See ya Tony—don't let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya: Now if the Redcoats can do it, so can we. Our buddy over at Deficient Brain reminds us of exactly what Tony forgot to remember amid his sudden spasm of caring for the public consciousness. Come on, people, are we gonna let those people who eat their freedom fries off newspaper beat us out in getting rid of our respective warmongering liars? Let's see both sides of the pond cleaned up by this time next year—Impeach NOW.
But are the media here inspired by the British example of democracy in action? We're about to find out this weekend: ABC thinks that blaming it all on Bubba is the way to go. E&P has screened the show and found that it not only assaults Clinton for 9/11, it also fumbles facts that a teenaged fact-checker could have gotten straight. But few in the MSM have given a shit about something as boring as truth for at least six years now—why start worrying about the facts now? If you happen to disagree, then let them know about it.
The True Believer: The answer to our banner quote mystery is Eric Hoffer, the longshoreman/sociologist from the West Coast who, in 1951, quietly wrote one of the masterpieces of 20th century world literature. Buy it, read it, and on every other page you'll find yourself scribbling, "Bush" or "MSM" in the margins. Here's another example, from the same section (118) where we found our banner quote:
The interference of an active mass movement with the creative process is deep-reaching and manifold...it subordinates creative work to the advancement of the movement. Literature, art, and science must be propagandistic...Where a mass movement opens vast fields of action (war, colonization, industrialization), there is an additional drain of creative energy...The fanatic's disdain for the present blinds him to the complexity and uniqueness of life...The blindness of the fanatic is a source of strength (he sees no obstacles), but it is the cause of intellectual sterility and emotional monotony.
Friday Reflection: Treasure of the Body
I was looking at a woman's body on the subway platform one day. She stood in profile, in a light-colored dress against the background of the murky tunnel wall. I drew in my mind the shape of Infinity around her form, and it radiated—or perhaps received—light, from and through her. It was as if the symbol so perfectly matched the figure that they were a single, coalescent perfection.
Then the train squalled in and the charm was interrupted. But I asked myself then: do you still believe the lie they told you, that your body is a transient lump of ash, a Satanic temple of shame? What if it were eternal—beyond time, as that woman revealed to me—and transformational—beyond degradation? What if it were the living equal of god—dark matter dancing; a roving, playful, metamorphosing vessel of light revealed through the darkness of form?
What if physical death were just another beginning—"the next great adventure," as Professor Dumbledore would say? What if we knew that god walks within and beside us, as does the Earth which, turning, supports us; and which receives the gifts of our bodies, its nutrient cells and regenerative thoughts?
I think that god, and its teaching energy, are meant to be treated as an equal to ourselves, as a kind of life-partner or friend. When we slip into the belief that god is superior, powerful, omniscient, and all-seeing, it tends to strangle the soul, and locks it into a vise of negativity; even a sort of paranoia. That, of course, is when god retreats from our lives, and its teaching voice fades or becomes distorted. This is how most, if not all, wars begin.