Charles Carreon, The Arizona Kid

Identified as a trouble maker by the authorities since childhood, and resolved to live up to the description, Charles Carreon soon discovered that mischief is most effectively fomented through speech. Having mastered the art of flinging verbal pipe-bombs and molotov cocktails at an early age, he refined his skills by writing legal briefs and journalistic exposes, while developing a poetic style that meandered from the lyrical to the political. Journey with him into the dark caves of the human experience, illuminated by the torch of an outraged sense of injustice.

Re: Charles Carreon, The Arizona Kid

Postby admin » Sat Oct 05, 2013 6:19 am

A HIGHLY IMPROBABLE PRODUCTION -- THE BBC VERSION OF DOUGLAS ADAMS' HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY, by Charles Carreon

The BBC production of Douglas Adams’ “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” is filled with humorous dialogue, dealt with Adams’ trademark understated style, probably because Adams, a longtime BBC writer, was substantially involved with the production. The recently-released Hollywood knockoff didn’t have the benefit of Adams’ input, since he died at the young age of forty-eight shortly after signing the movie deal and moving to Santa Barbara. The BBC production is thus the one to watch, and if you haven’t read the book, the two-minute summary below will show you why you must. Fear not that the story will be given away -- it’s far too improbable for that. The notably passive central character, Arthur Dent, the only “earthman” in the entire story, never gets out of his bathrobe on one very long day that begins with trying to prevent a work crew from razing his home to make way for a bypass, a matter that becomes rather moot when the entire earth is suddenly annihilated by an alien species who are engaged in constructing a galactic hyperspace bypass.

Arthur would have perished with the rest of humanity but for the timely intervention of his friend Ford Prefect, a researcher for The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, who is doing an update on planet Earth, which so far has a short entry: “harmless.” Ironically, just before the destruction of Earth, a young woman had just realized the truth that would turn our lives here from hell to heaven, but sound as her understanding was, and beautiful as its unfoldment would have been for all humanity, the Vogons put an end to that precious potential. Arthur and Ford escape instants before the interstellar Armageddon descends from the skies, thanks to Ford’s possession of a clever little device. Thus, after fortifying themselves with three pints of beer each and stashing as many peanuts as possible on their persons, the two teleport themselves into the storage hold of the very same Vogon spaceship that has arrived with the mission of destroying earth. Naturally, they are discovered for stowaways and ejected from the airlock by a rather loutish Vogon underling, after being forced to listen to the Vogon Captain’s truly atrocious poetry. Improbably, but not completely impossibly, Arthur and Ford do not decompress in outer space but find themselves aboard the extraordinary spacecraft recently christened The Heart of Gold, powered by the utterly unique Improbability Drive, and stolen before her maiden voyage by a two-headed celebrity by the name of Zaphod Beeblebrox, who has somehow picked up the lovely Trillian to serve as his navigator and source of feminine distraction. In what is truly improbable, Arthur realizes that he had met Trillian some months before at a party, and they had seemed close to hitting it off when this guy named Phil, actually Zaphod in a one-head form, came up and stole her away with a line of nonsense about being from another planet.

After various narrow escapes from death, Arthur, Ford, Zaphod and Trillian are leaving the hollow planet of Magrathea, where some very advanced white mice have expressed an interest in swapping Arthur’s brain for a computer, as a way to extract the information they had hoped to glean from the whole experiment called planet Earth, which was actually a complex experiment the mice had set up to learn the meaning of life, the universe and everything. Despite being the experimenters, in the context of the experiment, the mice had ironically appeared as small, white creatures content to run mazes in human laboratories. Unfortunately, in a cockup of astronomical proportions, the Vogons stupidly destroyed Earth just as the answer was about to be produced. Now the only way to get the total gestalt of the answer, and thus avoid having to recreate Earth anew and run the very long experiment again, would be to dice and analyze Arthur’s brain. None of which is relevant to the fact that the cops are hot on Zaphod’s trail, and cops being cops, they are going to shoot some sense into the situation.

First Cop: OK, Beeblebrox, hold it right there, we got you covered!

Zaphod’s Extra Head: Cops!

Zaphod: Anyone else want a guess?

Ford: Yeah ... this way!

Image

Second Cop: We don’t wanna shoot you, Beeblebrox.

Zaphod: Suits me fine!

Trillian: Back to the lift?

Zaphod: Back to the lift!

(Cops open fire)

Arthur: Hey, I thought they said they didn’t want to shoot at us!

Ford: I thought so!

Zaphod: You said you didn’t wanna shoot us!

First Cop: It isn’t easy being a cop!

Ford: What did he say?

Zaphod: It isn’t easy being a cop.

Ford: That’s his problem!

Zaphod: I think so!

Ford: Listen, we’ve enough problems of our own having you there shooting at us! If you’d like to avoid laying your personal problems on us, I think we’d all find it easier to cope!

Image

Second Cop: Now, look, buddy, you’re not dealing with any dumb, two-bit, trigger-pumping morons with low hairlines, little piggy eyes and no conversation! We’re a couple of caring, intelligent guys you’d probably really like if you met us socially. I don’t go around gratuitously shooting people and then brag about it in seedy space rangers bars. I go around gratuitously shooting people, then I agonise about it afterwards to my girlfriend!

First Cop: And I write novels!

Second Cop: Yeah, he writes them in crayon.

First Cop: Though I haven’t had any published yet, so I’d better warn ya, I’m in a mean mood!

Ford: Who are these guys?

Trillian: I preferred them shooting.

Image

Second Cop: So are you gonna come quietly or you gonna let us blast ya out?

Ford: Which would you prefer?

(Another fusillade ensues)

Second Cop: You still there?

All: Yeah!

Image

First Cop: We didn’t enjoy that at all.

Ford: We could tell!

Second Cop: Now, listen to this, Beeblebrox. And you’d better listen good!

Zaphod: Why?

Second Cop: Er ... because it’s gonna be very intelligent, and quite interesting ... and humane.

Zaphod: OK, shoot. I mean, fire away! No, no, I mean ...!

(another round of shooting)

First Cop: Sorry, misunderstanding there.

Second Cop: Beeblebrox, either you all give yourselves up, and let us beat you up a little, though not too much because we are firmly opposed to needless violence, or ... er ... or we blow up this entire planet! And one or two others we noticed on the way over!

Trillian: That’s crazy! You wouldn’t do that!

Second Cop: Yes, we would! I think we would, wouldn’t we?

First Cop: Yes, we’d have to. No question.

Trillian: But why?

First Cop: Tell her.

Second Cop: You tell her!

First Cop: You tell her!

Trillian: Will one of you tell her!

Both Cops: It isn’t easy being a cop!

Ford: Listen ... if we keep them talking, maybe their brains will seize up.

First Cop: Shall we ... shoot them up again for a while?

Second Cop: Why not?

First Cop: Yeah.

Ford: Wait ...

Zaphod: Well, that just about wraps it up for this lifetime, I guess.

Ford: Well ... it’s really been nice running into you again, Zaphod.

Zaphod and Ford (singing loudly): Zaglabor astragard, Hootrimansion Bambriar ...

Arthur: What the hell are you doing?!

Ford: A Betelgeuse death anthem. It means, “After this, things can only get better.”
admin
Site Admin
 
Posts: 36119
Joined: Thu Aug 01, 2013 5:21 am

Re: Charles Carreon, The Arizona Kid

Postby admin » Sat Oct 05, 2013 6:31 am

BURNT, MAN, by Charles Carreon

Image

The apocalypse is a tricky subject to deal with creatively. Once, down in LA, I was enthusing to my friend Mike, a sharp-tongued northeasterner, about Road Warrior, Mel Gibson’s most enduring epic. Mike’s response was as sharp and swift as a towel-snap in a locker room – “Oh God, stoopidest movie I ever saw. So stupid I couldn’t watch the whole thing. I mean, here the whole world is running out of gas, and they’re standing around revving their engines!” Well, that put paid to my enthusiasm for a movie that is all about what happens when you loose a bunch of crazy Australian gearheads in the desert with a budget. I’m still trying to figure out how they pulled that scene where the idiot biker tries to punch a hole in a spinning truck tire, and he gets swept under the rig in a trice, his bike reduced to pig iron in seconds.

Image

All this by way of saying that high-speed misbehavior is something with which I greatly sympathize. Acceleration is a stimulant that mixes badly with youth, alcohol, and other inebriants, but I fancy I can handle it now, after three motorcycle accidents in a riding career that spans twenty-three years. Nevertheless, I have not been to Burning Man, and am not going, no matter how many friends invite me.

My friend John wrote a fantastic poem about how to have the Burning Man experience without leaving home, but he just did that for me, since he must make his yearly pilgrimage to the Nevada sands, his excuse being that it’s an easy place to find sexual partners. I don’t know about that. I say quality before quantity, and the smell of body paint and sweat has never qualified as an aphrodisiac in my hierarchy of pheromonal favorites. Personally, I think if John just stayed put in Boston, and gave away the entire amount of his plane fare five dollars at a time in Harvard Yard, he’d get laid just as much and by a better cut of person. In fact, I have it on good authority that on Venice Beach, if you straightforwardly ask every person who seems like an attractive sex partner if they would like to have sex right now, you will get a “yes” one out of twenty times. The point is, hoping to have sex with one of our modern temple prostitutes isn’t a good enough reason to go to Nevada.

Image

Before you go to Burning Man, you should consider that it does take place in Nevada, where marijuana possession is still a felony, and Linda Ronstadt got pitched out of the Aladdin casino for trying to dedicate a song to Michael Moore after the audience rioted. It is a place that was literally shaped in the cradle by the mob, where gambling, mining and prostitution are major industries. It is a place where Wayne Newton is considered a big entertainer, and a synthetic volcano belches heat on the main drag while down the street pirates and pirate wenches duel with cutlasses to a pounding disco beat, taking big falls from the rigging into the artificial lake below, twice a night. It is also a place where the heat is as bad as Arizona, but there are fewer rivers and less shade.

But, people say, it is such an awesome scene. Take the art vehicles, for instance. The art vehicles? You mean the tricked-out Winnebagos made up to be rolling nightclubs? Why not got to Vegas itself, where they have great DJs, air-conditioning, painted women, and lightshows produced by people who work for Cirque de Soleil during the week? Maybe I skipped a chapter in modern history, but aren’t Winnebagos some of the supersized detritus of suburban life, symbols of the “freedom” to burn gas like a petroleum-mad Neanderthal, the chosen vehicle for those who are ostentatiously “spending their children’s inheritance?” These rigs are parked under tarps all over middle America, while their tires dry out and water accumulates in their gas tanks, because the day of the gas hog is over. But as P.T. Barnum said, “there’s a sucker born every minute,” and there’s no idea so bad that someone won’t buy it. So hell yeah, let’s lavish a bunch of decorating skills on an old dinosaur and pay fifty cents a mile to drive it to Burning Man! Who thinks this stuff up? Dick Cheney?

