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Exchange of Values

Exchange of Values
acrylic on board 48'X96'

"Structure of Color Perception"

"Structure of Color Perception"
48'X96' acrylic on board

Sunday, October 19, 2014



The Mark of the Beast
(a sabbath reflection by Daniel Imburgia).

Revelations 13:  "And he compels all to be given a mark on their right hand or on their forehead, and he provides that no one will be able to buy or to sell, except the one who has the mark."

It was nothing like we expected
We hardly noticed it at all
Honestly I never slept so peacefully
What were we all so afraid of
Haven't we dreamed of becoming family
Making earth Eden again
This time we'll get it right
This time there will be no tempters and
Only one tree will grow in our garden
So lift up to the sky in praise
Your visibly marketable hands
A thriving economy speaks for itself
Numbers aren't prayers
Numbers don't lie

But it wasn't so much a 'mark' as
A seed impregnating our heart
It may have been there from inception
Dormant and waiting for the command
Come forth
A gold shoot sprouting from the
Scorched plain of Megiddo
New life emerging from ashes and death
Call it a miracle
Call it a birthmark

'Beast' is really more of a pet name
An endearment for true believers
A modality for interpellation  
Beast commands us: Be free
Beast individualizes
Beast marks borders
Beast marks enemies
Beast administers desire
Beast love kills for love
Beast is god without mystery, chaos, silence
Beast is whiteness without fracture
Beast is cataclysm without apocalypse  
Beast is tradition without history
Beast is the simple truth
Beast is an infinite inventory of the unnecessary  
Beast is the icon we sacrifice our children to
Beast is ultimate victory
Beast marks Man (sic)

Beast is all those manifold consolations
That the lamb would deny you
Harden your hearts against
Their pain and pleading
For who is liken unto the Beast
Wounded, entombed, born-again
From a sea of glass mingled with fire
Death Reflecting back on itself
Worship the appearance
Surrender your passwords
Resubmit your profiles
Publish all your identities
Conform your screen presence
Colonize some-body
Strip your fig leaves
Prepare for blood

"…and all the world wondered after the beast."

Obliged.

Sunday, August 24, 2014




 From the song, “The Revelator.” by Daniel Imburgia.

“I don't even call it violence when it's in self defense; I call it intelligence.”  Malcolm X

Banjos, bangles, and lynching trees
Blood sausage and collard greens
Dark shapes flit across our screens
Whitey’s bull horn cuts the screams

Moon shines and dropped dimes
Gassy tears tear tare these times
For whom do these death bells chime
The poets of hip-hop rhyme-crimes

Duck calls and cotton balls
Dred Scott in his hoodie falls
Beloved Sethe haunts shopping malls
Where justice rolls like cannon balls

If the crack is how the light got in
Then the devil followed right behind him
The chosen peoples have god as kin
Bluest eye twins and alabaster skin-sins

Man, if you gotta ask you'll never know
Just how much you really owe
Those invisible men y’all kept stowed
For their sweat and blood and furrowed rows

This cracker thief who steals your words
And covered songs of cloistered birds
All those cries that went unheard
The fire hose and snarling curs

‘War, war, and Fiddle dee dee’
We hold these sacred truths to be
As holy as those hung from trees, or
Crucified between two thieves

Obliged.

Saturday, August 2, 2014




Israelis watching the bombardment of Gaza




Massacre of the Pequots















Mystic Massacre:

