Does Stephen Harper really exist?

Saw this in the comment section of The Globe and Mail. Pretty funny.

“They say this cat Harper is a bad mother
Shut your mouth!
I'm talkin' 'bout Harper.
Then we can dig it!
He's a complicated man
But no one understands him but his woman”

(appropriated from Isaac Hayes - Theme From Shaft Lyrics)

This Harper dude is definitely as fictional as John Shaft. No one could be that... bad? The Conservative Party of Canada installed a fabricated hambone, played by Stephen Harper, as leader of their revenge on the liberal policies which have blessed Canada in the hearts and minds of nations all around the world. It took years of training and brainwashing to enable an understudy to consistently spew the rhetoric involved in subverting the aims and desires of us average Canadians, and to totally vaporize any good will bestowed upon us by the world's citizenry.

They found him in an oil company's mail room and jumped up and down and said “ We found our chump, he'll be perfect”. They set him up with a few investments which panned out to make him think he was genius and voila, an abductee pilfered from magnanimous Upper Canada as no Albertan could possibly be so becoming to the liberaly impaired.

 

To use the actors real name as the rallying cry was a real brain stormer. They pampered him, and coddled him till he became so pompous that his catechistic delusions of leading the corporate barons in conquering first Canada and then the world became a textbook case of domineering schizophrenia. Beholden to no one it becomes obvious that he is controlled by hypnotic suggestion to unquestioningly proliferate the biddings of his masters.

It will be an interesting day when he loses office. Will his mind disintegrate?  Will his body return to the mail room?  Will his cat still recognize him? As my good wife says, “I don't care if he wears green underwear”.

Off to work we go

Now that I am gainfully disabled/retired I can copiously critique on the things which may have impeded my ability to rip off the system for so many years. As is obvious, I am an anarchist at heart, albeit a naughty anarchist, because my method is to plunder the system till it self-destructs. Hopefully this does not invalidate my being called an anarchist, because I have a fondness for the aggravations which arise within the mundane systems we use to keep our humdrum society bumping along. Many would simply call me a lazy bum.

Bob Black views the subordination enacted in workplaces as "a mockery of freedom", and denounces as hypocrites the various theorists who support freedom while supporting work. Subordination in work, Black alleges, makes people stupid and creates fear of freedom. Because of work, people become accustomed to rigidity and regularity, and do not have the time for friendship or meaningful activity. Most workers, he states, are dissatisfied with work (as evidenced by petty deviance on the job), so that what he says should be uncontroversial; however, it is controversial only because people are too close to the work-system to see its flaws. He also argues that the vast majority of work does not need doing at all. Most tasks are unnecessary because they only serve functions of commerce and social control that exist only to maintain the work-system as a whole.

Paul Lafargue criticized liberal, conservative, Christian and even socialist ideas of work from a Marxist perspective as dogmatic and ultimately false by portraying the degeneration and enslavement of human existence when being subsumed under the primacy of the "right to work", and argued that laziness, combined with human creativity, is an important source of human progress. I am just as anarchistic towards Marxism as I am to any other form of governance, but I would not wish anything to impede human progress.

One morning in my able working years I was charmed by the two little girls who lived next door when they giggled with amusement when I told them I was going to work. Work was obviously not the preemptive survival strategy in their household. For those who criticize this thinking; evolution will reward these qualities well because the rates of conception in these social networks far outclasses those of the working joes.

Unfree labour includes all forms of slavery, and related institutions (e.g. debt slavery, serfdom, corvée and labour camps). Many of these forms of work may be covered by the term forced labour, which is defined by the International Labour Organization (ILO) as all involuntary work or service exacted under the menace of a penalty. I would love to see a court challenge taken all the way to the Supreme Court of Canada on the policies of welfare systems which cut citizens off of their meagre rations if they do not attend school or seek gainful employment. We've eroded people's opportunities to have land to grow gardens, to build simple dwellings, to enjoy the stars at night and fathom the depths of our universe, to live that simple life with an old rocking chair for grandma. No, we must educate ourselves and buy into that super advertized monstrosity we call our economic system, complete with GDP and all the necessary addictions to keep it functioning. So we can destroy our earth? For ipads and opioids?

Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam
Where the deer and the antelope play
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
And the skies are not cloudy all day

You say I live in a fantasy world, but I ask, in which fantasy does perpetual economic expansion flourish? Sustainability will only be achieved through anarchism, it would seem, whether it comes freely or is forced upon us by our incinerated earth.

How to catch a gopher

As a kid growing up on the Saskatchewan prairies, one of our favourite pastimes was to catch gophers, those little guys who peeked at us from their holes while we brought home the cows for their daily milkings. Curiosity was often their downfall. If all was quiet for a while they could not resist peeking out from their subterranean cities to see what was happening in the upper world.

Bailer twine, the old prehistoric organic kind, made excellent snares. With a lot of patience, which young boys don't always have handy, you could fashion a slip noose and lay it carefully inside the gopher's hole, and sit back and wait for that gopher to show it's tiny peeky eyes. Then with one great pull you might snag that gopher in the noose, abducting a not so willing playmate for the day. We tried to domesticate them, but they didn't seem much inclined to human friendship, and their teeth are rather salient.

For the less patient variety of human trouble makers, a bucket of water would often work wonders. The snare was still used. One urchin would man the snare while his shill would pour that whole bucket of water down an adjacent hole. This usually created a soggy response, however the little devils often came up a hole other than you were wagering on. It seems gophers don't hedge their bets on minimal options.

In the dirty thirties in my fathers time, one penny was paid for each gopher tail which amounted to $1M paid out in Alberta and Saskatchewan. The rest of the gopher made a delicious stew. In my day we had no incentive to cause them any harm, and mom would have tossed us out by our ears if we brought a batch home for supper, so our little buddies usually escaped to be chased around the field by the dog, till they found a convenient hole to dive into. We were really kindhearted scoundrels.

The mind, the last frontier

That black hole in the centre of our sweet galaxy emits mile high amplitude waves in the range of 30 – 70 Hz. This fact has been verified by the many space craft which have been sucked into it's gravitational horizon, although due to gravitational constraints, these craft have negliged on returning this data to their civilizations of origin. These 30 – 70 Hz wavelengths correspond to the gamma waves produced by earthly human brains, although ours are only a fraction of a millimetre in amplitude. Human gamma brain waves are associated with cognitive processing and meditation, the highest amplitudes being observed in meditating Tibetan monks.

At present we are unable to decode the information being emitted by brain waves. Electroencephalography shows us what patterns are normal, what sleeping states look like, what waking states look like. Gamma waves are the highest frequency waves our brains produce, and these are always in waking states. Does this infer that black holes are awake?

What causes us to wake? Why don't our brains always sleep or hallucinate in their relaxing state? Survival, we surmise, that evolutionary rascal which created them in the first place. Brain theories have so many unanswered questions that we may have to turn everything on it's back and ask, is it possible that our brains operating system which works in quantum waves created us? We live in a quantum universe. Everything is made up of little waves or vibrating strings who have no concrete materialization. They are more like little ideas whose mood is that if it's possible, we'll do it. They flow together, in our universe, making us what we are. They can make anything and they do, but in our universe they make us.

In our waking state, our brains want to make sense of our world because it allows us to function. There are many incidents of things which happen and we tend to rationalize them away because they do not butter our bread: children who know details of deceased ancestors lives and homes, visitations from people on the far side of the earth who succumb to this world and drop by to say goodbye, souls who wander the earth after their bodies have checked out. If we care to listen, these stories are out there in abundance.

The concept of reincarnation has it's moments, but is it really reincarnation or more of a communion of quantum entities who know each other rather intimately in the regions beyond time? These regions beyond time where our souls, for a lack of a better word, decided to have some fun and create a material world, so Madonna would have a place to be 'material girl'. And while they were at it they created black holes, where massive brains could evolve without confusing the daylights out of us lesser beings. Gods incarnated, maybe there is something to the notion after all. We must build a space ship and find out. We'll send home the data.

