.
Still Tuesday
Still November 21, 2006
Still Voltaire's Birthday
Still Our Kafkaesque Nightmare
Dear Jaromir (& Magda),
Or do I mention Kafka and GARUDA IN TOYLAND simply because our conversations, both the one at Governor Stumpy's and the one at your house the Sunday before, brought warm waves of memory washing over me, resonances from my imagination's string quartets of yesteryear? Something tells me that our nation's founding fathers intuited much of what Kafka painted of what human life on this earth is truly made of and how it functions and fails to function. I believe that they were a relatively mythoklastic bunch, our founding fathers, the framers of our constitution.
Let me put it a little less delicately: I sense that Kafka and the Founders probably had more in common with you and me and the more mythoklastic members of our intersecting social circles than they had with any real or imaginary majority of American voters. Life is essentially tragic, and the Founders realized that. But it seems to me that the vast majority of our fellow Midwesterners, fellow Americans, or fellow Earthlings tend instead toward being like the Toylanders in GARUDA IN TOYLAND -- i.e. sleepwalkers.
In our conversations, we seem to have reached agreement that no quarter of modern American society is safe from the predations of the theocrats and the oligarchic neo-feudalists they're shilling for. They've assumed hegemonic control of America's public and private schools (Pre -- 12) and universities, of its business and commercial sector, of its public sector, including the civil service and the military, of the clinical/medical community and the so-called "helper" professions, etc., etc. To repeat the theme: McCarthyism didn't disappear; it simply took over and became the norm. ("If treason prosper, none dare call it treason." Who said that? Adams? Jefferson? Paine?)
Surely you're familiar with either the blk & wht or updated color versions of such films as "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" and "Night of the Living Dead." My thinly-veiled doppelganger who served as the protagonist in GARUDA IN TOYLAND was certainly familiar with both -- and felt that he was hopelessly, hellishly, nightmarishly trapped inside a similar movie. Do you ever get that feeling?
Of course, we have each other. But one of the cruel ironies of life is that those of us who would help the vulnerable and innocent among us inevitably turn out to be the most powerless themselves. In general, those who would help can't, and those can help won't.
One reason that the majority of Americans are the way they are is that America was never invaded and occupied by the Nazis or the Soviets the way you're native Czechoslovakia was. But now I'm starting to lapse into cliche, aren't I. Still, some cliches become cliches from serving as useful tools over long periods of time. Which may be as good a place as any to stop for this evening.
As I keep saying, though perhaps not quite saying: listening to your point of view, your complaints and frustrations, etc., lends valuable perspective to my own thought-world, both as a writer and as a frail mortal animal. So I'm looking forward with zest and intellectual hunger to visiting with you again soon and to receiving any e-mails you have time and energy to send.
Thanks for listening. Thanks for sharing. Thanks again for the tea and cake.
Secular Humanist Blessings,
Galen
.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Saturday, May 31, 2008
"The Plutocrats Are Coming To Town" (A Christmas Song)
THE PLUTOCRATS ARE COMING TO TOWN
(to the tune of “Santa Claus Is Coming To Town”)
1.
You’d better watch out - better gird up your loins,
Hide your children and bury your coins,
‘Cause the plutocrats are coming to town.
2.
They’re raping the land, raping the skies,
Raping our kids with their poisonous lies.
The plutocrats are coming to town.
FIRST REFRAIN:
They’ll bleed you when you’re sleeping. They’re always on the take.
They’ll kill you if you know too much. So PLAY DUMB, for goodness sake.
3.
They’ll make you their eunuch, make you their slave,
So you’ll shop till you drop and slave to your grave.
The plutocrats are coming to town.
SECOND REFRAIN:
The kids in Girl & Boy Land are in form some alienation.
They’re gonna build a toyland town and call it “Civilization.”
4.
But we can stop these demons. We can start a crusade.
Will you stand with me at the barricade?
‘Cause the plutocrats are coming to town.
THIRD REFRAIN:
They inherited their power, through accident of birth.
Yet they preach “The Work Ethic” in their crystal tower,
while plundering the Earth.
(repeat first stanza)
Words by Galen Green c 1989
Excerpted here from The Toolmaker’s Other Son
(a memoir-in-progress)
Rough draft Copyright 2005, 2006, 2007
By Galen Green; All Rights Reserved
(to the tune of “Santa Claus Is Coming To Town”)
1.