Before the massacre the devout Reverend John Stone spent the night in prayer.  In the morning he announced to his Pilgrim flock that ‘God was going to clear the land of its savage inhabitants and gift it to his chosen people’ (that is, give it the pilgrim invaders and their corporate masters and joint-stock holders in Europe).  The next day armed colonists led by captain John Mason and a few of their Mohegan allies attacked the sleeping Pequot village at Mystic (Connecticut) and slaughtered nine hundred men, women and children  (+/-).  “Thus was God seen crushing the enemies of his people, burning them up in the fire of his wrath and dunging the ground with their flesh.” Wrote Mason. “It was the Lord’s doings and it was marvelous in our eyes.”  So ferocious and unrelenting was the fiery massacre that the colonists few native allies withdrew from the fight, unable to participate in this revolting type of genocidal massacre.  The few Pequot women and children who were able to escape the burning town were found hiding in a swamp and were circled by colonists and all were murdered.  Captain Mason proclaimed, “We must burn them. God was above them, He who laughed his Enemies and the Enemies of his People to Scorn, making them as a fiery Oven.  Thus did the Lord judge among the Heathen, filling the place with dead bodies!”  Rev. Cotton Mather of Boston heartily agreed stating that the massacre was “the just Judgment of God that In a little more than one hour, five or six hundred of these barbarians were dismissed from a world that was burdened with them” (btw, the jubilation about the Mystic Massacre is probably the actual inception of the holiday americans today celebrate as “Thanksgiving”).

Of course this is a very biased account of this incident, one that privileges the deaths of the Native American women and children.  I could just as readily told this story from the perspective of the corporations and share holders who financed virtually all of the early american colonial enterprises.  These corporations/persons continually harangued settlers to occupy and clear more land in order to grow more tobacco and other exportable commodities, often causing them to neglect their own food crops. Unfortunately, when winter came the settlers often ran short of food which then caused them to justify raiding any nearby Native villages to steal their stored grain and dried meat.  These invasions and occupations would incite the surviving Natives and others to retaliate against these assaults.  The colonists would then use the excuse of Indian raids for further violent military reprisals and occupations.  This pattern was repeated over and over again until the entire continent was occupied and it’s Native inhabitants killed or concentrated into reserves. Occasionally a few of the more squeamish colonists would question the morality of these slaughters and would ask, “shouldn’t Christians have more mercy and compassion?” To them Captain Mason responded:  “I would refer you to David’s wars. Sometimes the Scripture declares that women and children must perish. We had sufficient light from the Word of God for our proceedings.”



On the other hand.....

As one who manufactures way too many hollow words I need to start taking this saying to heart (plus a little Buddhism might help distract me, I’m getting so sick of so-called Christians, Jews, and Muslims and all of their god-damn killing and wars right now).  And yet, against all reason I cling by my fingernails to a tiny measure of hope and something that might be called a christian faith.  This poem by David Scott helps a bit:

“Ibn Abbad Woke Early*

All three went to Paradise,
Ibn Abbad, Rabbi Shmelke of Nikolsburg,
and Father Louis, and sat to eat
at the same table. They drank the water of life
and ate the meat of friendship. Whenever
their cups ran dry or their plates were empty
a little Nazarene came by and filled them up.
Who are you? they said.
I am Jesus, son of Mary. Can I sit awhile?
Be our guest, they said.
As they sat, the ground beneath them shook,
their faces paled and their eyes were filled
with knowledge, and with grief. Today,
said Jesus, they will hate more and
love more, than on any other day since
the world began. Hold hands,
and ask our God to speak to us
in Spirit. And there they sat
in love and prayer, all day, all day,
Ibn Abbad, Rabbi Schmelke of Nikolsburg,
Father Louis, and Jesus, Mary's son.
and their silence was more profound than words
and their communion was most eloquent
and they willed the world to peace

Blessings, and much obliged.

  

Sunday, July 20, 2014

Acrylic on board 24" X 34"  1981



Bound for Glory. A Children’s Jubilee poem by Daniel Imburgia

Jesus was seen riding on a train from Quintana Roo
They call this train ‘La Bestia’ (The Beast)
Wretched snake of death, some believe
The devil dances in the boiler as the train
Twists and turns, whistles and roars
Belching choking black smoke and fiery sparks
Jesus hangs on to the roof of the train car
Smoking his pipe and singing songs to
Comfort the hearts of the frightened children

“Corre, corre niños” He sings
Pajarito vuela
Que las estrellitas, ya están en la escuela

