much fuller ones, much sharper ones, much more creative ones that, while being entirely unique in each one of us, nevertheless naturally converge with the goals of and expected repercussions upon the entire system. In other words, though we are wholly different as individuals – with our own likes and dislikes, habits, hobbies, interests and even vices – our course of action in everyday-life seems to naturally opt for the most harmonious results for the home. Thus, we seldom have fights (though seldom does not mean never, and that is precisely due to the fact that some differences are simply irreconcilable, and thus, sometimes a clash occurs; however, the clash is no more – and goes no further – than the immediate parameter of that specific issue, then it is dead and over forever; it is all, in fact, quite therapeutic).

The most obvious example of this is between my brother and myself. Anyone that meets us and knows us for more than a couple of hours will readily admit that we are of extremely opposite temperaments: whereas I am more impulsive with my decisions and in my general behavior, perhaps even somewhat ‘neurotic‘ (quite like my dad), my brother is as calm and laid-back as a leaf floating through the air, though precisely knowing where its going to land (quite like my mom). Moreover, our artistic talents and hobbies differ a great deal: he is a musician who learned to play the guitar and drums almost instantly, as if he had always known how to do it, even though he had begun rather late, and yet, he does it extremely well; I, on the other hand, only remit myself to banging on the drums, mostly to let out some of that neurocity, but my real talent and interests are in writing.

These obvious differences – particularly in our temperament – have indeed led us through quite different ways at times, giving us each a different and unique set of obstacles to overcome and circumstances to deal with; we’ve likewise had different taste in women, different kinds of fights with our parents and friends (even different kind of friends), even different vices (though we may sometimes not admit them as vices but rather as hobbies). In any case, the point is that, though we have at times appeared to walk through different ways, at the end of the day, we have both – as well as our parents – traveled inside the same forest. And ultimately, it seems, in this time we’re living of apparent awakening – a time when it appears that we have all opened our third-eyes – we effectively have individually, though simultaneously, emerged from the forest at the other side, fully aware of our individual trek towards our communal future.

Communism, it seems, has seeped into my home.

The Home Must be Revived

Therefore, as I see it, the first point of departure for the type of Socialist Education that is to build the individual that will not only be receptive to but the protagonist of the communist world, must come even prior to formal schooling; it must come from the Home. As such, we must find projects that aim at restrengthening the real essence of family-values, the core of what is to become the Communist Society: a Free, Selfless, Creative, Moral and entirely Harmonious Community.

ARTILLERY FOR THE MIND: ON ALIENATION INSIDE THE CORPORATIST-STATE

In the Age of Corporatism, Repression attacks Our Minds First

One of the concluding arguments in Lenin’s “The Revolution Summed Up”, states that “Imperialism – the era of bank capital, the era of gigantic capitalist monopolies, of development of monopoly capitalism into state-monopoly capitalism – has clearly shown an unprecedented growth in its bureaucratic and military apparatus in connection with the intensification of repressive measures against the proletariat both in the monarchical and in the freest, republican countries” (emphases added).

It is on these conclusions that I want to expand.

We are currently living in a time far past state-monopoly capitalism: a state of such unhinged and unrestricted capitalism, that Business, having gone through such an “unprecedented growth”, has turned to Big Business; that is, into Corporations that have effectively gained the upper-hand (POWER) in the sphere of influence over the government and society. In fact, Corporations – by somehow managing to dupe the legal system and, by extension, the world, into granting them full legal human-status, with all the rights and responsibilities this entails (though the latter is much more dubiously interpreted) – and even with their own “military apparatus” – evidenced by the growing use of Mercenaries in state-wars: privately hired soldiers – have gained all the means with which to both undermine the working class’ interests, and overtake the state in matters of policy-making, most notably today in regards to environmental issues.

We are living in the age of Corporatism.

Lenin mentions the “intensification of repressive measures against the proletariat”. Surely, due to the historical context in which he wrote this, I assume Lenin thought of repressive measures in the sense of military or armed force against the proletariat; he also must’ve included democratic repression in the sense of limiting suffrage, participation, etc., to the higher classes in the regular bourgeoisie-democracy. But I doubt that he or even Marx or Engels could have foreseen the level of mental repression that this system would resort to in order to perpetuate itself.

