Hmmmm...
Today I am little sick. I've been a little sick all week. Not sick enough to say I'm really sick, just a little sick. I have been feeling the i'm-gonna-get-sick-feeling since Monday. I take it to mean that my immune system is still very functional (despite the abuse I put it through) and holding the real-sick at bay. Paul says he feels real-sick. I feel sorry for him. He'll chug the eccinacea (on sale? for $10 yikes!) til he's better though. I blame the sickness on the hell-job, 500 people shouldn't be stacked on top of each other with poor ventilation for hours on end.

Everybody should read The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy (It's the If Everybody Read the Same Book thing, check out Matt's journal [inlink]userName=matthew&blogID=131,[/inlink]). She's is first of all a genius about just about everything, not to mention pretty damn hot. The book takes place in India in the 60s-80s and she uses such neat language and describes her story in a quasi-political context (the story is not about politics so don't be worried if you're not into that). Her writing style is unique, kinda reminds me of Toni Morrison crossed with Kurt Vonnegut.

Lastly, the Cremaster Cycle is coming to Market Arcade this weekend and into next week. Here's a link to the website (thanks Emily for the link):

So Comcast, the nation's largest cable-provider, wants to buy Disney, one of the world's largest media conglomerates (owns ABC and stuff). My question is where will it end? Maybe it won't. So then if eventually all the companies buy all the other companies until there is only one (Highlander-like), and everything we get and buy and do is provided by this one corporation, do we then have a sort of corporate-socialism, where the government is replaced by the all-powerful corporation? I don't know that this would be a great thing or anything, but maybe better than all of them competing against each other with us in the middle. I guess we would have to start calling the CEO president, or leader, or king or something. King Gates? President Turner? Oh fun.

whatever, I'm still glad I wrote it, even if none ya'll muthafuckas reads it. God dreams are strange, Trisha had a dream which changed perspective or confused it somehow. I have multiple-person dreams, in the literary sense. I am sitting in my room. The door opens and it's my mom. She asks me how I'm doing and says I should visit the tortoise soon. She exits and I watch as Terry lingers at his desk. He's trying to decide whether he should do the right thing or just be lazy. Eventually, his shoulders slumped in resignation, he gets up and goes to see the tortoise. He knows something funny is abroad, as I open the door and see the turt. Something is wrong. What? There's the tortoise lying under the heat lamp as usual. I go to toss some greens and notice the shell; it's grown strange. The top is rough and rigid, but seems to have sucked the mass of its growth from the bottom. I pick it up and it makes a tortoise-hiss, a noise halfway between an angry cat and a sitting rock. I turn it over to discover its horribly exposed abdomen. A deshelled tortoise. The sight is hideous and disgusting, and Terry almost drops it in his surprise. His heartbeat is racing, and he hears his mother calling. What is she saying? "Just put him out..."
what, he can't go outside now
"Put him out..."
She's standning right over him now demanding that he, "put that thing out of it's misery." Somehow I have no choice but comply. My hand moves to the hammer. I raise it over my head and bring it down. The tortoise flinches. The hammer comes down again, and he knows that something is wrong, that this just shouldn't be happening. There is no circumstance that he should be involved in that has him crashing a hammer repeatedly into an animal. I think of just hitting the head. One final blow that will finish it so I can just end this horrid experience. But somehow he doesn't do it, the thought of just missing floats through his head; what if I take it all the way off and it...uggghhh. With one final blow to the abdomen the creature mercifully desists struggling against its fate. And then, I just woke up, and I was thinking like what a fucked-up dream to have. And what does it mean. And like what kind of person has these kind of dreams. And then I read everyone else's bizzare dreams/experiences of late, and agree with Rachel that it's the end-of-winter depression setting in. I still hope to not have such horribly realistic fantaies flitting through my slumbering night-mind. Poor tortoise. I hope I don't innardly hate him. It didn't look anything like you, don't worry Boz. Out.

The Dispossessed

---

Looking Backward
Ursula K. Leguin

---

Edward Bellamy

Though written almost a century apart, both The Dispossessed and Looking Backward offer views of a potential utopia derived from current society. Both our protagonists, Shevek from Anarras and Julian West from 1887, are taken from one world and dropped in the other, forced to learn, through interaction, the startling differences between the worlds. The ends of portraying a possible future utopia are similar, but the shape of each respective world is shaped by very different systems, anarchy and socialism.