La maestra luna dicta la lección
Y las estrellitas ponen atención

Una estrella chica se pinta de tiza
Y las estrellitas se mueren de risa*

Jesus was dressed up like a payaso
And to take their minds from their hunger he
Performed magic tricks or told them stories
About a blessed land of faith and plenty
A country built upon the literal words of god and
Eagerly waiting their Messiah’s second coming
Behold I am coming swiftly he announced, then
Jesus stood up and stretched out his arms
His body swaying with the motion of the train
I am the king of the universe he shouted into the wind
Follow me all you who are weary and heavy laden and
I will lead you through this desert wilderness all
The way to paradise
Core, Core, niños, y vuela!

From a thousand miles away they could see the wall
From a hundred miles away they could see the wall
From ten miles away they could see the wall
For the wall rose until it reached the clouds yet
Workers still piled more stones upon stones
More welded steel and barbed wire
More broken glass and surveillance cameras
For the people hiding behind the wall were very afraid
Jubilee is not good news for everyone

Fear not, I have returned!
Jesus proclaimed to the border guards
This is the event of Jubilee
Let your hearts be filled with joy
I am good news for the poor
I have come to set your prisoners free
I cause the blind to see and the lame to walk
Everyone’s debts are forgiven
No more banks, no more loan sharks
Homes and lands will be returned to
Their first peoples
Widows and orphans will have a favored portion
Rejoice! Rejoice!
The children began praising God
Police dogs began praising God
Street vendors selling chicharrones began praising God
Whores began praising God
Drug addicts began praising God
Rocks began praising God
Even the cockroaches began praising God
But the border police were not praising god
And the gates to paradise stayed shut

You can not cross the wall the guards said
Your papers are not in order
Your skins are too brown
Your language is foreign
Your customs are strange
Your laughter is painful to our ears
Your songs are not our songs
Your foods are unfamiliar
Your needs are too great
Your gods are not our gods
Our gods are fat
Your gods are skinny
Our gods are rich
Your gods are poor
Our gods are strong
Your gods are weak
Our gods are plush
Your gods are wretched
Our gods bless and protect us
Your gods curse and despise you
Our gods are mighty warriors
Your gods are helpless victims

Then Jesus got pissed
And as he looked up into the surveillance camera
The Spirit came upon him and he opened his bible
Prophesying from the book of Ezekiel:

“The day of the Lord has come
Not one stone of this wall will rest upon another
He will strike it down with great vengeance and furious anger
The inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men is over
Though the path of the righteous one is beset with inequities
The Lord comes in the name of charity and good will
He is the keeper of the innocent and the finder of lost children
Shepherding them through the valleys of darkness
And when all of your walls are torn down then you will know that
My name is the Lord.”

But the border police just murmured among themselves saying
Is this not the son of Juan and Concheta
Is this not the son of Pilar and Agipito
Is this not the son of Guillermo and Ofelia
Is this not the son of Pedro and Evita
Is this not the son of Gabriella and Xavier
Is this not the son of Fatima and Rafael
Is this not the son of Ximena and Esteban
Is this not the son of Jose and Maria
How then does this coyote call himself “The Lord?”

The police phoned their captains for instructions
The captains phoned their generals for instructions
The generals phoned their superiors for instructions
Keep the gates closed the superiors told the generals
Keep the gates closed the generals told the captains
Keep the gates closed the captains told the guards
The gates stay closed the guards told Jesus

And because of their unbelief
Jesus could do no miracles there
So he went out into the desert to pray
And the children followed behind him
They walked for 40 days in the hot sun
Feet blistered, skin burned, lips cracked, but
They finally came to the end of the great wall
Look said Jesus, just as I foretold
The great wall is no more
But still blocking their path to paradise
Was a wide and swift river
Jesus stood silently praying on the shore
The children whispered among themselves
Will he part the rushing waters?
Will he cause the river to dry up?
Will a bridge miraculously appear?
Will angels come and carry us across?
Will he simply walk over the top of the water?
Jesus heard all of the children’s questions
His heart was filled with compassion for them
He blessed their faithfulness and innocence
Today you shall be with me in paradise he promised them
He took one giant step forward
His foot hovered over the troubled water
Then he leaned towards paradise and
As his foot pierced the surface
The children held their breath and prayed, but
The water did not part
The river did not go dry
No bridge appeared
No angels came
His foot sank into the soft muck
Ooze squished up between his toes
Jesus turned and said to the children
Follow me
And they did.

