JESUS HELPS ME TRICK PEOPLE

 

RACE OR TOXIC GENDER?

   When I wrote the blog on the Oscars I had no idea this subject would go much further than blogspot let alone become a trigger flashpoint in today's super-woke sub-culture. Once again a blog that combines the pre-#MeToo era of mutual sexploitation and a day to day journal of hunting conditions (in season) has grabbed the world's attention. For those of you who have day jobs here's the update: the C. Rock v. W. Smith dust-up at the Academy Awards has (to no one's surprise) become a cultural touchstone. Video, that by now has been altered more times than Trump's Russian piss tape, is being poured over by sociologists, cultural anthropologists and anybody with a degree higher than secondary school to get at the REAL reason Smith clocked Rock. Was it because he was a "man" or specifically a "black" man seems to be the discussion. Hmmm? Let's see.

    I come down on the side of his sex, not race, being the problem. Not being a black man I may be dead wrong so I qualify everything I'm saying with I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about. But that never stopped me before. Being a man I can relate to what goes wrong in our brains in times of crisis. When you pick apart the footage Will Smith is going along with the joke. "Oh that Chris." he's thinking  "he's such a........" then he turns and looks at his wife. Jada is not having it. In the time it would take to launch a nuclear bomb. the keys are turned and Will Smith is nothing more than a zombie-like vessel of retribution, a laser focused "smart bomb" about to be unleashed on Jada's (not Will's) enemy. He is helpless to resist. He WILL defend his wife's honor! Here I come you fucker..... 

   I know some of my forward thinking, post-feminist, BIPOC, LGBTQIA+ friends may disagree with my premise and defense of temporary insanity as a justification of violence at the Oscars, but I would argue that it is too little too late. I don't know how many best pictures or best directors deserved, if not a punch in the face, at least a pink belly. Gone With the Wind? Gimme a break. It's right up there with Birth of a Nation. Nevertheless race seems not to play a big part in this example, except for the embarrassing fact that a black man can be viewed as as big an asshole as any white man. These two men have been successful, rich celebrities since the time they were just out of their teens. They don't exactly represent. The triggers are being pulled without thinking. Two uber-rich celebrity capitalists got in a PG-13 No Nudity bit of righteous indignation.  They just happened to be African American. I think we have way bigger racial issues to concentrate on in the real world. Let's move on. The lawyers will take it from here.             

DIE FOR CAPITALISM

 

DIE OLD AND LEAVE A MESS

 Forget dying young and leaving a good looking corpse. When you get to be my age the bag of bones you leave behind (even if I checked out tomorrow) is analogous to the vehicles I've strewn in my wake - plagued with rusting undercarriages, bald tires and burning pistons. I never drove a muscle car (either in reality or metaphorically speaking) but the body I wake up with in the morning has to be sent down the hill and the clutch popped if I want to make it 'til lunch. It's more like a Model A than a Camaro.

     Not to be morbid, but death has been front and center on my mind lately. Everything that lives (even Mother Earth) will die. Humans have seen to that. It's natural. Death is a gift (like birth) something you have absolutely no control over. Of course there are widely varying stretches of time and quality of life in between cradle and grave. From that partial-birth abortion stab in the back of the noggin with a pair of scissors - described so vividly by perverse politicians - to the old fuck that was lucky enough to survive four concentration camps during WWII only to die in Putin's invasion of Ukraine, when your time is up......see ya.

    And with this looming mortality comes a bit of anxiety. Putting aside all the loving relationships I've enjoyed in my 69+ years on the planet, I still have some unfinished business. You see, my career as an artist has not exactly gone as planned. In many ways this has been a great gift. Never having known the success of gallery representation, museum exhibitions, and market acceptance I've had to create my own context as well as content. It's been challenging and a helluva lot of fun. I've also been gifted (cursed?) with a lot to say. I'm prolific, producing thousands of works of art. These include, but are not limited to drawings, collages, paintings, prints, sculptures, songs, conceptual works, non-fiction, columns and blogs. With the invention of the internet much of this work is now available to be viewed online. There is only one catch in my so-called practice as an artist. I'm broke.

     Except for a short period of time in the 80's and a minute post-9/11 I never even tried to make money from my work. I started a church that burns dollar bills fer Christsake. Those two time periods when I dipped my toe in capitalism never produced results either. In fact I failed miserably. I spent money to try to make money and ended up losing money. I was worse off than when I started in any attempt to make money off my art. I learned my lesson....sort of. I'll never spend any of my social security check on an attempt to sell work, but that's not to say I can't be bought. Pay Me Motherfucker!

    Forget being famous. I'm plenty famous. What I want is cash money. In the time I have left I want to get rid of at least some of the body of work I've produced in over fifty years and spend my last years flush. I also don't want to leave the dumpster rentals to Shewho. I want to be a CAPITALIST goddammit! Ok, I admit I have no more idea how to do this than I did fifty years ago. I also recognize that avenues that were open to me as a young up and comer artist are now closed. There's no way I can contact a gallery or museum or even a potential collector on my own. The door won't even open a crack. I'd be lucky not to get the cops called on me. How about behind the scenes? you ask. Way more successful artist friends are also out of the question. Emails remain unanswered. Rich neighbors? Forget it. I've tried. So where does this leave me? I'll tell you: On my couch, WFMU on the box, Cheeky at my side, 222 drawings into the new War Suite, the Virus Suite complete at 1000 drawings, a pre-show trip to S.F. planned for mid-April and my palm itching for some folding money. I'm cranking the shit out so fast you'd think I had a market. In my remaining years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, or seconds I have left I'm putting up the For Sale sign. It's all gotta go. I'm selling out. All we have to do is settle on a price. I can be bought cheap.      

CONTACT

 

#OSCARSTOOVIOLENT?

      I don't watch awards shows. But, last night I wish I had. Between acceptance speeches and lame show biz posturing last night's Academy Awards held a surprise twist. If you watched the morning news you couldn't miss the "bitch-slap" heard 'round the world. In response to Chris Rock's tone-deaf joke referencing his wife Jada Pinkett Smith's lack of hair (due to a alopicia) Will Smith rose from his chair, strode to the stage and clocked Rock with his open hand. Then he stormed back to his seat and screamed "Keep my wife's name out of your fucking mouth!" You could hear a pin drop. Live TV hadn't been so good since Andy Kaufman fucked with Michael Richards on the show Fridays. Google it.

