This week has been interesting. Between delving into Sandel's JUSTICE, and considering the merits of of consent in terms of the social contract, I once again relized that anarchy was the only solution.
The Diane Reemes show was a travesty of unworthy politicians again today. The only thing I hate more than her shrill, ponderous voice is when one of those brats makes a comment like, "We are in this together." And then tries to give us the reason why we should either pay more taxes, or reduce government spending. The concepts of this aside, one thing I just don't understand (its not that I don't understand it as much as I don't understand how they think someone like me doesn't notice) is how politicians can use the same cliched terminology, or mixed metaphorical phrases over and over and think that anyone is actually comprehending the true issue. The real problem isn't that no one is listening, the real problem is that they are listening. What they are listening to—is usless rhetoric and political propoganda.
I actually think it is rather funny when NPR has politicians on, because then they almost start to sound like FOX or CNN or any republican commentator of your choosing, but usually with a left leaning tilt. Interestingly NPR cited a study done by intependent group after their CEOs debacle with a couple fake reps from ACORN, that said in the previous year NPR had far more republican politicians on their programs then democrats. First, I thought it rather silly that NPR would spend as much time as they did trying to clear their reputation, it made them sound needy. For almost two weeks there wasn't a day that didn't have a story about wether NPR is biased or not. Second, this particular statistic doesn't really have any effect on whether or not individuals within NPR are biased. When you listen to republicans on NPR they are usually being berated with the "tough questions" from whatever host and listeners, while democrats are generally being embraced or asked by Reemes, "Do you think Obama's speech went far enough?" As if that doesn't show where her sympathy lies.
God, look, I don't even know why I got into this today, but that had just been weighing on me so I thought I'd put it out. That last paragraph is an example of why American's are stupid. Anyone who believes that the Government or any politician, right or left will somehow come to the rescue of the average American is dilusional as fuck.
You want to hear my solution to the coming debt and budget crisis. Simple. We do what a lot of other nations have done when their government spent too much and gave kick backs to the rich. We have a revolution. You may remember Marie Antoinette, Louis XVI, and the rest of the royals obese spending habits prior to the French Revolution. Perhaps you will notice the similarities between the France's intervention in the American revolution just years prior and the massive debt it left with to the United States' intervention in Afghanistan, Iraq, and now Libya.
The only way to get out of this mess is to say to the world, "Hey we are the people that live here, the politicians, the government has failed us. They don't represent us, and guess what we are responsible for their debt." Then we take Obama, Bush, and every current and former member of the house and senate and send them to the International Court and have them all tried for war crimes, theft, and fraud.
Open shut case. The only one who would be aquitted: Ron Paul.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Neo Fascist Air Disaster
I was walking around a college campus in broad daylight. It was one of those colleges where most of the buildings were newer, not Gothic architecture, but the fascist type that seemed to dominate university construction in the 50s and 60s. But this wasn’t those decades and it wasn’t now either. It was depressing, despite the brightness of the day. I walked across a large concrete quad. It was probably one hundred yards across and dipped down in the center with stairs running along the circumference of the giant useless square. In the center there was a monument to man. A huge bronze atrocity.
I stopped to ask someone where the library was. He pointed to the structure immediately in front of me. A huge blank wall enlightened only with thin vertical windows that ran from the top to the ground. When I got inside there was a large glass window taking up the entire exterior wall of the first two floors. Suddenly it was night. Lights behind the building made me realize that the window overlooked the ocean. Standing near the glass I could that I was only 50 feet from the water.
Then a shrieking noise came from above me. It was a wiring, drone that became louder and louder. A plane. When I looked up I realize the roof was made of glass as well, and I could clearly see a 757 blaze overhead. Oddly the plane appeared to have a Southwest Airlines paint scheme, but I knew that Southwest predominately flies 737s and this plane was clearly larger. It wasn’t more than one-hundred feet above the building now, and it appeared that the nose of the plane was on fire. The engines were firing and idling all at once giving off an awful noise. Perhaps the sound would be normal if the plane was taxiing a runway or landing, but the situation made the engine sound like it was screaming in peril.