Alcazar of the Creaksters

Alphonso had a peppery stubble on a wrinkly old chin

The girls loved him dearly for his bouts of chicanery

His eyes sparkled genially when his thoughts filled with sin

The Alcazar of Creaksters echoed with clangorous buffoonery

This home for the aged had long spent its' hey day

On mortals of jejunity whose passions had frit

To elude the inevitable sagging old bellies display

Alcazar now home to ratty geezers and the widows of wit

Draconian measures were needed to self righteously temper

Tendencies ripe triggering threat of disingenuous elopement

These old folk held prisoner by nuns of the Templar

Doors guarded by sirens hounds begging deployment

Up on the rooftop Alphonso conspired dematerialization

Layered blueprints were etched in planchements well gravelled

Witty widows stole bedsheets while nuns beseeched absolution

While the geezers wove this great basket from wicker unravelled

Fine needlepoint united the sheeting o’er tea and cheery faces

An art work ballooning in great splendid enraptures

Reinforcements were seamed in from all the mens' braces

Coal blackened pockets from subterranean adventures

The day of departure came easily wearing blue sky

A light breeze from the east took them far out and over the coast

The nuns all but fainted as patrons diminished to vanish on high

Alphonso you Creakster of Alcazar your soul will surely roast

The fine art of democratic propaganda

"When an American soldier was captured by the Chinese, he was given a vigorous handshake and a pat on the back. The enemy 'introduced' himself as a friend of the 'workers' of America . . . in many instances the Chinese did not search the American captives, but frequently offered them American cigarettes. This display of friendship caught most Americans totally off-guard and they never recovered from the initial impression made by the Chinese. . . . After the initial contact with the enemy, some Americans seemed to believe that the enemy was sincere and harmless. They relaxed and permitted themselves to be lulled into a well-disguised trap [of cooperating with] the cunning enemy." U.S Department of the Army (15 May 1956). Communist Interrogation, Indoctrination, and Exploitation of Prisoners of War. (Pamphlet No. 30-101 ed.). U.S Gov't Printing Office. p.37

The western system has much to learn about how to effectively control us masses. Just imagine your local drug dealer being picked up for a gram of hash he sold to an undercover officer and being taken into the local detachment, no frisking, no handcuffs, stopping for a cheeseburger on the way in, and being treated with great respect for his role in supporting the local economy. They would be very sorry for having to detain him till his court appearance, but then hash could be a vile substance if abused, and they had to be a little cautious about such things. The judge would lovingly offer this poor fellow a way out from constantly looking over his shoulder and they would be willing to support him with the amount it would cost to incarcerate him for one year, so he would not have to survive in such a dangerous occupation. If he agreed he was free to go, but three strikes and he would get a free vacation on the Mars rover in a healthy environment.

“In totalitarian societies where there's a Ministry of Truth, propaganda doesn't really try to control your thoughts. It just gives you the party line. It says, "Here's the official doctrine; don't disobey and you won't get in trouble. What you think is not of great importance to anyone. If you get out of line we'll do something to you because we have force." Democratic societies can't work like that, because the state is much more limited in its capacity to control behaviour by force. Since the voice of the people is allowed to speak out, those in power better control what that voice says--in other words, control what people think. One of the ways to do this is to create political debate that appears to embrace many opinions, but actually stays within very narrow margins. You have to make sure that both sides in the debate accept certain assumptions--and that those assumptions are the basis of the propaganda system. As long as everyone accepts the propaganda system, the debate is permissible”. Propaganda, American-style by Noam Chomsky

Hanging on. Total obliterating black fog. Fingers frozen numb trapped in a tangle of wiry metal shill. The arms gave up any desire for striving in the distant hazy past. Dead weight this body, limp, drained. Mind senseless beyond pain. Assumptions. Like freedom of thought. What a joke. What do they want? They create quilt. Quilt about questioning foundations built on quicksand. This quicksand miring the legs to the waist, sucking, pulling, disjointing the comatose wrists. Oh mind, oh body! Find that concrete footing, that solid rock. Ease the pain, the agony, the torture of this hypocrisy, this illusion of reality built on fleeting ideologies based on brutal myths from bygone rapturous encounters with the divine.