Today, repressive measures, though still obviously palpable in the regular democratic process through the coveting of influence over policy making, resulting in environmental degradation, economic dominance over weaker countries through free trade zones and the like, the cutting of benefits to injured workers, the precarious pension situation (in many countries of the First World), and in the million of other ways that Corporations influence the government in their own favour – despite all of this abuse inherent in the bourgeoisie-democratic system, today repressive measures can also be witnessed in the type of Social Neglect and Detachment that, while masqueraded as “individualism”, has in actuality alienated human beings from each other through unrealistic portrayals of Fashion and Beauty (aesthetics); through Hollywood and the growing influence of Television over our lives (our critical- and world-view); but, perhaps most effectively and subtly acquired, through the massive expansion of the technological-electronics field.

In the Age of Corporatism, Social Alienation and Detachment Begin at Home

Today, it is almost unnatural for a kid 10 or 11 years old (what we now call a tween), to not have an I-phone, a Tablet or any other such gadget. In fact, some schools in the United States are apparently making it mandatory in every class. The ingenious cunning of the Corporation, of course, is that while this type of gadget alienates the kid from both his nature as a child and from his peers (as I will momentarily describe), it also makes it practically indispensable for the child’s education and culturalization process, as today’s level of “success” is heavily linked to our technological know-how. So while he shouldn’t have it, he should. The news talked not about whether the children should use the Tablets at school or not; they were concerned with how long they should use it for.

Why does a kid that is 10 years old need so many gadgets? With enough lucidity, it can even be argued that adults carry/own too many gadgets that, for the most part, they can do without (as I contend, indeed, but not the focus of this paper). But for a child? Good God, Man!!

Well, now let’s look at reality, and how alienation begins right at home.

As soon as the gadgets become mandatory, every kid demands and “needs” one (yet another example of Manufactured Needs), even those whose parents are “mere” labourers – proletarians  and can therefore barely afford one, if they can at all! This tension, at least in close families, antagonizes the dynamics as the parents either A) have to work longer and harder to make the money to afford the gadget, which leads to physical as well as mental turmoil and which, many times, even leads to fights or discomfort at home; or B) the parents feel impotent as they cannot afford the gadgets, either because they cannot get more hours, or even despite getting them; this type of mental depression, however temporary, afflicts the best of parents as much as if their kid had died.

Class Antagonisms now also become a much more real battle.

Now the kids whose parents can’t afford one are either rejected by their peers, or sneered at, or are simply made fun of, which in any culture demoralizes a young pup. Even the parents who may not be able to afford one for their kids may feel smaller in front of their counterparts. Furthermore, the kids feel a monumental type of social alienation, which, particularly in these countries (First World) is nothing to be sneered at. The type of violent, psychotic crimes (or border-line psychotic), that sees social pariahs raping, mutilating, assassinating, killing in series (serial-killers), sexual predators, and a thousand other such atrocities occurring at an alarming rate in the more developed countries (First World) is no sheer coincidence.

The amount of social neglect kids grow up with at school, as I have just described, is just one way – one of the most “modern” ways. Social Neglect, today, also begins at home, as parents either A) have to both work to support the family and therefore leave the kids alone at home or to grow up with a nanny; B) succumb to divorce – which in these countries, again, not by coincidence, the rate is of over 50%, or one of every two marriages – and therefore become absent parents, letting their kids grow up seeing various “boyfriends” and “girlfriends” come in and out of their lives, particularly in this “modern” world of Internet-Dating; or C) are social pariahs themselves that unfortunately had kids, but to whom they pay no attention at all (if not outright mistreat). The effects on the children’s social lives – even when they don’t culminate in psychotic, violent behaviour – are undeniably monstrous.

The Capitalist Machine – The Corporation, in our time – so cunningly gets us to fight among ourselves, among our family, our friends, our co-workers, and hate or, at the very least, envy those who can afford what we cannot. IT separates and divides us, the masses.

In the Age of Corporatism, The Family has Broken Down

Moreover, the breakdown of the Family – the real collapse of the type of family-values that are expected to be instilled at home to subsequently be expanded onto society – is another grim reality in our modern world of “Individualism” and “Modernity”; in our Age of Technology and Internet.

The “Modern Family” today looks very much like the sketch we saw above: at best, the step-parents are nice, and the new family, with step-children and step-brothers, gets along fine, perhaps even occasionally visiting with the other parent on weekends. In other cases, the single parent is a modern parent, a liberal parent, who dates various people, hoping perhaps to find another “the one”. The parent strives first to be the kid’s friend; then to be his parent.