     Words matter. As Biden calls Putin "a butcher" and encourages (unofficially) the Russian people to remove him from power, this is not the moment we need to see two black men fighting on stage at the Oscars. Marring an inclusive love-fest that has a deaf movie CODA winning, a black man hosting (again) and loads of LGBTQIA+ rainbow flag waving, the fistacuffs run the risk of a backward slide into cisgendered white men taking back the podium. Both of these men are about as gangsta as.......well Will Smith and Chris Rock. Yet, the slap looked and sounded real. Nice form and follow through. Hollywood's personal trainers can be proud of their clients. Chris took it on the chin and didn't crumble or tear up. The obscenity screaming afterwards was also a nice touch that put Mr. Rock back on his heels. TKO Smith!

   #Oscarstooblack has already started trending on Donald Trump's Truth Social. At a time when World War III seems right around the corner and piles of Racist Baby are burning in Florida, it's unwise to heat up the rhetoric anymore than we have to guys. Both Hollywood and Biden should chill on the name calling. As for Uncle Joe, the guy has been in the game long enough to realize that his off the cuff remarks do nothing to help Zelenskyy get a sit-down with Putin or stop the bloodshed. And fucking Chris Rock should check twice before he makes fun of some poor bald cancer kid just to get a cheap laugh. As for the Fresh Prince? Sticks and stones motherfucker. But if you are going to clock the guy, clench that fist and put your shoulder into it. There's always next year.       

                      

THE RIGHT SIDE OF MY BRAIN

 Photo: R. Kern

PROTECTION OF THE PUBLIC

   Watching the Ketanji Brown Jackson confirmation hearing for the Supreme Court I wasn't surprised when abortion, crime, terrorism, Guantanamo Bay, child pornography and race came up. The predictably vociferous and pointed questioning of Republican wing nuts like Cruz, Graham and Hawley held no surprises. Cruz focused in on the "horrors" of critical race theory in private school, holding up and waving books like "Racist Baby," while Graham and Hawley brought up Judge Jackson's lenient sentencing practices in child porn cases. Both Republicans seemed way too familiar with the kiddie porn underground. I'd suggest a little more questioning of these two before they can wipe their hard drives clean. What did surprise me was the demonization of the nominee's years as a public defender. I thought that the right to counsel was supposed be a jewel in the crown of the democratic legal system. Hasn't any of these idiots ever had their Miranda rights read to them? I for one have.

    My experience in the American legal system is not extensive, but I have spent a night or two in jail and more than a few evenings in court. The minor offense for which I went to court in 1993 was the possession of a dime bag of pot and six hits of ancient L.S.D. I knew I had the pot on me, but when the Statey pulled out the match box containing the acid I was as surprised as he was. Drugs can sometimes make you forget what's in your pocket.

     Pulled over on the Palisades and taken for booking in Rockland County, the cops were pleasant and had a good sense of humor. They all got a kick out of my age (40+) and tattoos. When I left, after being finger printed and getting my mug shot taken, I asked the arresting officer "Should I worry?" He gave it some thought and told me if the bust had been on the Lower East Side (where I lived) it would be no big deal. "But the judge in this county," he offered "likes to fight the drug war from the bottom up. I'd take it seriously if I were you." Good advice. I called up the public defender's office and was assigned a lawyer at the government's expense.

    It just so happened that I drew from the shallow end of the pool. My PD was a caricature of a "real" lawyer. I assume he had a degree but he showed no evidence of such. He was rumpled, overweight, slovenly and unwilling to do the minimum in defending his client.....me! He also had a secretary that was just as unhelpful and mean as a snake. When I would call his office and ask about my case the woman would never put my call through. When pressed she literally screamed "FUCK YOU!" and hung up. I told my "lawyer" I was willing to plead guilty to the pot charge if they dropped the acid charge. He advised me that I could plead guilty to both. That's the best he could do. "That's not a fucking plea deal!" I calmly informed him "Haven't you ever seen Law and Order?"

    In the end I told the judge that my PD was worthless and I wanted a new lawyer. When hearing the accusation of insufficient counsel the rumpled waste of space turned to the courtroom (two black teenagers and their mothers) and defended his "practice" like he was arguing before the Supreme Court. Why couldn't he be so eloquent in my defense? The judge granted my request, assigning me another PD from the pool. My new public defender cozied up to the DA immediately. They both laughed like I was a big joke and they couldn't wait to get on the links. The PD asked if I was willing to plead guilty to disorderly conduct? No possession? "Fifty hours of community service." he said looking at his watch. Fuck yeah. Guilty your honor! The gavel came down. Even with a horrible lawyer the system worked....for me. For those of you who think critical race theory has no basis in reality, those two black teenagers (arrested on minor vandalism charges for tagging) both got a month in county jail. How's that for color blind justce  with no systemic racism? "Racist Baby" is a little too woke for me, but I get the premise. Ted Cruz who will mention he went to "Harvard" at the drop of a hat would do well to educate himself a little better for the protection of the public.     

          

RUNAWAY SLAVE AD

 

CRAZY RULE OF LAW

      I've been a pot smoker since 1968. If I've heard it once I've heard it a thousand times - "It's against the law!" In the year 2022 recreational marijuana is legal in 18 states (New York included) Guam and Washington, D.C. You'd think capitalism would have kept up and I'd be able to go down to my local Quickie-Mart and get a pack of spleeves. Ha! As a glaucoma sufferer, I start to sweat, shake, go blind and get pissed off at everybody when my script runs low. I'm still forced into the underground blackmarket economy to get my eye medicine. Buyer beware. The rule of law is not keeping up with my healthy addiction.

     Today (between calls to my connects) I'm spending the day drawing and watching Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson's Supreme Court confirmation hearing on TV. Illinois Senator Dick Durbin is chairing the hearing. Over the years I've not only become a confirmed pot head, I've also become a bit of a political and law geek. My self-imposed dive into history highlighted many individuals who worked the levers of power and the law. A few friends and congregants of the CLGM are the progeny of some of these powerful politicians: Jen Durbin, Christina Maloney and the wise and fabulous grandson of Supreme Court Justice William Brennan: Judge Not Lest You be Judged Andy Brennan. I've met Caroline Maloney, had an email exchange with Dick Durbin and Justice William Brennan is dead. Too bad. I would have loved to have met him. Their kids and grandkid endure my fanboy fascination with their moms, pops and gramps. No big deal. 