Obliged.



Note* Translation of the song above:

Run, child run,
Fly little birdie,
For the little stars already are in school.

The teacher moon dictates the lesson
And the little stars pay attention.

A girl star is using chalk as make-up
And the little stars die of laughter...

And here is a link to the documentary "La Bestia"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hdzLzhTfdoI







Thursday, June 12, 2014



                          Klediments:  Frankenstein in America:


‘And his power of leading astray the inhabitants of the earth is due to the marvels which he has been permitted to work in the presence of the Wild Beast. And he told the inhabitants of the earth to erect a statue to the Wild Beast who had received the sword-stroke and yet had recovered.‘  The Book of Revelation 13:14


The man with the gun slung casually over his shoulder orders a ‘Carmel Macchiato’™  ‘COEXIST’ urges the bumper sticker on the electric Prius parked by the window.  ‘Irony,’ David Foster Wallace says, ‘was just what the U.S. hypocrisy of the fifties called for.'  I am reading a book of poetry by Gregory Corso and nursing a decaf ‘Americano.'  ‘He that hath no sword,’ jesus commands, ‘let him sell his coat and buy one.'  The man with the gun funnels his small change towards the tip jar.  At the table on my right 3 evangelicals hold hands and thank Jesus for their muffins.  ‘Irony,’ Hannah Arendt argues, ‘can be found in the laughter of death-camp survivors.'  They are ‘Frankensteining Christ in America,’ Corso warns.  ‘Be thankful in all things,’ I overhear an evangelical urge.  It’s called an ‘Americano’ because during WWII american GI’s watered down their espressos quotes wikipedia.  The man with the gun misses the tip jar and the coins clatter to the floor.  Frankenstein’s stitches seem ready to unravel.  The quiet man next to me looks up from his ‘USA Today,' His wife(?) talks loudly into her cell phone oblivious.  The man with the gun bends over and gathers up the spilled coins, the barrel of his gun inadvertently sweeps the entire room.  A quarter rolls under my table and I trap it with my foot.  The quiet man reading the paper notices the man with the gun.  ‘Frankenstein’ was the not the monster, as many believe, but his creator.  Corso died of cancer in Minnesota instead of overdosing on tequila and dying alone in the desert.  ‘Irony,’ says Hannah Arendt, ‘is an escape route from the dead ends of existing traditional conceptions of the world and the human being.'  The man with the gun starts coming towards me.  The woman on the phone says, ‘I have finally eliminated all my tan lines...’  ‘The great thing about irony is that it splits things apart,’ says Wallace.  The evangelicals are taking turns reading aloud their favorite bible verses.  ‘Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful,’ boasts Frankenstein’s monster.  “Nazi’s,” Hannah Arendt argues, ‘were quite ordinary and banal.'  *Awesome* is the word most repeated by the evangelicals.  I hand the man with the gun his quarter back and he thanks me politely.  The woman on the phone is now intently watching the man with the gun.  My father fought nazi’s at the battles of Anzio and Monte Casino.'  ‘They are driving old ladies mad with Christ in America,’ Corso insists.  The nazi’s drank their coffee in the same ways that the Italians did my father told me before wikipedia was invented.  ‘Irony is the song of the prisoner who’s come to love his cage’ someone says.  ‘The Word,’ an evangelical shares loudly, ‘became flesh and dwelt among us.‘  ‘Accursed creator!’ cried Frankenstein's monster, 'Why did you form a monster so hideous that even you turned away from me in disgust.' If nazi’s had watered down their coffee would Starbucks™ have labeled them *Nazianos?*  The man with the gun hits his mark this time, the barista smiles nervously.  The man who was reading the paper whispers something to his wife(?) while she furiously tweets with her thumbs.  