Meanwhile, the children, at home, are just how society teaches us we are outside of home: by ourselves, on our own. They grow up with nannies, in the best scenarios, and no real parental control (and in this concept is included the type of love, attention and vigilance that parents need to exert over their children). Sometimes, to compensate for their absenteeism, the parents become too lenient, almost embarrassed to tell their kids not to do certain things since they themselves are doing it. Nothing is wrong anymore. Everyone is either a “liberal” or “antiquated”.

Nothing is indecent anymore: some of the “Best T.V.” consists of shows depicting broken families, cheating husbands and wives, young drug-addicts, etc. And anything that can still be deemed “indecent”, perhaps under irrefutable circumstances, can at least be “justified”. Thus, more and more husbands and wives (or boyfriends and girlfriends) cheat on each other, “just to get their attention”, having felt “neglected” or “not loved”. Everything is ok! Nothing is wrong! Morality, Truth, Virtue and Justice are all Subjective. Nothing is absolute. Plus, we see it depicted in every movie, T.V. sitcom and “reality show” as “normal”, as “part of life”, as something to try to avoid individually, but which inevitably exists socially, making it therefore something inescapable.

Another way kids grow up alienated from each other is manifested in their obsession, as we’ve seen, even at an early age, with having/owning tech-toys like Tablets, Cell-phones, I-pads, etc. Thus, children play with their “tech-toys” first, then go outside to play with other children (many times, even while they are hanging out, they are playing on their own individual gadgets).

And thus we see how the Corporation has, from a very early age, taught us dependence, not even on one another, but on a virtual world outside of ourselves. We become experts on using technology practically before we develop the ability to think for ourselves and think critically; the Corporation thus teaches us enough to simply reproduce (not evolve) ourselves and our immediate interests (before, in Marx’s time, Capitalism merely paid us enough); the ‘individual’ thus grows up “barely [casting] [his] goals beyond the day”, as Nietzsche’s Zarathustra puts it, looking only to the most convenient way he can get by, make money and “live well”.

In the Age of Corporatism, the Masses get “Trickled” On

In the Corporatist Society (most notably in the First World), the individual grows up realizing the ease with which he can make fast money. Parents send their kids to work from early on (15 or 16 years old), so that they may “learn the value of money” (I’m not even mentioning the social aspect of “taking away a kid’s youth”, though it is something to talk about). And we do: we grow up learning both how hard it is to make money and how pleasurable it is to spend it – also how good and important “IT” makes us feel, whether in actuality or just in our own perception. Those same parents then push their kids to go to school and “make something of themselves” so that they may become “successful”, which in the coldest fashion, they measure by the amount of money they will make.

We thus grow up adoring money – exulting it – so those of us who choose (or rather who have the means) to go to University prefer to take Finances, International Business and Economics, at least as serious, “hard” majors; we choose Political Science and Literature as “soft” majors, often when we’re “not sure of what we want to do”. Our priorities have switched – our sense of Culture has taken second place, though far, far back, to our Love and Need for Money.

(I’m excluding from this analysis those who choose to go to school and who choose their careers based on Ideology: People who love their field, whatever it may be – Journalism, Medicine, Law, Education, Etc. Reality has shown that this group – in the First World – is the minority.)

Those who don’t go to university or college try to find the best job they can – that is, whatever job pays more money. Thus you see kids that are 19 and 20 years old beginning the long and arduous career in the construction field. As adults, or simply when they’re a little older, though physically exhausted and beaten, many times in unhappy marriages, they still revel in the fact that they can “buy themselves anything they want”: the supposed cornerstone of “Freedom” and “Liberty”.

The Corporation, thus, revels!!! IT wins when we Love Money, because IT knows that we’d do Anything to Get IT (“money makes the world go ‘round”).

And the Human – with inherited Real Human Status, as opposed to granted – is left at the mercy of the Market. If he/she were lucky and studied Finances and Business, or – in the case of other professionals like Journalists or Lawyers or Artists, etc. – if he/she plays by the rules, that is, if he/she doesn’t ask the questions that mustn’t be asked, or rattle the cages that mustn’t be rattled, or express the massive social discontent/alienation through art, music and dance that mustn’t be seen, heard or felt; that is to say, if they adhere to the laws of the game, they will become a “success”.