    If I hadn't become an artist I would have become a lawyer (not a politician). There was a moment in 1972 I actually considered switching majors, but after an especially rough (and high) night I changed my mind. Full disclosure, I also considered joining the Navy and the SF Police Department at various times when I had run out of marijuana. Without the benefit of mind-altering drugs who knows what crazy mistakes I would have made in my choice of careers. So, now I am content to sit in the stands or on the sidelines and watch. I watch court trials, Senate hearings and school board meetings with baited breath. It's my form of sports fanaticism. This so-called "country of laws" is not a rigid construct but a fluid modality, a democratic template that at one point or another legalized Indigenous murder, slavery, suppression of Civil Rights, denial of a woman's right to vote, and possession of marijuana. Anything can happen. Just because it's "against the law" today to go over 55 mph, doesn't mean that speed limit won't change tomorrow. Gas or brake? Your choice. I had no idea how fast I was going. I ran out of pot. I plead insanity your honor. Anybody got a joint to spare?      

THE HEROIC ARM OF EMPIRE

 

I'M BACK

    Nothing like a territorial battle for empire to get the creative juices flowing again. Coming out of a long and dismal winter, a pandemic that just won't go away, and depression creeping around every corner, I've finally hit my manic button during Putin's invasion of Ukraine. War and depression suck for anybody. I'm lucky enough to be safe and sound and blessed with the antithesis of sorrow (for now) - mania. I'm also very lucky to have an outlet for it. Writing (songs, columns and non-fiction), collage, painting, drawing and social sculpture give the Devil's idle hands something to do. Art never made me a penny, but it has kept me relatively sane and provided me with purpose.

   Like Putin, I need territory for my expression. It's the curse of being a prolific artist with no market or exhibition career. Nobody is giving me the clean white box or even dusty shit hole for that matter. In that respect I've always been on my own. I'm not complaining..... oh wait a minute.....Goddamn right I'm complaining! Why is it I'm forced to crank out the crap with no outlet other than my front yard and a dog shit speckled piece of grass in a town that does not exactly love my work? IT'S NOT FAIR I SAY. OK. I'm done complaining.

    Nobody said life was gonna be fair. In the past week I've done 100+ drawings, three social sculptures, a few blogs and continued editing the (F)ancestor catalog. The decision to return to the Social Sculpture Park did not come without much consideration. I know it won't be long before I piss someone off or someone pisses me off. The new work is pointedly political, but leaves enough to individual interpretation that somebody is bound to be offended. An old friend used to say when it came to his girlfriends "If you can't make 'em come, make 'em laugh." I feel the same way about my art work. As another friend was fond of saying, "I take my jokes seriously." I'm sure my days are numbered in Mountain dale. It's the nature of the beast. I'll try to enjoy it while I can. Lighten up.          

       

PUSSY RIOT

 Photo: Marianna Rothen

IT'S 9:00 AM - Do you know where your children are?

     I only have an "unofficial" step daughter and a few God children. I have no idea where any of them are. I'm assuming they are all safe, happy and well-fed. Whenever I reach out with an email I never get a response. "Kids" these days don't use email. I might as well send up a smoke signal or beat on a hollow log for all the good it does. I guess no news is good news. But what about the children of Syria, Yemen, DR Congo, Somalia and Ukraine?

    At 9:00 am, to a standing ovation and the rapturous applause of the U.S. Congress, in a speech that will be known as the I Have a Need speech, Ukrainian President Zelenskyy tugged at the American heartstrings with a plea for more American support in the form of military hardware, Russian sanctions and a repetition of the desire for a no-fly-zone over the skies of Ukraine. Referencing what must have been a South Dakota secondary school's American history book, he mentioned, Pearl Harbor, 911, MLK's "I have a dream" speech and Mount Rushmore. I think we can forgive a Ukrainian leader who is trying to get a little reach around from Congress, with not knowing the shameful Indigenous backstory of Rushmore or the fact that for many black Americans the "dream" is an ongoing nightmare. Slava Ukraini!  

     Accompanying Zelenskyy's speech was a slickly produced and highly effective, screen grab video of the past three weeks of Russian inflicted carnage, highlighting bombing, bloodshed, dead bodies tossed in mass graves and the anguished cries of children. Now this is how a war should be covered! All cynicism aside, what these recent videos have shown through the uncensored, open access of media to the battlefield is the horrific toll that normal families endure when politicians, diplomats, oligarchs, moguls and despots decide to face off on the world stage. The fact that these tiny victims are white and middle class seems to carry an inordinate amount of weight with corporate media outlets. It's become a sadly predictable refrain to hear "They look like us." No matter. Repeat this paradigm globally in reportage and maybe things will change. Who's supplying the Saudis and the UAE with lethal weaponry in their proxy war in Yemen? Any guesses?   

     The powerful (mostly white men) arrive at "talks" daily. Except for the olive drab Ukrainians they are all dressed in $5000 suits, riding in Mercedes limos followed by gun-toting, ear-piece wearing security details pouring out of armored SUVs with blacked-out windows. At least they seem safe. Will today be the day they make progress? It's anybody's guess. In the meantime children die. Children die in Afghanistan. Children die in Iraq. Children die in Yemen. Children die in South Dakota, unable to get decent healthcare in the shadow of a Mount Rushmore fireworks display. Anyone with an internet connection can read this - even in Ukraine. It's 11:00 am. Do you know where your children are?    

THE CRIME OF WAR SERIES- #55

 

DRAW ME

      Drawing was my entree into being an artist. I wasn't a prodigy, but I was good enough to get my drawings on the refrigerator and receive plenty of accolades from my teachers. "Oh, that's very nice Michael. Is that a dog?" Then, one day in fourth grade somebody (I think it was my father) took issue with one of my sketches. As I remember it was a battle field scene between wild stick figure Indians and stoic cowboys. The Indians were galloping, attacking across the page on scrawny pencil line horses. In an inspirational gesture I added tiny "poop" dashes emitting from the rears of the Indians' horses. I thought it was brilliantly funny. The old man frowned and pointed out that I had "ruined" a perfectly good drawing. "You are better than that." That wasn't the reaction I was expecting.

    I continued drawing, graduating to painting. My first paintings were small canvas board compositions of wildlife. My technique was Testors car paint applied with cue tips. They were crude primitives with little regard for depth or scale, but the subliminal effects of the paint left me craving more and more time in the basement with my box of cue tips and glitter pink paint bottles. I was going to be an artist. I just knew it.