Adolf Eichmann, an architect of the holocaust, was a vacuum cleaner salesman.  Some believe that a new sincerity may challenge the hegemony of metafictional and self-conscious irony.  The man with the gun sits down next to the evangelicals.  Galvanism is the contraction of a muscle that is stimulated by an electric current.  ‘They are putting the fear of Christ in America,’ Corso exclaims.  Eichmann declared himself a ‘Gottgläubiger’ just before he was executed.  ‘Irony is useful for debunking illusions’ adds Wallace.  ‘Lord, look, here are two swords,’ Peter says; and Jesus replies, ‘It is enough.'  ‘I do know that for the sympathy of one living being, I would make peace with all,’ declares Frankenstein’s monster; ‘but I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.‘  ‘The U.S. constitution,’ says the man with the gun to no one in particular, ‘is a sacred covenant.'  ‘Most of the illusion-debunking in the U.S. has already been done,’ says Wallace.  ‘I came not to bring peace,’ Jesus exclaims, 'but a sword.’  ‘They are driving old ladies mad with Christ in America,’ Corso says.  The woman is now videoing the man with the gun on her phone and posting it on facebook.  ‘Our God’ squeals an evangelical, ‘is an awesome God.'  ‘All sorrows can be borne,’ says Arendt, ‘if you put them into the form of a story.'  ‘I am telling you the American way is a hideous monster,’ Corso declares.  ‘If you do that which is evil,' cautions an evangelical, 'be afraid for he doesn't bear the sword in vain, Romans 13:4.’  ‘I was never an anti-semite,’ says Eichmann, ‘I was a nationalist.’  ‘If I cannot inspire love,’ says Frankenstein’s monster, ‘then I will cause fear.'  The man and his comprehensively tanned wife(?) rush out and drive off in their Prius.  ‘Most of the evil in this world,’ says Hannah Arendt ‘is done by people who never make up their minds to be good or evil.'  ‘Satan has his companions to admire and encourage him,’ laments Frankenstein’s monster, ‘but I am solitary and detested.'  The man with the gun finishes his macchiato with a loud ‘ahhh’ of satisfaction.  ‘Irony,’ Hannah Arendt says, ‘involves holding more than one meaning in your mind at the same time which still makes people in America uneasy.'  ‘They will fall by the edge of the sword,’ Jesus says, 'and will be led captive into all the nations.'  ‘Life,’ proclaimed Frankenstein’s monster, ‘may only be an accumulation of anguish but it is still dear to me, and I will defend it.'  ‘I am telling you the devil is impersonating Christ in America,’ swears Corso.  ‘Germans liked to think of themselves as good people,’ says Hannah Arendt.  ‘Simon Peter therefore, having a sword, drew it, and struck the high priest's servant.'  ‘Irony’s gone from liberating to enslaving’ Wallace argues.  The man with the gun stands up and announces to no one in particular, ‘Well, I guess it’s time for me to get to work.'  ‘Postmodern irony and cynicism’s has become an end in itself, the problem is that once the rules of art are debunked, then what do we do?’ asks Wallace.  ‘There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand,’ confesses Frankenstein's monster.  'It is true that storytelling reveals meaning without committing the error of defining it,’ says Hannah Arendt, ‘storytelling brings about consent and reconciliation with things as they really are, and we may even trust it to contain that last word which we expect from the Day of Judgment.’  ‘Irony is an agent of great despair and stasis in American culture,‘ asserts Wallace. ‘All men hate the wretched; how, then, must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all living things!’ asks Frankenstein’s monster, ‘yet you, my creator, detest and spurn thy creature, to whom thou art bound by ties only dissoluble by the annihilation of one of us.’  ‘And at that very moment,' says an evangelical, ‘God turned his back on Jesus.’  And yet, I am still clinging to my religion, I thought out-loud to no one in particular.

