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 » Thu Oct 03, 2013 6:42 am


1:51 pm, May 22, 2005

Back in the 15th Century the Pope was the President of the Western World, and the Vatican was the Capitol. He didn't need anyone's vote to adopt his version of the Patriot Act. It's one scaaaary document, empowering “Henry Kramer and James Sprenger, Professors of Theology, of the Order of Friars Preachers,” to do absolutely any damn thing they wanted throughout all the Pope's realm, “imprisoning, mulcting (imposing fines), and punishing” any persons they chose to charge with witchcraft.

Like the Bush Gang, the Vatican Gangsters had to invent terrors big enough to spook the populace out of their wits, so witches were the terrorists of those days. Their terrorist practices were disgusting. According to Pope “Innocent,” these anti-God medieval sickos “abandoned themselves to devils, incubi and succubi, and by their incantations, spells, conjurations, and other accursed charms and crafts, enormities and horrid offences, have slain infants yet in the mother's womb....”

Stopping at nothing in their war on God's people, witches targeted natural resources and the backbone of the medieval economy. They attacked livestock and crops by “blast[ing] the produce of the earth, the grapes of the vine, the fruits of the trees, nay, men and women, beasts of burthen, herd-beasts, as well as animals of other kinds, vineyards, orchards, meadows, pasture-land, corn, wheat, and all other cereals; these wretches furthermore afflict and torment men and women, beasts of burthen, herd-beasts, as well as animals of other kinds, with terrible and piteous pains and sore diseases, both internal and external.” And apparently, their aphrodisiacs weren't as good as Viagra, since these medieval bio-terrorists could “hinder men from performing the sexual act and women from conceiving, whence husbands cannot know their wives nor wives receive their husbands.”

The stakes were high, and the Pope had to hit back hard — it wouldn't take much crop blasting, or more than one prolonged bout of impotence among the working class, to knock the medieval economy from its knees to a state of complete prostration! Harsh measures were required. Enter the Inquisitors. They're comin' to your town soon, to ask a few questions, like — Was that you out there by the airport taking pictures? Why do you need all these books, Mr. Carreon? Do you know your babysitter is a Muslim? And somehow, they seem to know all the answers and just want to hear yours. Oh, c'mon now, don't get all nervous. I'm just kidding. Bush would never authorize anything like that.



Innocent, Bishop, Servant of the servants of God, for an eternal remembrance.

DESIRING with the most heartfelt anxiety, even as Our Apostleship requires, that the Catholic faith should especially in this Our day increase and flourish everywhere, and that all heretical depravity should be driven far from the frontiers and bournes of the Faithful, We very gladly proclaim and even restate those particular means and methods whereby Our pious desire may obtain its wished effect, since when all errors are uprooted by Our diligent avocation as by the hoe of a provident husbandman, a zeal for, and the regular observance of, Our holy Faith will be all the more strongly impressed upon the hearts of the faithful. It has indeed lately come to Our ears, not without afflicting Us with bitter sorrow, that in some parts of Northern Germany, as well as in the provinces, townships, territories, districts, and dioceses of Mainz, Cologne, Tréves, Salzburg, and Bremen, many persons of both sexes, unmindful of their own salvation and straying from the Catholic Faith, have abandoned themselves to devils, incubi and succubi, and by their incantations, spells, conjurations, and other accursed charms and crafts, enormities and horrid offences, have slain infants yet in the mother's womb, as also the offspring of cattle, have blasted the produce of the earth, the grapes of the vine, the fruits of the trees, nay, men and women, beasts of burthen, herd-beasts, as well as animals of other kinds, vineyards, orchards, meadows, pasture-land, corn, wheat, and all other cereals; these wretches furthermore afflict and torment men and women, beasts of burthen, herd-beasts, as well as animals of other kinds, with terrible and piteous pains and sore diseases, both internal and external; they hinder men from performing the sexual act and women from conceiving, whence husbands cannot know their wives nor wives receive their husbands; over and above this, they blasphemously renounce that Faith which is theirs by the Sacrament of Baptism, and at the instigation of the Enemy of Mankind they do not shrink from committing and perpetrating the foulest abominations and filthiest excesses to the deadly peril of their own souls, whereby they outrage the Divine Majesty and are a cause of scandal and danger to very many. And although Our dear sons Henry Kramer and James Sprenger, Professors of Theology, of the Order of Friars Preachers, have been by Letters Apostolic delegated as Inquisitors of these heretical pravities, and still are Inquisitors, the first in the aforesaid parts of Northern Germany, wherein are included those aforesaid townships, districts, dioceses, and other specified localities, and the second in certain territories which lie along the borders of the Rhine, nevertheless not a few clerics and lay folk of those countries, seeking too curiously to know more than concerns them, since in the aforesaid delegatory letters there is no express and specific mention by name of these provinces, townships, dioceses, and districts, and further since the two delegates themselves and the abominations they are to encounter are not designated in detailed and particular fashion, these persons are not ashamed to contend with the most unblushing effrontery that these enormities are not practised in these provinces, and consequently the aforesaid Inquisitors have no legal right to exercise their powers of inquisition in the provinces, townships, dioceses, districts, and territories, which have been rehearsed, and that the Inquisitors may not proceed to punish, imprison, and penalize criminals convicted of the heinous offences and many wickednesses which have been set forth. Accordingly in the aforesaid provinces, townships, dioceses, and districts, the abominations and enormities in question remain unpunished not without open danger to the souls of many and peril of eternal damnation.

