Muses, Mythology

Alexander’s Conundrum


Alexander seeks the Hellenic wisdom of the philosophers and the Gods. He is not a haughty King and he does not fear the advice of his betters, mortal and immortal. He inquires as to how to be a warrior worthy of respect and love

Alexander: What is required of a mans spirit if he is to become a successful man of war?

Aristotle: In his spirit he must seek the kindness inherent in the conqueror. He must fail in the attempt at ruthless dispassion.

Alexander: Why must the man of war attempt dispassion at all if he is to fail? What an exercise in futility!

Aristotle: There is no futility in failure if the endeavor is undertaken with a simple purity. The only failure I can contemplate is the failure to act upon our spiritual drives. We feel as men in a world of eunuchs do when we exercise our power over others. We further strive for that power by ignoring the instinct endowed in us for moderation in action.

Alexander: But why Master? Why must we fail at dispassion? Is it not healthy for us to distance ourselves from those we conquer?

Aristotle: How would that be healthy? To eliminate the humanity of those we destroy we eliminate the humanity, and the divine imperative, of the mission we set out upon; to unite the factions of the world under a singular banner and a singular rhythm, through the act of war we seek to forge an everlasting peace. Dispassion is the enemy of action, and action is the only route to power.

Alexander: But you evade my question: why must we attempt dispassion at all?

Aristotle: We attempt dispassion because we can never understand the wickedness of that state of mind until we see what it does to our own mind and soul. I repeat because it is worth repeating: Dispassion towards our enemies eliminates the humanity of our actions in favor of peace and unity.

Alexander: But how does a wolf whelp a lamb? How does peace come from war?

Aristotle: Grow to become a wolf and find out the truth for yourself.

Alexander: I tire of your riddles.

Aristotle: I tire of your willfulness, but  alas it is that feature of yours that keeps me well fed.

Alexander: So eat your fill old man, and I will think over your lessens while I wrestle with my friends.

Aristotle: Hark! Do not forget to treat your opponents with the passion befitting your rank.

Alexander: And what rank is that?

Aristotle: Youth, Prince, Philosopher, and Brazen hearted bull.


The modern youth turns to his drugs and to his modern philosophy when in mental turmoil.

In desperation the ancient youth turns to his gods, the resplendent Apollo and the deviously wise Dionysus


Alexander: Oh gods his is a foolish genius! Truly a blessed curse.

Apollo: The son of the gods in all but deed. He will return to us a star brilliant in a constellation of his own Creation. Nothing can be more true then this truth.

Alexander: A truth! An immodest declaration of opinion as fact! I live for these moments where I can frustrate the certainties of an honorable but simple mind. Where is the truth in the realization of Alexander as a god? How a god if he cannot even succeed as a man?

Apollo: There is no perfect man. Perfection is the nature of the gods, and to be a god one must be perfect. In     the act of attaining, reaching, perfection one invariable must have the immortal spark in his very     nature. Alexander is ours in nature and in potential. That is truth.

Alexander: But! But! I proclaim however and as a reminder: you stated that he will return to you a “star brilliant” as any and beyond what a mortal can hope to achieve. If that spark is indeed extant in him  then why trap his brilliance in this infernal flesh you so despised and only reluctantly deign to robe yourselves in? Why not plant the star yourself in the sky of your own sovereignty? Why waste a star? Why waste your time in games of fallible and inevitably fetid flesh?

Dionysus: Why waste a star? Indeed why waste a god? Haven’t we enough of those to last us the day and longer? A day is a day enough for me, and a hero is enough of a god for the men who fart most of their libations skyward anyway.

Apollo: Figh! A day with you is indeed a day enough. Sooth that ardent vine of yours brother and leave the     business of heaven to those who do no ruminate under the sway of mortal poisons.

Alexander: Oh how I must have pleased Olympus! They have sent me a quarrel worthy of my prayers and sacrifices. To obfuscate my own troubles with the quibbles and rivalry of greater beings is indeed a treat that I will not pass up.