    By the time I graduated from college in 1977 I had stopped drawing all together. Gravitating towards the more challenging world of video, performance, conceptualism and social sculpture, I didn't know what to draw anymore. Painting and drawing seemed limited and driven by talent and ambitions that I didn't have enough of. When I moved back to New York and opened a gallery as a conceptual art work in the East Village I found myself surrounded by paintings and drawings. My early chops kicked in and I invented a fictitious artist (Kristan Kohl) who drew and painted. Then I exhibited "her" work at my gallery. It was like the critics had listened to my father. "Kohl's paintings seem comments on modes that have already been commented on to death." wrote Vivian Raynor in the NYTimes. Nobody got the joke.

    It would take years before I was confident enough to paint, draw and exhibit under my own name. By then I was an old man. I still wasn't that talented, but the Punk Rock years had taught me that talent really wasn't that necessary in the art endeavor. The key was (like singing and guitar playing) to produce, use the "blues" of "Jazz" model and riff. As long as you did it, you were ahead of the game.

     For the past ten years I've drawn plenty. The series come in fits and starts. When I'm in the zone I can crank out the product. The performative element that allows me to indulge in the process and not worry about "what" I am drawing is liberating. During the early days of the pandemic I embarked on a series I called the Virus Suite. The drawing process got me off the pathological need to check the news every five minutes and freed me from the media's grasp. I turned up the music and drew. Sometimes I would close my eyes and put brush to paper. The series ended a year later with 1000 drawings. 

   A few days ago I started a new drawing series called The Crime of War. The war in Ukraine vibe is identical to that of the pandemic. One feels that if CNN isn't clicked on every twenty minutes you may miss something. It's exhausting. Drawing has become my refuge. Like the virus, war is now clawing at my sub-conscience, and unavoidably spills onto the page. In the end, like all art, you only draw one thing. You draw you. I draw me.       

         

VLADIMIR PUTIN

 

THE "FOLLY" OF KIN

 "They're our next-door neighbors, and you can actually see Russia from land here in Alaska, from an island in Alaska." - Sarah Palin

   Anybody will tell you, I've been obsessed with my family genealogy for quite a few years now. As interesting as the notorious, Indian killing, slave "owning," murderous Osterhouts are, it's mom's Jennings side I want to talk about. The most famous of our Jennings ancestors was Abraham Lincoln's Secretary of State, the patent lawyer, politician and land agent William H. Seward; known to family and friends as "Henry."

     My introduction to this famous nineteenth century statesman was the fact that he was home from college for Christmas vacation on the winter solstice December 21, 1818 - the day his mother's brother, Richard Jennings, was murdered. It's a long story that has fascinated me for years. Five people: three white men, a white woman and a black man were arrested and tried for the murder. Two would hang. Guess which two. Within hours of the black man, Jack Hodges, fleeing town, Henry Seward also disappeared from his family and college studies without telling anyone why or where he was going. Was this connected to his uncle's murder? I'm still trying to figure that out. But, this is not what I want to discuss here. I want to talk about Henry's real estate deals.

    As we watch Russian troops lob bombs on apartment buildings and march across Ukraine in real time, my thoughts turn to Alaska.

From Wikipedia:   

    Seward had been interested in whaling as a senator; his interest in Russian America was a byproduct of this. In his speech prior to the 1860 convention, he predicted the territory would become part of the U.S., and when he learned in 1864 that it might be for sale, he pressed the Russians for negotiations. Russian minister Baron Eduard de Stoeckl recommended the sale. The territory was a money loser, and the Russian-American Company itself allowed its charter to expire in 1861. Russia could use the money more efficiently for its expansion in Siberia or Central Asia. Keeping it ran the risk of it being captured in war by the British, or overrun by American settlers. Stoeckl was given the authority to make the sale and when he returned in March 1867, negotiated with the Secretary of State. Seward initially offered $5 million; the two men settled on $7 million and on March 15, Seward presented a draft treaty to the Cabinet. Stoeckl's superiors raised several concerns; to induce him to waive them, the final purchase price was increased to $7.2 million. The treaty was signed in the early morning of March 30, 1867, and ratified by the Senate on April 10. Stevens sent the secretary a note of congratulations, predicting that the Alaska Purchase would be seen as one of Seward's greatest accomplishments.

    As almost everyone knows, the purchase of Alaska was not initially seen as Seward's "greatest accomplishment." Far from it. Known as "Seward's Folly," it would take years for U.S. politicians (and the general public) to realize the crucial geopolitical significance of the sale, and Seward's genius as an imperialist land baron. Putting aside the fact that the Indigenous First Nations who had resided on the frozen land mass for thousands of years were never considered nor remunerated in the sale (Seward was what I would call an extinctionist), the purchase was crucial for the National defense of the U.S.A., not to mention Canada. 

    For the price of a small apartment secured for a Russian oligarch's daughter on the upper east side of Manhattan in 2022, Henry Seward closed the deal (without bloodshed) on a land mass that is only eclipsed by the Louisiana Purchase.  The man had his failings and may have even known way more than he was willing to say about Uncle Dick Jennings' murder, but you can't deny his visionary genius in real estate transactions. Thanks for Alaska. Putin must be kicking himself that he doesn't have a time machine. A tip-o-the-hat to cousin Henry! We hardly knew ye.         

PEACE BEAR (winter phase)

 Photo: Sara Budde

PEACE BEAR

 

I KNOW THAT BEAR

  First a little history lesson from Professor Chuckles McCormick: "you know the bear was never really the symbol of russia (at the moment it is a two-headed eagle) but has come to represent russia for much of the past five centuries in what we can only call now "fake news," stuff like ivan the terrible being fond of using bears for executions, but it's even more convoluted than that...the national symbol of the ukraine is a nightingale if you got a stuffed one of those. the nightingale is also the harbinger of spring, so we could all use hearing its sweet sounds about now."   

      I didn't know any of that, but Goddamn if I'd let Chuck know. So I responded: The bird seed between the bear's legs is added to bring in the nightingale, Professor. Nothing between my legs works as bait anymore. Tomorrow that bear will be covered in snow. 

     It's 8 am and the snow has just started to fall.  7 to 12 inches is predicted. A foot of snow is not uncommon this time of year in these hills. March is the cruelest month. I woke up to a flock of robins in the front yard. Now they are all gone. Back to winter. 