In The Dispossessed Shevek is from the planet Anarres, a stellar rarity, who shares space on her orbit with a sister-plant, Urras. Shevek's progeny were the descendants of a revolutionary group of anarchists, who came close to overthrowing the feudal power structure on Urras. They were on the brink of fullout civil war when their leader Odo bartered an agreement of peace and mutual isolation if all Odonians abandoned Urras for her less hospitable sister, Anarres. Over 200 years later, Urras' population has steadily grown, eking out existence on the mostly desert planet, and managing to develop a highly complex and technological anarchist society. Their are no laws and the harshest swear words are profiteer and propertarian. Property, as such, does not exist, nor money, and the pronoun 'my' is almost never used. Life is peaceful and rewarding for the most part, though our main character Shevek finds dissatisfaction with what he sees as beauracracy happening in his own profession. He is the world's leading physicist and eventually settles in the largest city on Anarres to study and work. Here, however he meets opposition in the form of the current head of his department, whose rigidity doesn't allow Shevek to explore his ideas freely. He is given alien (from Urras and beyond) papers to read, and through them begins to piece together a truly revolutionary theory that could reshape physics entirely. Denied his freedom by his own peers, Shevek smuggles pieces of his theory onboard the rocket that comes once a month from Urras. When the replies arrive, Shevek finds that his true mental peers live on different planets. In an attempt to put some spark back into his people's anarchistic thoughts and to disseminate his own theory, Shevek does the one act that is not done, he boards the ship to Urras.

The remainder of the plot focuses on Shevek as he tries to understand and live within the capitalist culture. He taken in by one of the large governments and slowly comes to realize that he is little more than a de facto prisoner. He is allowed to see only the happy side of life; his days are filled with intelligent conversation and his nights with lush extravaganza. One day he finds a slip of paper in his jacket pocket that leads him ultimately to the headquarters of the resistance. Here he finds what he was looking for, fellow Odonians still working against the system, and also for the first time sees the other half of society that he had been carefully kept away from, the poverty, disease, and death. He becomes a tokenhead leader of their rage as they begin to riot and are shot down on all sides. He escapes by hiding and fleeing, is eventually rescued by an alien ship, and returns home with lessons learned and a deep new appreciation for his own idealistic culture.

Looking Backward presents its utopia in a reverse order. Dr. Julian West is from our world circa. 1850. He is a well-off man in living in Boston. His main concerns are his upcoming wedding and how the current labor crisis is threatening its happening. He has taken to using a doctor to induce a meditative trance, that he may rest without these worries. After one such night he awakens to find that he has slept over 100 years, from 1887 to 2000. During his slumber, the world has transformed it self from a struggling capitalist economy to a socialist utopia. The majority of the book features Dr. West conversing with Dr. Leete, his rescuer who happened upon his sleeping body (the mechanics of this miraculous preservation are dubious, but not especially important to the plot) while digging in his backyard. Through their discussions we learn of how an almost silent revolution took place half a century or more past that led to the concentration of the means of production by a central power.

In 2000, like on Urras, there is no money as such. Every person is given an equal share of the country's worth every year that they may use how they wish (the catch is that it is not carried over year to year, either use it or it returns to the federal coffers). Because of increased efficiency of the system (there is no longer competition or repetition between multiple companies striving for the same market-niche) the wealth of the nation is great an everybody has plenty of credit to live well and varied lives. War is out of fashion, as almost all other countries have seen the light and function as our own. Every person is educated until 21, and then they enter the workforce until 45. Occupations are determined first by need, and then by skill and desire to perform the task. Rank is acquired through hard work and great skill at your job, though this doesn't inspire the back-stabbing tactics of our culture because one's rank has nothing to do with income or survival. Leaders of each trade are chosen by vote of those retired from that profession (ie.: retired doctors vote on who shall lead the doctor's trade). Mr. West is continually astounded by these feats of organizational and social efficiency and eventually realizes what a blessing it is that he may live the rest of his life under these conditions.