Since most Burning Man attendees strive to be politically correct, let’s consider the political correctness of having a party focused on burning huge piles of stuff in the desert while global warming takes hold. Nor is the folly all one side of the gender divide. Just to prove that having a clitoris doesn’t mean you can think clearly, a group of Bay Area women called something like “the Flaming Lotus collective” burned seven-thousand gallons of propane to fuel a fire-belching dragon, producing a chorus of oohs and ahs, setting off some passionate lovemaking in various art vehicles, and permanently contributing to the greenhouse gases now choking our planet. Talk about a sacrifice for the sake of art! We are all grateful to donate a few breaths of oxygen to the cause. And since it’s a good idea to make fires in the desert, the Burning Man organizers should promote carbon burning by honoring famous carbon burners from around the globe. Saddam Hussein would get the first award, for his awesomely punk act of setting all the oil wells ablaze in Kuwait, an event notable both for its size, and for the fact that he did it with someone else’s oil! Talk about sticking it to the man! Yeah!

I haven’t even gotten to the fact, of course, that you have to pay some serious bucks to get into this festival of pyromania that takes place in a desert so devoid of natural resources that the native Utes and Pah-Utes were the poorest of all Native Americans. For your money, you will get next to no amenities -- there so few toilets, showers and water sources that everyone goes around constipated, dusty and thirsty for the duration. In the end, all of the entertainment is provided by people who are either part of some art commune that you have to pay to be part of, or who just show up and pole dance for free. The people who organized this are geniuses – soon they’ll be charging people to masturbate in public while charging other people to watch and encourage them. And people thought Vegas was a rip!

No, this Burning Man thing is utter bullshit, and the more approval it gets from the mainstream press, the less I like it. The world, people, is on fire already. Instead of helping to burn it down, grab a bucket! Instead of marinating in “art,” lend a hand to your fellow-human. At least, for god’s sake, don’t add to the problem under the guise of just having fun, just getting laid, or just wasting time. There is no time to waste.

Image
admin
Site Admin
 
Posts: 36119
Joined: Thu Aug 01, 2013 5:21 am

Re: Charles Carreon, The Arizona Kid

Postby admin » Sat Oct 05, 2013 6:33 am

AYAHUASCA FOR THE MASSES
by Charles Carreon
November 1, 2006

Image
Froghand, by Joshua Carreon

“One of the weirdest of our phantastica or hallucinogens is the drink of the western Amazon known as ayahuasca, caapi or yaje. Although not nearly so popularly known as peyote and, nowadays, as the sacred mushrooms, it has nonetheless inspired an undue share of sensational articles which have played fancifully with unfounded claims, especially concerning its presumed telepathic powers.”

The Visionary Vine of the Amazon

In the essay from which this quote is taken, Richard Schultes recited what he considered the sum total of Western botanical and pharmacalogical knowledge concerning Ayahuasca in a few pages, identifying the source plant as the Yage vine, and the active ingredients as harmine and harmaline. There was, Schultes admitted, a great deal left to know about the visionary vine of the Amazon, and he concluded with the statement: “This is how far 100 years has brought us. How much farther is there to go? Should we not step up the speed of our studies before time blots out much of the native lore of the Western Amazon?” Over forty more years have gone by since Schultes’ essay was published in the sixties, and we have learned a few things. Most importantly, we learned there’s more than one plant ingredient in the best brews of ayahuasca tea. The first substance is the Yage vine. The second substance is leaf material from a shrub known as Chagrapanga. The Amazonian natives who use Ayahuasca brew it according to special recipes, cooking the tea in open pots over the course of day-long ceremonies, often accompanied by songs and prayer. While the first combination of the two plants is in the pot, the interaction of the chemical essences of these two jungle plants inside the human brain is the primary focus of our concern, because it is not just a matter of two drugs having a enhanced effect, but rather the revelation of an entirely new experience due to the creation of a special climate in our perceptual organism.

A Binary Psychedelic

Ayahuasca is a binary psychedelic. Yage (Banisteropsis Caapi) contains the Potentiating Substances -- harmine and harmaline, that create a special chemical environment in the human brain. Mildly psychedelic in themselves, harmine and harmaline are active at doses around one tenth of a gram. Chagrapanga (Psychotria Viridis) contains the Activating Substance – Dimethyltryptamine – that has no effect whatsoever when taken orally unless the brain has been properly prepared by an adequate dose of harmine, harmaline, or some other monoamine oxidase inhibitor. Separately, these two types of substances have generated substantial interest in the psychological community. Harmaline and harmine have shown promise in treating chronic heroin and cocaine addiction. A single half-gram dose has caused the addictive cravings of hopeless addicts to go into remission for months or weeks. Claudio Naranjo’s book, The Healing Journey, describes very rich experiences suggesting that harmaline and harmine induce a strong connection to images of inner strength, physical warmth, and release from self-confinement. Dimethyltryptamine, abbreviated to “DMT,” has powerful but very short-acting psychedelic effects when injected intravenously, as documented by Dr. Rick Strassman of the University of New Mexico School of Medicine, in his book DMT: The Spirit Molecule. Dr. Strassman hypothesizes that DMT mediates the entry and exit of consciousness into the human body prior to birth and at death. His hypothesis centers on the undeniable fact that DMT precursors are present in the pineal gland, a vestigial eye located in the center of the forehead, and referred to by Descartes as “the seat of the soul.” Among Amazonian natives, snuffs derived from seeds containing DMT and its relative, Diethyltryptamine (DET), are popular, and are associated with spellcasting, sorcery, and some rowdy behavior.

Traditional and Religious Uses of Ayahuasca

Schultes describes various psychic goals natives seek to achieve through drinking Ayahuasca, such as inducing clairvoyance, learning the truth about a lover, and gaining foreknowledge of strategy to aid in tribal diplomacy. Ayahuasca healers believe they can diagnose disease, discover appropriate plant medicines, and intituitively learn the pharmacoepeia of the jungle by consuming the psychedelic tea. Ayahuasca sorcerers also believe they can learn who is casting malignant spells and how to avert their effects.

From these native traditions, there have evolved several churches, primarily in Brazil, that use Ayahuasca as a sacrament in the context of traditional religious liturgies. The two best-known churches are the Santo Daime (the “Daime”) and the O Centro Spirita Beneficiente do Vegetal (the “UDV”). They have fairly informative websites at http://www.santodaime.org, and http://www.udv.org, respectively, that lay out the structure of their belief systems. Of the two, UDV has the “slicker” look, but both the Daime and the UDV look like religions operating under a full head of organizational steam. Both ascribe the origins of their religion to revelations received by humble spiritual seekers who drew inspiration and guidance from their Ayahuasca experiences, and both endorse the validity of the Christian religion while combining elements of nature wisdom and a philosophy of planetary healing.

A Bright Spot In The Legal Universe

Until recently, the use of psychedelic substances for spiritual purposes in South America had little importance to those of us living here in the United States. Recent legal developments, however, have opened the door to greater religious freedom in this country. In particular, the Religious Freedom Restoration Act of 1993 (the “RFRA”) provided the basis for a recent legal victory by the UDV that has entirely changed the landscape of visionary spirituality for ordinary Americans. Thanks to the enactment of this law, and its remarkably clear-headed application by the United States Supreme Court, an unexpected ray of light is shining for those who believe that genuine spiritual insights may flow from the wise use of plant sacraments. On February 21, 2006, Chief Justice Roberts issued a unanimous opinion in Gonzales v. O Centro Espirita Beneficente Uniao Do Vegetal, 126 U.S. 1211, upholding an injunction barring the Department of Justice from prosecuting UDV members for importing Ayahuasca tea (that the UDV calls “Hoasca”) from Brazil in 30-gallon drums. Issued pursuant to the RFRA by the United States District Court in Santa Fe, New Mexico, the injunction requires the UDV to import Hoasca under a permit to be issued by the DEA, to restrict distribution of Hoasca to UDV authorities, and to warn prospective Hoasca-drinkers of health risks.

We’ve Come A Long Way, Baby

Image
Cross Lobster, by Joshua Carreon

To appreciate the journey that American law has made to reach this point, we need to look at a 1990 US Supreme Court case that came out of Oregon, and motivated the US Congress to enact the RFRA. In Oregon Department of Human Resources v. Smith, 494 US 872, the high Court considered the claim of two men who were fired from their jobs as drug counselors for “misconduct” when they ate peyote at a Native American Church ceremony. The Oregon Supreme Court had overruled the Employment Department, holding that denying people unemployment for eating peyote as a religious practice infringed the “Free Exercise Clause” of the First Amendment, that states “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof.” Thanks to the zealous advocacy of Oregon Attorney General Dave Frohenmayer, the US Supreme Court reversed the Oregon Supreme Court in a divided decision that split the high Court three ways. The battleground among the justices was over whether to evaluate the Employment Department’s peyote policy using a “balancing test” to determine whether the State of Oregon had a “compelling state interest” in keeping peyote out of the hands of its citizens, and if so, whether denying unemployment compensation for violating the controlled substance law was the “least restrictive means” of furthering that compelling state interest. The problem with applying this test, as any Constitutional lawyer will tell you, is that when the test is properly applied, the policy under scrutiny rarely passes “Constitutional muster,” and is struck down. This balancing test is called the “strict scrutiny standard,” because most laws fail when subjected to it.

With Justices Rehnquist, White, Stevens and Kennedy joining in, Antonin Scalia engineered a way around the strict scrutiny test, twisting precedents to argue that the Court applied strict scrutiny only to Free Exercise claims that were buttressed by “expressive” and “associational” rights. The case before the Court, Scalia explained, was far simpler. Oregon had adopted a criminal law of “general application” that had nothing to do with speech or freedom of association, and everything to do with conduct. Just keep away from peyote was what the law said, and if every believer could question any law by saying it stuck in his or her religious craw, then each man would be “a law unto himself.” That, said Scalia, would be “courting anarchy.” While the State was free to grant a religious exemption to its controlled substance laws for religious use, it was also free to jail any of its citizens for possessing peyote. Since the State would thereby be depriving its citizens of liberty, it could certainly deny lesser rights, like the right to collect unemployment. Case decided.

Justice O’Connor disagreed with Scalia’s approach, insisting that they should apply the strict scrutiny test. But she agreed with Scalia’s result, because when she balanced the individual’s Free Exercise right to take peyote for religious purposes against Oregon’s right to keep its people away from peyote, the State won. Why? Because peyote had been blackballed by the controlled substance legislation, and it wasn’t her job to second-guess the legislature on that call, just because some Native Americans said it helped them to worship more effectively. She likened the peyote prohibition to laws against dangerous religious practices like snake-handling, or laws requiring parents to vaccinate their kids despite their religious objections.