It hit the water behind the library, but it did not break up. The angle and trajectory of its flight did not seem to add up, but when I looked at the plane, the hero in me kicked in and I began to rush to a door near the now shattered window. Someone behind me seemed to have the same idea, then changed his mind saying, “The thing is gonna blow.” When I looked at the plane again I could see jet fuel spraying like a fire hose onto the beach. I stopped dead. I could see into the cockpit and windows and could make out the faces of the people inside. I braced myself for an explosion at any second and a sudden shock of fear hit me because I was so close to the time bomb. I was also hit with the overwhelming sadness that I was about to witness these people die horribly, and I could not save them.
I waited, watching for several moments, but the plane did not erupt. I looked on as the door on the side of the plane shifted open. Then two men exited the aircraft. It was the pilots. I could tell this because they were wearing uniforms, but they weren’t like normal commercial airline pilot uniforms. Their shirts were black, although they were embroidered with stripes on their shoulders. They were moving quickly toward the building, and could see me and the other students who had gathered to watched. “Does anyone know anything about constitutional law?” The captain shouted. I was shocked, and relieved at the same time. I raised my hand, “I do,” I shouted back.
The two men approached me as fast as before. The one who I assumed was the captain seemed to have a German accent as he spoke in a frantic matter, “The whole world is at war!”
“What?”
“We hit a fighter jet in mid air.”
The co-pilot was talking to someone else now and his accent seemed to be of a Scandinavian origin. When I looked back at the plane I could still see people inside, and I wondered why the pilots would not help them.
My feeling now shifted to anger at the obvious negligence of these European pilots. Their caps became more evident to me and they too were black and embroidered with gold striped which I assumed symbolized some type of rank. I sensed that authorities were arriving on the scene now, but something about the whole situation was making me extremely uneasy.
When I looked back at the plane it was now being pushed into the wall of the library by the high tides, and I could no longer glimpse the people inside. I felt as thought the pilots were clearly responsible for this and they would surely be taken into custody soon. Then I realized that the pilot had been talking to me about the legal repercussions of this incident the whole time, and I had not been listening. He was becoming more aggressive with me because he was obviously frantic and distraught about what had just transpired.
A feeling of trepidation came across my entire body. I was engrossed with the sensation that something about this was not right, besides what had already happened I got the feeling that something much more sinister was about to take place. If the pilot was telling the truth about hitting a fighter then perhaps there really was a war going on. If not then I didn’t have any idea what was happening, but I had no reason to talk to this man now. In any case I began moving away from the scene. Slowly taking a few steps back at first until finally I turned and ran quickly from the building. I felt like I was escaping.
When I got back into the quad I still had no idea where I was. I felt I must be in California somewhere, but I couldn’t be sure. When I stopped to examine my surroundings the campus was in a state of chaos. There were students running around near the dorm buildings on a hill to my left. The windows had been yanked up and things were being thrown to the ground. There seemed to be a fire in the distance because there was an orange glow on the walls and trees near the top of the hill.
Maybe the world was coming to an end. I looked back at the statue now as I lit a cigarette. It was a goliath holding a hollow outline of the globe on his shoulders. There was a girl in one of those dorms who I had to see.
I stopped to ask someone where the library was. He pointed to the structure immediately in front of me. A huge blank wall enlightened only with thin vertical windows that ran from the top to the ground. When I got inside there was a large glass window taking up the entire exterior wall of the first two floors. Suddenly it was night. Lights behind the building made me realize that the window overlooked the ocean. Standing near the glass I could that I was only 50 feet from the water.
Then a shrieking noise came from above me. It was a wiring, drone that became louder and louder. A plane. When I looked up I realize the roof was made of glass as well, and I could clearly see a 757 blaze overhead. Oddly the plane appeared to have a Southwest Airlines paint scheme, but I knew that Southwest predominately flies 737s and this plane was clearly larger. It wasn’t more than one-hundred feet above the building now, and it appeared that the nose of the plane was on fire. The engines were firing and idling all at once giving off an awful noise. Perhaps the sound would be normal if the plane was taxiing a runway or landing, but the situation made the engine sound like it was screaming in peril.