You’d better watch out - better gird up your loins,
Hide your children and bury your coins,
‘Cause the plutocrats are coming to town.
2.
They’re raping the land, raping the skies,
Raping our kids with their poisonous lies.
The plutocrats are coming to town.
FIRST REFRAIN:
They’ll bleed you when you’re sleeping. They’re always on the take.
They’ll kill you if you know too much. So PLAY DUMB, for goodness sake.
3.
They’ll make you their eunuch, make you their slave,
So you’ll shop till you drop and slave to your grave.
The plutocrats are coming to town.
SECOND REFRAIN:
The kids in Girl & Boy Land are in form some alienation.
They’re gonna build a toyland town and call it “Civilization.”
4.
But we can stop these demons. We can start a crusade.
Will you stand with me at the barricade?
‘Cause the plutocrats are coming to town.
THIRD REFRAIN:
They inherited their power, through accident of birth.
Yet they preach “The Work Ethic” in their crystal tower,
while plundering the Earth.
(repeat first stanza)
Words by Galen Green c 1989
Excerpted here from The Toolmaker’s Other Son
(a memoir-in-progress)
Rough draft Copyright 2005, 2006, 2007
By Galen Green; All Rights Reserved
Repairing the Airplane in Mid-Flight
Wednesday
March 21, 2007
REPAIRING THE AIRPLANE IN MID-FLIGHT
Dear Jane,
Thanks again for helping keep the ball in play. Know that your efforts are much appreciated. As I've already stated plainly, I'm racing to get as much as possible down on paper and collected together and organized, before the geniuses who pretend to run the Security Patrol Dept. for the KCMSD decide to put me back out in a patrol car, answering alarm calls, preventing excessive violence in our 50 or so schools, and writing insipid incident reports. Wish me luck. Thanks for listening and for sharing your input.
Since the seemingly sudden rise of Neo-Feudalism and the consequent dawning of The Age of Re-Endarkenment on election day 1980, public education has been in danger of losing its potency as America's foremost bulwark against the slow but sure suicide of all we hold dear. How is the airplane of American public education (Pre- thru 12) to be repaired in mid-flight? I have a few ideas, as, I'm guessing, do you. One challenge in sharing the kinds of ideas folks like us carry around in our heads in anything resembling a public arena is that they must needs, by their very nature, prove threatening, heretical, mythoklastic. Yet share them we must, even if only in code.
The one member of the KCMSD school board (all elected volunteers, of course) with whom I'm lucky enough to have fairly frequent conversations is a 70-something retired high school science teacher with white hair over his shoulders and a white beard down to his sternum. He reads all the same books and periodicals that you and Art and Marie and I do -- and evidently votes in pretty much similar patterns. Several months ago, I ran across an ad in the NEW YORK REVIEW OF BOOKS for a newly released book on consensus building in both the public and private sectors. (Can't recall the title or author, offhand.) Anyway, I googled a review of it and gave it to my wizened old board member pal -- who immediately ordered it from Amazon.com. I mention this here in reference to the urgent need in America's body politic today for (as I insist on calling it until I can come up with a better term) consensus, in some form or other, wherewith we might, indeed,
set about repairing the airplane in mid-flight. Some common ground, some shared vision, some agreed-upon principles or philosophy or hope. Or, barring any of that, SOME SHARED DREAD of the consequences of continuing down the path we presently seem to be on.
What I hear you saying about your background is that you're an archaeologist and not, strictly speaking, a cultural anthropologist, but I still feel that you, Jane, are uniquely qualified to enlighten me on the subject of: WHAT ARE THE UNIVERSAL ELEMENTS OF COMPLEX SOCIETIES EDUCATING, INCULTURATING, TEACHING, PREPARING . . . . THEIR YOUNG??? Children must be prepared for that unknowable world into which they'll be compelled to enter and attempt to survive, compete and perhaps prosper. It seems to me that only a tiny fraction of today's children are receiving any such preparation.
And the very worst part of it may be that the drop-outs of today are the parents of tomorrow. And while it may well be that even democratic America will always need an enslaved underclass, it strikes me as a worthwhile goal to see to it that "all God's children" gots sufficient preparation so as to follow the drinking gourd of wisdom north to whatever's there. HAPPY SPRINGTIME!!!
