understand this

weird impossible things

Thu, 29 Dec 2005 11:22:49 GMT

Like rereading all the stuff i've posted on this thing. whew. Someday when i hate myself im gonna print it all out, slit my wrists and get in a nice warm bathtub. Read it all and let the pages fall into the water page by page listening to johnny cash and sara evans. If i let a camera roll while doing that then i'll probably beable to safely say i left my mark

save a cow

Thu, 29 Dec 2005 11:14:59 GMT

or say you're sorry or whatever.. This site lets you sign a guestbook signifying you are sorry for eating cows, or maybe just feel empathy for them in general, not that you did anything in particular you need to apologize for... you just recognize what they've gone through, like jewish people and women.

the apology of zoe from abertillery, UKG:
i love you cows your coat is so spotty and rocks U ROCK COW!!!!!!!

the apology of Ahnika worsley from Brisbane, AUS:
aww im soo sorry cows!!! i feel really bad for eating you!! ARGH cows are so cute to... MOOO!!!

the apology of Richard Durante from San Leandro, USA:
Medium-well, bitches.
(editors note; it seems dick here eats dogs instead. oh thats funny)

the apology of Amber Batey from Eugene, USA:
OMG I LOVE BACON....opps...thats pig...LMAO

the apology of flop from bip city, USA:
cows rox my sox!!!! that was so random hehehe im really hyper

**** BREAKING NEWS ****
The folks who made this website are claiming that each of these apologies will be read aloud to a REAL LIVE COW.
************************

the apology of Melissa from Sapulpa, USA:
im so emo.

the apology of scott hanson from las vegas, USA
thewre is a magical plant and soy milk is just as good
(editors note; thewre does not seem to be a magical plant)

the apology of Anesha from Los Angeles, USA:
i love you cows! i'll try not to eat u too much...

the apology of libby from Arcadia, USA:
Please feel appreciated for all the help and support you have given us. :)

the apology of Holley Usleton from Harvest, USA:
YOU ARE SOOO ADORABLE,AND THATS WHY I EAT CHICKENS INSTEAD,BUT I DO HAVE A CONFESSION....................I DRINK MILK!!!!SORRY MOO

the apology of Jessiica Caruso from your pants, connecticut, USA:
<font sze = 5> sorrry
(sic)

As you can imagine, it goes on and on. Check it out: www.sorrycow.com

ouch, but it was the right play

Sun, 04 Dec 2005 08:17:13 GMT

I'm at the Rio playing 2/5 NL.. and im a cheap bastard so i bought in 200 at a 500 dollar max. i had some good cards and played well and had that 200 upto 365 when the following hand came along:

I'm dealt 9♠ 9♣ in 5th position with one limper in front of me. I call the five dollars, and two guys behind me call, the small blind calls and the big blind makes it 25 to go (a raise of 20). The limper before me calls, i call, and everyone else folds. There's $90 in the pot, minus $3 for rake, for a total of $87

Flop comes: 9♥ 8♣ 7♥

Checks around to me. I bet $100.

The original raiser thinks for a second and goes all in, he had about $1000 in front of him, so basically he raised it my whole stack, which was $240. The guy seemed to be a solid player, so I definitely had a decision to make. The first limper thinks for a long long time, which in retrospect makes me realize he probably had 88 or 77 for a set, but he called off some donkey bets so he definitely may have had 10 10 or 66, or even 10 9 or 89, or maybe even an over pair, although the way he played pre flop i doubt it. Maybe A10.. no way to tell I guess. He ends up folding, and it comes to me.

Now, with the 90 + my 100, plus his 340, makes the pot a total of 530. It cost me 240 to call. At this point, I'm pretty sure I'm good.. i put him on a lower set or an over pair, worst case scenario being 10 10 for the openended straight. I'm getting just over 2-1 on my money to call. I realized J 10 was possible.. but raising from the button is a really donkey play with J 10.. because you like to see a cheap flop with that, and it plays well with lots of people in the pot. At the same time.. he may have been trying to steal the pot.. but with 4 limpers, raising less than the pot is very very unlikely to do that.. he would have known that. Even so.. i had to give J 10 atleast 50% with such a strong check-raise. Even if I knew before he turned that he had J 10.. i have to call anyway, I have 7 outs (one 9, three 8s, three 7s) plus runner runner pairs, or runner runner tie.. for a total of maybe 8.5 outs.. making me just under 2-1. (i'm going to win the pot just over one out of every three times). so i lose 240 twice, for -480, and i win 550 once for +550 making it an EV of $70, even if he has J10 and I know it. So I called. He turned over J 10 and it Held up. It would have been the biggest pot I ever won, instead it was the biggest I ever lost.