    It's been a long, cold, winter and all we can hope for is that this is the last gasp. Yesterday I installed a new piece in the Mountain dale Social Sculpture Park. It had been a while since I'd pulled my work out of the park and felt inspired enough to put a new piece back in. The work I chose was one that I had had around for years and felt was relevant in today's war time climate. It has a good story attached.

   About seven years ago I was just starting to fully explore the possibilities of "public" art on my lawn. Always on the look out for material with which to make assemblage sculptures that could withstand the elements, I had spotted an old, tattered bear mount leaning against a garage just outside of Mountain dale. I stopped a couple of times but nobody was ever home. So I forgot about the bear. Then, one day I was at the dump and a pick up pulled next to me to unload its garbage. Riding in the bed was an old bear mount. As the man prepared to dump the bruin onto the garbage pile I asked him where he lived? He told me "Just above Mountain dale." It was that bear. I told him I'd had my eye on the bear for some time and wondered if he'd give it to me? "Sure," he said "I was going to drop it off at The Church of the Little Green Man but I'm running late, so I just brought him here." I looked closer at the man to determine if I knew him. I didn't. "Do you know who I am?" I asked him. He shook his head, curious why I would ask. "I live at the Church." He looked shocked. "NO SHIT!" We both grabbed the bear and put him in my truck. "I guess you were meant to have him." he said patting the rotting fur. "Goodbye old buddy. Happy trails." Now that bear is back in his old stomping ground. More work to come. PEACE.      

IMAGINE PEACE by Yoko Ono

 

SOCIAL MEDIA DEATH CULT

 "As a result of the Russian invasion of Ukraine we have temporarily made allowances for forms of political expression that would normally violate our rules like violent speech such as 'death to the Russian invaders.' We still won't allow credible calls for violence against Russian civilians," a Meta spokesperson said in a statement.

    I've always had a love/hate relationship with social media. I love it because of its obvious power to democratize communication and allow anyone with an internet connection to become not merely a receiver, but a transmitter. Coming of age as an artist in the 1970's, this was a distant dream for us TV addicts. But, this freedom came with a psychological dark side. Simple terms like"friend," "follower" and the seemingly innocent "like," all carry unbelievable power when attached to a fb or insta account. If not recognized and controlled they can control you. The other thing that drove me nuts was powerful algorithm that could recognize and flag a nipple across international borders. Multiple warnings and temporary bans for nipple usage ended in my permanent removal from the platform. Serial killers, Nazis and white supremacists can still buy a used car on fb marketplace. Not the convicted nipple fiend.

    The statement at the top of the page made the news yesterday and barely raised a ripple of notice. But, it got my attention. I couldn't believe the tone deaf narcissism, the clueless arrogance of one of the richest, most powerful corporations in the world. To "temporarily" remove hate-speech and "calls for violence" guardrails smacks of something that Trump would do. In fact, they might as well let Trump back on the platform and allow him to spew his vitriol temporarily. The thin noodle of qualification sparing "Russian civilians" from facebook death threats is laughable. These Russian soldiers (some conscripts) are kids, brainwashed (just like U.S. soldiers) into believing their cause is just. Do they deserve this hatred sent their way? How can these mega-rich capitalists sleep at night? The power they have over the youth is omniscient. They could have sent a message of peace, love not hate to their users but chose to incite. Instead, they wallow in their most base instincts, spreading more violence. Their masks have come off revealing the beasts that they are. Do not be drawn in! First they came for the nipples.....           

LOWER CASE BODY COUNT

 

MADE FOR T.V. WAR

      Not since the sixties have we had a war broadcast "truthfully" on the evening news. After Vietnam the powers that be realized that a relentless loop of flag draped coffins, black body bags and scruffy teenagers "shotgunning" billowing clouds of weed, between dropping napalm on thatch roof villages was not good for the ongoing business of death. Truth births protest. Combine that with the criminality of government (Nixon) and the Vietnam War became untenable. For those who weren't there - we lost. All other U.S. conflicts since, (Granada, Panama, Iraq, Afghanistan and a myriad of minor engagements across the globe) have been "covered" by embedded media, restricted to access and reigned in by government censors. We only saw what they wanted us to see. Yemen, Syria, Somalia, DR Congo and uncountable regional conflicts followed the same paradigm. Nothing to see here. How's your cholesterol and leaf clogged gutters?

     Now that Putin's imperialistic empire has violated the territorial integrity of a sovereign nation the forces of good and evil can easily be compartmentalized and portrayed in simplistic terms of white hats vs. black hats. We are only two weeks in and cries of "war crimes" and "genocide" on the part of the Russians echo across the CNN newsroom. Easy does it Wolf. A recent edit of the transcript of U.S. Ambassador to the U.N. Linda Thomas-Greenfield, removing her indictments of Russia's use of cluster bombs says it all. As the fat cats behind the scenes had to remind her, "We use them all the time. You can't say that." To any clear thinking person WAR is a crime. So parsing out specifically egregious atrocities like bombing maternity hospitals as "crimes," hoping for some redress from International judicial bodies like the ICC seems to be an exercise in futility. Genocide? Give me a break.            

gen·o·cide

/ˈjenəˌsīd/

Learn to pronounce

noun

1. the deliberate killing of a large number of people from a particular nation or ethnic group with the aim of destroying that nation or group

   "a campaign of genocide"

  As horrific as all of this is, it is not genocide. Christian Euro-Americans perpetrated genocide on Indigenous Americans in the western hemisphere from 1492- ?. Germans, with the help of Christian Eastern Europeans (Ukrainians included) perpetrated genocide on the Jewish people during WWII. The attempted extermination of the Armenians was a genocide. Rwanda was a genocide. To so cavalierly use the term in this context minimizes historical suffering under truly genocidal campaigns.

     So the Ukrainian war goes on - on T.V., on social media, on CNN, FOX, Al Jazeera and DW (Germany). The coverage seems unfiltered, but this too may be an illusion. False flags and accusations of "fake news" are rampant. Press is 24/7. We think we are getting the full story, but I'm sure we aren't. Enjoy your delusions while you can. If NATO gets involved the truth will be the first casualty. That much we've learned and come to expect from the good old U.S.A. How's your lawnmower? Spring is right around the corner.       

GOD LOVES DYKES

 

FUCKIN' A!

       As the Florida legislature passes the "Don't Say Gay" bill let's take a break from the war and re-examine what the proper terms are these days for racial and sexual assignations. Try to keep up. The last I looked non-white people in America are called BIPOC (black, Indigenous, person of color) or AAPI (Asian American Pacific Islander). There may be more subtle subdivisions I'm not aware of. As for so-called "gay" people "they" are called LGBTQ+ or so I thought. Then I heard that the letter "I" had been added. So I Googled it. I thought maybe it stood for "independent." It didn't. "I" stands for "intersex." 