Obliged.

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

video


The Tree Of Life:

“And so man, as existing transcendence abounding in and surpassing toward possibilities, is a creature of distance. Only through the primordial distances he establishes toward all being in his transcendence does a true nearness to things flourish in him.”  From Martin Heidegger’s “The Essence of Reasons.”  Translated by Terrence Malick.

This video is my attempt to perhaps reignite my failed career as a film-maker.  One might notice some affinity with the works of Terrence Malick, especially the provocative swaying of the grass moved by the invisible wind.  I have 2 1/2 hrs more of this video footage but I think that this 12 seconds provides a good introduction.  Let me add that this video is filmed at a job site where I am helping to build a new house and the view from this house is perhaps one of the best on the West coast.  Of course the whole concept of a “view” is worthy of deep reflection (in between hammering, drilling, shoveling, etc.) and I think that “The Essence of Reasons” (as much as I understand it) speaks, in part, to these concepts and asks of us, ‘how do you see?’  ‘What is your view?’  Perhaps it would be helpful to engage some of these questions by adding some narration to this video?  “The Tree of Life” begins with these words:

“The nuns taught us there were two ways through life - the way of nature and the way of grace. You have to choose which one you'll follow. Grace doesn't try to please itself. Accepts being slighted, forgotten, disliked. Accepts insults and injuries. Nature only wants to please itself. Get others to please it too. Likes to lord it over them. To have its own way. It finds reasons to be unhappy when all the world is shining around it. And love is smiling through all things. The nuns taught us that no one who loves the way of grace ever comes to a bad end.”

I am not as eager to pose “nature” and “grace” as binaries as Malick’s narrator is (and parts of the bible, many fundamentalists, and maybe even Augustine/de Sade, or perhaps even Kit and Holly, the two mad serial killers in Malick’s earlier movie, “Badlands”).  But that tree in my video, I want to believe that we behold each other and are pleased to do so, that is, if it is actually possible for a tree to behold in this way, in the Hebrew sense of the word “Hineni,” which has no reference to “seeing” but rather is a mutual presentation of ‘being here’ or ‘dasein’ if you will, but with a more Levinasian understanding of ‘being infinitely available to an-Other.‘  This is how Abraham in Genesis 22 at the binding of Isaac answers to the voice of God, he responds to God by saying,“hineni.” 

And so the tree and I regard each other without any desire to lord over one another but only to be present to the grass, the sea, the wind and landscape.  I find grace in that tree and I hope that it may find the same in me, in us.  However, given our present circumstance, a pertinent question may be: is that tree the view or does it stand in the way of the view, of seeing?  The property owners, the architect, the landscape designers have all been discussing whether the tree is blocking this panoramic vista and if it should be taken down.  The excavator is on site and ready to push it over when a decision is made.  My view is that the tree should stand and live, but of course no one asks me; I have no actual authority, no standing, but then neither does the tree I reckon.  So I am praying for the tree and when I return later I will know what has been decided, whose view has prevailed.  If the tree lives I will reckon it an event of grace, which is how I hope the tree will regard me.

Obliged.


Update:  The "view" with no tree:




Wednesday, May 28, 2014

video




Klediment:

30 Day vegan Challenge:  Day 6

“The filth of Saruman is washing away...”

That’s Tom the owner of “Thrive” vegan cafe here on our island in the video.  He is a joyful vegan zealot.  But in case y’all think that all vegans (or wannabee posers) are all a bunch of squeemish, limp-wristed, pacifist, anemic, weakling, hypocritical, X-flower-children, like me, Tom went to Penn state on a football scholarship and was a pilot who served two tours during the Vietnam war.

Now ever since lunch I have been working on this Joke but I just can’t come up with a funny punch-line.  Maybe y’all have some ideas:  ‘A Jewish Yogi, an Anishinabe/messianic nature-child, a New York refugee from Basilicata, and a third-order Franciscan/Roman Catholic (under temporary suspension), all walk into a vegan cafe....’