why i've been losing at poker

Tue, 22 Nov 2005 09:27:16 GMT

recently that is.. and specifically (but definitely not mostly) sit n gos. i've been trying to 'play' poker. when really you're trying to make it to the final three and play from there.. and im getting frustrated because i keep getting busted out of tourneys when i have the best hand when i get my chips in. although i really have had a 'bad run', i've been getting myself into too many ak vs qk or a8 vs k 10 situations. but.. its funny. im losing losing losing on holdem, and i pick up 7 stud which i clean up on. for example.. i hit a couple nice cards had them held up and i was upto 3200 with 5 people left in a sng.. i get AA on the big blind amd the small blind goes all in for about 1200 more (blinsd are 300/150) and i call.. she hits a 7 to set her 77. few hands later, blinds are 200/400 and im big blind with A10o and the guy under the gun goes all in for 1200 total, not really what i want to be claling with, but the guy was desperate so i called and was happy to see qj until he caught his q and took half my stack. so now i'm desperate with like 1300 chips and i get a5s in the small blind and go on top of the big blind (the guy who sucked my a10 out) and he calls with K8s (same suit as my a5, spades) and hits an 8 to knock me out

okay i said that. now i just played a tourney where i folded 55 hands in a row, blinds were upto 150/75, 8 people left and i'm under the gun with 470 chips left. i have A J.. i don't really want to go all in , really don't want to get called.. but i don't have a choice really.. i need chips, so i go all in and first guy goes all in on top, with AQ.. needless to say, his hand holds up.

like whoa

Wed, 09 Nov 2005 01:11:28 GMT

well shit i really wanted to use those character codes to make the suits of the cards. i was saying.. i was thinking about a hand today i was playing and how i didn't try to take the whole stack, or even as much as possible from the guy i was playing against.. i'm not sure why.. i was getting ready to leave.. and felt blessed enough to hit such a monster.. okay here's the deal: i am playing a tourney and less than 10 hands in i get KdKc i bet 300 get one or two callers.. i don't remember. i have position, first player bets 600 into a flop of
8d 7d 5s Theres l ike a grand in the pot.. i figure im good.. i go all in for 4500 or so he calls more or less without hesitation. I figured A9 or a draw when he bet, when he called he turned over Qd9d.. giving him an inside straight and flush draw.. almost even money to win the hand, i was a favorite.. 60/40 maybe? maybe less. No sixes or diamonds.. first card that hits is the six of diamonds. oh well. 30 bucks.. i like playing them but it happens. i sit down at a 1/3 NL game, waiting for my dad and tom who were still in the game.. bought in for 100 (the max at that table).. a relatively new game.. one guy had like 300 infront of him.. another had 200 at most.. everyone else was 40-100. i folded my first few hands.. my big blind i get dealt 84o and i see the flop for free. holy mother of grail the flop comes 8 4 4. it was 4 handed, 8 in the pot.. first guy checks, then i check, bettor bets 10, button calls, first guy folds, i call. turn comes 6.. there are two to a flush, i check, first guy bets 20, buttons calls 20, i raise to 60. first guy folds, second guy calls. river comes a rag, i go all in for another 30 or so he calls and shows 57 for a straight, losing to my boat. nice way to start.. upto 230 or so. play up and up, lose one big hand.. 80 bucks.. tried to buy the pot with two over cards and got stuck for the guys whole stack against his trips. soon after i get KQs, raise to fifteen preflop.. get 3 callers. flop comes A K 2. checks around to me.. i bet 20, one guy calls. turn comes 9 or something, we both check it. river comes a queen. he bets 20, i raise to 60. he laughs alittle, good heartedly (same guy i stuck earlier for my whole stack) and calls, and shows A6 for one pair against my two.. hes still at 250 after that hand. play for a while and take down some small pots when i'm getting ready to leave, i have about $420 in front of me and i had said i was leaving in a few hands. i get Ad 10d, call the blind and it gets raised to ten bucks.. 4 people in the hand.. maybe 5.. all call. flop comes (no shit) kd jd 9d.. giving me the nut flush and a royal draw. i check of course.. another guy checks, another guy checks, same guy makes it 10 to go, small blind calls, i call, another guy goes all in for 5 on top.. everyone calls, i didn't raise it here.. i would have but i didn't think i could and didn't want to ask and draw attention to myself. turn comes a 6 or something no diamond, i bet 100.. which was retarded. i had the nuts.. i want these guys betting into me.. but i did it.. i bet 100, and the guy thinks and thinks and thinks and im just talking to people.. because its an abnormally large bet and people are saying things, especially when i smooth called the 10 and then the 5 more, and then 6 couldn't help anyone and i bet that much.. etc.. so they are talking about nice bet, good pot/bluff.. whatever and i said i think, 'i just wanted to use a black chip in a pot' and the guy thinks (same guy i hit twice for big pots) and he throws in a black chip. im like whoa. river comes a queen, no diamonds. here again.. i should have bet like 20-40 at that pot.. he would almost have to call unless he had the queen of diamonds (i figure he must have now that it hink about it).. but anyway.. he folded to my all in and i showed the nuts and he smiled and laughed. i guess im not sure why i didn't try and crack that guy for more. i think i was just lazy and happy with the run of cards and my playing of them, there wasn't that urge to take his stack.. i really didn't want him to call that all in. i mean.. if he did.. i wouldn't feel bad and would be happy with the other 150 or so.. but it wasn't my intention to take his money there, it was me saying, 'i have this fucking hand.. you can lay it down and not feel like you need to call just in case' it was a huge pot.

Wed, 09 Nov 2005 00:25:03 GMT

&diams; &clubs;

Fri, 29 Jul 2005 14:40:22 GMT

i've been trying to figure out fictional writing. i mean, i can do it.. watch

There was a purple transvestite cow named steve who hooked up with a tiger-whore and they had a chimp in a skirt for lunch. Shortly after they had a little human baby named steve, as well. Steve and steve and the tiger-whore spent many long days galloping across the surface of the sun, until they realized they couldn't do such a thing and they froze. That was many millions of years ago, and, if you travel to the surface of the sun you can still see them there today frozen in time in the middle of a waltz.