Apollo: Great beings my eye! Look upon this fool I must call a brother. He is as much a god as I, and yet I fail to see the glory in gross inebriation.

Dionysus: The glory is not becoming drunk; the glory is in being drunk. Drunkenness can bring me to the post profound realizations about the nature of my existence… and in the nature of a fine woman’s ass.

Apollo: I need no wine to enjoy a beautiful woman!

Dionysus: Aye, but you might need a bit to enjoy a homely one.

Alexander: There are no homely women; only sober men.

Apollo: Do not encourage his crassness my son… He takes to concord like a babe to a teat.

Dionysus: I never left my teat… what is the point in that? As a babe it brings succor and milk, and as an adult succor and… a more joyous brew.

Alexander: I took in much more than sustenance from my mothers breast. I was, from my earliest days, fed the words and deeds of men great and proud. Stories of warriors, demigods, and yea, even gods like thee. I was brought up to be their equal, and in the case of mortals, their betters. Such a tiresome chore being a prince of man; no length run is long enough, no leap skyward high enough, and no foe fierce enough for the man who would be a new Achilles. And nothing less than Achilles is expected for the noble, mystic wife of Philip. I must be a man if men, but a man above from one moment to the next. Tell me O Lords… How does one live as a god and a man?

Apollo: You cannot. There is no god made man. You must live as a man to become a god, or be born a god  from the beginning of things. A man can reach immortality through domination of his fellow man, and through the mastering of his human emotions and thoughts. There is no immortality in man that can grow in a garden of earthly delights.

Dionysus: Why is it that you look at me when screeching your platitudes? The vine is not born of any “earthly” garden; it sprung from the rich and immortal slopes of Olympus. To drink is to live as a god. To engage in the fruits of drink is to live an Olympian existence! Men live in anticipation of immortality, a fate that most will never have. Here I find myself in partial agreement with my more stoical brother; Man at his best is indeed a god, for only a god can be the best among men. And as this is nigh impossible for a man to become god, then it is nigh impossible for a man to be at his best in the mortal world. Be as a man among men Alexander. Lead them as a cunning wolf would a flock of sheep. When you lead them to the pen, sup at you own pleasure.

Alexander: You vex me! I am wholly split in my admiration for both of your arguments. I see the wisdom of both points of view. How am I, a mortal man despite all my airs, to choose of these two paths? Must I live as a two-faced worshiper of duty and deviousness?

There is no God of final moral arbitration. There is no sage that can choose your path. Alexander must be an Oracle unto himself

extremism, Memorial Day, Socialism

Memorial Day 2013


We are always told that is the duty of every American to remember the war dead of our “great republic”, the thousands that have died to protect our freedoms. Those of us who know better know that this is bullshit. The vast majority of American conflicts have been over economic hegemony, exploitation, and bogus national security interests. This memorial day let us remember the true heroes…the millions who have been killed by American Imperial aggression.

Millions of people from the various indigenous tribes and Nations of the Americas were slaughtered by American forces and settlers moving west, North and South. Millions were moved to concentration camps and left to die in horrid conditions. To this day they are exploited and largely ignored and un-cared for.

At least a million and probably many more Vietnamese were slaughtered by US forces and illegal bombing campaigns. Millions were maimed or disabled by defoliating agents and poisons dropped from the skies onto their villages and cities. All so we could “stop” communism, or, more accurately to establish capitalist hegemony over the region.

Hundreds of thousands have been killed in Central and South America due to American colonial interventions justified by the brutal and paternalistic “Monroe Doctrine” and the “Drug War”. Guatemala, Nicaragua, El Salvador, Venezuela, Argentina, Columbia, Mexico, Haiti, Grenada, Panama…Brutal dictators were propped in these regions by the American government and military and Corporations and they have killed and tortured hundreds of thousands.