It hit the water behind the library, but it did not break up. The angle and trajectory of its flight did not seem to add up, but when I looked at the plane, the hero in me kicked in and I began to rush to a door near the now shattered window. Someone behind me seemed to have the same idea, then changed his mind saying, “The thing is gonna blow.” When I looked at the plane again I could see jet fuel spraying like a fire hose onto the beach. I stopped dead. I could see into the cockpit and windows and could make out the faces of the people inside. I braced myself for an explosion at any second and a sudden shock of fear hit me because I was so close to the time bomb. I was also hit with the overwhelming sadness that I was about to witness these people die horribly, and I could not save them.
I waited, watching for several moments, but the plane did not erupt. I looked on as the door on the side of the plane shifted open. Then two men exited the aircraft. It was the pilots. I could tell this because they were wearing uniforms, but they weren’t like normal commercial airline pilot uniforms. Their shirts were black, although they were embroidered with stripes on their shoulders. They were moving quickly toward the building, and could see me and the other students who had gathered to watched. “Does anyone know anything about constitutional law?” The captain shouted. I was shocked, and relieved at the same time. I raised my hand, “I do,” I shouted back.
The two men approached me as fast as before. The one who I assumed was the captain seemed to have a German accent as he spoke in a frantic matter, “The whole world is at war!”
“What?”
“We hit a fighter jet in mid air.”
The co-pilot was talking to someone else now and his accent seemed to be of a Scandinavian origin. When I looked back at the plane I could still see people inside, and I wondered why the pilots would not help them.
My feeling now shifted to anger at the obvious negligence of these European pilots. Their caps became more evident to me and they too were black and embroidered with gold striped which I assumed symbolized some type of rank. I sensed that authorities were arriving on the scene now, but something about the whole situation was making me extremely uneasy.
When I looked back at the plane it was now being pushed into the wall of the library by the high tides, and I could no longer glimpse the people inside. I felt as thought the pilots were clearly responsible for this and they would surely be taken into custody soon. Then I realized that the pilot had been talking to me about the legal repercussions of this incident the whole time, and I had not been listening. He was becoming more aggressive with me because he was obviously frantic and distraught about what had just transpired.
A feeling of trepidation came across my entire body. I was engrossed with the sensation that something about this was not right, besides what had already happened I got the feeling that something much more sinister was about to take place. If the pilot was telling the truth about hitting a fighter then perhaps there really was a war going on. If not then I didn’t have any idea what was happening, but I had no reason to talk to this man now. In any case I began moving away from the scene. Slowly taking a few steps back at first until finally I turned and ran quickly from the building. I felt like I was escaping.
When I got back into the quad I still had no idea where I was. I felt I must be in California somewhere, but I couldn’t be sure. When I stopped to examine my surroundings the campus was in a state of chaos. There were students running around near the dorm buildings on a hill to my left. The windows had been yanked up and things were being thrown to the ground. There seemed to be a fire in the distance because there was an orange glow on the walls and trees near the top of the hill.
Maybe the world was coming to an end. I looked back at the statue now as I lit a cigarette. It was a goliath holding a hollow outline of the globe on his shoulders. There was a girl in one of those dorms who I had to see.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Bananarchy: Why Eductation, Sex, Drugs, and Happiness Are All Connected (Part 1)
Society is a mess these days, and its probably not for the reasons you think. As youths in America we know first hand the inequities that are served cold on our plates. For the first say, twelve years of our lives we are taught that the only path for a sustainable future is to give in to the authority of our institutions. Early on we are graciously bestowed with the knowledge that has been prescribed to keep us functioning in a system designed by others. A system that today some believe is failing us. A system that may have been designed to fail us. One thing that it is hard to deny when you reach higher education is that by the time you are there you are already trapped. There are few options left, but to accept that you either enter the system as a producer, as a spring in the mechanism, or get out and have no hope of ever living a fulfilled life. But look at the lives that are promised. Look at what we get if we accept this program. We are told that if we study long enough, work hard enough, kiss enough ass, grovel at the feet of our masters long enough, that one day we can have it all. One day you'll get that four bedroom house with the lawn and the wife, and maybe even the kids, and the dog too. Today we see the truth. We see that the system that promised freedom and prosperity was simply a propaganda tool to keep us quiet. A blind over our eyes so we wouldn't question the process. As a young person today what do we have to hope for? What is there left that the elders of this nation haven't already swindled. How do we take back what is rightfully ours? Not what is owed to us by them, but what is owed to us by God.