But people that do it well.. thats a little fishy.

Here wait, I'll try again.. this time for real

Wed, 06 Jul 2005 01:27:10 GMT

dood i suck
not like the one and a half score plus one president
or the rubber thingy on your window holding a shade
or a really friendly girl friend
or
ororororo

its more like i hate myself. but pretend not too.. AND DEFINTILY SAY I DON'T
hating yourself is not cool

is it? NO!

oh shit, was all that out loud

i didn't say it.. but my eyes the way they went.. do they know?

they do. shit. well i'll pretend like they don't, and maybe they will to

they're trying.. but I CAN SEE IT IN THEIR Eyes they know

its okay ill buy them all beers. _{i got the next round}

_igot the next ro^UND.

no, really its cool

shit.. they took it to be polite. shit shit
cigaratte cigarette cigirette
ahshit i gotta quit
mmyeah im fine, yeah sure, sure.. a lighter? matches

dofrorame as i wathrlkough it all intermeshed

whoa, shit..no yeah sure i'll do one
7, yeah.. ill be fine.. i might call in
yeah you too.. good seeing you.. maybe.. ill see

mmfuck i need some food ahhfaafawofebeeph .. a wofebeeph .. ayetheenkbuhpiqulls
ah onteednyshange.. errelkum

Wed, 06 Jul 2005 00:20:59 GMT

kumrads die because they're told)
kumrads die before they're old
(kumrads aren't afraid to die
kumrads don't
and kumrads won't
believe in life)and death knows whie

(all good kumrads you can tell
by their altruistic smell
moscow pipes good kumrads dance)
kumrads enjoy
s.freud knows whoy
the hope that you may mess your pance

every kumrad is a bit
of quite unmitigated hate
(travelling in a futile groove
god knows why)
and so do i
(because they are afraid to love

Wed, 06 Jul 2005 00:18:07 GMT

on a jolly holly day
a froggy went to the pond to play
upon a toadstool, instead he layed
until the day had passed away
at which time he hopped on to his bog
and laid until did rise the fog
after which he found his log
and thought, what shall i do, today?

i think i'll find sir rabbit-roo
i wonder what shall we do
perhaps a song, a sonnet too!
but upon his late arrival
and after oh-so many trials
rabbit-roo said (as rabbits do)
sing, i can't! that's only you

perhaps we should run around
tease some hikers or some geaser-hounds
or nibble on the farmers crop
gosh,he sure likes that a lot
everytime i take a bite
he waves his arms in pure delight!

oh you dunce, frog said at once
im quite so sure that will not help
i cannot outpace ol-yeller-yelp
even if i were sure i could
enjoy it? i don't think i would

the moral of the story, see
frogs and hares... are delicacies

Tue, 05 Jul 2005 23:59:20 GMT

wet, yes like a rat
i say to you
from me, this thing that says
but when i try and touch it
like, picking up a fresh watermelon
if you're tiny
or
a freshly spat seed
if tiny isn't true, for you
        it wears a hat, that says
    and walks in a way that means
               and eats food that
all the while
wondering, scared, lonely, excited, pleased, lucky
flestituobagnirednow
saying, it rained a lot
and you were in it
while i was busy
                 chasing a me

Tue, 05 Jul 2005 23:52:15 GMT

a fortuitous granting
of a generous pampering
sheds all illwill
away

Tue, 05 Jul 2005 23:50:12 GMT

you see the shining light
of the dirty incandescent
not flower
creating

or rather, no, yes
creating

speckles on the wall

Sun, 19 Jun 2005 21:45:28 GMT

like an itch
not a specific itch, like on from a mosquito
but the itch.
what itching is.. or rather whatever it is that drives one to itch, or scratch the itch that is itching

take that itch
and scratch it.

oh how good it feels, to scratch an itch

but eternally unsatisfying; in fact, giving into that pleasure comes nowhere close to being satisfying. its not even a fleeting satisfaction; its fleeting before its satisfying

ah, but not this scratch. to scratch this itch, this one you couldn’t even get your fingers near, or if you had… you’d chewed your nails in nervousness, coated your fingers with silk in vanity, and locked them that way forever in desperation.

this time its different. oh, there will be other itches to scratch. Indeed, the very act of scratching this one brings an unrelenting urge to scream some yet-to-be-articulated pre-cognitive glob into a canyon.

but this time, the itch was deeper than normal.. a couple times you’d slammed your back up against the wall, hoping the protrusions from the broken brick might get in there. you tried surgery, drugs.. and finally let it be, writing it off as a mere by-product of existence, no more avoidable than death, and certainly no less frightening.

but then, walking down the street, lover in hand you came across a small door, meant for carts perhaps, maybe midgets, but more likely carts.. there was a tinge of feeling at he deepest identity of that which was The Itch and you knew it was that door.. or beyond that door that did it. dashing under the door, lover still in hand.. her face was bashed and her ten-thousand dollar nose job was ruined.. when she screamed you let her fall, forgetting everything but that itch, that was glowing with the passion of god somewhere behind your left shoulder blade, growing and glowing stronger with every step into the darkness, before too long what was a child-sized door to reality, became a dead spot on your eye, floating around the room as you glance around the darkness, as if it were stuck to your cornea.

and there you sit, huddled, knees to your chest.. rocking. searching for the ever fleeting door, as the itch has finally been scratched.