Hundreds of thousands of Iraqis were starved to death by the brutal and needless sanctions demanded by the US and its international and corporate allies. Hundreds of thousands were killed and maimed in the Gulf Wars that preceded and followed these evil sanctions.

US forces and Corporations helped to exploit and intimidate Imperial China and her population during the 19th and early 20th centuries. The US also bombed thousands during the Chinese Civil war and WWII.

At the behest of Corporate power, specifically the Dole company, The United States overthrew the government of and annexed the independent Kingdom of Hawai’i.

Hundreds of thousands were slaughtered by the US Army Air Force in the largely punitive bombing campaigns against German cities during WWII. Dresden was totally leveled and the vast majority of targets were purely civilian in nature.

The US remains the only nation to have used nuclear arms and they did it against the civilian populations of Nagasaki and Hiroshima, killing over half a million from the bombs themselves and the radiation and disease that continues to this very day.

The US brutally invaded and annexed large segments of Mexico and assaulted, exploited and slaughtered thousands of Mexicans and Native peoples in the process

The US bombed the Balkans and killed thousands of civilians

US forces have raped and assaulted at least tens of thousands of women and men during its wars and later occupations.

The US has propped up the brutal religious dictatorship in Saudi Arabia in order to secure access to oil and natural gas resources.

The US has killed tens of thousands in its useless punitive war in Afghanistan and Pakistan and continues to slaughter hundreds with its drone attacks on largely civilian populations.

The US army has experimented with chemicals, medicines and weapons on civilian populations in the US and Central America for over a century.

This is far from an exhaustive list of the atrocities committed by the US, its Military and the corporations they are beholden to. For once let us remember the victims of our greed and hubris. For once let us admit that we are the greatest enemy to peace and social progress in the world.

Happy Memorial Day



Philosophy of Art, poetry, Politics

I Swallowed A Fist


I swallowed a fist


I took it down

My throat

And it acted a

Severed pugilist

All the way into my gullet

Wherefore art thou


I need a vault looked at

I’ve seen things

I never thought I’d see

And guess what

I have seen them

In stunning HD

Pleased to meet you

Said the rake

Who pulled his collar up

The effect was like the Dilophosaurus

In Jurassic Park

He did not spit poison at me

But he did blind me with

Gobs and gobs

Of prepackaged “corn sugar”


Guess what?

He choked on my disinterest

And died

Mouth foaming on

The floor

But I am distracted by

Five fingers

Tapping on my chest from the

Inside striving to claw out

Inside of my ribcage

In itching agony

Mythology, Philosophy of Art, poetry

A Scale


You can feel the moment when you leave

The scale and

you jumped for joy and you denied the gods their


You can fool them once

Perhaps even twice

But you must decide

If you are a man or if want to

Fraternize with mice

You refuse to notice the bloody

sound that issues forth from

Deep under ground

And you know

Oh you know

The blessed grass will

break your fall

Before the earth can consume you

Through and through

Echo the pall that you can smell at dawn

Taste the sunrise and demand another


Spiritual men will always take your coin

But the only holy beggar you can trust

is the boatman

Water still until

The currency of mortality is spent


Feel the lowly stain of your birth

And wash yourself with a moon baked jug

Of Iberian wine

You are clean

You are clean

But now you smell of grapes


Hypocrisy, Immigration, Michelle Malkin

Michelle Malkin Is At It Again


I am sure that by now most of you are aware of the whole Jason Richwine/Heritage Foundation kerfuffle. If not here is the Cliff’s Notes version:

Academic Jason Richwine helped author an anti-immigration reform study for the Heritage Foundation but it was found out that Richwine had somehow earned his PhD with a dissertation that called for the exclusion from the US of Latino immigrants based on the erroneous notion that they have inherently lower IQ’s. If you want a more thorough account of this academic travesty, and who was involved, please see this wonderful post on Daily Kos

But back to the point: Michelle Malkin’s racist attitude. She penned a hilariously hypocritical and bigoted DEFENSE of Mr. Richwine on her wonderfully asinine blog. This piece of right-wing agitprop is entitled The Crucifixion of Jason Richwine. No, I am not making that up. I will be posting the link below for your perusal. Be sure to have a barf-bag ready.