For the rest – for the Proletariat – for the working class – for the engines of all that production and “success” – for the masses…They’re lucky if they allow themselves to be “Trickled” On

RESPUESTA A LAS MENTIRAS DE LUDMILA VINOGRADOFF SOBRE VENEZUELA

La señora Ludmila Vinogradoff, alguien que funge de “periodista” venezolana (usando el termino muy, pero muy ligeramente), corresponsal del diario ABC de España, había escrito en su blog un artículo titulado “Fascismo puro y duro”, donde supuestamente y según ella, documentaba la “represión” y “violencia” contra el pueblo venezolano por parte del gobierno, al cual ella, como el resto de la oposición derechista nacional e internacional, no reconoce como legítimo. En este artículo, ella se había permitido incluir algunas imágenes de policías/militares que apaleaban/golpeaban a una mujer en el suelo, como obvia evidencia de la “represión” en Venezuela a la que hacía alusión. Mas ocurre que la foto es vieja, y muestra eventos registrados en Egipto.

Esta descarada y falaz mentira, la cual la hubo enmascarado tras el concepto de “periodismo ético”, fue descubierta en Facebook por un grupo no gubernamental que no obstante apoya al gobierno (https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10151539413853886&set=a.301781968885.147942.294742043885&type=1&theater). La susodicha “periodista” ha eliminado – bajo la presión de la crítica- el artículo de su página, pero en su lugar, escribe uno intitulado, “Represión y cacería de brujas”.

Este nuevo ‘artículo’ – si le cabe la nominación a esta cadena de calumnias, mentiras, suposiciones, especulaciones y rumores no verificados por aquella que dice ser “periodista” – remítase el lector a este sitio: (http://abcblogs.abc.es/bochinche-venezolano/2013/04/19/represion-y-caceria-de-brujas/), es simplemente una repetición de lo anterior, pero esta vez – ojo! – no hay fotos para evidenciar una sola de las “múltiples violaciones” por parte del gobierno, que esta señora describe.

Comienza el artículo diciendo que quiere “rectificar y ofrecer disculpas por la publicación de las fotografías” que presentó tratando de mostrarlas como evidencia; dice que fue un “error no haberlas verificado antes de publicarlas…” Pero, caramba! ¿Se tratará acaso de una “periodista” novicia? ¿O qué, desconoce quizá normativas éticas, morales y profesionales en relación con la elaboración de un artículo o informe de esta naturaleza? ¿No conoce el procedimiento a seguir encaminado a la publicación de un artículo y/o fotografías, especialmente tratándose de un trabajo cuyo contenido se encuentra en la mira de la controversia? O quizá solo atisbó que sus lectores tendríamos el criterio y la capacidad analítica de los borregos y que terminaríamos creyéndolo todo y que no nos importaría verificar la veracidad de lo que escribiera? ¿O, que para cuando alguien al fin descubra su mentira, ya muchos de sus seguidores/lectores le habrán creído y asimilado? Cualquiera sea la respuesta, la verdad inconcusa es que a esta señora, como “periodista”, le falta mucha trayectoria, sobre todo adiestrarse en cuanto a profesionalismo.

Sin embargo, ella continúa su diatriba calumniosa e infundiosa contra el Gobierno Revolucionario y contra el Presidente Maduro, además de otros funcionarios a quienes también injuria y lastima sin documento alguno.

“La práctica de la represión y la cacería de brujas con métodos fascistas contra toda manifestación de protesta y disidencia de la oposición han continuado”, escribe la corresponsal.

Habla de denuncias que “truenan por todo el país”; de grupos universitarios denunciando el aprisionamiento de “jóvenes detenidos por protestar” y quienes “fueron atacados, golpeados y agredidos salvajemente por las fuerzas represivas del Estado’”; cita a un líder de estos grupos diciendo que conocen de “más de 400 compañeros” que han sido “heridos”, y “mas de 150 jóvenes” que han sido detenidos “por ejercer sus derechos”; habla de “supuestas torturas” de jóvenes….

Sin embargo, contrariamente a la manera en que empíricamente expuso sus denuncias previas de “represión” por parte del gobierno -valiéndose de fotografías inexistentes- en su nuevo y desesperado intento, todas estas “evidencias” de violencia, tortura y represión truculentas, presentadas con tal magnitud, no son acompañadas ni respaldadas con una sola foto….