not at cul-de-sac

Thu, 16 Jun 2005 22:31:04 GMT

Scattered patterns of grass and weeds across the field, behind the split wood fence were calling simultaneously feelings of vague despair and intense nostalgia, from the times when the field was your play place. At that moment, it was fifteen years ago and you had dirt clods drying on a shelf in the roofless fort you and your friends had shackled together from pallets, ply wood and an old matress frame. When you were turning around, Jennifer and yourself were in the backseat of her baby blue mustang convertible, at the end of a cul-de-sac where housing development wouldn't come for a year or more. At then end of the turn, a few moments before the light turned green and you crossed the street, you were getting up this morning and drinking gourmet coffee black with a muffin for breakfast. Crossing the street brought you back to the moment, of the all too familiar feel of the intense heat emanating from the sidewalk, and the also too familiar slight naseua you sensed as it was time to walk into the cellphone dealership and put on your money smile.
The day went on, as it always did, a lost sense of self as you showed people the beauty of roller-over minutes and text-messaging. Smoke breaks were common, huttled to the side of a dumster, a small group of men in ties reminscing on their recent gawkings, as you can only smile and say, “yeah, she was.”
You call your mother, its her birthday, she's doing fine and hopes things are going well for you, says you should talk to your sister, she just got a new job. You walk across the same cross walk and by the same field, this time your a few hours ahead.. hanging with those same men in ties and some women around a bon-fire drinking boxed red-wine and eating marshmallows and hotdogs. Hoping that Brie will be there.
Then your at the bar with steve, four months ago at Friday's, late.. waiting for steves partner to get off work. Steve and Brie's conversation about coasters involved you when Brie was telling about a Dali painting on a mini-brew she was at in Utah, and steve asked... “whats that guy with the elephant and swan reflection.. and the clocks?” It ended there, too.
Brie went out to the fire with you guys that night, when all of you heard and some of you learned that Brie had been living in New York and moved to the midwest with her boyfriend about a year ago. They'd been fighting ever since and as you got it, he moved and she stayed, scooping ice cream for a living.
Her timid ways, occasionally trumped by bouts of excitedness when pointing something out or telling certain parts of stories. Her casual, naïve style of dress, her bright eyes, her firm, yet supple body. Her goofy mannerisms, followed immediately by an intense seriousness when talking about the best kind of mustard. The way mosquitos never got her, and when an insect was on her, she'd kindly move him to the nearest safe-haven.
You thought about your unwillingness, or really, your fear of rejection, or maybe you just didn't want to make her uncomfortable.
You played out a thousand times in your head since that night at fridays, getting knocked from behind on the log and falling into each others arms, or lying and saying everyone was meeting a couple hours early today because of whatever and using the time alone to draw out of her how she feels.
You never did, though.
Her deliberately moving her hand away when they innocently touch as you both make tri pods of your upper body on the log makes it worse; all the more evidence to evaluate, with necessarily no conclusion in sight.

Sat, 28 May 2005 23:40:24 GMT

Socialist Worker
Which Side Are You On?
U.S. torturers at work from Afghanistan to Iraq: The road to Abu Ghraib
Thursday 26th May 2005, by Sharon Smith

EVEN BEFORE the Bush administration invaded Iraq in March 2003, human rights organizations were raising allegations of torture at U.S. prisons in Afghanistan.

At the time, the State Department dismissed their allegations as “ridiculous” (just as the White House recently feigned outrage when Newsweek claimed that Guantanamo interrogators flushed the Koran down the toilet—even as evidence surfaced that they urinated on it). As recently as December, military spokesperson Lt. Col. Pamela Keeton claimed an Army investigation “found no evidence of abuse taking place” in Afghanistan, according to the BBC.

All that changed last week, when the New York Times exposed the sadistic killing of two Afghan detainees in December 2002—both kicked to death, while chained to the ceiling by their wrists at the Bagram air base—based on the Army’s own leaked investigation. The Army investigation is just the tip of the iceberg, however, as mounting evidence exposes an expansive and overlapping system of torture and killing at U.S. detention facilities in Iraq, Afghanistan and Guantánamo Bay.

Afghan prisons, along with Guantánamo, provided the hands-on training for the interrogation techniques made famous at Abu Ghraib. Many of the same interrogators who honed their skills at Bagram ended up at Abu Ghraib in 2003—both times under the direction of Capt. Carolyn A. Wood.

Specialist Damien “Monster” Corsetti—known affectionately as the “King of Torture” among his Bagram colleagues—was later fined and demoted for forcing an Iraqi woman to strip during an interrogation at Abu Ghraib. Yet Corsetti remains a free man. Although Army investigators found “probable cause” to charge him with assault, prisoner maltreatment and indecent acts at Bagram, he has not formally been charged.

So far, only seven soldiers have been charged with any crime related to torture at Bagram—and no one has been convicted.

According to the watchdog group Human Rights First, the U.S. admits that 108 people died while in U.S. custody—63 of them at prisons other than Abu Ghraib. But this figure is suspect, since most of those detained by U.S. forces are never entered into the military’s “system.”

Since 2001, 65,000 people have been screened at U.S. detention facilities in Iraq, Afghanistan and Guantánamo, but only 30,000 were eventually categorized as “detainees.” By December 2004, the U.S. military still had no central database even for official detainees in Afghanistan.