Malkin whines that the evil media and liberal establishment are “smearing” this author of a thesis even the HERITAGE FOUNDATION is distancing itself from. This after Mr. Richwine’s most recent Heritage funded screed against immigration reform was criticized almost universally from all political corners and torn apart factually by people with a slightly better grasp of public policy i.e. pretty much anyone else you could think to name. Malkin goes on to pout about how the evil liberals (who are the REAL racists for dismissing the racists arguments of a racist because…well because SCIENCE that’s why!) are starting a pogrom to destroy Mr. Richwine’s career. I think the man has done enough in that department by himself. Malkin, who like many conservative “thinkers” (I do hate having to use an oxymoron) shows an active disdain for academia on even her best days (here is a link to one of her articles for an example of her bile on the issue ) now suddenly seems to be uber-respectful of the particular group of Harvard luminaries who approved Mr. Richwine’s dissertation. It is rather rich to see Malkin suddenly show so much love an respect for a liberal bastion of academia like Harvard just because they approved of an academic who savaged the intelligence and ability of millions of Latino immigrants.

She goes on to scold no one/anyone in particular about silencing the academic freedom of a man who wants us to believe that people from south of the border are inherently more stupid than the pretty white conservative people she so desperately wants to pretend to look/act like. Combined with her earlier screed about kicking undocumented immigrants and their American born children out of the country (even though her own parents have a dubious immigration record and she was born while they were in the US) this goes to show that Malkin is indeed a racist and perhaps even a self-loathing person. How else can you explain such vitriol and hate for a group of people that mirror her own situation and background? Michelle Malkin is the Vidkun Quisling of the conservative blogosphere and she continues to plumb the depths of knee-jerk racism and anti-immigrant paranoia. Don’t take my word for it…read her own words for yourself

Existentialism, Nature, poetry

Four Sparrows


There are four

sparrows on

the road leading to my


Two are spooked when I cough

One leaves of its own accord

The fourth stood his ground

And puffed his tiny chest

and sung a song I shall never

Live long enough to forget

The tune spoke of longing

and worms

and flight and clouds

And 20 thousand thousand thousand years of dust and light



On bone hard lips

I am brought to my knees

and closer to the primordial


too close

and the distance between us


without either of us having

moved an inch

It was then I

realized was I had trespassed

And my home was gone

Because it had never really been there

And he was master

And I was nothing in less than a moment

And he and continued to sing

An aria of eons

And I felt the sting of reality

and had a glimpse of perception and

time for what it was

Nothing but two accidents of empty everything

locked in bloodless battle

with the overwhelming weight

of the exhausting sabhāva-dhamma of life

and the inexorable flow of event consuming event consuming event

And the sparrow

his voice explored me

and brought me to a clear wall

over which I climbed without climbing

and I forgot the ascent without forgetting

and beheld without beholding

the summit

And it was a valley

And it was a song from a sparrow’s beak

no more or less anything

a star

a crumb of earth

a fistful of sweat

a corpse

a staff of wood

and a song

more or less than anything else

I wept and dreamt of


of suns battling each other for

sovereignty of the sky

of elemental clouds

fading and pulsing and turning and screaming

and it was a song

from a sparrow’s beak

and it never sang

and it sang

and I traced a line from the corner of my eye

wet with tears

to the edges of conception and phenomenon

and I was inverted and the

sparrow sang of nothing


belching brocades from the silt

and wrapping themselves around the bosoms of

inherently impossible gods

before I realized

I had slept for 300 billion years

and had awoken in a dream of myself

dreaming of dreams

and sparrows

and rivers of golden cloth

and blazing steam

and I screamed

and realized my scream was a song

and that I was a bird

a sparrow

and I took flight

and ended my song

and erased with the beat of my wings

that thing that I never was


from the earth