Anyway, when I went to the bathroom at the cafe I saw my reflection in the mirror and realized that I had a big chunk of ham from the delicious Denver omelette that we all had shared for breakfast still stuck in my beard!  I can only hope that Tom assumed that that cube of ham was tofu marinated in Tamari sauce and paprika.  Although, one need not be an actual vegan to eat at a vegan cafe, sometimes I think that when I walk through a room of level 5 vegans they can smell the carnage emanating from me (*note, one might be interested to trace the etymological roots and connections among the words, ‘carnage,‘ ‘carnivore,’ ‘carnival.’ and ‘incarnation’).

Blessings and obliged.

Thursday, May 22, 2014






“30 Day Vegan Challenge, Day 4.”  *Apocalypse Cow*

"The Fuhrer is a convinced vegetarian, on principle. His arguments cannot be refuted on any series basis. They are totally unanswerable."  From the diary of Joseph Goebbels, Hitler’s minister of propaganda (who, btw, was also a failure as a poet, as so many of us are, but who also happened to hold a PhD in German Romantic literature!).

Until I began this 30 day challenge I was unaware of the many deep doctrinal and ideological differences among vegans, vegetarians, pescetarians, lactos, ovos, and lacto-ovos, etc, and that there were so many levels of practice (and status).  This dialogue from the Simpson episode “Lisa the Treehugger” where Lisa comes under the sway of Jesse, a jailed leader of the environmentalist movement, “Dirt First,” and who has attained the highest level of veganism, seems to sum up a lot of the contentious issues involved:      

Lisa: You do Yoga? 
Jesse: Yeah, but I started *before* it was cool. 
Lisa: My name's Lisa Simpson. I think your protest was incredibly brave. 
Jesse: Thank you. This planet needs every friend it can get. 
Lisa: Oh, the earth is the best! That's why I'm a vegetarian. 
Jesse: Heh. Well, that's a start. 
Lisa: Uh, well, I was thinking of going vegan. Jesse: [chuckles] I'm a level 5 vegan -- I won't eat anything that casts a shadow. 
Lisa: Wow. Um ... I started an organic compost pile at home. 
Jesse: Only at home? You mean you don't pocket-mulch? [takes out pocket stuff for Lisa to feel] 
Lisa: Oh, it's so decomposed! Do you think I could join Dirt First? 
Jesse: Well ... we might have an opening at the poser level. 

Yep, that sounds about right, whether it’s my diet, my art, my poetry, my ‘spirituality,’ I think that “Poser Level” is a fair estimation of my degree of enlightenment so far.

Obliged.  

Sunday, May 18, 2014


 Day 3 of my “30 Day Vegan Challenge.”

2 more books on veganism arrived today and they seem very authoritative and compelling.  The library of books that I have been amassing on the subject is becoming quite impressive!  And yet I still think that my difficulty in experiencing a more dramatic transformation towards a demonstrative practice of actual veganism is probably due to a lack of a fully comprehensive, intellectual, and theoretical foundation upon which to base my actions.  I have been seriously studying vegetarianism/veganism for most of life, but I think that my research and gathering of data, recipes, testimonials, apologetics, etc., still needs further work and a more fully conceptualized framework.

I have been meeting informally with other enlightened souls on this same righteous path towards a healthier and more ethically responsible diet, and many of them are also facing a lot of the same challenges as I am.  However, there was one person attending our gatherings for awhile who was an actual *practicing* vegan for many years but we found that rather than inspiring the rest of us with greater zeal towards our professed commitments, we usually just felt guilty and a bit ashamed about our own lack of fortitude.  Not that she ever actually judged or criticized any of us for our apparent lack of progress, although I’m sure that I once noticed a condescending look from her when I arrived at one of our monthly vegan potlucks with my own inspired version of ‘pigs in a blanket,’ (beef sausage stuffed with with gorgonzola cheese and chicken livers, wrapped with bacon, and deep fried in goose fat--I mean, why even bother with a spelt and rice flour ‘blanket‘ at that point, that would seem a bit pretentious and hypocritical to me).