Much of the worst abuse occurs right after arrest, in temporary holding facilities, where interrogators use torture to “soften up” prisoners to extract information. The International Committee of the Red Cross is rarely allowed access to these facilities to document treatment of prisoners—and then only after they have been held for at least 15 days. The two detainees murdered at Bagram in 2002 were dead long before then.

Nor does the U.S. command allow Afghanistan’s human rights commission—a government body—into prisons, although the commission is flooded with requests from distraught Afghan citizens seeking the whereabouts of disappeared loved ones. As Newsday recently reported, “A top U.S. officer said the U.S. command is not fully convinced that the commission’s members are all ‘good guys.’”

In addition, prisoners held by the CIA often do not enter the military’s statistics at all. The CIA runs a separate interrogation facility at Bagram, known as “the Salt Pit,” where even U.S. military interrogators are denied access. In November 2002, a detainee froze to death in the Salt Pit after being stripped naked, chained down and left overnight. Yet his name never appeared in the military’s database or even on the CIA’s “ghost detainee” list, according to Human Rights First.

The lawlessness inside Afghanistan’s detention facilities is a microcosm of Afghan society itself, where U.S. troops bomb villages, raid homes and murder at will—three-and-a-half years after “liberation.”

Last September, in the middle of the night, U.S. troops shot and killed English teacher Muhammad Rais Khan while raiding his home and detaining his brother. A day later, his brother died in U.S. custody. Army officers dismissed their deaths to Newsday, explaining that the Khan brothers were “bad guys”—according to the local warlord, anyway, who had an axe to grind against them.

U.S.-backed warlords who control most of Afghanistan’s countryside with private armies continue to enrich themselves with opium profits while the U.S. looks the other way. Far from a fledgling “democracy,” U.S.-occupied Afghanistan is an experiment in barbarism.

Just as Bagram paved the way for Abu Ghraib, the war on Afghanistan provided the launching pad for the invasion of Iraq. Now the havoc produced by the U.S. occupation of both countries provides the excuse for the U.S. to remain.

The same web of lies used to invade Iraq was used to justify the war on Afghanistan—and forms the basis for the entire “war on terror.”

my very first press-release

Tue, 24 May 2005 02:42:59 GMT

Home-Grown Organic Politics

We live at a time when billions are spent on an increasingly unpopular war while politicians plot to rob retirees and the disabled of their Social Security; when the Democratic Party talks more about finding "common ground" with conservatives than of opposing them; and when the media acts as a propaganda arm of the Pentagon and the U.S. government. Clearly, the need for an alternative on the left—an alternative that speaks to the millions of ordinary people who are fed up with war, attacks on workers and threats to our civil rights—is more pressing than ever.

With well over half (60% by the latest polls) of Americans opposed to the war in Iraq; 40% believing Congress is acting in such a way that is blatantly unethical; and only 35% approving of the job they are doing at all, we are a Left leaning population whose destiny seems to be firmly in the grips of the fanatical Right.

Many would-be (and have-been) activists who took the so-called lesser evil, pragmatic approach voting for the pro-war, corporate-serving Kerry have since become so demoralized at the absolute failure of what is supposed to be “our” party in putting forward, or even claiming support, for a single issue that those of us on the Left believe in; it's no wonder the anti-war movement has all but disappeared, while buying Vermont made home-grown organic whatever is the seemingly only course of action being taken.

But it isn't local products and vegetable-oil burning Passasts that are going to pry off the grips of the Right, its much more serious than that.

What then, if not withdrawing our dollar and our vote from those “on the other side?” Home-grown organic politics, of course.

What we need on the Left is not simply a lack of support for the Right, but an active (read: activist) resitance against it. The movement must be built piecemeal, and carried out by informed, unswerving working class citizens who have drawn their line in the sand, and refuse to accept less than they know they deserve.

Socialism 2005, in Chicago this July 1-4 is an ideal forum for discussion and conference for learning not only about effective tactics for resistance, but also to meet and listen to Left leaders and activists from across the country and the world.

The conference this year will focus on rebuilding the left, on how to win the issues we want and deserve without relying on the Democrats who have failed us miserably.

At a measley $85 ($75 if you register early) for four days of intense political discussion where every important issue will be talked, its more than just a bargain; you won't find a better a place to bounce ideas, absorb information, and meet activists from across the globe (until perhaps, Socialism 2006). If you're fed up with the system and want to see real change, are sick and tired of waiting for the Democrats to show some intiative, and are willing and excited to take an active part in reshaping our society into something to be proud of, there's no better, more imporant event this summer than Socialism 2005.

A complete list of talks will be published soon at http://www.socialismconference.org/

For information in the meantime:

its not easy: to take it easy

Mon, 23 May 2005 03:11:23 GMT

prove me wrong:
war, racism, domestic violence, poverty: all follow from capitalism

the obvious analysis:
competition was fun to learn the game, but now that we can play it so well we ought to all be on the same team.

hard questions that require no thinking:
do i attach my back via large rusted hooks to a train being pulled uphill so slowly that at the current speed it won't reach its destinaton for 497 years, or do i hide on an island and try not to think about the people with gaffs in their backs and the lives they are trying to spare by not letting the train roll down the hill with the little babies and their drunken mothers tied to the tracks

do i, at the expense of my life, throw rocks and molotov cocktails at the tank about to destroy my lovers home, or do i use my mad evasive skills and out run them forever?

do i take the million dollar gimmie, or trade it in for a one in two chance at a billion?

do i swallow the undeniable connection but far from likely sustainability of an uber-relationship, or do i chase it at the expense of the most amazing lover of my life?

kucinich to dean

Sun, 15 May 2005 04:22:12 GMT

i love dennis k because he gives me hope that i won't have to swim against the current for the rest of my life.