Democracy, that practice or spirit of social equality. A body of individuals living as members of a community in the state or quality of being equal; corresponding in degree, value, rank, stature. But, but we say. We must lock him up because, because... he stole some bread, he ignored traffic regulations, he mooned a cop. He violated our democratic rights, our rights to own property, to drive unhindered by those damnable pedestrians, to subject ourselves to the long arm of the law. Where along the way did we forgo the freedom to unquestionably not work for the man, or to soak our brains in the opioids of enlightenment, or to joke around with the enforcers of well being?

Dead weight pulling, quicksand sucking. Ah yes, I'll have seven billion cheeseburgers, please, one for everyone, you take Visa, yes? I'll be a hero. Lots of love. Lots of full tummies. Lots of compassion. Lots more hanging in the obliterating black fog. Them powers that be. Bill collectors. On steroids.

Seven billion damnable pedestrians.

George thinks

As George sat on his throne, he slowly came to realize that total knowledge was unachievable in this universe. If all the combinations of the letters of our alphabets were written to a length of one hundred pages there would still be more combinations for page 101, and so on to infinity. Our universe could not ever completely elaborate itself.

Was the amount of energy in the universe infinite? The big bang, was it like an atomic bomb with a given amount of energy, or had it simply tapped page 113658 of Gretians Fables to split the matter and anti-matter particles which would then annihilate to give more energy to create new matter and anti-matter particles in an never ending creative process bent on bungling any definitions an intelligent life force could instill on it's surroundings?

George rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Omnipotent God would have to be finite or he could not possibly even understand himself. A finite God quarterbacking an infinite universe. What a pickle. He better watch out for those quarterback sneaks from the incog zone in the unwritten works of Hermann the Hesse.

George arose from his throne and went to the cupboard. This needed a good swig. Were ideas concrete critters whose existence or perchance of existence rendered them incarnate? All these ideas and more ideas, George went and crawled back into bed.

Chopper in the sky, how low can you fly?

May we take an adventure into our futile search for heaven on earth, happily playing frisbee in the park while in the next neighbourhood waging war on crime and anarchistic thoughts? Our present economic system and the values it encourages, and the policing needed to maintain the laws which sanction this, have only encouraged a split in our society between those who who thrive within it's framework and those who do not (or do they?)

Our little adventure is my nightly sojourn after my blessed wife with a touch of dementia is cozied in for the night with her three cats (I'm sure she has nine but then who's to argue) to evanesce away from restlessness into the peace induced by the Golden Girls. So out the door I stumble from our Deathrock Apartments into a world of not so distant gun shots and sirens screaming and the bicycle brigadiers delivering their vile substances with enhooded noggins all over the hood and beyond. Off I wander to my quiet nightingly abandoned semi-industrial side streets to soak in the peace and tranquillity with the local rabbits and the indigenous feline colony. But woe to me, Timmy's caffeine in hand, that damnable helicopter circling, ever circling, blades pounding air, spotlight glitzing relentlessly seeking out the nooks and crannies where the heisters adumbrate.

Rituals. Our human species has accomplished it's lucidity with all these extra brain cells through a reliance on the observance of rites in our daily routines. Possibly a mammalian trait, we once had a hamster who would make her nightly pilgrimage around our house when released from her little cage, to explore the same intriguing smells, the same drawers and cupboards and dressers, and come back to be put in her freshly cleaned home. We waken in the morning to have our ration of coffee, no more and no less else or we don't function, and off we venture to work. It makes little matter what geophysical postulates we decipher, or whose fur we may dander, so long as our routine is unblemished and our self esteem for simply showing up and doing more than our share is maintained.