Justice Blackmun agreed that O’Connor was applying the right test, but, along with Justices Brennan and Marshall, believed she should reach the opposite result and give the peyote eaters their unemployment compensation. Blackmun argued that the Court “must scrupulously apply its free exercise analysis to the religious claims of Native Americans, however unorthodox they may be.” O’Connor had given the State the advantage by giving excessive weight in her “balancing test” to generalities like “public health and safety,” next to which the individual’s right to worship in the silence of their own spirit seemed trifling. Blackmun gives full weight to that very private right to talk to the divine each in our own way. He then puts the teeth back in strict scrutiny, closely examining the State’s reasons for punishing peyote users by withholding unemployment benefits, and finds them “entirely speculative.” Neither the State nor the Feds pursued drug cases against Native Americans, with the Feds seizing only 19.5 pounds of peyote that year, compared with 15 tons of marijuana. He cites scientific evidence recorded in other legal cases that peyote “works no permanent deleterious injury to the Indian.” Citing the Native American Church’s own “internal restrictions on, and supervision of, its members’ use of peyote,” and the known efficacy of the Church in reducing alcoholism in the community, Blackmun concludes that “far from promoting the lawless and irresponsible use of drugs, Native American Church members’ spiritual code exemplifies the values that Oregon’s drug laws are presumably intended to foster.” Blackmun concludes his dissent with an accusation – for the Native American people, the majority’s decision reduced the words of the First Amendment and the assurances of Congress to “an unfulfilled and hollow promise.”

The Religious Freedom Restoration Act

Three years later, the Congress declared in the Religious Freedom Restoration Act of 1993 that “the framers of the Constitution, recognizing free exercise of religion as an unalienable right, secured its protection in the First Amendment to the Constitution.” Congress then observed that “laws ‘neutral’ toward religion may burden religious exercise as surely as laws intended to interfere with religious exercise,” and that “in Employment Division v. Smith, 494 U.S. 872 (1990) the Supreme Court virtually eliminated the requirement that the government justify burdens on religious exercise imposed by laws neutral toward religion.” Congress enacts something like this when it has gotten a hot-foot from some interest group, and I wouldn’t pretend to say I know who that was, or that they figured on how it would be used by the UDV.

Congress Talks Back To Scalia

Having thus addressed the precise matter at issue in the peyote versus unemployment-compensation case arising from our home jurisdiction, Congress adopted O’Connor’s view from the Smith case, that the Court should apply strict scrutiny to conflicts between religious practices and criminal laws: “The compelling interest test,” Congress found, ‘is a workable test for striking sensible balances between religious liberty and competing prior governmental interests.” Congress then stated the two purposes of the act: “(1) to restore the compelling interest test as set forth in Sherbert v. Verner, 374 U.S. 398 (1963) and Wisconsin v. Yoder, 406 U.S. 205 (1972) and to guarantee its application in all cases where free exercise of religion is substantially burdened; and (2) to provide a claim or defense to persons whose religious exercise is substantially burdened by government.”

The Congress then told all of the government law enforcement agencies -- state, county, municipal, tribal, and Homeland Security, that they “shall not substantially burden a person’s exercise of religion even if the burden results from a rule of general applicability [unless the governmental entity] demonstrates that application of the burden to the person --

(1) is in furtherance of a compelling governmental interest; and

(2) is the least restrictive means of furthering that compelling governmental interest.

In response to Justice Scalia’s dismissive analysis, Congress specifically set the goal posts on strict scrutiny for people claiming religious exemption from enforcement of laws prohibiting use of psychoactive chemicals. There can’t be much doubt that the RFRA should apply to that situation, especially after the UDV decision, in which Chief Justice Roberts says that it is significant that Congress directly cited the Smith case as its reason for adopting the law. Ironically, a Bush appointee has provided more relief to the users of plant-helpers for religious purposes than any prior Justice, through an extraordinarily honest opinion that has given surprising vitality to the RFRA.

This Law’s Not Racist Anymore

The RFRA says nothing about Native Americans being the only ones who can assert this defense to a controlled substance offense. That’s a good thing, because the idea that you had to have a certain ethnic origin to qualify for exemption from a law that restricts freedom of thought was more than a little racist.

Not only is this law not racist, it has teeth. Under the category of ‘Judicial Relief,” the RFRA provides: “A person whose religious exercise has been burdened in violation of this section may assert that violation as a claim or defense in a judicial proceeding and obtain appropriate relief against a government.”

Just The Defense That Was Needed

The RFRA is thus specifically focused on providing an exemption for religious conduct that runs afoul of any law. That it can be asserted as “a claim or defense in a judicial proceeding,” means that anyone charged for any crime or regulatory violation can assert the RFRA as a defense if it is factually applicable to them. This is something that every public defender should learn about, and hopefully will, because as a practical matter, having an interest in psychedelic religion rarely coincides with having easy access to private counsel.

In civil actions, you can assert the RFRA proactively, as the UDV did, by suing the DOJ to prevent the DEA from seizing their tea and throwing them in jail. Congress essentially told Scalia and his fellow-justices that the sky would not in fact fall if judges created exemptions to laws of “general application” if they determined that the harm to a person’s religious beliefs was outweighed by harm to the State’s own interests. The law also gives religious practicioners a right to file a lawsuit to protect themselves against enforcement of laws that would prevent them from worshipping according to their chosen practices.

The UDV case was evidently well-thought-out in its approach and well-funded. The UDV established to the satisfaction of the trial judge that its own system of controlling use of Hoasca was sufficient to protect the public at large from the dangers inherent in providing a psychedelic tea to its adherents, and while it gave some weight to the drug-control interests asserted by the Department of Justice, found that the evidence was “in equipoise,” and granted the UDV’s request for an injunction against prosecution or interference with importation and distribution of Hoasca. The DOJ appealed the ruling to the Tenth Circuit Court of Appeals, which affirmed the District Court’s ruling. The DOJ then took the case to the US Supreme Court via “writ of certiorari,” and the Court agreed to hear the Government’s appeal.

Writing an opinion that was unanimously adopted by all the other members of the Court, including Scalia, newly-appointed Justice Roberts didn’t agonize much about the issues, finding that, applying RFRA’s “strict scrutiny” standard to the issues, the DOJ had failed to show a compelling interest in uniform application of the Controlled Substances Act (the “CSA”), and granted the UDV an exemption from enforcement of the CSA. The DOJ had smoothed the road to this result by admitting that the UDV had a legitimate religious practice based on drinking Hoasca, and that the Government’s refusal to grant an exemption for Hoasca-drinking would substantially burden the UDV’s exercise of religion.

The DOJ’s concession the UDV’s Hoasca-ceremonies were a sincere religious practice put the burden was on the DOJ to show that the Government had a “compelling interest” that would justify its refusal to grant the requested exemption from enforcement of the Controlled Substances Act. The DOJ was unable to carry that burden. Justice Roberts observed that although the Government claimed that “no exception to the DMT ban [could] be made to accommodate the UDV” because it had “a compelling interest in the uniform application of the Controlled Substances Act, the ”RFRA requires the Government to demonstrate that the compelling interest test is satisfied through application of the challenged law ‘to the person’--the particular claimant whose sincere exercise of religion is being substantially burdened.” Justice Roberts’ individualized consideration of the case was exactly what Blackmun argued for in his dissent against the outcome in Oregon v. Black.

Justice Roberts explained that under the “focused inquiry” required under the RFRA, “the Government’s mere invocation of the general characteristics of Schedule I substances cannot carry the day.” In saying this, Justice Roberts rejected Justice O’Connor’s position in Oregon v. Black, because she explicitly found the mere categorization of peyote as a Schedule I substance to be a sufficiently “compelling interest” to justify Oregon’s policy of punishing peyote users by denying them unemployment payments. Justice Roberts took another tack. Instead of focusing on the fact that DMT is a Schedule I substance, he emphasized the availability of exemptions: “The Controlled Substances Act’s authorization to the Attorney General to “waive the requirement for registration of certain manufacturers, distributors, or dispensers if he finds it consistent with the public health and safety.” Additionally, Justice Roberts noted, “The peyote exception also fatally undermines the Government’s broader contention that the Controlled Substances Act establishes a closed regulatory system that admits of no exceptions under RFRA. The peyote exception has been in place since the Controlled Substances Act’s outset, and there is no evidence that it has undercut the Government’s ability to enforce the ban on peyote use by non-Indians.”

Pinning the tail precisely on the ass of the bureaucratic donkey, Justice Roberts reveals the thinness of the DOJ’s position: “Here the Government’s uniformity argument rests not so much on the particular statutory program at issue as on slippery slope concerns that could be invoked in response to any RFRA claim for an exception to a generally applicable law, i.e., ‘if I make an exception for you, I’ll have to make one for everybody, so no exceptions.’ But RFRA operates by mandating consideration, under the compelling interest test, of exceptions to “rule[s] of general applicability.” (Emphasis added by the Court.)

Your Visionary Religion

It is very important to remember that the RFRA is more than a law that says you can file a lawsuit to protect your religious beliefs from bureaucratic infringements. That’s just the clause that guarantees that the law has teeth in it. The important thing is right at the beginning: “Government shall not substantially burden a person’s exercise of religion…” That is huge language, and it applies to every municipality, state and federal agency in the country. Peace officers who attempt to interfere with entheogenic religious practices should be given a copy of the RFRA and a request for exemption from enforcement of the law. This presumes, of course, that the people whose religious activities are being disrupted by peace officers are in fact engaged in a legitimate religious ceremony.

As in every situation in this country, it is important to look like a duck to be treated like one, and the same is true of religion. To be recognized as a legitimate religion, I would suggest your congregation and faith have:

• A nonprofit corporate base

• A specified sacramental substance

• A book of beliefs establishing the purpose for using the sacrament

• A schedule of religious events when the sacrament is consumed

• A liturgy or sadhana during which the sacramental substance is shared

• A commitment to consume the sacramental substance only for religious purposes

• A set protocol for limiting use of the sacramental substance to believers

• A written disclosure of any hazards associated with use of the sacramental substance that is provided to all prospective students

• A controlled setting for the sacramental ritual to comfort, protect and guide students

• An outreach program to skillfully integrate the activities of the religious group into the life of the community

What is a legitimate religious ceremony? The doors are not quite wide open on this question. The Courts have, until now, rejected every attempt to classify anything that looks like recreational drug use as a religious practice. The cases denying such efforts are cited in detail in Justice Blackmun’s dissent in Oregon v. Black. However, that doesn’t mean that sincere practicioners of plant-wisdom belief systems should give up.

