Tuesday, January 28, 2014

death sentence through the internet

The other day,
a middle-aged friend received,
a death sentence through the internet.


The friend,
under-employed
or unemployed,
and not happy with that condition,
heard two wise men discussing him and everyone in his situation,
and the wise men said:
"Things won't get better,
not any time soon,
and they may not get better at all,
and before they'll get better,
there will have to be a movement,
an organized movement,
of many people."
--But,
there's no guarantee of anything.


And,
the friend was amazed
at the blandness and matter-of-fact quality of their pronouncement,
as if someone were counting paper clips,
and had said,
"There are 200 clips in this box,
and all those thousands of clips that don't fit,
well.....
they'll just have to go in the garbage."


"....unless those clips get together....."
(You get my point.)


The sheer absence of anything like an emotional reaction,
the economist bland and almost autistic,
the interviewer squirrelly and excited.....
"excited?"
---Yes,
in a squirrelly sort of way,
as if he were so excited to be discussing this deep issue,
the deep issue of misery and unhappiness,
and it's inevitability,
for now......


As if the mere thought that things could change in twenty or thirty years,
were somehow a piece of optimism.
But, hey, we will continue to follow this story.


Thanks a lot!



Tuesday, January 21, 2014

increasing barbarism

More evidence that things are getting worse:


Chris Hedges on Chris Christie:


http://www.truthdig.com/report/item/the_trouble_with_chris_christie_20140112


Journalists at so-called "liberal" newspapers (NYT, Guardian) advocating an elimination of medical care for those who are not rich. 
http://www.wsws.org/en/articles/2014/01/20/kell-j20.html


(My family members have had their lives lengthened by such things as stents and mammograms, which are among the targets of the attempt to eliminate medical care for most of us.)



Wednesday, January 15, 2014

au bord de l'eau

Yesterday I listened to Faure's "au bord de l'eau", and a few other songs.
I found myself thinking:  the ugliness to which I was submitted during my trip on an airline really was ugliness.
I was glad to re-discover that something beautiful exists.  I was relieved. If I'd been stuck on that airline for even another minute, I might have forgotten that anything else exists other than cramped quarters, bad food and air, and insincere dumbed-down music and crappy Hollywood movies.  I guess it's something like escaping from prison. (Yet, I know there are those who would like to reduce me and the rest of the world to that prison-like state--all for the sake of their profits.)

Capitalism's latest crisis

I'd like to start this post with an acerbic quotation from Marx, on the virtues of capitalists, their deservingness, and their blindness, but I'm not enough of a scholar for that.


My mother and father have memories of the Great Depression.  They have spoken of it.


And I regard it as a momentous fact that now, when they are elderly, so elderly and frail, that the system has, once again, broken down in a serious way.  And, once again, my parents and their family are under attack and threatened by something so stone cold stupid.


It's just too cruel.  They've only barely recovered from the last time the bankers and money-hoarders ruined the lives of millions.  And, even to say they have recovered would be a lie.  They have lived their lives with strong memories of the dislocation and pain inflicted upon them as children by this less-than-efficient and worse than cruel economic system. 



Sunday, January 12, 2014

false emotions all over the place

Thanks to Hollywood and American Airlines, false emotions all over the place....




How American Airlines and Hollywood Underestimate and Insult


I flew on American Airlines from Chicago to London.
Along the way, they played one film and one TV series. In the guise of entertainment, they submitted us to false emotions of the most extreme variety.


The journey began with redundant „calm“ music, accompanied by nature scenes which some idiot apparently
thinks would be restful. For me it was a little annoying and silly. What do they think I am?  I'm supposed to be frightened because I'm flying?  So, I need pictures of mountains, lakes, beaches, deserts?  I do?  All I could think was:  I don't want to be there


Then, to make matters worse, there was an entertainment item which someone might
call a „feature film“. I would call it an overly long gladitorial spectacle which was a waste
of money and human resources, an item which dredged up every conceivable visual cliche,
and seemed to encourage the thought that a true hero must suffer an extraodinary amount of physical pain, and even torture. (Someone might say this is sort of a reverse-Guantanamo phenomenon. The USA government would like us to believe that anyone in Guantanamo deserved whatever they got; the inverse is that heroes who don't desere it will, in this brave new world, get what bad guys deserve---all for a nobler cause, to be sure.) As torture is now considered an acceptable government policy, heroes must expect to endure torture. To be sure, it was only the bad guys“ that inflicted pain upon the hero in this film, but the camera was too happy to let us share the hero's pain. But, anyway, there was a miraculous recovery after the most unbelievable torture.


The film featured a bearded man who was very good at furrowing his brows
during close-ups. I was, in fact, amazed at the number of close ups which seemed to consist in the hero or his allies frowning or looking worried, worried gazes exchanged. Otherwise, the hero's other claim to fame was his evident visits to the gym. In many scenes he had no shirt.  Of course, I envied his strength and his power to attract pretty young women.   Indeed, I may have to visit the gym soon.


The film was one cliche after another: exotic Japanese girls and the Japanese mafia, explosions, Ninja fighters, etc.  The film was also sadistic and unrealistic.