Wherefore We, as is Our duty, being wholly desirous of removing all hindrances and obstacles by which the good work of the Inquisitorsmay be let and tarded, (i.e., delayed) as also of applying potent remedies to prevent the disease of heresy and other turpitudes diffusing their poison to the destruction of many innocent souls, since Our zeal for the Faith especially incites us, lest that the provinces, townships, dioceses, districts, and territories of Germany, which We had specified, be deprived of the benefits of the Holy Office thereto assigned, by the tenor of these presents in virtue of Our Apostolic authority We decree and enjoin that the aforesaid Inquisitors be empowered to proceed to the just correction, imprisonment, and punishment of any persons, without let or hindrance, in every way as if the provinces, townships, dioceses, districts, territories, yea, even the persons and their crimes in this kind were named and particularly designated in Our letters. Moreover, for greater surety We extend these letters deputing this authority to cover all the aforesaid provinces, townships, dioceses, districts, territories, persons, and crimes newly rehearsed, and We grant permission to the aforesaid Inquisitors, to one separately or to both, as also to Our dear son John Gremper, priest of the diocese of Constance, Master of Arts, their notary, or to any other public notary, who shall be by them, or by one of them, temporarily delegated to those provinces, townships, dioceses, districts, and aforesaid territories, to proceed, according to the regulations of the Inquisition, against any persons of whatsoever rank and high estate, correcting, mulcting, imprisoning, punishing, as their crimes merit, those whom they have found guilty, the penalty being adapted to the offence. Moreover, they shall enjoy a full and perfect faculty of expounding and preaching the word of God to the faithful, so often as opportunity may offer and it may seem good to them, in each and every parish church of the said provinces, and they shall freely and lawfully perform any rites or execute any business which may appear advisable in the aforesaid cases. By Our supreme authority We grant them anew full and complete faculties.

At the same time by Letters Apostolic We require Our venerable Brother, the Bishop of Strasburg (Albrecht von Bayern, 1478-1506 - ed.), that he himself shall announce, or by some other or others cause to be announced, the burthen if Our Bull, which he shall solemnly publish when and so often as he deems it necessary, or when he shall be requested so to do by the Inquisitors or by one of them. Nor shall he suffer them in disobedience to the tenor of these presents to be molested or hindered by any authority whatsoever, but he shall threaten all who endeavour to hinder or harass the Inquisitors, all who oppose them, all rebels, of whatsoever rank, estate, position, pre-eminence, dignity, or any condition they may be, or whatsoever privilege or exemption they may claim, with excommunication, suspension, interdict, and yet more terrible penalties, censures, and punishment, as may seem good to him, and that without any right of appeal, and if he will he may by Our authority aggravate and renew these penalties as often as he list, calling in, if so please him, the help of the secular arm.