What is intersex?

    Intersex is a general term used for a variety of conditions in which a person is born with a reproductive or sexual anatomy that doesn’t seem to fit the typical definitions of female or male. For example, a person might be born appearing to be female on the outside, but having mostly male-typical anatomy on the inside. Or a person may be born with genitals that seem to be in-between the usual male and female types—for example, a girl may be born with a noticeably large clitoris, or lacking a vaginal opening, or a boy may be born with a notably small penis, or with a scrotum that is divided so that it has formed more like labia. Or a person may be born with mosaic genetics, so that some of her cells have XX chromosomes and some of them have XY.

    To my surprise another letter had been added without my knowledge. As I am scheduled to fly to San Francisco in April, I need to be up on all these terms. Not knowing the language on the West Coast can put you in deep shit with the locals. The proper term (as of today) is LGBTQIA+. To my delight the "A" stands for ally. Finally I have a letter! 

     Since I was a teenager with a few scraggly pubes on my balls I knew I liked girls and also liked and was fascinated by gay people. I had a great English teacher and a neighbor who grew pot, both of whom I assumed were gay. They were the coolest of my older friends. When I moved to SF in my twenties my horizons and choice of friends widened. I met plenty of gay people. Switching teams never entered my mind, but gay clubs and the overall gay scene was always preferable to any scene that was not welcoming of LGBTQIA+ people. I wasn't an advocate, but was definitely an ally. Whoever decides theses things I want to say thank you! I'll always be an old, cisgendered white man of Dutch and English ancestry. I can't change that. But I consider myself an ally for civil and sexual rights across the board. Changing race isn't exactly an option, but any of my friends who want to change sexual preferences or even sex, I have no problem with that. As long as you don't owe me money, I'll still love you without question.  You may not be able to say "gay" if you teach elementary school in Florida, but I don't think they can stop you from being an ally and teaching those tykes about inclusiveness and love. LGBTQIA+ rules. Fuck you De Santis, you creepy little troll! You are a disgrace. Fuckin' A!       

AEROFLOT STEWARDESSES

 

COME FLY WITH ME

     As the war in Ukraine blasts into its second week you have to wonder how and when will this end. It's just like that goddamned pandemic. Since the those first reports of a strange virus being detected in the wet markets of Wuhan, China in January 2020 the Twenties have been a fucked up mess. Time has taken on this bizarre elasticity - sometimes stretched out in the sun - other times coiled up like a pissed-off rattlesnake. I went to re-up my thyroid medicine the other day and got into an argument with my very nice pharmacist because I thought I had plenty of time left on my script. It had already been a year. I had to apologize for my irate outburst. Where is the time going? Is it just because I'm old and only have a limited amount of it left that I feel this slippage in the space/time continuum, or does everybody feel it? And now that macho, little bantam rooster's asshole, Putin, is threatening to plunge the world into WWIII. This is not what I had in mind for my golden years in the Scoring Twenties.

    I thought the development of the Covid-19 vaccine, Trump in exile in Florida, a quashed insurrection,  and the supply chain once again putting my favorite cheddar and sour cream potato chips on the shelves portended good times ahead - the mojo back in our groove and a steady line on Ecstasy. War in Europe wasn't even in my top ten things that could go wrong. Now whitetail deer have Covid and itchy trigger fingers are hovering over red buttons all over the world. Christ almighty! Have we learned nothing as a species? I'm sorry I don't mean to get so worked up. Like the pharmacist told me. "Calm down sir. We'll have this all straightened out in no time."

    What would Gandhi and cousin Mildred do? When faced with nuclear annihilation a true pacifist or anti-war activist would call for everyone to put down their arms and settle their differences through discussion and diplomacy  - vodka not violence. But, as we all know, calling for something doesn't make it a reality. I look at pacifism as an ideological aspiration that few can attain. It's like being against capital punishment. In theory I deplore the idea of the state taking a criminal's life. But, I also realize that if one of my loved ones was a victim of a murderer I may feel differently. I would never grab my gun and fly to Ukraine (like many vets are doing) but I wouldn't hesitate to protect my own property, with lethal force if necessary. This is the dilemma between ideology and action. This is also, I'm sorry to say, a deplorable example of isolationism, an illustration of Martin Niemoller's "First they came for......."  

   I have no answers. In 1939 nobody in Europe (except Hitler) wanted another world war. Because of this reticence to be drawn into conflict on the continent, from September 1939 to June 1940 all of Europe, but Great Britain, fell to Germany. Then the Soviet Union, Italy, Japan and finally the U. S, joined in the expanding war. This may happen again. It may be unavoidable. Get ready. It's not like nuclear war hasn't been tried before. Memories are short and time is of the essence.       

        

            

MILDRED OSTERHOUT (seated far right)

 

PEACENIKS PAST

    In 1931 Mahatma Gandhi traveled to London to attend the Second Round Table Conference on the implementation of the Indian constitution and the county's future under British colonial rule. As Hitler came to power in Germany and Mussolini's black shirt fascists controlled Italy, the talks faltered and failed. But Gandhi's refusal to stay in a four star hotel, instead residing in a small rooftop room at London's East End Kingsley Hall captured the public's attention and he extended his stay. At the invitation of rich girls turned socialists Muriel and Doris Lester, Gandhi took up residence at the Kingsley Hall community center from September 12 to December 5,1931. Who prepared his simple vegetarian meals while he was at Kingsley Hall? Mildred Osterhout.

     Canadian socialist Mildred Osterhout had met Muriel Lester while attending graduate school at Bryn Mawr in Philly and accepted an invitation to come to London and volunteer at Kingsley Hall. She had no idea that Gandhi would be staying there or that she would have such intimate access to the man. As World War II brewed Gandhi's position was clear. He opposed India's participation in any conflict on the side of Britain as the imperialists continued to maintain political control over the Indian people. 2.5 million Indians ignored Gandhi's call to anti-war nonviolence and joined the British army during WWII. When confronted with the unfolding Holocaust Gandhi suggested that the Jews lie down and refuse to move. The German and Ukrainian death squads had the same instructions as they machine gunned their victims. Gandhi's tone-deaf attitude towards the Jewish genocide never gained much traction or purchase in the world press.