When these rituals become bombarded with forces beyond our control we rebel. Be it a religious community confronted with outside ideologies, or the teen age initiate unable to obtain that liturgical car which will propel him into adulthood, bad shit happens. So we've put drones in the sky, we've put noisy helicopters in the sky, we've declared war on ourselves, to keep us safe from ourselves.

Heaven on earth. That concept sponsored by our unconscious deceptions of an omnipotent saviour whom we spawn in our own image, and then emulate in our justifications to control the masses, creating utopia for all to enjoy. Or is it really a facade to decry those who object to domination by those who have kept civilizations flourishing for two million years?

We adventure on. These indigenous felines don't know the first thing about frisbee. That chopper wonders why I sit on this company's picnic table. If he gets low enough I'll try to play with him.  I wonder if he'll throw it back?

Justifying our delusions

It is the strategy of the 1% and their shleps not to show weakness. Show a hard veneer and your postulates become immune to ridicule. The more ideological the concept the more virtuous it becomes. The voting public just loves someone if they drool out their talking points, unfettered by the banal arguments insulting to their delusions. Ya, right.

In my little utopian world, yes that post anarchistic heaven with two moons peacefully brightening our sky, all politicians will lovingly articulate all their beliefs and the well thought out reasons for them in a portfolio as an application for the privilege of benevolently representing their constituencies. By the same token, voters will rapturously submit articulated justifications for their nomination whims as the delusion of a secret ballot becomes a myth of the great 20^th century avoidance gentilities.

“So what do 'you' believe?”, you ask. Well, since you ask, I believe we are all illusioned. Within this enchantment, we may conjecture that our brains are not capable of conceiving of a reality if there is such a critter. So we morph on in our nogginal ambiances, electing the sexiest politicians to their posts so we may criticize them relentlessly for their own nogginal ambiances. Please vote for me. My delusions can be yours.

good times, bad rhymes

there was this gal in the neighbourhood

who liked to take her vitamins

her hubby lived on real food

and did not cater to her whims

they kept a chevy in the garage

the window cranked to open wide

so the cat could climb into the fuselage

and nab those mice with feline pride

they'd drive that chevy to the ice cream shack

on saturday nights with smoke white black

that straight old six would sputter them back

from a schmooze in the park enjoying their snack

that wonder bar radio would squawk like a finch

to drown out the clinking from all those plugged lifters

cause this old car was unmarred by a wrench

though the ashtray was emptied to discourage the sifters

the three on the column would often get stuck

so under the hood they would quickly take cover

to wiggle the linkage with a few words like 'uck'

with the irate line up just wanting to shove'er

the rest of the week they both acted all normal

chevy hid from view in the garage with the cat

to work they would go dressing really so formal

this gal and her hubby they knew where it was at

Yet flowers are blooming

Enrapturing our hearts with a feeling of felicity

Like being in love that tranquility which cloaks us

Calm pensiveness almost an euphoria

Surprises us refreshingly as it steals our gloom

Not often it overtakes us but nor does it forsake us

It lingers quite willingly as we carry on

Makes life simply comforting with a greeting for everyone

As we mosey our way through our routine marathon

Makes wonder what justifies our souls to be placid

When legions are waring and grief is abhorring

Yet flowers are blooming and the sunset is grand

Perchance sorrow brings a mildness to those in it's wake

On the GDP and economic text books

As we look deeply into our hearts, we must remorsefully ask our dear Prime Minister to forgive the vast majority of us Canadians for being so belligerent about his unwavering effort to save the world from ecological destruction. He realizes in his wisdom that the only hope mankind can have in saving ourselves from the grips of industrialization and the ensuing and inevitable global warming is to put our faith in the God who revealed himself to the Israelis many generations ago. What else can he do? We must have jobs and grow our GDP otherwise all our economic text books will have to be rewritten, and yet we are going to incinerate ourselves. Our only hope is the promised Messiah of the chosen yet fallen tribes of a beleaguered land on whom our present western world ecclesiastical schisms are based.