Galen
March 21, 2007
REPAIRING THE AIRPLANE IN MID-FLIGHT
Dear Jane,
Thanks again for helping keep the ball in play. Know that your efforts are much appreciated. As I've already stated plainly, I'm racing to get as much as possible down on paper and collected together and organized, before the geniuses who pretend to run the Security Patrol Dept. for the KCMSD decide to put me back out in a patrol car, answering alarm calls, preventing excessive violence in our 50 or so schools, and writing insipid incident reports. Wish me luck. Thanks for listening and for sharing your input.
Since the seemingly sudden rise of Neo-Feudalism and the consequent dawning of The Age of Re-Endarkenment on election day 1980, public education has been in danger of losing its potency as America's foremost bulwark against the slow but sure suicide of all we hold dear. How is the airplane of American public education (Pre- thru 12) to be repaired in mid-flight? I have a few ideas, as, I'm guessing, do you. One challenge in sharing the kinds of ideas folks like us carry around in our heads in anything resembling a public arena is that they must needs, by their very nature, prove threatening, heretical, mythoklastic. Yet share them we must, even if only in code.
The one member of the KCMSD school board (all elected volunteers, of course) with whom I'm lucky enough to have fairly frequent conversations is a 70-something retired high school science teacher with white hair over his shoulders and a white beard down to his sternum. He reads all the same books and periodicals that you and Art and Marie and I do -- and evidently votes in pretty much similar patterns. Several months ago, I ran across an ad in the NEW YORK REVIEW OF BOOKS for a newly released book on consensus building in both the public and private sectors. (Can't recall the title or author, offhand.) Anyway, I googled a review of it and gave it to my wizened old board member pal -- who immediately ordered it from Amazon.com. I mention this here in reference to the urgent need in America's body politic today for (as I insist on calling it until I can come up with a better term) consensus, in some form or other, wherewith we might, indeed,
set about repairing the airplane in mid-flight. Some common ground, some shared vision, some agreed-upon principles or philosophy or hope. Or, barring any of that, SOME SHARED DREAD of the consequences of continuing down the path we presently seem to be on.
What I hear you saying about your background is that you're an archaeologist and not, strictly speaking, a cultural anthropologist, but I still feel that you, Jane, are uniquely qualified to enlighten me on the subject of: WHAT ARE THE UNIVERSAL ELEMENTS OF COMPLEX SOCIETIES EDUCATING, INCULTURATING, TEACHING, PREPARING . . . . THEIR YOUNG??? Children must be prepared for that unknowable world into which they'll be compelled to enter and attempt to survive, compete and perhaps prosper. It seems to me that only a tiny fraction of today's children are receiving any such preparation.
And the very worst part of it may be that the drop-outs of today are the parents of tomorrow. And while it may well be that even democratic America will always need an enslaved underclass, it strikes me as a worthwhile goal to see to it that "all God's children" gots sufficient preparation so as to follow the drinking gourd of wisdom north to whatever's there. HAPPY SPRINGTIME!!!
Galen
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Islands of Light in a Sea of Darkness
--------------------------------------------------------------
TODAY'S QUOTE:
As one who has drunk more deeply than most
The sweet nectar of America's public library systems,
I cannot pretend to objectivity in appraising
their worth,
But feel impelled to sing shamelessly instead their
Praises like the schoolboy that I am and ever hope
to be.
-- Dr. Hobart Q. Zeitgeist, from "Islands of Light in a Sea of Darkness" (Banned Books Press, 2007; 357 pages)
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
Thursday
February 1, 2007
Dear Jaromir & Magda,
Received Magda's several separate e-mails earlier today. Thanks. And thanks for the digital NEW YORKER article on Wikipedia -- and for sending it to both of our addresses, since even the simplest attachments simply do not work with my clunky little mailstation. I have yet to download and print out the article, but hope to get to it this weekend. And I'll have to get back to you on the other specifics you mentioned, as soon as Marie and I check our options. This week and the next two or three are extremely busy for her because of her role in the Food Circle and in a couple of other community organizations. And this Sunday evening, we're going to Rick Zbinden's to finally give KaiLi (12) & AnMei (9) their "Christmas" trifles from us. Crazy scheduling. With this stupid weekend arrangement I'm stuck with for now, even finding time for a haircut requires higher math.