Non obstantibus . . . Let no man therefore . . . But if any dare to do so, which God forbid, let him know that upon him will fall the wrath of Almighty God, and of the Blessed Apostles Peter and Paul.

Given at Rome, at S. Peter's, on the 9 December of the Year of the Incarnation of Our Lord one thousand four hundred and eighty-four, in the first year of Our Pontificate.
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Re: Charles Carreon, The Arizona Kid

Postby admin » Thu Oct 03, 2013 6:44 am


4:51 pm, May 22, 2005

Joe Chip has a problem. He went to the moon with his boss, and got killed in a terrorist bomb attack. Or his boss was killed. He’s not sure, but either way, it’s a problem. It’s 1992 in a world a little different from ours. It’s still earth, and earth is still populated by people. But there are lots of psychics on the planet now, and the moon is colonized.

If Joe himself is dead, he must be in cold-pack in a Swiss half-life “moratorium,” where dead people can spend their half-life in a dreamlike space, and occasionally visit with relatives through a sort of psychic intercom. It’s a common thing to have relatives in cold-pack, and Joe’s boss, Glen Runciter, still meets to discuss business matters with his lovely dead wife Ella, who half-lives in the exclusive Beloved Brethren Moratorium, a Swiss facility that is supposed to be among the best. Ella Runciter died in her twenties, but Glen Runciter thinks so highly of her that he has never considered remarrying, despite his wealth.

Runciter Associates is a psychic security company, and Joe Chip is Glen Runciter’s top man. Although Joe was always broke, his life wasn’t entirely crazy until he met his new girlfriend, Pat Conley. Everything went crazy shortly after Joe introduced Pat to Runciter. Although both Joe and G.G. Ashwood, a renowned psychic talent scout, agreed that Pat had a powerful psychic talent, Runciter questioned whether he should even hire Pat, because he usually hired “inertials,” who block the psychic talents of “precogs” and “teeps” hired by Runciter’s nemesis, the Hollis organization of criminal psychics. But Pat wasn’t a psi-blocker. She displayed a new type of talent, the ability to change the future, not just foresee it. She could send people on alternative reality trips, to places a lot like the present, but with important differences.

Runciter had always refused to take jobs on the moon because of the security risks inherent in being away from earth, far from help. However, ever the businessman, he broke his rule to pick up a big contract job working for Stanton Mick, a plum client Runciter was eager to sign up for a very fat fee. Stanton Mick had told Runciter he needed immediate, massive assistance to block the efforts of a band of psychic spies who were invading the privacy of his lunar planned community. But shortly after Runciter and his inertials arrived, Mick came to meet Runciter in a conference room. Mick acted and talked strangely in a metallic voice in a grandstanding manner, setting everyone on edge. Slowly, it dawned on Runciter and Joe Chip that this wasn’t Mick; rather, it was an android made in his image. Alas, they didn’t figure this out until the android floated off the floor to gain destructive altitude, and an instant later, detonated.

Immediately after discovering that the blast had apparently killed Runciter, Joe Chip assumed control of Runciter Associates. He chartered a rocket and flew the survivors to Switzerland with Runciter’s body, where they booked him into the Beloved Brethren Moratorium, and tried to set up a half-life session. But Runciter wouldn’t revive into half-life, and Joe experienced the pain of losing his father figure.

After Runciter’s death Joe struggles to run the company, but he has some impediments. Like Philip K. Dick, Joe Chip finds himself habitually broke, and regularly abused by the his coin-op apartment door, which won’t let him out without depositing a poscred, and makes nasty remarks when he loses his temper. Sometimes he has to call friends to come by and visit, and pay to get in. Then he can borrow money from them to get himself out. But these problems are small, because one by one Joe’s friends are dying, turning into mummified ragbags of bone and hair. This horrific transformation occurs within a few hours after each individual quietly separates themselves from the group, seeking solitude and stillness.