Dear Chairman Dean,

Speaking before an ACLU crowd last week in Minnesota, the home state of Paul Wellstone, you were quoted as saying, "Now that we're there [in
Iraq], we're there and we can't get out.... I hope the President is incredibly successful with his policy now." Did these words really come from the same man who claimed to represent the Democratic wing of the Democratic Party, and who had recently campaigned on the antiwar theme? What's changed?

Perhaps you now believe that an electoral victory for Democrats in 2006 and beyond requires sweeping this war under the rug. If so, you are only the latest in a long line of recent Democratic leaders who chose a strategy of letting "no light show" between Democrats and the President on the war. Emphasize the economy, instead, they advised, in 2002 and again in 2004.

Following this advice has kept us in the minority. During the 2002 election cycle, when Democrats felt they had historical precedent on their side (the President's party always loses seats in the midterm election), the Democratic leadership in Congress cut a deal with the President to bring the war resolution to a vote, and appeared with him in a Rose Garden ceremony. The "no light" strategy yielded a historic result: For the first time since Franklin Roosevelt, a President increased his majorities in both houses of Congress during a recession.

The President went into the 2004 election with tremendous vulnerability on the war, which the Democratic Party again sacrificed: by avoiding the issue of withdrawal from Iraq in the party platform, omitting it from campaign speeches and deleting it from the national convention.

Why does failure surely follow from sweeping the war and occupation under the rug? Because the war is one of the most potent political scandals of all time, and it has energized grassroots activity like few others.

President Bush led the country into war based on false information, falsified threats and a fictitious estimate of the consequences. His war and the continuing occupation transformed Iraq into a training ground for jihadists who want to hunt Americans, and a cause célèbre for stoking resentment in the Muslim world. His war and occupation squandered the abundant good will felt by the world for America after our losses of September 11. He enriched his cronies at Halliburton and other private interests through the occupation. And he diverted our attention and abilities away from apprehending the masterminds of the September 11 attack; instead, we are mired in occupation. The President's war and occupation in Iraq has already cost $125 billion, nearly 1,600 American lives, more than 11,000 American casualties and the lives of tens of thousands of Iraqis. The occupation has been more costly in this regard than the war.

There is no end in sight for the occupation of Iraq. The President says we will stay until we're finished. A recent report by the Congressional Research Service concluded that the United States is probably building permanent military bases in Iraq. The President refuses to consider an exit strategy. The Republican Congress gives the President whatever he asks for.

We can draw no clearer distinction with the President than over this war. He cannot right a wrong (unjustified war) by perpetuating a military occupation. Military victory there is not possible. General Tommy Franks concedes that. The war will end when we say it's over. The Democratic leadership should be pressing for quick withdrawal of all troops from Iraq.

That's what most Democrats want, too. Your performance in the early stages of the primary, and your recent chairmanship of the party, were made possible by many, many progressive and liberal Democrats. It was their hope and expectation that you would prevent the party from repeating its past drift to the Republican-lite center. They hoped that this time the party would not abandon them or its core beliefs again.

Yet you say that you hope the President succeeds. With no pressure exerted from the leadership of the Democratic Party, the past threatens to repeat itself in 2006. We may not leave Iraq or our minority status in Washington for a long time to come.

Dennis J. Kucinich

Sun, 15 May 2005 04:02:50 GMT

howard dean, he's our man, if he can fuck us, they all can

your precious howard dean is one of them.. sorry to say. i love you, but i have to say.. a revolution is the only way

your precious howard dean
is one of them..
sorry to say.
i love you,
but i have to say..
a revolution
is the only way

DEAN: I think we need to bring in foreign troops. You cannot expect the Iraqis to think that they have their own government if we're appointing their people. We need an election. Over a period of a few years, until the Iraqis really are able to have a democracy which is strong enough not to allow Al Qaida to emerge and has a constitution that's widely enough respected so they will not have a fundamentalist Shiite regime.

Thu, 05 May 2005 06:54:56 GMT

its high time i made an entry on socialism, which has dramatically affected my life the last couple weeks, and has a strong potential for guiding the rest of it, or atleast the next of it.

let me tell you how it all started, first, god had a hiccup. then, i read the fountain head. then, i read atlas shrugged. then i was a libertarian, which in retrospect is about as useful as a librarian when it comes to a theory of social structuring.. specifically weilding lots of great, yet largely irrelevant ideas.

see hard core capitalism, even when it accounts for corporate welfare is missing something. proponents invariably speak of the growth its given us (not taking a moment to assume if that growth is good or not), and arguing that (especially ayn randians) true hard work and intellect deserves to be rewarded, and (the born rich naive'ians) the social darwinist say the weak may as well perish.

growth obviously has its benefits and problems.. obvious problems are both the sustainability of the ecosystem as a functional life supporting entity, and also general aesthetics.. less (though hardly less) problems are the inherent neo-feudal relationships between the upper and lower classes, and the wars veiled under religion, nationalism, and blatant racism that are fought with economic (read: imperialistic) ends

the benefit however of incredible growth is we have the technology and resources to feed every person on the planet, provide each and every one of us with healthcare, a soft place to rest our head,and a library card, with enough cars and boats and planes that if we shared them, transportation would never be an issue

however, the reality is that 30+ thousand children die every DAY from malnutrition. that's more than a few. we won't even dwell on the notion that the top four richest people, in america, could feed every one of those starving people. four people hoarding what in effect deprives a million children a year of their very lives, definitely a fantastic system we've got going.