Reading these two books side-by-side was a strange experience. First of all I hadn't known that they were both about utopias and had only got Looking Backward as a last minute gift from Emily (the Dispossessed was reccomended by Holly). Secondly I was surprised to discover how similar these alternate versions of utopia were, when there governing systems (or lack thereof) are so dissimilar. Money, it seems, is very close to the root of all evil. It struck me that both author's were very clear about that point; accumulation of money will never lead to any form of equality. Also, the labor force was similar as well though controlled differently. On Anarres, children were educated until they decided they wanted to work at something, at which point they would consult with the central computer and would be given job listings (which of cource they could follow or not as they chose). In 2000, again everyone is first fully educated and then is assigned work that best suits their aptitude (again subject to needs and availability). The point is that educated and well-compensated people will want to work, and will naturally select disparate professions based on their personal desires. In both works, war is a thing of the past, the principle here is that if everybody is equal there is nothing to fight about, and the recognition of how truly wasteful it is of human talent, efficiency, and lives. Yet, for all their similarities, the core of each respective society is different.

The problem with contrasting utopian societies is that they are utopian. Somehow the prevailing system has done away with all the trappings of reality and become ideal; under utopian circumstances the applicability of each system is hard to determine. Personally, I find anarchism the more appealing of the two. Personal freedom reigns supreme, no one tells anyone else what to do (though if enough people don't like what you're doing they're free to stop you). There is no property, to the point that a child doesn't say my mother or father but rather just mother or father, and in fact can address anyone they want to in that manner. The problem though is: would work actually get done? In a technological society work must be organized, efficient, and timely, if no one has to do anything, will they do anything? I hate to admit, that while I believe in the ideals, the practicality escpaes me, especially in any sense related to changing our current mess into something like anarchist utopia. I have the same conflicts with socialism. The goals of equality, efficiency, and brotherhood are great, but actually getting there is a feat. I like the idea that everybody, no matter their profession, is compensated equally. The common argument against this is that no one would want to do hard work then. The solution lies though in how hard is defined. Take one of our high-paying jobs, say doctor, and compare it to a low-paying job, say janitor, and ask yourself which one you would rather do. The doctor must be highly educated, store vast quantities of information, and face intensely challenging moments. The sales clerk doesn't need much training, but this labor is tedious and physically stressing. So then, the theory goes that if the doctor were not paid more no one would do it, everyone would be a sales clerk. I just don't think this is true. First off I've met the people who are going to be doctors, and to a tee they've always wanted to be doctors not because of money but because it's what they want to do. Myself, if I could be a chemist right now and was only compensated the same as my current low-skill job, I would do it simply because that is what interests me. And that's the catch, people want to do jobs that interet them, and it shouldn't be about money but about personal satisfaction. Back to reality though, we have the transition phase which just isn't going to work, how are we going to convince the rich people to stop sitting on their hoards and to give back to the country that made them rich, and how are we going to educate the poor people we've let rot for years and years in destitution.

All in all, the point of reading these books is to find the bit of truth nesteld within, the enduring human spirit, the desire to become something better, and ideas about what humanity could be given the right circumstances. We can't ever approach paradise without having some idea of what it looks like. And, especially for those who don't aspire to find it hidden in heaven, this vision of utopia serves as the fuel which keeps us trudging along day-to-day. Though utopia may never come about in the world around us, at least it may begin to happen on a personal level within.

attenuation
difused through use
used until fragmentation
of idea
of thought
of you
meaning circumvented
focus blurred
sanity fractured
what is the me in meaning
who is my foe and where has sanity fled to
greener pastures
grazing on verdant fields of truth unbound
truth unfound
perhaps veracity lies encloed in walls
yet within vera-city flourishes dreams
the dreams through which we decipher reality
the ultimate truth
derived from slumbering minds

• music inspired by hollytalk

Yesterday CIA director, George Tenet, defended his agency's data-gathering efforts regarding pre-war intelligence that ultimately led to the war with Iraq. He sought both to clear up allegations of collusion with the administration, but at the same time toned down the true differences between the initial analysis of Iraq's threat to US interests and the spin used to take us to war.
Democracy Now invited former CIA analyst Melvin Goodman to discuss the disparity between Tenet's speech yesterday and the facts that were presented to the public before the war. Instead of distancing himself from the administration by stating that the CIA presented the intelligence which was later skewed by the administration to lead us to war, Tenet subtely reworded the original case so as to make the conclusions seem rational. Also discussed is the Office of Special Plans, a branch of intelligence gathering answerable only to vice president Cheney himslef. It was primarily this office which supplied the administration with it's faulty data and predictions of Sadaam's capabilities and weapons stockpiles. Side-stepping the traditional data-gathering mechanisms, Cheney's intimate connection with an office deep within the Pentagon is unheard of in US history and is just another troubling aspect of our current administration.