Not only are Joe’s friends turning into mummies, all mechanical objects, except his apartment front door, are regressing to older models and falling apart. His TV turns into an old tube radio. The elevator in his building regressed from a modern self-serve box to a tiny lift with an accordion steel grate, and seemed to silently suggest: “Take the stairs.” Joe’s car turns into an old car, and even as he negotiates to sell it, the car ages into an even older model of jalopy that is virtually worthless. When he goes to the airport, all he can find to fly is an old biplane.

Due to a series of messages from Runciter that mysteriously appear on bathroom walls and elsewhere, Joe Chip learns that he is probably dead and merely half-living in the Beloved Brethren Moratorium, where Ella Runciter is also in half-life. To reverse the decay of all forms, and prevent himself from turning into a mummy, Runciter tells Joe to get UBIK in the aerosol can. Unfortunately, every time Joe is close to getting a can of aerosol-spray UBIK, he finds only old-fashioned, regressed versions of UBIK that contain toxic ingredients, or in one case, a substantial quantity of pure gold suspended in mineral oil. Fortunately, this last form of UBIK is worth a lot of money in the half-life realm, and Joe is able to trade it for a plane flight for Demoines, Iowa, where Runciter’s funeral is happening. Joe is still not sure that he is dead, so he of course wants to attend Runciter’s funeral.

After Runciter’s funeral, one by one, Joe’s friends just keep disappearing, hiding themselves from their friends so they can turn into psychic tumbleweeds and blow away into the void. The only one who isn’t dying is Pat Conley, Joe’s strange girlfriend. She thinks she’s doing the whole weird trip with her powers, thinks she’s immune from the death that’s stalking him, and drenches Joe with passive-aggressive cruelty while observing Joe’s painful effort to just go to his room and die. But Joe makes it to his room, where Runciter is waiting for him with a can of UBIK aerosol:

“Opening a drawer on the vanity table, he hastily brought out a spray can with bright stripes, balloons and lettering glorifying its shiny surfaces. ‘Ubik,’ Runciter said, he shook the can mightily, then stood before Joe, aiming it at him. ‘Don’t thank me for this,’ he said, and sprayed prolongedly left and right; the air flickered and shimmered, as if bright particles of light had been released, as if the sun’s energy sparkled here in this worn-out elderly hotel room.”

Shortly after this rejuvenating Ubik experience, Joe meets his true antagonist – Jory, a malevolent psychic juvenile delinquent who haunts the moratorium’s half-life realm. Jory is a projective psychotic who generates deceptive “realities” that seduce half-life dwellers into unreal realms and consumes the dregs of their half-life vitality. Dick’s description of Jory’s psychic attack on Joe Chip is bluntly physical and eerily frightening:

“Snarling, Jory bit him. The great shovel teeth fastened deep into Joe’s right hand. They hung on as, meanwhile, Jory raised his head, lifting Joe’s hand with his jaw; Jory stared at him with unwinking eyes, snoring wetly as he tried to close his jaws. The teeth sank deeper and Joe felt the pain of it throughout him. He’s eating me, he realized. ‘You can’t,’ he said aloud; he hit Jory on the snout, punching again and again.”

Shortly after the Jory encounter, from which Joe barely escapes with his life, he sees a pretty girl going down the street, and in a desperate hope to have one last pleasant moment, he strikes up a conversation with her and asks her to dinner. You can almost see Phil Dick counting his Dexedrine pills, getting hungry for a burger after days of speeding and typing, and figuring out he’d better finish this story up quick, before he consumes the last of his inspiration. The story picks up pace immediately after the unexpected encounter with the girl, which leads to the hasty revelation that she is Runciter’s dead wife. Ella Runciter tells Joe that his friends have been killed by Jory, but that, good news – he’s been granted a perpetual supply of UBIK. She explains to him that an aerosol can of UBIK is actually “A portable negative ionizer, with a self-contained, high-voltage, low-amp unit powered by a peak-gain helium battery of 25kv. The negative ions are given a counter-clockwise spin by a radically biased acceleration chamber, which creates a centripital tendency to them so that they cohere rather than dissipate.” UBIK, at 212 (Vintage 1991).