¿Sera que no existen?

Esta “periodista” también tiene el descaro de calificar de ‘pacificas’ las “manifestaciones” que surgieron tras el llamado que Capriles hizo a la gente para ejecutar “protestas de…cacerolas”. Se muestra indignada frente a lo que según ella, estas “manifestaciones pacíficas” han sido objeto de “satanización”. Del mismo modo, tiene la audacia de expresar sus condolencias por las “nuevas” victimas caídas.

No obstante, la “periodista” en cuestión, no hace la menor mención en torno a las ocho muertes que derivaron de esas “protestas pacificas” (http://www.cubadebate.cu/noticias/2013/04/16/violencia-opositora-deja-cuatro-muertos-en-venezuela/; https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10151533565953886&set=a.301781968885.147942.294742043885&type=1&theater). No habla del líder del partido del PSUV, José L. Ponce ni de su esposa, quienes fueron asesinados tras el “ataque violento al CDI de Baruta”, o del asesinato de Johny Pacheco, “defensor del CDI…en Baruta” (http://www.aporrea.org/ddhh/n227321.html); tampoco menciona el hecho de que GRUPOS OPOSITORES quemaron viviendas del mismo pueblo (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ochNFsQPF6c), y oficinas del Partido PSUV (https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10151532339318886&set=a.10151532338563886.1073741862.294742043885&type=1&theater). Deliberadamente soslaya las declaraciones del joven que admite haber expuesto viejas fotos de cajas electoras cuando eran quemadas, tratando así de eliminar evidencia de “fraude electoral” de este año (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Yr3sGL_g0c); no dice nada en relación con LAS VERDADES que Capriles OMITE cuando habla de “fraude electoral” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FjhH6vfGmUI&sns=fb), y nada respecto de los insultantes comentarios que también hizo contra los extranjeros que “están de visita en Venezuela”, exigiendo que “PAGUEN” lo que él cree que le “deben al pueblo Venezolano” (https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10151539406993886&set=a.301781968885.147942.294742043885&type=1&relevant_count=1).

En otras palabras, esta “periodista” no menciona absolutamente nada que pudiera comprometer, o aún derrotar (en el mejor de los casos) a la oposición. Todos estos videos, fotos y artículos han sido documentados en periódicos públicos en Venezuela; sin embargo, los medios privados no han dicho una sola palabra al respecto.

También quiero poner de relieve un par de “verdades” narradas por la señora, mostrando su buen desempeño periodístico, el mismo que ha estado ausente a lo largo de prácticamente toda su narrativa: Menciona ella la “‘actitud gorila’” que según el diputado de la oposición Andrés Velásquez, se hace manifiesta en el presidente de la Asamblea Nacional, Diosdado Cabello, al privar del derecho de hablar en la Asamblea, a los ministros que no reconozcan al presidente Maduro. Hecho claramente plasmado y estipulado en el Artículo 187.10 de la Constitución, mediante el cual la Asamblea Nacional representada por el presidente de esta, tiene potestad de extender “voto de censura…a los Ministros o Ministras.”

Además, verdad de Perogrullo es que si el triunfo hubiera recaído sobre el candidato opositor, a nadie se le habría ocurrido hacer algún llamado al recuento de votos y, consecuentemente habría sido Capriles el “legitimo” presidente. Justamente esto mismo es lo que sucedió cuando Capriles se erigió como gobernador del estado de Miranda con solo 38.000 votos, y entonces muy orondo aceptó la victoria sin interponer disconformidad. Pero como la MINORIA POLITICA -representada por Capriles- no quiere aceptar esos resultados, entonces aducen que no dejarles hablar es “inconstitucional”.

Finalmente – después de haberme entregado a tan ardua tarea como es la de leer toda esa sarta de mendacidades que no habían sido ni siquiera bien formuladas – Vinogradoff cita a la “directora de la ONG Control Ciudadano”, Rocío San Miguel, quien aparentemente anuncia que todo el “aplastamiento” de disidentes y protestantes ha sido “suficientemente documentado”….

Pero está claro, esta “periodista” ni siquiera pretende hacer alución a esa documentación….

Vale seguir???