Most of us probably remember a time early in our eduction when one of the most important things for us to learn was how to stand correctly in line, and how to follow directions. Sometimes the completion of a task was not even as important as if it was done using the correct process. One thing I have considered a lot lately is how the imagination of children is so different from that of adults. I saw a study that tested the genius of a person based on their ability to imagine innovative ways to solve problems. The study consisted of a test in which the participants were asked how many ways a paperclip can be used. Groups were separated by age. Interestingly, the youngest groups always produced the highest number of "geniuses" based on the parameters of the test because children were able to imagine a paperclip in non-conventional ways. For instance a paperclip that was 30 feet tall would certainly have a variety of uses. However, older groups could only think about a paperclip in the way that it was designed to be used or the way they understood it to function based on what they knew or had learned. My theory is that eduction, especially eduction in theoretical fields causes one to learn about something in a preconceived way. This immediately introduces preconceived notions about how problems can be solved, and the process in which they must be solved in. This brings up another problem in the eduction system. Especially in mathematics students are generally taught only one way of solving a problem, and penalized when this process is deviated from even if the correct answer is reached. This goes back to the problem of obeying authority. It seems that more focus is put on following directions, obeying authority, and coming to conclusions in the prescribed manor rather than making the right conclusion itself.
This system works for some. It no doubt has yielded many very smart children. But how do we measure how "smart" someone is? In the United States we do this by a practice of standardized tests. A process that again rewards those who are best a following instructions and are good at taking tests of this nature. But what happens to the rest? Are we to say that if a person can't pass a test he or she is not worthy of a higher education. Who designed the test? Can we conclude that everyone who fails a test is an invalid. My belief is that we cannot. I believe that some of the most creative, and imaginative thinkers in this country have been left behind. People that could have brought innovative solutions to pressing problems were never given the right medium to show their true potential. And why has this happened? It is because the entire system of eduction in this country is flawed, at every level. From kindergarten to college the system was created to develop a group of people who think the way they have been programed to think.
Eduction is a government mandated and government run operation in the United States. Everyone is forced to pay for it and everyone is forced to go. From the very beginning we are given no options, no choice. If you don't go your parents get fined or go to jail, if you don't pay they take your house away. The real problem is inherit. If you look at who is in charge then you will see the obvious complication. You may be thinking, what benefit would the government have in influencing the way that I think. The answer is every possible benefit. If you think the way they want you to think then you will never disobey orders, you will never question the system, you will always pay your taxes, go to church, vote down party lines, and you will always play the game. It isn't a conspiracy, but it is happening.
My goal isn't to change your mind, and it isn't even to change the way things work. I simply hope that one day people will see systems of government and society in a different light. Not as protectors, and stabilizers, but as perpetrators of a silent tyranny. A tyranny in which we live a life a achievable goals only to realize that the happiness that was promised by the fulfillment of those goals was an illusion. The question you have to ask yourself is, what would truly make me happy?
This system works for some. It no doubt has yielded many very smart children. But how do we measure how "smart" someone is? In the United States we do this by a practice of standardized tests. A process that again rewards those who are best a following instructions and are good at taking tests of this nature. But what happens to the rest? Are we to say that if a person can't pass a test he or she is not worthy of a higher education. Who designed the test? Can we conclude that everyone who fails a test is an invalid. My belief is that we cannot. I believe that some of the most creative, and imaginative thinkers in this country have been left behind. People that could have brought innovative solutions to pressing problems were never given the right medium to show their true potential. And why has this happened? It is because the entire system of eduction in this country is flawed, at every level. From kindergarten to college the system was created to develop a group of people who think the way they have been programed to think.