Of course, I watched it only in parts, and without sound; so you may say I am unfair. I say that I would have preferred not to watch it at all. But when I travel, I become tired quickly, and the eyes naturally and automatically focus on the moving images on the screens.


I must emphasize the sadism of the film. At one point the hero had been shot in the back
with small darts or arrows with wires or long cords attached to them as much as twenty times, and he kept moving forward, porcupine like. I have never seen anything so sadistic in my life.  (I've not seen a certain recent depiction of Christ's crucifixion.)


What, really, is such a film about? The lone strong man who protects women? One man against many? No, he was aided by the two women.


I neglect the themes of bio-high-tech, regeneration of the old, and the persistence of evil. Of course, there had to be fancy machines to enhance the strength of the hero. Of course, And, indeed, the greatest stupidity was that he had the power to grow metal spikes out of his fingers. I mean: Really! Are audiences so stupid? They need a hero with a special power or a special car? Otherwise we would not be able to identify him as the hero?  As a matter of fact, I believe I've heard that any strength your arms may possess is much less than the strength of  your legs possess—so, isn't it stupid that the hero only fights with his hands and his steel finger-extensions? Silliness that is not for adults or educated young people.


Sadistic and pointless---and totally unrealistic.... But the good guy won, in the end---even if
there was a (supposedly) clever reversal in the final scene. (Yes, I think I could tell that even without dialogue.) 


I was honestly surprised that no one complained about the low quality of the movie being shown.
I could not believe that my fellow passengers took this as normal.


To make things worse, the "feature film" was followed by what I imagine was a young person's version of this nonsense with more magic.
In the young person's version---I think a TV series, but I can't be sure---a group of young friends have to do battle with people who are dressed like Romans.  There is lots of fighting and magic.  They fly away as they are transposed into dust or smoke or something like that.  I suppose it is supposed to be visually appealing; but here I am speculating.


The images in both of these shows were trite and cliched. Should I suppose that I missed something because I did not hear the dialogue? Of course, I missed something. Just as the flight made me miss out on sleep and wholesome food. Whenever I travel I become constipated, a problem I don't have when I do my own cooking. And my memories of those entertainments are themselves something I would like to expel.













Saturday, January 11, 2014

october 2013

I now believe that last October, the in-home care-giver very nearly caused my father's death.
He was hospitalized with suspected pneumonia, but he was also very depressed.
The lady in question has the capacity to be over-bearing and ruthless in making commands.
I believe that prior to my father's hospitalization she had treated him without the respect
he (or any human being) deserves.  His depression was the effect; the cause was her manner.
She very nearly killed him.--Or, so I now believe.

America's Decline

"AMERICA'S" DECLINE?


"Times are tough in the United States.  Unemployment is high; those with jobs suffer real wage declines and ever  greater demands to work harder and longer.  Household debt is up and wealth is down. Homelessness is growing.  Health care is becoming a luxury.  In sum, people are hurting, scared, and increasingly angry."---Martin Hart-Landsberg


"America, It is you and I who are perfect, not the next world."---Alan Ginsberg





America's decline?

The "country's" decline?
--Let's be clear:

We're talking about the  decline of America's working classes,

the decline of the fabled Middle Class......


Or, we might as well say we are talking about:


My family's decline.

--It's not just that we are older,

though that problem is bad enough;

Our resources have diminished,
and we need help,
and all the while,
we can remember when things were not this way.


--But stop:

Add to our memories the brash voices of those who are younger,
who know nothing of either politics or history,

and confidently tell us that this is the way things are,

as if they couldn't be any other way,
as if they wanted to shut us up,
and erase our memories,
while they bathe luxuriously and miserably in those cruel words,
"the new normal".






--That's the real insult,

a kick aimed at groin or ribs,
a slap,
a burning insult added to injury,

of a man,
this man,  
who's fallen down.





Thursday, January 9, 2014

update/correction/second thoughts

I blogged recently about the shocking and un-professional spectacle which occurred when three so-called professional in-home care-givers began to argue amongst themselves in front of my elderly parents.


During that conversation (a polite word for it) they completely ignored my parents, who were  the reason why they were here at all.


I now believe that the problem was largely due to a lie told by one of the participants in the conversation.  She would rather lie than admit that she'd made a mistake.


Unfortunately, this is an indication of her policy (or character flaw) not merely a one-time error.  The individual suffers from a propensity to lord it over others wherever the opportunity arises.  Having been "low man on the totem pole" for so many years, it seems that this person knows no other way to be.  She is like that man who gets shit on by his boss, and then goes home to kick the dog.  Having seen her "superiors" lie or supress reality in order to get their way, she imitates them.  She is unfree in that she can't imagine anything else than what they do.


This corrects a previous entry in which I suggested that the cause of the dispute was competition between two capitalist for-profit companies.  (Even if they are officialy 'not for profit',  the pathologies of the for profits transfer to the not for profits.)


I have heard her speaking to my mother---lecturing her, reproving her as if she (my mother) were the employee of the "care"-giver.