    Mildred Osterhout's life would never be the same after meeting Gandhi. As difficult as it is to oppose ALL war and maintain a philosophy of complete non-violence today, imagine being a Canadian woman voicing anti-war dogma in 1931. When Gandhi went back to India after his London visit, Mildred followed as a devoted acolyte. She would repeatedly profess her love and devotion to Bapu and plead with him to give her greater responsibilities in the global struggle for peace. Gandhi was consistently dismissive, flattering Mildred with the sexist, "You are quite a good little dish washer."

     Despite Mildred's inability to get Gandhi to direct her path through life, her devotion to the peace movement and later participation in the Civil Rights Era never wavered.  She met all the giants of the Civil Rights movement and traveled to Montgomery, Alabama with Bayard Rustin in 1956 to meet Martin Luther King, Jr. and participate in the bus boycott. Born in 1900, Mildred lived to be 92-years-old. She not only protested World War II, but every violent conflict since. In 1991 the elder pacifist was awarded the Vancouver Peace Award. Her legacy as a staunch advocate for peace through non-violence is unchallenged and one of the rarest commodities to come across in the twenty-first century. How would Mildred and Gandhi respond to Putin's invasion of Ukraine? I think we can be assured that their positions wouldn't have changed. PEACE MUST PREVAIL.      

       

      

A SAFE PLACE- Apr. 2-9, 2022- 1 guest Sluzby Polsce 2 50, Warszawa, mazowiecke Poland

 

SLAVA URANUS

     In the words of President Biden, "Putin may circle Kyiv with tanks, but he'll never gain the hearts and souls of the Uranian people." Right on, Uncle Joe. Yesterday I purchased gas at $4.16 per gallon. I hope the Uranians read this blog and appreciate my efforts in a time of war. I'm doing my bit. And these prices are just the normal cost of business in the UFP when you hint that gas prices "may go up" due to conflict. That hypothetical is immediately translated as a green light for every oil company in the universe to raise prices, gouging the consumer "just in case." Intergalactic councils have been meeting daily, threatening more and even harsher sanctions on enemy oligarch's spacecraft, denying access to imported sex workers and threatening to cut off the supply chain of viagra to Rainbovian space stations. This has been a week for the history books.

     There has been a perverse sense of voyeurism, as we helplessly watch the territorial integrity of Uranus be repeatedly violated by Rainbovia's army. As President Zelensky pleads for a no-fly zone to be instituted by the UFP (United Federation of Planets), bombs continue to rain down on innocent Uranians. Everyone is aware that if the UFP is drawn into a conflict with Rainbovia it could start World War LVII. And nobody wants that. After experiencing fifty-six World Wars (and Super Bowls), humanoids are exhausted. So we wait, twiddling our webbed toes.

    If I wasn't so old, weak and cowardly I'd be booking a flight for Uranus right now. So, instead of packing my ray gun I'm booking an AirBnB on Planet Warszawa under the name of Vladimir Putin with no plans of showing up. This way any refugee (first come first serve) fleeing the conflict zone can have a bowl of borsht and a warm, safe place to lay their head.* It's the least an audience member can do as this tragedy unfolds in real time. I feel guilty for watching but just can't turn away. Slava Uranus! Long live the Uranian people.

*Bedding, towels, mini-bar and ammunition extra. Firewood at a nominal fee. Not responsible for lost pets or children.           

OUR HERO

 

DEPARTMENT OF WITCHCRAFT

   As the Connecticut tourists were deloused and fitted with "Trump Forever!" T-shirts and head lamps, the eldest daughter (after explaining her Trump franchise beauty queen credentials) was allowed to shed her pirate costume and refit herself at the official USR Victoria Secret Shoppe. G-string or thong? Bullet proof teddy? Machine gun bra?  Pink or purple wings? After months in pantaloons and head scarfs she felt pretty again. Once geared up and issued her "BQ" credentials she asked for directions to the Pink House. "Go out the front gate," instructed a small man in full Donald Duck drag, "turn right at the Marjorie Taylor Green sewer plant. You'll smell it before you see it. Continue down Q-Way, past the Matt Goetz Memorial giant turd, cross the moat..... Don't mind the gators and snakes. Bow at the door marked Department of Witchcraft, flap your wings and the guards will direct you to the anal cavity search room. You may be lucky enough to meet our fearless leader there. Czar Trump likes to be hands on."

     Ever since she was a teenager it had always been her dream to meet the ex-President. But now, as she listened to the leering duck give her directions, she wasn't so sure. She had left her family without protection. They had been assigned to the Magic Kingdom Nuclear reactor and she was concerned that her father would not be able to convince the authorities that they were loyal Republicans. Her head was swimming. As she bowed and flapped her wings at the large iron doors of the DWC a small man in a lawn jockey uniform cranked open the massive door. She immediately recognized him (even in black face). It was Ron DeSantis. "Yes. Can I help you?" the ex-governor asked. "Heil Trump!" "Heil Trump." she muttered. She was learning.

     After some explanation and a quick listing of her measurements the man who dared to challenge Trump and was now his "man-servant" asked "If you were God for a day, how would you change the world?" She had this. "I personally believe that all U.S. Americans..." DeSantis frowned "...I mean Russians... such as they are.....with our education system.....prepares many young girls and others......therefore, as good citizens never to allow babies to be killed by abortion and...." DeSantis waved his tiny hand cutting her off. "That's fine. Come in. Take a seat. The Czar will be right with you." Then he placed a bouquet of flowers in her arms, a tiara on her head and clattered away on what looked to be cloven hoofs.

    Sitting was impossible in her wings, so she just stood there, looking around. The walls were covered with Trumpisms: Be Biggly, Bleach is Truth, You Suck, Putin Rules and the classic Grab 'em by the pussy! For the first time the beauty queen began to question her life of pageantry and privilege. She could hear whimpering coming from a room marked with a giant "A." Then what the duck had said about the visitor search process came back to her. "Ouchie!" a female voice cried. A greasy orange glow crept from under the door bathing the floor. Instead of bullets her bra had been loaded with poison gas. The shop girl had told her never to release it as it would mean certain death to her and anyone within 100 yards. Maybe this is what God had planned for her all along. She fingered the trigger strap. She could save humanity. Was this not what every beauty queen was taught from birth? She could die for a greater cause...... and look great in the process. Suddenly the door swung open and Kevin McCarthy stepped out. He was a bit hard to understand with that ball in his mouth, but she eventually understood. "The Czar will see you now." She knew what she had to do. "Da" she said.        