My goal isn't to change your mind, and it isn't even to change the way things work. I simply hope that one day people will see systems of government and society in a different light. Not as protectors, and stabilizers, but as perpetrators of a silent tyranny. A tyranny in which we live a life a achievable goals only to realize that the happiness that was promised by the fulfillment of those goals was an illusion. The question you have to ask yourself is, what would truly make me happy?
Friday, February 11, 2011
Nowhere (A Stoner's Paradise)
-C.T. Cilver
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Bangin' Asians: Spring Break in the DPRK
One spring we decided to take a trip to the DPRK
because we heard the country was lively and gay.
We went for the women because they are loose,
but figured we’d stay for the cooked dog and goose.
We flew to Pyongyang by way of Beijing,
and had to leave behind most everything.
We bribed a guy at the Chinese consul.
For commie ass our dicks did drool.
Upon arrival there was no bright sun.
No girls in bikinis for us to hunt.
Good for us we weren’t upset.
Gook ass did await us yet.
A group of guards took us to a hotel.
No one else was there, but the digs were swell.
We tasted the food which tasted like crap,
but gave it a chance because of where we were at.
We sampled the dog and mulled over the cat,
and even tried the beer (it was a little flat).
We toured the city and went to a ship
that had been captured during a spy stint.
We went to a place called the DMZ,
and laughed at the people whom we could see.
We sang Karaoke with some ladies one night,
but getting in their pants became a big plight.
They weren’t allowed to drink with us,
and when we made our moves they put up a fuss.
We went back to our room with our drunk guards,
as they laughed at us for being such tards.
We came to the next morning and went for a drive
to a tea shop in the mountains that was kind of a dive.
The fortunate thing was that the tea girl was hot,
and in a matter of minutes we all hit it off.
We drank her tea, and chatted a bit,
I even tried to plead for a kiss.
But schedules they had (so we had to follow),
and she had no phone for us to caller her tomorrow.
We bid adieu and continued on
thinking that something was dreadfully wrong.
Where were all the girls? The beautiful ones?
Most we had seen reminded me of nuns.
The brochure had promised a wonderful time,
but we were forced to stay in state controlled lines.
On our last night we went to a show.
Would any of us get laid, or even a blow?
The show was amazing, and there were thousands of girls
Some of them with straight hair, some of them had curls.
We sat and we watched amazed at the sight,
thinking that this would be a wonderful night.
Suddenly out of the corner of my eye
came into sight a funny little guy.
He was quite round and wore a simple grey suit.
He had funny hair, puffy lips, and glasses to boot.
He walked straight to us, and without hesitation said,
“Which one of these girls would you like to take to bed?”
We were dumbfounded, how could we choose.
There were so many we would have to do two’s.
The funny little man took us back to his house,
and we ate and drank and starred down a blouse.
We took girls back to our rooms by two and threes,
But woke up the next morning with bad cases of herpes.
The man he had screwed us, but we couldn’t complain.
The lovely girls of the north were worth all the pain.
We flew back to the states on that very day
What stories we had from the DPRK!
For the ladies of the North our hearts will ache
whenever we remember our communist spring break.
because we heard the country was lively and gay.
We went for the women because they are loose,
but figured we’d stay for the cooked dog and goose.
We flew to Pyongyang by way of Beijing,
and had to leave behind most everything.
We bribed a guy at the Chinese consul.
For commie ass our dicks did drool.
Upon arrival there was no bright sun.
No girls in bikinis for us to hunt.
Good for us we weren’t upset.
Gook ass did await us yet.
A group of guards took us to a hotel.
No one else was there, but the digs were swell.
We tasted the food which tasted like crap,
but gave it a chance because of where we were at.
We sampled the dog and mulled over the cat,
and even tried the beer (it was a little flat).
We toured the city and went to a ship
that had been captured during a spy stint.
We went to a place called the DMZ,
and laughed at the people whom we could see.