It is a sick situation.  My mother and father deserve care.  They deserve help. The people who visit them in their home are exploited by an inefficient and unjust system of apportioning medical care.  But a frustrated care-worker should not transmit her frustrations to elderly people (or anyone else, even me.)


I'm pissed off. 

Wednesday, January 8, 2014

f. off to the editors of poetry zines

As I re-read the entry I just posted, I see my use of archaic or less popular words---products
of an education that required my parents to make sacrifices.--An education that improved me,
but not in ways that capitalist bosses like.


And I think of the so-condescending remarks of editors who don't like the words more
likely used by the more educated, preferring a more vulgar style.


And I know that this is just a prejudice against me.  Sometimes you've got to get past
the surface form, or swallow it whole, before you can taste the sweet behind the skin.



Miseries of the MInimal Help Afforded to the Elderly in Texas

Today I am going to post a description of an upsetting event---the latest of a long list of upsetting events which have occurred since my parents joined the club of the frail elderly.


I may not have time to revise or rewrite this offering.  But, I post it now because I do feel that it's worth getting some description out in public, even if the account be partial and flawed.




How can I summarize the chaos of the past few days?





In-home health care helpers fighting with one another. As I understand the conflict,


they run around all day, driving in their cars from one patient to another. Schedules are not


fixed and this requires a lot of negotiating over the telephone:





„Hell, Mrs. X, this is Gloria. Can I come to give Fred his shower in


about thirty minutes?“




„Hello Mrx. X, this is Louise, Can I come to examine your husband?


In about an hour?“





So, when the lady who gives my dad a shower came just before the PT lady.......


the ladies were in conflict not merely temporally. Discussion ensued....


When does she (the shower lady) usually come?


Her company gives her no fixed schedule.


Am I to draw the conclusion that two different for-profit companies are competing
for the money my parents have, or the money they've saved up through Medicare?


As an outsider to their debate, I could only see that two women of approximately the same age, and with similar social status, employment opportunities, were in conflict, and both were refusing to give any ground. Neither would do or say anything to decrease the tension.


My eighty-seven year old mother, and my eighty-eight year-old father were in the thick of it.


It could not have been pleasant for my parents.


Do I blame the individuals? I see them as cogs in a machine, with limited freedom to move. Their employers use them, mercilessly and without apology or allowance for any frailities intrinsic to the human frame. On the contrary, in addition to the inevitable needs of the human body and human soul, we have now added technological needs: the need to recharge telephones, and pay for gasoline for vehicles, and other technological structures, all making the possibility for break-down more likely.




Of course, the quarrelling ladies don't see it my way. They want to fight for life within a system they cannot change. But, they do have to fight. And, it seems to me that their resentment towards one another is misplaced. On the contrary, the more they blame another worker and direct their passion for justice toward that visible competitor, the less do the companies and the miserable corrupt system have to face their ire.













Saturday, January 4, 2014

better to say nothing

Recently, a woman who learned that my parents were in their late eighies, approaching ninety,  remarked in a sweet voice that this was such a wonderful time of life.

Does she know actually anything about being eighty eighty?  Like so much superficial emotional reaction, the basis seems to be uninformed imagination rather than actual experience.

This morning my father managed to tilt his urinal so that its contents spilled out onto him
and his bed.  My mother noticed this, and she became upset.

Spilling urine has become a regular feature of my father's early morning activities.

Not that he does it deliberately.  He sometimes seems to do it unconsciously, falling
back to sleep with his bottom on a wet spot.

This is upsetting for my mother and my father.  My mother is limited in her actions by
severe arthritis. 

So, at six or seven in the morning, my father needs  to be changed. He can't do it himself.
Change his clothes.  Change the bedding.  And then wash the urine soaked items.

What a  wonderful time of life?  Not.......

Friday, January 3, 2014

domestic prison

My mother and one of her helpers are dissing me. They are laughing at what they imagine to be my inability to tidy the kitchen---my mother's kitchen which is crammed full of pointless items which she no longer uses and never needed in the first place.  Pizza cutters,e.g., are a pointless and wasteful typically capitalist extravagance, and one certainly doesn't need two of the abominable things!

This typifies the degraded human misery that capitalism produces---not democracy, not true culture (only idiotic television), and not solidarity or community---but, instead, my mother can have twelve different sizes of plastic food bags, with various sorts of openings--a wholly unnecessary extravagance, which leads to unnecessary trips (in a planet-destroying vehicle) to the grocery store to be sure we are always stocked with all twelve sizes.......Capitalism has always produced only misery and degradation---even when it is not in crisis.

I am silent, but inside I am fuming.  I don't bother about things here that I don't bother about in my own home.  And why not?  My accommodation is a cluttered room, with stacks of papers and books unorganized because I've not got time to beautify my surroundings.  Why not?  Once upon a time I taught philosophy and at the end of each semester I slept for three days, and then spent three or four days organizing and cleaning up.  I had the time to do that, and, afterwards devote weeks or months to reading and writing.  These days I have no such free time.

I am willing to do a certain amount of domestic work in order to stave off chaos, but I am not willing to turn my life into unending slavery to domestic work and abandon more important matters--such as reading and writing.