THE DUSTY TRAIL, THE WITHERING JUNGLE, AND THE LONESOME YOUTH: REMEMBERING ZARATHUSTRA

dusty path…And it happened that as I was traveling on the Dusty Trail, as I weaved through the denseness of a thick, Withering Jungle that had long ago begun to decay, I noticed how much of the flora this deterioration had infected, withering once-colourful flowers into black lumps of crispy, dead petals. My heart quivered with sadness; my hands trembled with rage. I looked around desperately, hoping someone was around with whom to share my great discontent: my panic at what I was seeing in front of me, my fear of the possibility that I too may begin withering and crumbling, leaving nothing but broken pieces of a man to carry my name and breath into the auras of the future. But I saw no one; I was alone.

But I knew that I simply could not go on my own selfish way after having seen this, just leaving it to continue to rot,  hoping someone else may find it so that they may fix it. There had to be a root: there had to be an infected piece at the base, where the nutrients flowed into the soil – a reason why Color and Freedom had been taken away from these jungles, and why Darkness and Dullness had taken their place, reigning over the Living. So I veered from the dusty path on which I’d been walking and broke through a thick net of jagged branches and black lumps to my left that had once been flowers and leaves — when Freedom still reigned — but which were now void of everything…even Death.

But it happened that as I walked deeper and deeper through this swamp of branches and dead trees, I began hearing ghostly whispers and even macabre howls that sounded like tortured souls emanating from within the bowels of the jungle; at other times they sounded like vultures or demonic creatures screeching far in the horizon and swooping down on me.  But there was nothing there. At other times I’d see shrubs shaking or swaying, and I’d feel something run past me but, again, there was nothing there. Panic was taking hold….My Solitude in this place became magnified, which made my goal – to reach the root of the problem and fix it – seem ludicrous and suicidal, and my faith wavered as my knees buckled with fear in the face of the utter lonesomeness in which I found myself.

I felt like I wanted to turn back, like I should let the demons scare me…like I should let them win, for I knew they were purposefully scaring me; that they wanted me to turn back so as to let them continue to Absorb the Life of this Wonderful Jungle and to Control the Freedom of Growth and Evolution. And just then, just when I’d reached the climax of my horror, my mind had a flashback to an earlier time – to a time of formation – when I had read a tale that, until then, had only seemed like wonderful poetry lauding the soul…like beautiful words…But at that very moment, the words were actually the catalyst I needed to renew my strength and faith and to finish that Great Trek I had started…if not for myself, for the ecstasy that is seeing Life Grow…

And so it happened that I remembered a tale that had found Zarathustra walking “alone through the mountains surrounding the town which is called The Motley Cow,” where he’d suddenly found the same young man who had been avoiding him on days past, leaning against a Lonesome Tree Atop the Mountain, and “looking wearily into the valley.” Gripping the “tree under which the youth was sitting,” Thus Spoke Zarathustra:

“If I wanted to shake this tree with my hands I should not be able to do it. But the wind, which we do not see, tortures and bends it in whatever direction it pleases. It is by invisible hands that we are bent and tortured the worst…But it is with man as it is with the tree. The more he aspires to the height and light, the more strongly do his roots strive earthward, downward, into the dark, the deep – into evil…”

And with these words I began to feel anew. Then, upon realizing that I’d have to cut and maim some branches – get rid of what wouldn’t let me pass, and even sacrifice some remaining, seemingly healthy petals to avoid further infection of the blooming ones, that is, of the Future to Come – my hands became heavy with doubt. And then again I remembered Zarathustra’s wise words:IMG_20130412_111235

“Some souls one will never discover, unless one invents them first.”

My situation, I noted, was not unlike the young man who had been sitting by the tree, who’d wavered after having climbed so high that he found himself entirely unaccompanied, even spiteful of himself and confused at his choice to Fly so High and so utterly alone; after having received the full brunt of those he’d left Under – with the Herd – and who now casted aspersions at him for having dared questioned and shaken their complacent and dormant acquiescence. There, isolated, bedevilled and mentally exhausted, he Thus Spoke to Zarathustra:

“I no longer trust myself since I aspire to the height, and nobody trusts me any more; how did this happen? I change too fast: my today refutes my yesterday. I often skip steps when I climb: no step forgives me that. When I am at the top I always find myself alone. Nobody speaks to me; the frost of loneliness makes me shiver. What do I want up high? My contempt and my longing grow at the same time; the higher I climb, the more I despise the climber. What does he want up high? How ashamed I am of my climbing and stumbling! How I mock at my violent panting! How I hate the flier! How weary I am up high!”