Well that's the only fair way! hogwash. you say socialists want to do away with private property, but you don't realize for 99% of the planet its already been done away with

governments ought to exist for the sake of the people being governed, not the sake of the people doing the governing.

"if people just worked a little harder.." well that's partly true. if you work harder than those around you, and you're not gay black or female, you have a good chance of owning a home and an suv and you probably get a whole week or two to yourself each year,a real treat indeed.

but, unfortunately that just means if someone wants to get ahead of you,they have to work that much harder. not to mention the reality of the global economy in which american's general good fortune is at the direct expense of nike sweatshops.

a simple, but spot on quote from A Case for Socialism- "It's not that some people are rich and some people are poor; some people are rich, because the vast majority are poor."

Think about what it means to be rich, you essentially have liquidable labor equity, if you want a boat, you don't have to build it, you pay someone else to, same with everything else you might buy.. you have a control on labor via the equity in it you've accrued. that equity is accrued because the workers are necessarily getting less than they produce, while the *vast majority* of what is produced is skimmed by those who have no actual place in the production of whatever good.. and that's not even getting into the 'real' free market economy.. trading consumer debt, corporate control of the military and tax money in general, saturating society with corporate benefiting propaganda... the days of hank rearden and his steel mill are gone, you don't get rich today by production.. you can be moderately comfortable at best if you're an efficient producer, but the route to real wealth these days is through exploitation and expropration, not production.

so anyway,i don't care about all that.. but the iso members, atleast here in burlington know their shit,and know where they're going with it.. no matter their paper is the most uninviting (yet incredibly informative) 6 or so square feet of news print you could find.

there's nothing else to do, may as well become a historian, and eventually get hunted down by the good 'ol boys.

sick of the media because its all crap? read the good stuff

Mon, 25 Apr 2005 06:38:19 GMT

writing club/group zine producing collaboration

Mon, 25 Apr 2005 05:28:46 GMT

(transcribed from scribbling)

free write: walls ~5 minutes
--
Walls of seperation, walls to climb over,
walls to impede, walls to confine
Although they may trap us, and we
curse them for sure, its walls
we must bust through, if we want
to be pure.
So instead of focusing energy
on the limits they impose
placed there be your foes
In order to close
opportunity,

they actually give us freedom,
for without something to overcome?
What have we to do.

in a life without struggle, we surely create
our own
--



free write: super hero ~5 minutes
--
From the top,
Perfect hair, but not very hairy, more like a
formed plastic, it has to be
After supersonic flight and saving a damsel
in distress.    Except the girls, there perfect hair is special    "
You have to look good                                    power  "u
A perfect complextion, of course  dark eyes
on a woman, light on a man, deep and wise
in any respect.
The lines of the face chizled not out of stone,
but the pure essence of beauty
A well defined esophogus
Shoulders slanting at perfect angles,
Abnormally large breasts, or those same breasts
smashed, and squared on the man
--

free write.. we each put 5 words in a hat, and drew from them..
the first was the prompt and the following four words were to be
used in the body 

~5 minutes plus some minutes

prompt: Soul
words: crap, currants, sinkhole, tantalizing

Soul
--
The crap being spewed by politicians
The currants of the scone,
The sinkhole in the tragedy
The tantalizing aspect of reality
--

and cus that went so quickly

Soul
--
the inner essence, if thats not redundant,
not the crap, the craving for currants
that which is tantalizing to the soul
is not tangible, that which can
be had, held ,traded  is of no use
the soul, that which tantalizes the senses
obscures the soul
that which nourishes the soul is considered
crap by those who have forgotten theirs
wrong pursuits of the soul are sinkholes waiting
to happen, filled with crap that disappears upon
a chalenge,
leaving the pseudo searcher far from naked, eating
currant scones on the way to work,
it leaves the the
while the true searcher walks too lightly
to fall into sink  holes, eating  currants,
naked, happily
--

bonus:  noted excerpts from tylers 5 word thing

'courage stripped of its merit'
'confusions being burnt with the keepsakes'