Sincerity is of course the key to undertaking such a project. There are any number of plant helpers that have been known for many years, and are now more available than ever. Throughout the Northwest, many species of mushroom containing psilocin and psilocybin are discoverable, and the hardy Psilocibe Cubensis can be cultivated from spores. The sources of DMT to create Ayahuasca-type mixtures are also increasingly available, with Mimosa Hostilis providing a more potent replacement for Psychotria Viridis, and Syrian Rue providing a more convenient source of harmala and harmaline than Banisteropsis Caapi.

Knowledge As Religion

That the earth has provided so many plants that have connections with our physiology and psyche should cause us to reflect upon what this correspondence means. Used without reflection, potentially sacramental substances are a source of trivial diversion. Plant compounds have profound effects on us because we share a unified chemical makeup, in which correspondences naturally arise among living beings.

The Amazonian native people survived and thrived in one of the most challenging and botanically endowed places on earth. They explored their environment boldly, yet we know little about what they learned. As Schultes noted in his essay forty years ago, there is a great deal left to learn from the wisdom of these ancient people, but it is not all a matter of studying their characteristics, taking photographs of their native appearance, and shelving it all away. The bravest scientists make their own lives an experiment, and in the realm of psychopharmacology, the only way forward has been through the efforts of those willing to take the plunge.

The quest for knowledge is the truest religion of our day, and in pursuit of knowledge we should not fear to tread where generations of humans have gone before. At long last, for those sufficiently interested in exploring the inner realms with the aid of plant-helpers, another path, through the thicket of governmental obstruction, appears to have opened. To all interested seekers, I have this word of advice – enter quickly, and make this path fruitful, otherwise it will fall into disuse.
admin
Site Admin
 
Posts: 36119
Joined: Thu Aug 01, 2013 5:21 am

Re: Charles Carreon, The Arizona Kid

Postby admin » Sat Oct 05, 2013 6:39 am

PRESIDENT WOLF, by Charles Carreon

“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” President Bush once tried to say that in a speech, got lost in the attempt, and finally explained to the audience that, whatever the saying was, the meaning was clear – you shouldn’t allow yourself to be fooled twice. Some people focus on the wrong part of this story, and think Bush comes off looking stupid, but actually only a boorish “hater” would look at it that way. Sometimes the words don’t come out right – but that’s not the point – the point is that the guy is trying to be straight with you. When he fumbles his line, he takes another tack and trusts you to understand his point. That’s called reaching out to the audience. It works, and it’s the type of elegant save that has made Bush the sort of President who can stay popular with a burger-eating, RV-driving, tax-paying, national security conscious electorate.

But what if Bush’s folksy bumbles and straight-to-the-camera pleas were just the bland deceptions of a bald-faced liar? What if Bush’s pants exploded in flames in front of the entire world? Then you would just be left with a graceless lout for a President, a man who talks with his mouth full, says “shit” over lunch with Tony Blair and other world leaders, refers to heads of state and the chief of the UN as if they were lackeys, and sexually harasses the Prime Minister of Germany with an unwanted shoulder massage. Hey, Condi loves it! Loosen up, babe!

Many liberals predict a reversal of fortune for the President that has yet to be reported in the major news media because Karl Rove is not dead, the Congressional mid-term elections may yet be fixed, and Dick Cheney has about a foot of toilet plunger left before he’s done giving the American public the Amadou Diallou treatment. Have you noticed how, now that Bush’s disapproval rating is at least 67%, Dick is the guy still dealing aggressively from the deck of lies? Cheney’s popularity is not in issue – he’s popular in South Dakota, in corporate boardrooms, and on Fox News. His irredeemable rascality has become the administration’s last resource in the war on truth. He will say anything, then deny saying it, while picking up campaign contributions for having said it. Like IV drug users who inject themselves with water to create the illusion of getting high, the media is still shooting up TV watchers with Cheney’s zero-percent truth solution, although fewer report getting the much-desired experience of belief.

What ever happened to “checks and balances?” Let us turn for interpretive guidance to the original spinmeister, P.T. Barnum, who assured us that “no one ever went broke underestimating the intelligence of the American people.” Barnum also famously divided people into those who could be fooled all of the time and those who could be fooled some of the time. At present, the US Congress wishes to be fooled as much of the time as possible. Witness the stubborn support that Lieberman has received from Congressional pseudo-Democrats who defend his defection from the party as an act of conscience, instead of a baldfaced, Cheney-supported effort to split the Democratic ticket in Connecticut. Outside of Congress, most Americans now fall into that other category – those who can only be fooled some of the time. For them, the days of getting high on patriotism and security threats to forget the pain of living in a debt-based economy are over. “You’re lying,” says the public to a disbelieving chorus of prostituted news agencies. “How can you tell?” respond the news agencies, with crestfallen looks. “Your lips are moving,” we reply.

Just a few days ago, twenty-one Generals, professionals in the science of modern warfare, sent Bush a letter telling him that Iran is not a nuclear threat, urging him to quit “saber-rattling” and start negotiating. Yet with a puff of wind from Condi’s Department of State, these emeritus warriors were dismissed as amateurs. We will get another war cocked and loaded. The President will engage in brinksmanship with religious zealots. He will use inflammatory rhetoric if he is so inspired in his communions with the Lord. Our God can beat up your God, and if you don’t think so, just ask Saddam, and he thought he was God.

Bush is, after all, a “war president,” as he was so eager to tell the TV cameras once that he said it nearly twenty times in under an hour. Sounds like a boy with a new puppy, but a lot more dangerous. Aren’t you glad we have a war president? He comes with super eyes that can see the future, super muscles to beat up your enemies, a super credit card to buy everything he wants for himself and his friends, and a super public relations budget that produces new lies when the old ones wear out. He is so super that he even believes that his leadership has been a blessing for the nation. Along the way, he may have had to tell some stretchers, but it was all for the best. Just ask all the people on military bases who cheer every time he makes a speech. He has to keep those people cheering, because those are the small group of people who can be fooled all the time, and it’s his job to keep fooling them.

When our President cries “Wolf!” you know he means it. There’s a wolf out there. It may not be threatening particular sheep right now, but all wolves are scary, fanged beasts who kill sheep. Who, after all, could claim there are no wolves? Only one who wishes the wolf to devour the flocks! A person who isn’t a shepherd -- a wolf-sympathizer. We aren’t talking about the petty matter of whether a wolf-attack occurred on this or that occasion. We’re talking now about whether you believe in wolves or not, and whose side you are on. That’s what you call controlling the debate, and that’s how you neutralize concerns about silly things like who told the truth when. Welcome to the world of the wolf.
admin
Site Admin
 
Posts: 36119
Joined: Thu Aug 01, 2013 5:21 am

Re: Charles Carreon, The Arizona Kid

Postby admin » Sat Oct 05, 2013 6:41 am

WEREWOLVES IN ASHLAND, by Charles Carreon

Image
Werewolves in Ashland, by Joshua Carreon

I. The Werewolf Expert

“It is not true in every case that the werewolf becomes a cannibal on the night of the full moon.” As he wrote these words, Professor Probst realized that statement contradicted the expressed view of many experts, but he was sure it was true. Were he unsure, he would not have recorded it in his diary. He had a rule about what he wrote in his diary, a document that he meant to serve as a scientifically accurate record of his observations. On the inside front cover he had written as a reminder the phrase: “Clear observation – No speculation.” The rule had served him well. It was necessary to maintain psychic hygiene, especially when dealing with matters involving the supernatural, as Probst routinely did. He was, after all, the world’s greatest living expert on werewolves.

Probst was so dedicated to his study of lycanthropy that he hadn’t noticed when the community college where he had taught in California eliminated all of his teaching hours and took him off the payroll. He didn’t figure it out until he went looking for a class schedule, and discovered his name wasn’t on it. He had moved to Ashland, Oregon eleven years earlier, and had seen plenty of evidence of werewolves in the area, more than once observing the telltale signs of lycanthropism among certain members of the populace.

In addition to its unusually large werewolf population, Ashland was an excellent place to network with other supernatural explorers, although there were some phonies at work. Housing was a problem, and particularly so during nights of the full moon, when cops made use of the additional light to hunt up homeless people flaunting the law against having no money. Which is why Probst’s old VW van was pulled up under the spreading arms of a huge cedar that was dripping wet on this rainy summer morning, and Probst was sitting up in his sleeping bag, writing in his thirteenth composition notebook on the secret lives of werewolves. The other twelve volumes were stored neatly in an orange crate to his left, an anachronism from a prior era decorated with the bright illustration of a buxom caramel-skinned woman with blue-black hair spilling from under her red bandana, bearing a basket of oranges over her left shoulder. Probst had preserved the crate, a relic from the era when oranges were still shipped in crates, in memory of a girlfriend who had somewhat resembled the attractive fruit picker. Carla had been her name. Or perhaps Marla.

Perhaps her name was Marla, he mused, then abandoned his daydreaming about her caramel skin, and resumed his writing. “The full moon transformation does not affect all lycanthropes in the precise same way, and in certain places and times, far from being considered grotesque, the wolfmen have been considered a form of deviant nobility.” Probst had been broadening his searches on the Internet. New information appeared all the time. He would do more research today down at the library. He would continue observing the local werewolves. At this stage in his research, he needed to dig into the fieldwork -- stalk them in their nocturnal haunts, watch them surrender to animal abandon, and record it all in his careful, draftsman-style handwriting. His intuition told him that werewolves might be resurging because of global warming, that was paradoxically increasing precipitation and snowfalls in the area, but he wasn’t ready to write it in his notebook. He needed evidence. This next full moon, if it wasn’t raining again. His eyes fixed in the middle distance, he grasped the silver bullet that hung ‘round his neck -- a keepsake from his wanderings in the Balkans. He had no ill will toward the lycanthropic race, indeed he suspected he was romantically attracted to them, but the weighty cartridge comforted him on lonely nights when the howling and barking got too close to the van. Deviant nobility – he liked that term. He smiled and chewed the end of his pencil.

Probst heard a rap on the side of the van, and looked up to see his friend Rodney smiling in the driver side window. He probably wanted to take a walk. Rodney lived in a truck, and took long walks as a way of keeping himself occupied and exercised. Rodney didn’t believe in werewolves, but that was all right with Probst. Rodney played chess and published a poetry magazine on an occasional basis. He climbed inside the front seat of the van, and pulled the door shut.

“Whaddaya workin’ on, Probst, your life story? Better get some exercise, or it’ll be a short one.” Rodney laughed as if he’d just taken Probst’s pawn in a chess game, and pushed ahead with his usual bravado. “C’mon, let’s take a walk, amigo!”

“You didn’t bring me any coffee, man,” replied Probst. “It’s all wet. I’ll have to put on my rain gear.”