Calmly, Zarathustra responds thus:

“This tree stands lonely here in the mountains; it grew high above man and beast. And if it wanted to speak it would have nobody who could understand it, so high has it grown. Now it waits and waits – for what is it waiting? It dwells too near the seat of the clouds: surely, it waits for the first lighting.”

Unhinged by the magnificent revelation, and as he “wept bitterly,” the Youth, in turn, responds thus:

“Yes, Zarathustra! You are speaking the truth. I longed to go under when I aspired to the height, and you are the lightning for which I waited. Behold, what am I, now that you have appeared among us? It is the envy of you that has destroyed me.”

Putting “his arm around him” and leading him away, Zarathustra says to the Youth:

“It tears my heart. Better than your words tell it, your eyes tell me of all your dangers. You are not yet free, you will search for freedom. You are worn from your search and over-awake. You aspire to the free heights, your soul thirsts for the stars. But your wicked instincts, too, thirst for freedom. Your wild dogs want freedom; they bark with joy in their cellar when your spirit plans to open all prisons. To me you are still a prisoner who is plotting his freedom: alas, in such prisoners the soul becomes clever, but also deceitful and bad. And even the liberated spirit must still purify himself. Much prison mountain tree lightning 2and mustiness still remain in him: his eyes must still become pure.

“Indeed I know your danger,” he continued. “But by my love and hope I beseech you: do not throw away your love and hope!

“You still feel noble, and the others too feel your nobility, though they bear you a grudge and send you evil glances. Know that the noble stands in everybody’s way. The noble man stands in the way of the good too: and even if they call him one of the good, they thus want to do away with him. The noble man wants to create something new and a new virtue. The good want the old, and that the old be preserved. But this is not the danger of the noble man, that he might become one of the good, but a churl, a mocker, a destroyer.”

I was more calm. The shrubbery felt less jagged.

And Zarathustra’s words continued reciting themselves in my head, as if being whispered by a tiny being in my mind reading straight from the book:

“Alas, I knew noble men who lost their highest hope. Then they slandered all high hopes. Then they lived impudently in brief pleasures and barely cast their goals beyond the day. Spirit too is lust, so they said. Then the wings of their spirit broke: And now their spirit crawls about and soils what it gnaws. Once they thought of becoming heroes: now they are voluptuaries. The hero is for them an offense and a fright.

“But by my love and hope, I beseech you,” Zarathustra had said. “Do not throw away the hero in your soul! Hold holy your highest hope!”

And the voice intonating Zarathustra’s speech went on inside my muddled brain:

“‘He who seeks, easily gets lost. All loneliness is guilt’ – thus speaks the herd. And you have long belonged to the herd. The voice of the herd will still be audible in you. And when you will say, “I no longer have a common conscience with you,” it will be a lament and an agony. Behold, this agony itself was born of the common conscience, and the last glimmer of that conscience still glows on you affliction.

“But do you want to go the way of your affliction, which is the way to yourself? Then show me your right and your strength to do so. Are you a new strength and a new right? A first movement? A self-propelled wheel? Can you compel the very stars to revolve around you?

“Alas, there is so much lusting for the heights! There are so many convulsions of the ambitions. Show me that you are not one of the lustful and ambitious.

“Alas, there are so many great thoughts which do no more than a bellows: they puff up and make emptier.

You call yourself free? Your dominant thought I want to hear, and not that you have escaped from a yoke. Are you one of those who had the right to escape from a yoke? There are some who threw away their last value when they threw away their servitude.

Free from what? As if that mattered to Zarathustra! But your eyes should tell me brightly: free for what?

IMG_20130406_094039The words lingered in my mind. The sharp audible contrast between the from and the for sounds were impactful, much more than a simply auditory curiosity…They meant a lot more…The Jungle in front of me began taking a new look, a new air about it – there seemed to be a new aura emanating from and palpitating in the centre, where all the jungle’s energy seemed to concentrate, and where I figured the poison would have to be bled….Tribal Drumming was filling the background, and my heart itself seemed to be navigating towards the Centre…The palpitations, I then realized, were coming from within me….And then the voice intonating Zarathustra’s song came back:

Can you give yourself your own evil and your own good and hang your own will over yourself as a law? Terrible it is to be alone with the judge and the avenger of one’s own law. Thus is a star thrown out into the void and into the icy breath of solitude. Today you are still suffering from the many, being one: today your courage and your hopes are still whole. But the time will come when solitude will make you weary, when your pride will double up, and your courage gnash its teeth. And you will cry, ‘I am alone!’ The time will come when that which seems high to you will no longer be in sight, and that which seems low will be all too near; even what seems sublime to you will frighten you like a ghost. And you will cry, ‘All is false!’