getting worse and worse

Sun, 24 Apr 2005 22:03:34 GMT

Every day the same thing. I get up to a screeching alarm (the radio unfortunately isn't enough) and I start my day by cursing my existence. I stumble to the shower after torturing myself with half a dozen snooze sessions, get in my car and crank whatever classical 'tune' is on the radio at the moment. It gets better from here though, especially if its not winter and not cold and already sunny. I drive through dunkin-doughnuts, grab my 5 dollar after-tax breakfast of a huge ice coffee a donut and an everything bagel with plain cream cheese that will live in my stomach for the next 36 hours, eat the donut, a raised one with chocolate frosting, in 3 and a half bites, dislodge it from my throat with a few gulps of caffeinated sugar cream and pull onto the highway. I pull out my first cigaratte of the day (how much easier to get out of the house its been when I won't let myself have a cigaratte until I'm on the road), a p-funk, and forget for a minute how I'm living in my own hell.
Non smokers will never understand the minds and yearnings of a smoker. I don't mean a social smoker (except closet smokers who hide behind the social aspect of it for some desperate attempt at self respect), a true, run of the mill i just fucked, ate, woke up, had a drink, had a shit, have nothing to do, have something to do in a minute, I need a mother fucking smoke, smoker. Once its reached the point of desperation its not really all that fun to be sure, but the infant and toddler stages of becoming a smoker, so often it comes along with our social deflowering when we feel 'one' with the scum our parents told us to watch out for.. those first cigarattes are the best. All at once they calm our nerves and make us badasses, they give you friends by default if your taking smoke breaks.. smoke breaks! Those pitiful fools who don't smoke and bust their ass (the true fools bust their ass) an extra half hour a day while I let the problems of the world slide off my back like mercury off teflon. They may make our hands smell bad but they look better. Smoking proves I can make my own decisions and I don't need some corporatacracy propaganda bull shit mother fuckers telling me this shits bad for me, fuck that. I'll smoke if i want to fucking smoke, where I want to smoke, when I want to smoke, and what I want to smoke.. what's it gonna do... fucking kill me, so you can't get another twelve thousands hours of fucking cheap labor from me, fuck you, you fucking fucks. Damn that cigaratte tastes so fucking good.. I can tell its going to be a good day, taking the last drags of my stogie and I still want more.
Seven-fifteen, twenty minutes till we start calling the east coast, asking them how satisfied with their lives or their politician or their new stadium (like you can draw a fucking line between them in the first place), “Excuse me sir, when it comes to the fact that your football team is going to be playing in a stadium called the 'Reliant' dome, how does that make you feel.. very satisfied, somewhat satisfied, somewhat unsatisfied or very unsatisfied, or none of the above” “Fuckin' very sasfied whutcyou think son? Youston got its own football team now, lawd knows izbout tom.” “Is that very satisfied then?” And so it goes.
But anyway, I don't know what it is about sitting around these dumb poor fucks trying to feed 3 kids and pay for a trailer to house them on the same salary i buy pot beer and donuts with, and eating my dank-ass toasted everything bagel with plain cream cheese when I know if they had anything for breakfast, it was probably store-brand wheat puffs and see through milk, while I'm already satisfied, but it tastes so damn good.. eating infront of these people who've got nothing i almost enjoy it more I almost feel like its bad to think that way, but what the fuck I didn't knock some fat bitch up, three fucking times even, I can enjoy the bagel for chrissakes.
Cigaratte number two is never as good as the first one, but it gives me time to chat with jimmy our local dimwit. Fool's naïve as a preppy in a back alley, but god damned, theres something about him just makes you feel good and shit. He's always gentle with his turbs, turbs we call them cus they're always perturbed when we call, when you know its a towel-head turb (not that im racist, but they do wear towels on their head) its pretty funny, but anyway these fucks will bitch at him for calling at dinner or whatever and he'll spend five minutes telling em that he's real sorry and of course he didn't mean to.. hang the fuck up moron you get paid to complete surveys not to win the heart of some soccer mom 2500 miles away, he does it though and as dumb as it is.. im glad he does it.
See, jimmy's always nice.. always. Everyonce in a while i'll forget my pack or whatever, or run out or some-shit and jimmy's always got a pack-plus and lets me have as many as I want. I tried to make him take mine the next day, you know fair is fair, but he wouldn't have it, said some bullshit about 'consider it a gift'. If you wrapped up five cigarattes and put them under the christmas tree, you better hope you stole my pack the night before cus thats a weakass gift.. whatever though.. nice as hell I guess, but not really on the ball.
So that reminds me, Jimmy one time, I swear to hell, well we're calling fucking georgia or some shit and jimmy gets this crazy woman on the phone going on and on about how her baby's daddy just left her and she's got nothing and why is he trying to get her to buy stuff, when she can't even feed the brat she's got, and that mother fucker, i swear, talks to the bitch for 30 minutes about whatever a nice guy like jimmy tells a freaked out hooker to make her life seem bearable, so me I thought he was doing it for kicks or what-not.. maybe trying to finish up his survey, or whatever but he has a tear in his eye and an adress written infront of him, and that mother fucker you know what he did? He sent her his whole fucking check, cashed it, made a money order and here you go random ma'am.
As ridiculous as it was, he still swears it was the best thing he ever did, I ask him if he ever hears from her and answers always that she's doing fine, you're gonna have to tap that some day I tell him.. 'nah man, it aint like that.. you know it feels good to help someone out.'
So i say whatever and we start calling some people, slow at first no one really chills around at whatever time, 1030 it is in north carolina their all at work with their shoulders to the wheel.. we got it figured out at least.. sit in the a/c on a nice seat.. i'll make just over 12 bucks an hour today if jimmy doesn't get the bonus, its almost always me or him.. him more than me, but whatever, he's been doing it longer.
Finally nine thirty comes along and jimmy and I head outside and he asks for a cig for the first time ever, which is unfortunate because I have only three left including the one im about to light, so I say, “Sorry man.. i only have two left” taking the third and sticking it in my mouth” “Oh don't worry about it”

guess

Sun, 24 Apr 2005 07:40:51 GMT

“Having been aware of his actions even before he was, it drives me crazy to see such pipe dreams bear fruit. Not only does 'winning' in such a situation lead him to be more likely to chase incessantly random whims, but it deprives those acting in accordance with the laws of reality the boon they're entitled”