I'm grateful for your offer to schlep library materials back and forth for me. But the fact of the matter is that my weekly jaunts to the Leawood Pioneer Branch Library is an integral component in my personal program for staying sane. It's not merely seeing all the familiar faces nor the friendly books and A/V materials all neatly shelved and waiting for me to drop by to peruse their titles nor the affable little building itself with its merciful carpet, clean restrooms, welcoming tables and chairs, other fascinating patrons, and its sparkling windows with their enlightened and enlightening views. Rather it's the total experience; it's everything: the renewals, the overdues, the checkouts, the returns, the special requests I pester you or Octavia or Melissa with, the occasional running into an old friend or enemy from some other lifetime, and, of course, those incomparable serendipitous discoveries of some new acquisition which sets even the most
world-weary heart aflutter. I wouldn't trade that tiny window of opportunity I find myself flying through like a lonesome dove every Saturday afternoon nowadays between 4:30 and 5:00 for all the monkeys in the jungle.
In Bush's & Cheney's America, really decent public libraries such as the one in which you work are ISLANDS OF LIGHT IN A SEA OF DARKNESS.
I'm beginning think that perhaps I should devote an entire 10-page chapter in my memoir-in-progress, THE TOOLMAKER'S OTHER SON, to my lifelong love affair with libraries. As difficult as it is for most people to believe, one of the main reasons I chose New York City as the chief destination of my August 1969 hitchhiking adventure was Dr. Nelson's (q.v.) raving in lit. class a few months earlier about the fact that the original manuscript of T.S. Eliot's 50-odd-page draft of "He Do the Police in Different Voices" (which was eventually edited down into "The Wasteland") was to be on display at the main branch of the New York City Library. (I hitchhiked across half a continent to go to the library!)
ISLANDS OF LIGHT,
Galen
TODAY'S QUOTE:
As one who has drunk more deeply than most
The sweet nectar of America's public library systems,
I cannot pretend to objectivity in appraising
their worth,
But feel impelled to sing shamelessly instead their
Praises like the schoolboy that I am and ever hope
to be.
-- Dr. Hobart Q. Zeitgeist, from "Islands of Light in a Sea of Darkness" (Banned Books Press, 2007; 357 pages)
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
Thursday
February 1, 2007
Dear Jaromir & Magda,
Received Magda's several separate e-mails earlier today. Thanks. And thanks for the digital NEW YORKER article on Wikipedia -- and for sending it to both of our addresses, since even the simplest attachments simply do not work with my clunky little mailstation. I have yet to download and print out the article, but hope to get to it this weekend. And I'll have to get back to you on the other specifics you mentioned, as soon as Marie and I check our options. This week and the next two or three are extremely busy for her because of her role in the Food Circle and in a couple of other community organizations. And this Sunday evening, we're going to Rick Zbinden's to finally give KaiLi (12) & AnMei (9) their "Christmas" trifles from us. Crazy scheduling. With this stupid weekend arrangement I'm stuck with for now, even finding time for a haircut requires higher math.
I'm grateful for your offer to schlep library materials back and forth for me. But the fact of the matter is that my weekly jaunts to the Leawood Pioneer Branch Library is an integral component in my personal program for staying sane. It's not merely seeing all the familiar faces nor the friendly books and A/V materials all neatly shelved and waiting for me to drop by to peruse their titles nor the affable little building itself with its merciful carpet, clean restrooms, welcoming tables and chairs, other fascinating patrons, and its sparkling windows with their enlightened and enlightening views. Rather it's the total experience; it's everything: the renewals, the overdues, the checkouts, the returns, the special requests I pester you or Octavia or Melissa with, the occasional running into an old friend or enemy from some other lifetime, and, of course, those incomparable serendipitous discoveries of some new acquisition which sets even the most
world-weary heart aflutter. I wouldn't trade that tiny window of opportunity I find myself flying through like a lonesome dove every Saturday afternoon nowadays between 4:30 and 5:00 for all the monkeys in the jungle.
In Bush's & Cheney's America, really decent public libraries such as the one in which you work are ISLANDS OF LIGHT IN A SEA OF DARKNESS.
I'm beginning think that perhaps I should devote an entire 10-page chapter in my memoir-in-progress, THE TOOLMAKER'S OTHER SON, to my lifelong love affair with libraries. As difficult as it is for most people to believe, one of the main reasons I chose New York City as the chief destination of my August 1969 hitchhiking adventure was Dr. Nelson's (q.v.) raving in lit. class a few months earlier about the fact that the original manuscript of T.S. Eliot's 50-odd-page draft of "He Do the Police in Different Voices" (which was eventually edited down into "The Wasteland") was to be on display at the main branch of the New York City Library. (I hitchhiked across half a continent to go to the library!)
ISLANDS OF LIGHT,
Galen
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