“Don’t worry, it’s barely drizzling. Live dangerously, or better yet, use an umbrella, professor,” said Rodney.

“I’ll just suit up,” said Probst. Probst pulled corduroy pants over his long underwear, a plaid coat over his flannel shirt, and some thick woolen socks over his feet, while Rodney launched into a monologue about local politics. Rodney didn’t always require responses to his statements, and Probst had gotten the hang of nodding at the right time a long time ago. So he and Rodney got along perfectly well. They walked out from under the big, dripping cedar, onto the little gravel track Probst had found leading up to his hideout, and down onto the road.

Probst had set up his squat with careful attention to “the three S’s” – “shape, shadow and size,” an old military acronym he’d picked up during his service in Nam as a spotter for the B-52s that pummeled the Ho Chi Minh Trail every night with high explosives bombs like seeds that trickled from the devil’s overflowing maw. To identify rebel supply and construction locations on aerial photographs, the places where huge Russian and Chinese bulldozers and trucks would lie hidden during the night, spotters searched for unusual shapes and shadows, and objects of unusual size. Anything square or blocky, or casting straight line shadows, or just too damn big to be a natural form, would be marked for destruction.

Probst had first become aware of werewolves in Nam, when he realized that his sergeant was one. Racine was the sergeant’s name, and Racine’s secret was no secret to anyone. One night when their platoon was in a forward position separated from the rest of G Company, the huge Vietnamese full moon came up over the Mekong River, he underwent the classic transformation in front of the entire squad. Racine was a decent fellow, actually the best kind of sergeant, and after the event he remembered nothing, so everyone covered for him, even though the scene was weirder than anything you’d see in Apocalypse Now.

It started with Racine heating up a cup of instant coffee in his canteen cup over a little sputtering fire he’d made from a pinch of plastic explosive. Usually by this hour of the night, everyone would’ve loosened up with a heroin-laced spleef, but the squad’s drug dealer had been injured by a booby trap a week before and nobody else had been able to score since he got helicoptered out. So they were all straight except for a couple of the guys from California, who had a stash of acid. That stuff didn’t agree with Probst, so he was just jonesin’ for a joint when Racine started coughing.

Nobody said anything until the coughing had kept up for a couple of minutes, and Racine was doubled over in a squat, his head between his knees, hacking in a hoarse voice deep in his throat. Then all of a sudden he whipped his head up and snapped his whole body into a wolf posture, his mouth tilted open to the sky, and emitted a howl that could’ve come out of the mouth of a timber wolf. Then he kept doing it for so long that even the acid heads stopped laughing and got scared, confused looks on their faces. What the fuck was Sarge doing, howling like a goddamned coyote? Then the huge moon came up over the rim of the jungle foliage and cast a ray of light on Racine. The sergeant’s face was shockingly transformed, as was his entire body. His shoulder, neck and arm muscles were bulging with strength, his tongue seemed elongated, his canines shone brightly, and his facial muscles had shaped themselves into such a doglike resemblance that the acid heads freaked out, shouting simultaneously, “He’s a fucking werewolf!” and reached for their weapons.

Probst liked ready firepower, and grunts could carry any sidearm they wanted. He’d opted for a sawed-off twelve-gauge pump shotgun. He’d carved the stock into a pistol grip, and loaded the magazine with alternating deer slugs and double-odd shot. The slugs would punch through twelve inches of wet phone book, and the shot would melt the skin off bones. Probst thought of it as his personal shield, and so far nobody had gotten past it. When Probst racked the pump and leveled it at the trippers, fumbling with the safeties on their M-16s, he got their close attention.

Probst’s head shook lightly in the moonlight as he assured the men in a calm voice, “Sarge is on a bummer. Stand down, gentlemen. I’ll take care of him.” A gentle wave of the sawed-off reassured them that Probst was in charge, and the acid heads released their automatic rifles.

“It’s cool, man,” said Retro, a black nineteen-year old from Pomona who looked like he was comin’ down fast off the acid buzz.

“Yeah, cool,” echoed Lenny, the second tripper, a Pacific Palisades boy who seemed far from sure that anything was cool.

The third tripper, Carlito, a Latino from Silverlake in LA, said nothing, still riveted on the sight of Racine, whose howls continued to split the night.

Then Lt. Darcy showed up, pulled away from the warm arms of his underage prostitute by the sergeant’s ear-splitting howls. Flashing his light around, he saw Probst with his leveled gun, the nervous acid heads with eyes glittering, and Racine howling like Rin Tin Tin mourning the death of Lassie, turned right around, and walked into his tent. Then he came back out with his service .45 in his hand and walked over to Probst.

In a breathy voice loaded with good whiskey, Darcy whispered in Probst’s ear in his cultured southern drawl, “What the fuck is going on here? Is Racine high, or what?”

“I have no idea. I’m just watching. Why don’t you go back to bed Lieutenant. I’ll see this through.” Probst kept his eyes on the acid heads while talking to Darcy.

Darcy continued his twangy whispering, “Perhaps it hasn’t occurred to you, Corporal, that this might give away our position to the enemy.”

“Yes, I did, but I’m hoping they’ll think it’s a dog, and the US Army rarely operates with canine patrols.”

“Can’t you shut him up?”

“He just started a minute ago. I’m hoping he’ll shut up soon. If he doesn’t maybe we’ll have to call for a medic. Gimme a little bit.”

Then, something even stranger happened. Another howl burst out of the jungle to Probst’s right, and it sounded remarkably near. Then, in an eerie chorus, the howls began to sound all around them, blending with Racine’s into a moonlight serenade of soaring unity. The acid heads looked around and up at the sky in wonder, and started howling, too, laughing their asses off as a war zone turned into a primeval forest. As the moon rose higher, the scene of pandemonium unfolded, Probst lowered his sidearm and turned to Darcy, nodding as if he knew something. Darcy sullenly returned to his tent, the embraces of his bedtime companion, as the jungle around them echoed with an ever-increasing number of howling voices. In the morning, Racine was himself again, sleeping like a baby next to a canteen-cup of cold coffee.

II. Saigon Days

The incident with Sgt. Racine had been a one-time event that never recurred. Although not a doper on a regular basis, from then on, Racine slept through every full-moon night, retiring early to his tent with two shots of vodka laced with a dose of pharmaceutical morphine. Racine was a lifer, then in his early fifties. He had stormed beaches in the South Pacific and served in the postwar occupation of Japan. He was a committed non-com who had refused a promotion to officer status more than once. He was fanatical about handling prisoners according to the rules of war.

Racine had a run-in with Darcy once, when the lieutenant was on the verge of executing an old man who had concealed a stash of mortars in his rice bin.

Quoting Army regulations, Racine swiftly recited: “Sir! Persons captured or detained by the U.S. Military Services shall normally be handed over for safeguarding to U.S. Army Military Police as soon as practical.”

Of course, Darcy, with his fuck-your-procedure attitude, had aired back the hammer on his pistol, and kept looking straight at Racine, as if he would splatter the old man’s brains if he felt like it. The old man hadn’t flinched – he was twice the man Darcy tried to be – and neither had Racine, who just quoted another regulation: “Sir! All military personnel shall ensure that suspected or alleged violations of the international law of war are promptly reported to the appropriate authorities and investigated in accordance with Department of Defense directives.”

A look of disgust distorted Darcy’s blonde good looks, and without taking his eyes off Racine, he moved the pistol two inches to the right and pulled the trigger next to the old man’s ear, simultaneously destroying the man’s hearing and firing a round into the dirt floor of the bamboo hut. “Well then,” said Darcy, “take care of the prisoner, sergeant.” He spit the last word.

Racine didn’t like Darcy, either, but early on, he had saved the lieutenant’s ass from becoming a casualty of friendly fire. The grunts had made a list of Darcy’s most hate-able traits, among them commandeering the best-looking prostitutes for himself, hoarding liquor, and his tendency to order minorities to walk point on patrol. This lists of unofficial beefs, Racine well knew, amounted to an indictment that would culminate in a regrettable accident. As the hatred for Darcy in the unit had seethed and simmered, Racine nipped it in the bud, but not by quoting procedure to the grunts. He’d had a little sit-down with Darcy that went like this:

He began, “Excuse me, Lieutenant, may I have a moment with you.”

“Yes?” Darcy responded in irritation, lifting his eyes but not raising his head from the paperback novel he was reading.

“Sir,” continued Racine, “You know you are the third lieutenant this platoon has had in the last sixteen months.”

Annoyed, Darcy looked up fully from the book and asked, “Are you suggesting something?”

“No sir, I’m just reviewing the facts,” answered Racine.

“Yeah,” responded Darcy laconically, “well I’m not going home like the rest of them. My great grandfather fought at the Battle of Bull Run under Stonewall Jackson.”

Racine shook his head and leaned forward gently, “Precisely, Sir. General Westmoreland isn’t Stonewall Jackson, and the men in your unit aren’t southern gentlemen. They’re young draftees, they’re scared, and frankly, they don’t like you.”

Darcy blanched whiter than usual, swallowed and said, “They wouldn’t dare.”

“Sir,” responded Racine, “I would not bet on that.” Then he took one step back, snapped to attention, delivered a crisp salute, and left the silent lieutenant alone in his tent.

Probst heard this story from Racine while they sat having drinks in a Saigon bar during the last few months before the fall of the South Vietnamese government. The two were reminiscing about Darcy, who had been promoted several times and shipped back to Washington to take a job at the Pentagon. While they sipped their drinks, Racine grew nostalgic, and started talking about his days in the South Pacific.

Racine began, “I was on some tiny, no-name coral atoll with some palm trees, a helluva lot of spiders, and a shitload of Japs. My buddy and I got sent out on recon to find a source of fresh water, and got lost around nightfall. We ended up hiding out in a collapsed palm hut, and damn if the Japs didn’t come and set up camp right in front of the damn thing. They built a fire and cooked some fish. Man, I was hungry smellin’ that fish, but we couldn’t move. We were hidden away in a big pile of palm fronds at the back of the hut, just watchin’ ‘em eatin’ and talkin’ Japanese. My buddy wanted to kill ‘em and steal their food, but that would’ve been crazy, I thought, and I told him so. Probably woulda brought a whole bunch of their pals down around our neck. Mighta been a better idea than what we did, though.”

“What did you do?”

“We laid there all night in the palm fronds while the Japs stuffed themselves with fish and swapped dirty jokes. In the morning, I was the only one alive.”

“Why’s that?”

“The fuckin’ spiders. Fuckin’ spiders, man…”

“Whaddaya mean? Spider bite killed your buddy?”

“Yeah, and nearly killed me. I probably woulda died, actually, except for ...”

Probst interrupted Racine. “Knocked you out for a while?”