i will admit that having a more evolved conscience and elevated sense of the kinship of all being often seems like a heavy cross for me to bear.  I sometimes envy all those un-informed and spiritually adolescent souls who seem to wander through life without paying the least attention to the deeper metaphysical realities that undergird our material existence.  This would include, of course, all those Hindus and Buddhists that live their entire lives as vegetarians, respecting the vital life-force of all sentient beings.  Sure their eating “practices” are impeccably rigorous, but unfortunately their doctrinal foundations are technically quite unorthodox and suspicious and are subject to higher forms of criticism if not explicit condemnation.

In a way their ignorance and lack of critical and theoretical rigor seems like a kind of child-like bliss and they are almost as unburdened by any sort of interior conviction or self-awareness as the cows, pigs, and chickens, whose life force I have (at least on a abstract and theoretical level) come to revere and cherish and have taken a vow to embrace!

Day 3 has had it’s challenges, but I sense that I have made real progress, at least in exposing a lot of the fallacies of all those Others that have not yet embraced this higher calling.

Namaste and Obliged,

Thursday, May 15, 2014

Satan Your Kingdom Must Come Down!

Abba Vaccillo Mentiens, an island eremite, has been reading this book on veganism and decided to take the ‘30 day vegan challenge.’  Today was day one.  For breakfast he ate quinoa porridge topped with raw walnuts.  It wasn’t bad and he really thought that he might just pull this radical transformation off.   But by 10 o’clock break he was feeling a bit peckish and while he was snacking on his celery sticks and raw pumpkin seeds and feeling a bit smug and self-righteous one of the devil’s minions appeared in the form of a general contractor with a box of bacon covered maple bars.  



The abbot all too quickly succumbed to this very first temptation and surrendered to his gluttonous urges.  To his credit he shared half of his bacon with the carpenter’s dog Kaiya.  At lunch time the portly abba V realized that he had forgotten his salad topped with tofu tempeh at home so he went to ‘Pickles deli’ intending to only have one of their green salads and plain water with lemon wedge.  Again, a demon probed him for weakness.  It was the last day of the year for their Vietnamese beef Pho soup which was on special and whose exotic aroma enticed abba’s taste buds as much as the bulbous regions of the young serving vixen tempted his eyes.  Still, perhaps the remainder of the day could be dedicated towards an austere and holy abstinence.  But by 3 o’clock it seemed that Satan himself had determined to completely vanquish this feckless monk and he caused a mighty hunger to arise within him.  So abba Vaccillo frantically scrounged through his work van like a heroin addict without a wakeup until he discovered a bag of gourmet beef jerky that had escaped his pre-vegan purge of forbidden delights. 



Feeling guilty and ashamed abba rushed home to his hut and away from all temptation while reciting the Lord’s prayer and pleading with saint Rupertorious for the strength and faith to overcome his frangible resolve. However, once again the forces of the dark-side confronted him in the form of his grand-daughter who appeared with a bloody fresh 24 oz. porterhouse steak and asked for instruction on how best to cook it.  Abba Vaccillo only intended to instruct his young novice on how to make a pepper crusted steak spiced with Israeli zhatar and garlic roasted potatoes accompanied by double cream chocolate gelato, but alas, Beelzebub sifted his soul like cannoli flour through a colander until all thought of his compostable dinner of baked carrot patties on a gluten-free bun spread with veganaise and topped with fake cheese completely vanished from his mind as he gorged on seared cow flesh and a frozen nectar that must have been secreted from the devil’s own udders.  As we speak the dejected monk is wallowing in guilt and self-loathing.  His inability to actually practice and live out his many spiritual commitments and convictions weigh on his heart as heavy as that double-cream gelato.  Abba Vaccillo is a weak, dithering, and silly old man, please keep him in your prayers.  Much obliged.