We sang Karaoke with some ladies one night,
but getting in their pants became a big plight.
They weren’t allowed to drink with us,
and when we made our moves they put up a fuss.
We went back to our room with our drunk guards,
as they laughed at us for being such tards.
We came to the next morning and went for a drive
to a tea shop in the mountains that was kind of a dive.
The fortunate thing was that the tea girl was hot,
and in a matter of minutes we all hit it off.
We drank her tea, and chatted a bit,
I even tried to plead for a kiss.
But schedules they had (so we had to follow),
and she had no phone for us to caller her tomorrow.
We bid adieu and continued on
thinking that something was dreadfully wrong.
Where were all the girls? The beautiful ones?
Most we had seen reminded me of nuns.
The brochure had promised a wonderful time,
but we were forced to stay in state controlled lines.
On our last night we went to a show.
Would any of us get laid, or even a blow?
The show was amazing, and there were thousands of girls
Some of them with straight hair, some of them had curls.
We sat and we watched amazed at the sight,
thinking that this would be a wonderful night.
Suddenly out of the corner of my eye
came into sight a funny little guy.
He was quite round and wore a simple grey suit.
He had funny hair, puffy lips, and glasses to boot.
He walked straight to us, and without hesitation said,
“Which one of these girls would you like to take to bed?”
We were dumbfounded, how could we choose.
There were so many we would have to do two’s.
The funny little man took us back to his house,
and we ate and drank and starred down a blouse.
We took girls back to our rooms by two and threes,
But woke up the next morning with bad cases of herpes.
The man he had screwed us, but we couldn’t complain.
The lovely girls of the north were worth all the pain.
We flew back to the states on that very day
What stories we had from the DPRK!
For the ladies of the North our hearts will ache
whenever we remember our communist spring break.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Anonymous
I love the internet and I love anonymous posting. Last night a friend contacted me because she thought that I was responsible for a series of posts on a website called CollegeACB. I can neither confirm nor deny these claims, however, I have begun posting on the site now under the name C.T. Cilver, and I will probably continue to do so from time to time for some quick laughs. Today I wrote this:
Sunday Slampieces
Last night came back to the house after the game. Wasn't that drunk, but found some chick who def was sleeping in my bed. Tried to move her, but she was fucking dead assing me so I just ended up fucking her. Spent 10 minutes trying to bust nut, but couldn't so I kicked the bitch out and called my slampiece. She was over like twenty minutes later getting sloppy on my dick. All of a sudden my bros fucking bust in and start screaming about someones sister. Turns out the fat bitch was someones fucking sister. I'm like, "can a nigga bust a nut in this joint....fuck!" Apparently this girl was like the sister of some kid who wasn't a brother during the Bush white house, so idgaf. Anyway ended up having to just jerk it on this chicks tits and call it a night. Shit the things I do on sundays.Sunday Slampieces Thread on ACB
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Drone: Chapter Four (prelude)
We did everything so fast just so we could talk about it the next day. Hungover again and afraid to mention what we knew we had said last night in the heat of the moment. That was the life we lived and we lived it well for a while not realizing that we would only look back on it with a blurring remembrance.
I imagine a life sometimes where I stayed there with you. Where I published a book about it all and made money and graduated and moved to Los Angeles and you came with me. And we lived for a while doing the same things we did in college, and we were happy.
But soon the nights merged together like they had before, like lights on that dark highway fused in the reflection of the headlights. The life we had desired was gone just like those nights we couldn't remember. Time disappeared, and on that couch where it all started I can see myself. Outside my body. Maybe I'm drunk or maybe I'm dreaming, either way the only explanation is that this is just another tragedy. Another life that could never be. Another dream wasted on you. And then I'm awake. I forget that I was dreaming, and for a moment it seems real. For a moment I am back in that bed starring at the ceiling as the blue shades of morning light stream in the window behind me. The moment when I could still feel you next to me, breathing. Then it is gone, and I am back in this place trying to remember how I got here. Trying to remember what happened last night. Trying to remember all those nights, and realizing that sleep will be the only remedy.
~
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)