As the legends have it, God said to Moses, “Now it shall come to pass, if you diligently obey the voice of the LORD your God, to observe carefully all His commandments which I command you today, that the LORD your God will set you high above all nations of the earth. And all these blessings shall come upon you and overtake you, because you obey the voice of the LORD your God”. The word “if” looms large here. Moses exhorted the nation with choice. The covenant God made with Israel contained three major features: The law, the sacrifice, and the choice. The idea behind the choice is that God was determined to reveal Himself to the world through Israel. He would do this either by making them so blessed that the world would know only God could have blessed them so; or by making them so cursed that only God could have cursed them and cause them to still survive. The choice was up to Israel.

Well, they sort of screwed up. So God fulfilled his promise: “The LORD will cause you to be defeated before your enemies. You shall go out one way against them and flee seven ways before them. And you shall be a horror to all the kingdoms of the earth”. He didn't frig around much either. He dispersed them well into the various kingdoms around the region where they were treated ofttimes with horror. But what bad thing did they do? Well, it seems, according to western world ecclesiasts, that they nailed a perceived terrorist on a cross and are just to stubborn to admit they goofed. But there is hope as God foretold to good old Zechariah, “And I will pour upon the house of David, and upon the inhabitants of Jerusalem, the spirit of grace and of supplications: and they shall look upon me whom they have pierced, and they shall mourn for him as one mourneth for his only son, and shall be in bitterness for him as one that is in bitterness for his first-born. In that day shall there be a great mourning in Jerusalem, as the mourning of IIadadrimmon in the valley of Megiddon”. That day just hasn't breezed in yet.

Herald forth Zionism, that long awaited preamble for the western world's parousiamania. A movement which started in the 19^th century and quickly became the hope of many evangelic westerners. In his sincerely humble approach, our dear Prime Minister has gone out of his way to give our country's unwavering support based on faith and faith alone. The proliferation of a modern Israel, filled with Israelis, readying it for the return of humanity's Messiah and a way out of our environmental responsibilities, is the only reasonable answer to our dilemma. And if that fails, at least we have our foot in the Middle East's doorway to syphon off a bit more of that black gold.

On second thought, I must remorsefully ask our dear Prime Minister if I may take my chances with Elizabeth May instead. I find it rather discomforting to be constantly wearing my cup.

Trailer to world war 2.14159...

The beleaguered greater apes only remaining hominid species still defying extinction have become brilliant in their present endeavours to stake off their territorial boundaries in their elusive search for utopia. Although cannibalism remains a rather mystical deed, the art of crucifying a few of the neighbouring clans females and young ones while maintaining a moral high ground about it all has become a fine science and as long as the schmucks are not eaten but left to be buried with dignity, all is roses.

Tunnelling has become a major stumbling block on a consensus for the path to utopia. For some clans it is the ultimate goal to tunnel everywhere for through darkness and claustrophobia is the spirit released, while for other clans these tunnels pose an immense imposition on the freedom of the spirit. There is increasing evidence that in the sewer tunnels of some of the greater enclaves of these shrewdnesses an almost unique species has evolved who have never seen the light of day, with eyes so white a simple spark will blind them and raw rat meat is the dessert of the gods. It is yet unknown whether they have truly gained utopia in their subterranean paradise as they are extremely illusive but if the drawings they leave on the walls is any hint, they have gained some otherworldly understandings.

Harassment of neighbouring clans has become the all consuming endeavour as actual conquering and occupation of other territories is just too stressful with the moral values involved in exterminating entire populations. With whatever means are handy be it catapulting missiles, insinuating that their exports are non ethical, or spying on their overrated secrets, it has become highly fashionable to irritate anyone and everyone as long as, of course, they do not eat them.

All in all, it is hard to say whether this continuing war is worth witnessing. The parallel universe on channel 3.14159... is quite enthralling and those schmucks have no morals whatsoever to get hung up on.