“For how long, I don’t know, man.”

“You’re kidding…”

“No, I’m serious. When I woke up, my buddy was not only dead, there wasn’t much left of him. Some wild dogs had been eatin’ on him, and they were startin’ in on me. I woke up with one of ‘em biting into my right shin – right here –“ Racine stopped his narrative to raise his pants leg, roll down his sock, and expose the scar.

After rolling his pants leg back down, Racine resumed. “My sidearm was still strapped on. I couldn’t get it out of the holster, because I could barely move my hand. But I got the safety off and fired a round that spooked the bastard and his buddies. They were howling all around the hut after that, but they didn’t come back in. I wasn’t bleeding too bad, and the pain kept working on my brain, so pretty soon I was regaining some strength. I dragged myself out of the goddamn hut, and kept crawling toward the beach. I laid on the sand all night, as close to the water as I could. Every now and then a wave would wash over me and wake me up. I knew I had to stay out of that jungle, and away from that hut. The spiders or the dogs would get me if I stayed. As it was, the dogs kept watch all night over me, their eyes glowing like the waves. The next morning, my strength was gone. I couldn’t move from the spot. I figured I was gonna die there, one more soldier dead on a beach with no one to cry over him.”

“How’d it turn out?” asked Probst, eager to know the end of the story.

“Never saw that fuckin’ island again. My unit found me the next day on the beach. I woke up on a hospital ship on the way to Manila with a morphine drip in my arm and a Filipina nurse giving me a nasty look. First thing she said to me was ‘GI, hands off!’ Cracked me up. Like I was thinkin’ about her body! After all I’d been through, all I wanted was for nothin’ to happen ever again. I just wanted to sit for about six months. Instead they sent me to the VA hospital in Los Angeles. You know the place.”

Probst knew the place, of course. So many vets had been through that medical hell-hole over the years, and few had good memories. Lobotomies, electroshock, insulin shock, chemical restraints, you name it, the VA medicos had tried it on some poor vet.

“Why’d they send you there?” asked Probst.

“Said I was a headcase.”

“Were you?” Probst didn’t place great on emphasis this question, just kept peering into his beer mildly.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“So why’d they say you were?”

“You remember that night with the platoon, when Darcy was still our CO?”

“The night you made like Wolfman Jack and scared the piss out of the Cali boys?”

Racine first grunted and shifted his shoulders forward to acknowledge Probst’s recollection, then resumed his explanation. “That happened before. It happened around my family. I had a wife. She wouldn’t have me around. Said on the full moon I got crazy, acted like a dog, treated her like a dog.” Racine seemed humiliated.

“You don’t have to tell me this, Sarge,” said Probst, leaning forward even farther over the bar to whisper this with a meaningful, sincere glance. “You don’t have to explain. It never happened again.”

“It doesn’t happen if I’m knocked out, so that’s why, y’know, the vodka and the hard stuff. I never do that otherwise.”

“I know, Sarge. You’re a straight guy. It’s a problem you deal with.”

“Yeah, I deal with it,” said Racine, looking straight into Probst’s eyes. “I deal with it, but I don’t understand it. And if it happens again, don’t call a medic. I don’t hurt nobody. I just scared my wife that one time. But the medics, they like to study strange problems. I don’t want to be a lab animal.”

“Right. Gotcha, Sarge. Happens again, no medics.”

“It won’t happen again,” emphasized Racine with a small smile, “but just in case it does.”

“Sure, no worries,” replied Probst, extending his hand to exchange a soul-brother grip with Racine. Then he turned to the waitress, raised his eyebrows, lit up a Park Lane, and asked for another round – “Another couple of Tigers over here, okay Lily?”

The bargirl joked -- “You guys drink too much. Don’t you want girl?”

Probst pulled in another lungful of reefer smoke and exhaled, smiling through the intoxicating cloud and watching Racine’s reflection in the mirror behind the bar -- “Just the beer.”

Racine nodded his head in agreement, and took a long drink.
admin
Site Admin
 
Posts: 36119
Joined: Thu Aug 01, 2013 5:21 am

Re: Charles Carreon, The Arizona Kid

Postby admin » Sat Oct 05, 2013 6:47 am

FREE SPEECH WEATHERVANE, by Charles Carreon

Image
Speech on Fire, by Tara Carreon

Just Gimme Some Truth

Dow Jones, the company that monitors the financial markets like an aging relative’s blood pressure, owns The Wall Street Journal. The WSJ was once the best place to get all the news the elites allowed themselves to learn about, without fear that it would be learned by the rest of the world. But those days are over -- the truth is too hot for any major news agency to handle. Just look at this Mark Foley scandal. A brace of young boys had been accusing ex-Congressman Foley of pervy behavior for over a year, and telling the press about it. Sure, you wouldn’t expect the FBI to investigate -- if it’s not terrorism or a bank robbery, they don’t have time. You wouldn’t expect Congress to investigate -- they’re busy trying to bankrupt the nation by selling their vote to the carousel of lobbyists who alternately terrorize and seduce them. But we cherish a hope that the newspapers will move on this stuff. What a pain to learn they are as crooked as the cops and the Congress.

Crime, What Crime?

The WSJ covered the Clinton scandal very thoroughly, as I recall, because that involved the unforgiveable crime of having sex in a special room where, apparently, only symbolic acts of fellatio are permitted. The current Oval Office occupant has committed many crimes, but the WSJ never bothers to report on law-breaking by the President, because the Attorney General persuades Congress to alter the laws retroactively to eliminate any taint of illegality that might have attached to the initial misdeed. Of course, then it’s not news anymore, so there’s no point in reporting on it at all. Let’s face it. There’s no point in reporting on a crime if it’s just going to be made legal as soon as it’s discovered. That’s just a waste of ink.

Truth is, the WSJ stopped reporting anything controversial once the War on Terror became the number one concern of every news-person. You may recall that Hollywood also froze up, and hasn’t really made a good movie since the three towers collapsed. The first casualty of war, as they say, is the truth. Since this war on terror is scheduled to last forever, that must mean that the truth has been permanently banished from our nation.

www.DailyCensorship.com

The Internet is going to save us, right? There will be robust debate on bulletin boards. The Ashland Daily Tidings, for example, allows readers to post comments on its articles. They have to be short comments, because the Tidings only lets people post about five lines. This is as at best as stupid as Dilbert’s boss thinking his company would save computer memory if everyone word-processed using smaller fonts. Now I realize that short posts are better because none would be best of all.

On August 25, 2006, the Tidings ran Bob Plain’s article on Michael Ruppert, “Wilderness Relocates to Venezuela.” The article provoked many comments, and a poster we’ll call Teesee was doing her best in the restricted space format to post some serious information about Ruppert and his CIA connections. The Tidings actually employs a censor to review posts before they appear online, though, and Teese was uploading faster than the censor was reading. The censor then jumbled her posts so they didn’t make sense. Soon she started to harvest a stream of nasty comments from some online bullies. Then the Tidings censor refused to post her replies to the bullies. The Tidings censor added decisive strength to one side of a debate, allowing Teese to be pelted with verbal abuse, and depriving her of the means to respond. Somewhere, a corporate halfwit was working hard damping down digital conflict. The Tidings’ fluffy reporting accentuates the positive, while the censor eradicates the offensive. Under the guise of protecting itself from liability, or readers from offensive speech, the Tidings is abusing its media power, distorting the image of our community. The censor doesn’t protect the Tidings from liability, either. Comment boards have an absolute exemption from libel and other forms of “publisher liability” for third party statements under 47 USC Sec. 230(c)(1). See Zeran v. AOL, 129 F.3d at 331. The Tidings enjoys free speech rights under the First Amendment. It should accord some to its readers.

Oh, That Community Forum...

For a couple of days in August, The Tidings opened a “Community Forum” that allowed posters to post comments about any topic, of any length, with image-upload capabilities. Neat! Teesee started posting. After two days, the Community Forum went offline, and stayed off. The AFP sent an email to Tidings Editor Scott Bolsinger asking what had happened to the Community Forum. He replied that the Forum was still up. What? Is everyone on the Bush plan? Just saying whatever’s convenient? It’s gone! Why is the Community Forum gone, Scott? Did the censor fear impending unemployment? Did it keep you up at night thinking what someone might post?

Ashland, New York

The Tidings, like 23 other newspapers, is owned by Dow Jones subsidiary Ottaway Community Newspapers. The company website says that Ottaway’s CEO John Wilcox, “has residences in Washingtonville, New York and on Cape Cod, Massachusetts.” You need those on the east coast. He has the advanced degrees, the management training, the pedigree. Perhaps he’s been to Oregon. The website quotes former CEO Jim Ottoway, Jr.: “We’re constantly walking a tightrope to avoid benign neglect of papers or, on the other hand, too much management.” Benign neglect, huh? I’ll go for the “neglect” part.
admin
Site Admin
 
Posts: 36119
Joined: Thu Aug 01, 2013 5:21 am

Re: Charles Carreon, The Arizona Kid

Postby admin » Sat Oct 05, 2013 6:51 am

HIGH TIMES FOR HIGH CRIMES AND MISDEMEANORS, by Charles Carreon

Image
Stock Up On Republicans!, by Tara Carreon

The Tidings Has An Obvious Epiphany

Wow, for a moment I thought I was reading the wrong website. The Ashland Daily Tidings has gone and blown the lid off the journalistic ban on talking about the gigantic, unanswered questions about 9/11! This shows how nimble a corporate colossus like Dow Jones Newspapers can be when the winds of change have blown with a clear and sustained direction, as they appear to have done in this period of exultant Democratic upheaval. All things are possible! Mountains are there to be moved! The Tidings labored and brought forth the obvious.

Dow Jones Did Not

The Tidings “called for an investigation,” a call in which the Ashland Free Press would loudly join, if it had not been informing its readers about sloppy 9/11 investigations and Bush/Cheney coverups for years, as our back issues will show. But that is not to take the wind out of The Tidings’ sails. In these times, bold proclamations will issue from unfamiliar quarters, and we must take everyone seriously. Of the 23 newspapers owned and operated by the Ottaway Community Newspapers, a wholly-owned subsidiary of Dow Jones, this is the only one that is “calling for an investigation.” Ashland certainly should congratulate itself on having shown such a progressive vein that Ottaway would allow this sort of editorial expression, because I’m sure those are not the kind of proclamations that are issuing from other Ottaway newspaper websites. For example, today I surfed over to the Press Republican, that serves upstate New York, and the cover article was about how Plattsburg State University was getting ROTC on campus! I promise, however, to take the Tidings’ proclamation more seriously when the central Dow Jones newspaper, The Wall Street Journal, issues the same call. Otherwise, it’s just more small town spin.