Yes Mickelson's Opus #Scarf in the key of Crochet Major is complete (full length somewhere around 5'6"). Halleluja. Alelulia. Amen. Here is Matthew, the lovely and talented, displaying the finished product. I would like to thank all those who relentlessly refused to accuse me of being an old biddy. I agree, I am a fairly young biddy as biddies go. I will continue biding my biddy time, oh lordy. Like I said before when the scarf was still young, I intend on taking up less arduous crocheting tasks in the future, but am glad that my first project has turned out a success (cross your fingers that it doesn't fall apart in a week). Anyone need a nice penis cozy?

languor LANG-guhr; LANG-uhr, noun:
1. Mental or physical weariness or fatigue.
2. Listless indolence, especially the indolence of one who is satiated by a life of luxury or pleasure.
3. A heaviness or oppressive stillness of the air.

For once, the dictionary.com word of the day perfectly fits me. I think I can apply all three definitions to my current life status. My mind is weary as is my body, I am satisfied by my luxurious lifestyle, yet feel the air heavily preesing in on all sides. Where does this languor come from? Why must I be trapped in its fetid embrace? I think many of us are trapped in our languorous lives of middle-classness. They claim it's freedom, I call it disaffection, from pleasure, pain, and sustenance. It arises from having no physical connection to our own survival, no feelings of a job well done or of actual hard work. Satisfaction comes at a price. Why have they taken it from us? Maybe a better question is why do we allow it to be taken from us? Yet nowadays even so-called satisfying, intellectually stimulating work is distanced from it's own results. Society stratifies everything, we are all but cogs in the great machine pumping out this gizmo or that gyro, to be reassembled elsewhere. The same goes for ideas, parts, maintenance, and service. The direct connection has been lost to the driving wheel of technology. The glue that holds us together has become morphed into a skein of machine parts and motherboards, business plans and outsourcing, overseas and undersea fiberoptics. Where does it end? Has it even yet begun? We certainly shall see, through lenses of disaffected langour.

Well finally there will be an investigation into the nature of pre-war intelligence which has so far turned out to be not much more than a load of horse shit. So-called president Bush said on Sunday that he would appoint memebers of an investigation comittee to examine the pre-war intel. This is where the problem lies though; it is ridiculous that the object (albeit how directly connected he was is yet to be determined)of an investigation appoints his own judges. The other factor that makes me wrinkle my nose is that this probe will undoubtedly focus on intelligence failures within the three departments in control, when I firmly believe that it is not what intelligence was available but how that intelligence was used that got us into a war. Oh, and also (of course) the commission is not expected to report before the presidential election in November. Hopefully once it begins it will almost immediately begin to find faults with the administration, especially as it will be helped along by members of the investigative arms who know where the blame belongs and don't want bush-stains on their shirts. We'll see...

Also, amid sky-rocketing deficit projections ad infinitum, the pentagon's budget has been okayed with huge increases in defense spending and new-weapon procurement with spending on new weapons reaching $114 billion in fiscal year 2009. The plan includes a 13-percent increase in missile defense spending, the woefully inadequate and, in the words of many leading experts, doomed-to-fail mission of protecting America from foreign-launched missiles by intercepting them via land, sea, or space-based missiles of our own. So our schools are failing, medical costs are shooting through the roof, half of us don't have health insurance, half the world hates us, but the Homeland will be secure. Oh joy.

Exhausted more like it. We went skiing, holly, dave, tk and myself. It was totally awesome and beautiful and the weather was perfect and the trails were great and life was magnificent. Oh what a life. We went on two "more difficult" trails (there are only three possibilities: easier, more difficult, and most difficult, apparently use of the superlative in every case is intended as positive reinforcement?) and definately felt the difference between it and the easier one, especially by the time we started the second. My legs are going to be sore as tarnation tomorrow. Speaking of which, is my first day back at the old job with ridiculous hours (2:30-11:00 blah!). That should be intersting. I have a book review to do soon. It will be a double feature about two similarly premised books. I betcha just can't wait. And, with that, ciao amigamis.