The words, again, were palpably true! My enthusiasm at giving a helping hand in the reconstruction of this Exotic Jungle had wavered; I had seen the black petals, and my skin had torn after getting caught on the jagged branches, and the sight of my own blood had made me think of turning back – of abandoning all hope and fight and sacrifice, and just run for the dusty path which, though still lonely, was decorated with artificial trees and plants that gave the impression of life…I had wavered…But the invoked words worked to placate my fear again and invigorate me with courage:

“There are feelings which want to kill the lonely; and if they do not succeed, well, then they themselves must die,” Zarathustra had said. And then he’d asked: “But are you capable of this – to be a murderer?” And I was now asking myself the same question:

I swallowed the thought with ambivalence, and my brain continued to recite Zarathustra:

“My brother, do you know the word ‘contempt’ yet? And the agony of your justice – being just to those who despise you? You force many to relearn about you; they charge it bitterly against you. You came close to them and yet passed by: that they will never forgive. You pass over and beyond them: but the higher you ascend, the smaller you appear to the eye of envy. But most of all they hate those who fly….”

Yes! I was beginning to realize that perhaps I was ready…And plus, by God! I had gotten my wings!

“‘How would you be just to me?’ you must say,” continued Zarathustra. “‘I choose your injustice as my proper lot.’ Injustice and filth they throw after the lonely one: but, my brother, if you would be a star, you must not shine less for them because of that.

“And beware of the good and the just!” I immediately remembered he’d warned against that very cautiously. “They like to crucify those who invent their own virtue for themselvesthey hate the lonely one. Beware also of holy simplicity! Everything that is not simple it considers unholy; it also likes to play with fire – the stake. And beware also of the attacks of your love! The lonely one offers his hand too quickly to whomever he encounters. To some people you may not give your hand, only a paw; and I desire that your paw should also have claws.

“But the worst enemy you can encounter will always be you, yourself; you lie in wait for yourself in caves and woods.” Under the circumstances – in the midst I was in – the reality of those words resonated within me, and made me feel enlarged.

“Lonely one, you are going the way to yourself. And your way leads past yourself and your seven devils. You will be a heretic to yourself and a witch and soothsayer and fool and doubter and unholy one and a villain. You must wish to consume yourself in your own flame: how could you wish to become new unless you had first become ashes!

“Lonely one, you are going the way of the creator: you will create a god for yourself out of your seven devils…”

My heart was beating faster…

Lonely one, you are going the way of the lover: yourself you love, and therefore you despise yourself, as only lovers despise. The lover would create because he despises. What does he know of love who did not have to despise precisely what he loved!”

I was trembling faster and harder, realizing the events that were going to take place; realizing what my brain, guided by the great feelings of love the speech had reminded me of, was now telling me I should do if we were to arrive at the Centre, which now was an arm’s length away…With tears in my eyes, and with a sublime understanding of the reasons for the very violent acts which my arms were executing, a machete came down with all the force of a thousand horses and chopped the rotten though still living branches, flowers and shrubs that blocked the Centre. My heart was heavy with sadness, feeling myself a destroyer of life….but my mind was fixed on the prize: on that vortex from which life flowed outward, and which, until now, had been saturated by venomous weeds masqueraded as unhealthy roses. And Zarathustra’s words came rushing back:

“Go into your loneliness with your love and with your creation, my brother; and only much later will justice limp after you.

“With my tears go into your loneliness, my brother. I love him who wants to create over and beyond himself and thus perishes.”

And Thus Spoke Zarathustra.

thick jungle 2And as I reached the Center, though alone, I felt accompanied by the spirit of the Jungle, which, upon feeling my first efforts of Liberating it, seemed to dance and rejoice with the enthusiasm of someone who’s been given their sight back, or whose suffocating muzzle has finally been removed. And with every breath that I inhaled and exhaled, the Jungle seemed to swell as it breathed with me, and we became one…

…And so it happened, that the Jungle regained its colour, and I my strength.