Watch Us Spin

If there is to be media spin of the Democratic win, and of course there will be spin, spin, spin, it will be of the sort intended to lull us into contentment, so that we shall be easily governable citizens. Calls for investigations are such lovely things, like trumpets heard in the distance, signaling that the hunt is on, but we must be ever vigilant that the precious governing body of our nation is not distracted from the business of governing. The ship of state is dangerously listing, spending is out of control, and we are still in the grip of a demented war cooked up by religious zealots.

Memo to Congress: Please Don’t Screw Up The 9/11 Prosecution

Congress should avoid getting bogged down in a 9/11 investigation that will be a vehicle for exonerating the culprits by grants of immunity as was the case in the sham Iran/Contra investigation, that didn't slow down North or Poindexter one bit. Poindexter came back in 2002 as the “Total Information Awareness” czar, and North was just down in Nicaragua giving his old foe Daniel Ortega grief yesterday. The mud of Iran/Contra washed off easily because they both beat their felony convictions on appeal despite all of Special Prosecutor Walsh's proof of their overwhelming guilt, because Congress had allowed North and Poindexter to exclude their confessions before Congress from the criminal case because of the grants of immunity Congress gave in the interests of getting “full disclosure.” We don’t need full disclosure. We need convictions of the 9/11 murderers. We do not need Congress to misuse its investigative power to grant absolution for tyrannical conduct in defiance of the Constitution and law of the land, which is what happened with Iran/Contra, and with the first 9/11 Commission, and will happen with any other investigation run by politicians, of whatever party persuasion. Pelosi is wise to steer clear of this morass, although it took me a while to get the wisdom of her position.

David Boies, This Is Your Moment

Fortunately, Congress can give the work to someone else with the stroke of a pen. Just write a new Independent Counsel Act, appoint David Boies to convict all of the murderers, whether they’re found in Saudi Arabia, in Pakistan, or in a bunker with his thumb on the nuclear trigger. I can give him a really big lead on his investigation, too. Shortcut everything, and go straight to Larry Silverstein. He lost three buildings that day in exactly the same way and made out like a bandit. Definitely he has a lot of explaining to do, since he admitted that he deliberately agreed to destroy Building 7 in consultation with a bunch of bigwigs, because there “had been such a loss of life.”

Memo To The Tidings: Plenty of 9/11 News You Haven’t Touched Yet

It’s good that the Tidings mentions Building 7 in its investigation-call, but for a daily newspaper, there is a great deal more to say about Building 7. More than asking for Congress to mount one more whitewash investigation the Tidings just needs to start publishing the facts of 9/11 – the ones that are out there, everywhere on the Internet, but still not breaking through the front pages of America’s daily papers. Start publishing the stifled speech of people who have been silenced by the FBI, and the FBI and CIA agents themselves who cannot speak what they know. The fall of the three towers was a huge conspiracy, obviously accomplished by people far more skilled than the box-cutter-wielding type of folks who have soaked up the blame, along with poor Mr. Moussawi, who’s so crazy he aided in his own conviction, claimed he deserved the death penalty, and mocked the jurors as softheaded fools for sparing his life. Justice demands the appointment of an Independent Prosecutor with a commission to convict the perpetrators – financial, strategic, and operational, regardless of who they know or how much money they have. Obviously, this Independent Prosecutor will need capable bodyguards, and a huge witness protection fund will have to be established. All good business for big lawfirms and small, so Congress should be happy to send the business to their friends who sent campaign contributions. The fruit of their labors will be far more satisfying than the blunderings of a Congress eager to not step in something.

High Times for High Crimes & Misdemeanors

What Congress should do is impeach Bush and Cheney for high crimes and misdemeanors, and remove Alberto Gonzales, the perfidious greaser of imperialist fantasies, from his position as the Torturer General. The articles of impeachment have already been set forth quite nicely by thoughtful prosecutors looking ahead to the day when justice will receive its due from these arch-war-criminals. Polls show that 87% of Americans want this from Congress, and it is precisely work that only Congress can do. Any lawyer can prosecute murders. It takes the House to impeach, and the Senate to try an impeachment. So let them put their hands to the work that the people want done, and not delude themselves that we will be satisfied with anything else. John Conyers has the fire in the belly needed to take these bastards down. Let the games begin. Impeach!
admin
Site Admin
 
Posts: 36119
Joined: Thu Aug 01, 2013 5:21 am

Re: Charles Carreon, The Arizona Kid

Postby admin » Sun Oct 06, 2013 7:03 am

DEMOCRATS SHOULD FOLLOW BARBARA LEE'S LEAD ON IRAQ AND DARFUR, by Charles Carreon

9:24 pm, December 5, 2006

Image
Barbara Lee

Staying Ahead By Staying Behind

The Tao Teh Ching, a Chinese book written by a wise man for the edification of kings, says "The sage stays ahead by staying behind." By this definition, Barbara Lee, the Democratic Congresswoman from Oakland and Berkeley, has certainly earned her props as a sage. Back on September 15, 2001, four days after WTC Towers One, Two and Seven came crashing down, she stood alone on the House floor and cast the only vote against authorizing "President" Bush to go bomb the hell out of Iraq. Not one other Congressperson stood with her, and 420 stood against her. Still, she stayed behind, following the dictates of her conscience.

Now Barbara Lee should be hailed as far-seeing, and elevated for her wisdom. I hear Democrats asking, "Who shall guide us in this time of uncertainty?" Obviously, those who had the foresight, like Barbara Lee, to see that we would inevitably end up here, bleeding, bruised, and broke, after five years of mayhem passing for a military adventure. But I doubt that Barbara Lee's phone is ringing off the hook from Nancy Pelosi, who pre-promised Bush-man a no-impeachment, no embarrassment, anti-fiasco, pro-America agenda as a peace offering from one hypocrite to another.

Back when she was the only person in Congress who didn't want to issue "Letters of Marque and Reprisal" against Iraq, Mother Jones interviewed Lee, who showed that she indeed understood very well what she was doing when she voted against making Bush into a "war President." In the interview, Lee expresses concern about not letting "things get out of control." This note of caution rings presciently now that the Blunderer in Chief and his Torturer General have explained to the courts that the vote authorizing the use of force against Iraq also authorized them to spy on good American citizens in every imaginable way. Even the privateers of old wouldn't have had the gall to overreach their authority to such a degree. Lee understood the type of villainy that had made its lair in the White House and knew to be on guard.

Mother Jones wrote:

Mother Jones: I read that you made up your mind as you were sitting in the National Cathedral during the prayer service for the victims. You listened, as so many Americans did, to the dean of the National Cathedral as he prayed that "as we act, we not become the evil we deplore." At that moment, you said, you knew what you had to do.

Barbara Lee: Well, the vote was a very agonizing vote. Like the nation, I'm grieving and searching, in mourning, angry, trying to sort through all my feelings. I think everyone is doing that. And of course the memorial service was a time to really stop and reflect on all those who so tragically died, the victims and their families, and what an appropriate testimonial to them would be. ... And so in that context I was listening to the members of the clergy, searching to try and see if I could find some direction and clarity. You know, in moments like these — when you're agonizing, when you're uncertain in terms of the ramifications of any very serious actions that you're going to take — you have to go within, and use your head and your heart, and all the faculties that you have, to try to make decisions. And so, as I thought about that one line in the prayer, I said, "You know, this is the right vote — you've got to vote no."

MJ: Did you know before casting your vote that you were likely to be the only dissenting member of Congress?

Lee: Oh, no — I did not know that. Many members have these same concerns. The use of restraint is of concern to a lot of them. We don't want to see this spiral out of control; we don't want to see the cycle of violence continue.

We all agree that we've got to bring these terrorists to justice and to make sure that they're never allowed to perpetrate such an evil act as they did. And so all of us are dealing with that. We know that the President has the authority to go to war under the War Powers Act. The Congress has a responsibility to provide the checks and balances and to exercise some oversight. I don't believe that we should disenfranchise the people of America in the war-making decision-making process. At least minimally, we should be able to know which nation we're planning to attack and have some input into that. We should know what the exit strategy is. I'm not talking about all the details of a war plan, but certainly we should have more than a five-hour debate. To me, that's just not the best way to make public policy.

http://www.motherjones.com/news/feature ... 9/lee.html


Bringing All The Troops Home, For Good

Barbara Lee is now sounding another note of caution on Iraq. Beware of partial withdrawals, stay-behind forces, and permanent bases.

Barbara Lee wrote:

While Congress debates how to best, and most quickly end the occupation and bring our troops home, we need to begin with an agreement on the outcome: when our troops come home, they should all come home. There should be no permanent military bases in Iraq. When President Bush refused to rule out permanent bases, as he did in a recent press conference, he fed the widespread perception that the U.S. intends a permanent occupation of Iraq, which is one of the forces that is fueling violence on the ground.

It is also not too soon to begin the process of ensuring that the lessons of this failed war are learned. That means oversight and accountability: we must examine how we got into this position – the administration’s case for war, the use of prewar intelligence, the implementation of the war, everything – in order to ensure that our nation NEVER finds itself in this position again. http://lee.house.gov/index.cfm?SectionI ... tionTree=2


The mistakes of the past are not the place to dwell. There are so many challenges facing the nation, the world and humanity at this time that we must look forward constantly. While excoriating Bush is always pleasant, the Democratic majority is taking shape at this time. Those who get to the table first with the best ideas will have the greatest opportunity to shape the future. As resurgent liberals, we need to MAINTAIN MOMENTUM, which means keeping the political heat on our representatives to turn the Ship of State around at a swift clip.

Stopping Genocide In Darfur by Stopping Trade With Sudan

One of the things the nation isn't addressing is "Islamic fascism" and state-sponsored terrorism in Darfur. The reason is simple — we don't want to piss off the Sudan dictatorship, because it sells us oil. Although Colin Powell called it genocide in September 2004, and the African Union managed to paper over the bloodshed with a bilateral disarmament agreement in May 2006, around 80 infants are dying per day according to the current Wikipedia article on this topic.

Barbara Lee has sponsored legislation, HR 6140 supported by 70 cosponsors that would ban the US Government from contracting with any companies that do business in Sudan, aside from those business activities that further implementation of the Darfur Peace Agreement of May 5, 2006.

Now that's the kind of "unrealistic" legislation that I fully support. Why? Because it would be effective, and could only save the taxpayers money. Because of its drastic effect, it would immediately alter the course of Sudan's conduct as soon as it became law. Democrats, it's time to start refusing to write war checks! 'Cause what's a War President who can't pay his soldiers? A loser! As if you hadn't heard.