                        

FUTURE DEMOBOT

 

THE END OF THE RIDE

 Once upon a time in the not too distant future. 

     After the wars in Europe and the Second Insurrection on January 6, 2023 a family from the suburbs of Connecticut happened to be visiting Florida when the bombs were dropped. Deep in the bowels of the Disneyland theme park, the family was alive, but trapped on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. Drinking from the ride's canal, surviving on popcorn and discarded cotton candy, removing the clothing from the automatons and dressing as pirates it would be months before the northern tourists emerged from their carnival ride tomb. They were not prepared for what they would find.

    The penis of the United States, now known as Floridaski and its capital Trumpengrad (formerly Mara Lago) was the seat of power for the entire Western hemisphere. The ordinance that fell of the U.S. was the newly developed Democratic Neutron bomb. Because of a chip that was implanted in the Covid-19 vaccine the death ray could zero in on anyone who voted for the Democratic Party, sparing Republicans, Q-Anon followers and the unvaccinated. No buildings or infrastructure were damaged. As it turned out the family was never really trapped, but when Goofy (who had voted for Biden) dropped dead in the gondola they panicked, ran (and swam) for their lives and got lost in the cavern. Being from the suburbs they had no sense of direction. Once the batteries in their cell phones went dead they were helpless.     

      In the months that they were lost underground the political landscape had radically changed in the U.S. Eventually they found an exit door. As the family stood squinting in the Floridaski sun, their limp hat plumes, eye patches and plastic swords dangling obscenely at their sides, a crowd of overweight white people in shorts, Mickey Mouse hats and Hawaiian shirts, all carrying AK-47s, stared back. Mumbling about how Disneyland sure ain't what it used to be, the crowd pressed their tickets into the hands of the ragged pirate family and got on the ride. A new Goofy snapped to attention and saluted the sweaty crowd barking "HEIL TRUMP!" The crowd enthusiastically responded. "HEIL TRUMP!"

    The Connecticut pirates slowly made their way to the information booth, but before they could talk to anyone a large jack-booted Mickey Mouse stepped in their path. "Where the fuck do you think you pirates are going?" the mouse demanded. The father (who had voted Republican) smiled compliantly and explained that he and his family just wanted a room and a bath, that they were a loyal Disney family and....."ENOUGH!" the mouse screamed cracking the pirate across the face with his whip. "Get back on the ride. You know the rules. No pirates above ground." Then the shocked family looked around and realized that all the glassy-eyed custodians, snack bar workers and ticket collectors wore a giant "D" and went about their tasks like beaten down zombies. It turned out that what Democrats weren't killed outright were enslaved as minimum wage workers with no healthcare or social security. It was impossible to tell the Democrats from the pirate automatons. What was the family to do? Then the oldest of the two daughters spoke up. She was an ex-beauty queen who had once been groped by the former President and present Czar of U. S. R. (United States of Russia).  "Maybe I can talk to Mr. Trump, Daddy. He'll help us." It's worth a try thought the father. If only his daughter could get in the Pink House, she could straighten it all out. To be continued.....          

             

HUGO BOSS

 

THE FOG OF HYPOCRISY

    As news outlets like FOX and CNN trot out their armchair generals like that old duffer Barry McCaffrey, bemoaning Russia's tactical restraint with statements like "This isn't exactly shock and awe..." and almost every pundit explains his or her lack of hard information on the "fog of war" I'd like to give this so-called "Russian invasion of Europe" a little wider lens of historical perspective. We have to go back a bit farther than 2014.

1609-1622- After years of land expropriation and systematic attempts at extermination of Native tribes, the Powhatan people attacked the English settler colony at Jamestown, Virginia on March 22, 1622, killing 347 white settlers. So began the American Indian Wars that never really ended.   

    In the ensuing centuries the Dutch and English armies and corporate entities like Hudson Bay Company and Dutch (East and West) Indies invaded North America and the African continent. The Slave Triangle between Africa, the Caribbean and North America was established and thrived. As time went on revolutions in North America, France and Russia redrew the geopolitical map. Slavery continued unchallenged until Civil War "officially" ended the practice in the U.S., replacing it with "rule of law" racism that continues to the present day. Steam and fossil fuel industrialization of farm and manufacture equipment and the invention of the revolver revolutionized agriculture and birthed mechanized warfare spawning global warming and climate change, setting the stage for two world wars with more efficient ways of conducting battlefronts and genocide. The invention of the second chance occurred simultaneous to the second shot. World War I introduced the machine gun, poison gas and death from the air. Welcome to the Twentieth Century. 

    This brings us to Kristallnacht on November 9, 1938, the beginning of the Holocaust, an ideological second front of World War II, not unlike the attempted extermination of Native North American nation states that had begun in 1609 on the Virginia Company's plantation at Jamestown. Any of the many documentaries and historical treatises on the Holocaust like Shoah spread the guilt for the genocide of the Jewish people quite evenly not only on Germany, but throughout Eastern and Western Europe, as well as Russia and the Soviet Union. When Putin talks of the "de-Nazification" of Ukraine he is not pulling this out of thin air. When Germany invaded Eastern Europe on its way to Moscow with its Einsatzgruppen death squads, specifically tasked with killing "bolsheviks" (Jews), the rightwing, nationalist Ukrainians, Poles, Latvians, Romanians, etc. were more than willing to join in the ethnic cleansing and ensuing genocide on the side of Germany. Ukrainian collaborators - riflemen and concentration camp guards - actively participated in the annihilation of the Jewish people during the Holocaust. Nobody argues that fact. 

   To deny that right wing "Nazi" elements exist in Ukraine today and point to President Zelensky as being Jewish as proof of its innocence is a little like denying the existence of racism in the U.S. just because Obama was once President. This is in no way a justification of Putin's hegemonic, belligerent lunacy in invading Ukraine, nor to label Zelensky's government "Nazi." There is no proof of that. It just gives context to Putin's propaganda. Europe and Russia (and the U.S.) have to face their separate histories of horror with clear eyes. One would do well to read all the laughably codified "treaties" the Euro-Americans signed with First Nations as we stole the North American continent. Almost every one started with a short, poetic, introductory statement by the Indigenous orators: "Open your eyes, clear throats, remove stones from ears and clear the path from briars...." Only then will history's crimes be revealed and the fog of hypocrisy maybe lift.