________________________________________


A New ABOL Page: Black Members of the US Congress From 1870-2005

11:00 pm, December 5, 2006

The American Buddha Online Library (ABOL) is an educational resource for students of democracy. Webmistress AmbuFortunaZapataGaudi has just posted a new page that presents for the first time in standard web format the entire record of all of the Black Members of the US Congress From 1870-2005. In addition to liberating the original document prepared by The Congressional Research Service of the Library of Congress from its PDF format, the ABOL version provides photographs of each of the Congresspeople. Give the page a visit and bone up on Black Congressional history. You will have to get a free ABOL library membership to enter the site, which is well worth your consideration.
admin
Site Admin
 
Posts: 36119
Joined: Thu Aug 01, 2013 5:21 am

Re: Charles Carreon, The Arizona Kid

Postby admin » Sun Oct 06, 2013 7:08 am

WITH "FRIENDS" LIKE THE SAUDIS, ENEMIES ARE OBSOLETE, by Charles Carreon

12/13/06

Dick Cheney, the Saudi water-boy, brings bad tidings from our Saudi masters: If the US pulls out, the Saudis will fund the “Sunni insurgency.”

Official: Saudis to back Sunnis if U.S. leaves Iraq

Saudi King Abdullah reportedly has said his kingdom would back Sunnis if the United States leaves Iraq.

Image

December 13, 2006

WASHINGTON (CNN) -- Saudi Arabia's King Abdullah has warned Vice President Dick Cheney that Saudi Arabia would back the Sunnis if the United States pulls out of Iraq, according to a senior American official.

The official said the king "read the riot act" to the vice president when the two met last month in the Saudi capital, Riyadh.

The New York Times first reported the conversation Wednesday, saying Saudi support would include financial backing for minority Sunnis in the event of a civil war between them and Iraq's Shiite majority.

Asked about the meeting, a senior Saudi official -- who spoke on condition he not be named -- ruled out using terminology such as "warning" or "threatening." He said, "I believe the Saudi position was clear, that things might deteriorate or drift in Iraq, and then the kingdom will find itself forced to interfere."

The official also added: "This is not only expected from Saudi Arabia, but also Jordan and a lot of other Arab countries can't stand still and see things going that direction."

A senior Jordanian official, asked if this issue was also discussed during President Bush's meeting with King Abdullah of Jordan, said: "This is a matter that His Majesty is always concerned about."

The White House dismissed the report.

"That's not Saudi government policy," press secretary Tony Snow said in Washington, according to The Associated Press.

"The Saudis have made it clear that they're committed to the same goals we are, which is a self-sustaining Iraq that can sustain, govern and defend itself, that will recognize and protect the rights of all, regardless of sect or religion," Snow said, the AP reported.

Cheney's November 25 visit marked his fourth trip to Saudi Arabia as vice president. An official with Cheney's office said the one-on-one meeting lasted two hours.

The Saudi king told Cheney that his country would be forced to step in and support "like-minded Sunni Arabs" if the situation in Iraq fell apart and the Sunnis' safety was in jeopardy, the senior U.S. official said.

The monarch said he would "intervene aggressively on one side absent an American presence," the source said.

The source said the king did not mean to imply that Saudi Arabia would support al Qaeda in Iraq, but rather tribal groups. However, some of those groups overlap with insurgents who are fighting Americans, the source conceded.

Saudi fears

The bipartisan Iraq Study Group that reported to President Bush and Congress said last week that money from Saudi citizens is funding Sunni insurgents in Iraq, although the Saudis may not know exactly where their money is going. (Watch how Saudis may be helping Iraqi insurgents)

Kenneth Pollack of the Brookings Institution said Saudi Arabia has a reason to take sides.

"They're terrified that Iraq is going to fall into civil war. They're terrified that civil war will spill over into Saudi Arabia. But they're also terrified that the Iranians, backing the various Shiite militias in Iraq, will come out the big winner in a civil war," Pollack told CNN.

However, the king's tough words to Cheney don't mean Saudi support for the United States is wavering, said Richard Murphy, former U.S. ambassador to Saudi Arabia.

"This has nothing to do with the Saudi-American alliance," Murphy said. "What it has to do with is the Saudi concern that we will quickly evacuate Iraq and that the Shia majority will take revenge actions against the Sunni."

In his meeting with Cheney, the Saudi king voiced strong opposition to talks between the United States and Iran, which has a majority Shiite population. According to the senior American official, the king told Cheney that Sunni Arab states, including Saudi Arabia, believed that talking to Iran was dangerous.

The Iraq Study Group called for engaging other countries in the region, including Iran and Syria, in the search for solutions in Iraq.

The Saudis are "nervous about giving Iran any more legitimacy or any more influence in Iraq," Murphy said.

"[Iraq is in] everybody's backyard -- Turkey, Jordan, Saudi Arabia, Syria and Iran," he said. "And they all have interests, they're all watching each other very closely lest one get an undue advantage over the other. And it's going to take an extraordinarily skillful, wide-ranging regional diplomacy on America's part to cope with that."

A senior U.S. official said the conversation between Cheney and King Abdullah reflects the "anxiety about the situation" and the Saudi concern about being left "high and dry" if the United States leaves Iraq.

But the official said leaving Iraq is a "doomsday scenario" that will not happen because the United States isn't going to withdraw.

"We are not walking away from it," the official said.

CNN's Elise Labott, Kelli Arena, John King, Elaine Quijano, Caroline Varaj and Zain Verjee contributed to this report.

Copyright 2006 CNN. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed. Associated Press contributed to this report.


To borrow a colorful phrase from the elder Bush — when the Saudi's have got your back, you're in deep doo-doo. The truth, of course, is that the Saudis are already funding the terrorist bombing that is killing Iraqi people and keeping US forces tied down in what the New York Times is at last calling an “occupation.”

The Saudis are making it clear that the US Occupation of Iraq is for the benefit of the House of Saud.

Check out this excellent video, only ten minutes long, about the complicity between the FBI and the Saudi planebombers. (Unfortunately, this video is no longer available on YouTube.)
admin
Site Admin
 
Posts: 36119
Joined: Thu Aug 01, 2013 5:21 am

Re: Charles Carreon, The Arizona Kid

Postby admin » Sun Oct 06, 2013 7:14 am

EXCUSE ME, "DRAWDOWN" MEANS WHAT?, by Charles Carreon

12/16/06

Image

As Orwell Said

As George Orwell explained in “Politics and the English Language,” we can't understand our own thoughts if we use phony language. We communicate, and think, within the limits of our active vocabulary. Prior to the Iraq war, I think I had heard the word “drawdown” maybe once or twice outside the context of gunplay. For example, a cop might say, “I thought he was going to draw down on me,” to explain why he repeatedly fired dozens of bullets into the body of a homeless man, “in accordance with Department policy on use of force.” Aside from that context, “drawdown” was a term used by bean-counters and silo-operators, who might draw on their reserves of cash or agricultural foodstuffs using a vertical dispenser. Otherwise, it just didn't come up much.

A New Word for A New World Order

“Drawdown” is now used all the time to describe troop movements, but it has not been used in consistently the same way. Early in the war, like in 2002-2004, it was used to describe troop transfers from one area of the globe to another, as from Europe to Iraq. Nowadays, the military impresarios have started using their favorite term “theater” to describe war zones. (I guess that leaves the civilian population in the lobby somewhere, while the soldiers put on the real show.) In any event, staying on point here — this means that “drawdown” was essentially being used in the sense of increasing our troop commitments in Iraq (and simultaneously decreasing troop force in Europe). Now, the same term is being used to describe decreasing our troop commitments in Iraq. The government is using the same word to describe two different things. In the first case, we are moving troops into the war zone, and in the second case moving them out of the war zone, so of course we use the same word for both types of troop movements. By this means, you will note, that the rhetoric of war remains the same, while its meaning changes to suit the needs of the day.

A Visit to Merriam-Webster Discloses Institutionalized Lexicographical Self-Contradiction and No Spanish Equivalent In The Entries for “Drawdown”

I got curious, and looked up “drawdown” in the thesaurus, to see if any other word equates to it. The answer? No. “Drawdown” is sui generis, which is Latin for one of a kind. Check it out:

Merriam-Webster's Online Thesaurus
drawdown
No entries found that match drawdown.

If you run drawdown through the Merriam-Webster Spanish/English dictionary, you get no entries.

The Dictionary gives you two choices, a one-word noun, and a two-word verb:

1. drawdown, noun: 1: a lowering of a water lever (as in a reservoir) or 2a: the process of depleting, or 2b: reduction.

2. draw down, verb: to deplete by using or spending

Thus we see that the dictionary definition itself incorporates two different words with two different meanings that sound the same. That is to say, they are homonyms that can work as antonyms. These are very dangerous words that can be used as weapons, in the wrong hands.

Remembering Alexander (Haig, that is)

In military parlance, nouns often get “verbed” as in the famous “Haigisms” of Alexander Haig, who turned the noun “impact” into the verb of the same name. It used to be that a meteor would crash into the earth at its “point of impact.” Now, thanks to Al, the earth gets “impacted.” One wag said that Haig had “discovered a new way to vocabulary his thoughts.” I think he was just using an established way of screwing with our heads — making the same word mean two things. This served his further agenda of obfuscating the matters under his command, by for example denying that he had lied, insisting he'd only engaged in a “terminological inexactitude” and a “tactical misrepresentation.”

Returning to the use of “drawdown” or “draw down” and/or both, what are we to make of the sudden popularity of this term that is both verb and noun. It was first used as a verb -- “to deplete” as in “use or spend” soldiers as a resource by moving them from safety in Germany to danger in Iraq. Now it is being used as a noun, “a reduction,” as in our commitment of troops, in order to save them from the risks of combat. By “drawing down” our soldiers we may either be sending them into harm's way or pulling them out of the line of fire. Who's to know?

Let Us Pass Through The Looking Glass To Explore The Theory of Inconsistent Meanings With The Master

The master of these linguistic debates was Lewis Carroll, whose Alice had an exchange with Humpty Dumpty in Through The Looking Glass, Chapter 6, that explains the entire matter of ambiguous language — it leaves the interpretation to the person who created the confusion. It makes them, in the words of Humpty Dumpty, “the Master.”

[quote]”...There's glory for you!”

“I don't know what you mean by ‘glory,'” Alice said.

Humpty Dumpty smiled contemptuously. “Of course you don't — till I tell you. I meant ‘there's a nice knock-down argument for you!"'

“But ‘glory’ doesn't mean ‘a nice knock-down argument,’” Alice objected.

“When I use a word,” Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, “it means just what I choose it to mean — neither more nor less.”

“The question is,” said Alice, “whether you can make words mean so many different things.”

“The question is,” said Humpty Dumpty, “which is to be master — that's all.”

Image
admin
Site Admin
 
Posts: 36119
Joined: Thu Aug 01, 2013 5:21 am

PreviousNext

Return to Carry On with Carreon

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 9 guests