Immortality in a spray can? What else would we expect from Phil Dick?
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Re: Charles Carreon, The Arizona Kid

Postby admin » Thu Oct 03, 2013 6:46 am


7:23 pm, May 22, 2005

My wife creates these images with Photoshop, and sometimes I consult on the composition. Cloning all the little Bushies was a perverse delight, especially since he hates cloning so much. Better suppress Photoshop on grounds of national security, because it aids forgery and counterfeiting! Gonzales, get on it!

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Re: Charles Carreon, The Arizona Kid

Postby admin » Thu Oct 03, 2013 6:51 am

THOSE WERE THE DAYS, by Charles Carreon

7:06 pm, May 29, 2005

Once upon a time there was this thing called acid rock, the pre-eminent practioners of which were not the Grateful Dead, but rather the spare, efficient power trio, Cream. For those of you looking for authorities to guide your search, Timothy Leary liked Cream, I'm quite sure, though I can't find a quote, so you can take it on faith or miss the show. For your baptism by fire in the fine work of this eminently gifted band, click through to the website and listen to the tunes on the double album Wheels of Fire. One of my favorite tunes, Those Were The Days, is also attached in mp3 format at the bottom of this post for easy access.

Personnel on this exercise in deafening virtuosity were Eric Clapton, Jack Bruce, and Ginger Baker. These folks played so fast by the standards of those days, that rumor had it they sometimes consumed crystal meth, but I don’t think so.

Baker, the drummer, had an early career as a competitive bicyclist, and backed into drumming as a way to channel his endless tendency to bang rhythmically on everything in sight. His first audition was also his first time sitting at a drum kit, and the band, which hadn’t wanted to audition him at all originally, replaced their old drummer with Baker after one listen.

Jack Bruce, a bass player whose exploits are legend, made sure this band always walked with a strut, and never limped along with a lame beat, so several songs give vastly more scope to the rock bass than your average boogie riff. Aspiring bassists, take heed.

Clapton, for my money, has never rocked this hard before or since. I loved him on Derek and the Dominoes, but nothing, repeat nothing, compares with the sizzling licks he jams into Crossroads, bringing out the dark spirits to ferry one more guitarist to play for their lord. And we all got to watch and listen. Those, indeed, were the days.

Here’s a quick rundown of a few of my favorite tracks, though it hardly matters how you approach them – the album is a solid masterpiece, and genius has a way of making its own points:

White Room – Just as magnificently confused and visually highlighted as the look of the world about an hour after the listener consumes a hit of Orange Sunshine, this song casts its spell with exquisite, entrancing lyrics — “Silver horses ran down moonbeams in her dark eyes,” alternating with disconcerting rhymes like “Golden tigers crouched in jungles in her dark eyes,” sharing obscure, half-formed sorrows — “you swore that you would be there at the station,” and leaving the listener with nostalgia for an unknowable, unrecapturable world, glimpsed once, and lost forever.

Sitting On Top of the World – Constructed from gleaming, twisted blue scales reflecting in the twisted mirrors of self-pity, this song of repentance takes a few sad lyrics and hangs them from the gallows to blow in the wind, a reminder that love will take its toll if we fail to take its measure.

Passing the Time – Introducing itself stupendously with blasts of bass and rhythm guitar resonant as a huge cathedral bell tolling the hour of doom, this song first segues into a contemplative canticle gentle as candlelight, then kicks into a rhythmic bridge as pumped up as a subway car rattling through station after station, a process that continues until Baker takes us all the way home in a drum solo that just fades away, bringing us back once more to Windwood’s soft melodic lullaby, which puts us sweetly to bed. What a way to pass the time – try it and you’ll see what we hippies were so hipped about.

Pressed Rat and Warthog – Is this song, many have asked themselves, Mere Nonsense, doggerel, the product of hash brownies and an aimless wander through the stacks of odd nomenclature? Perhaps, but meaning isn’t everything. By the end of this musical vignette, we truly feel for Pressed Rat and his partner Warthog, and are absolutely certain that the world will be the poorer for the lack of their admittedly idiosyncratic wares: “atonal apples and amplified heat, and Pressed Rat’s collection of dog’s legs and feet.” Musically, the song reminds me of a rock fugue, with guitar, drum, and bass weaving counterpoint themes, occasionally punctuated by a stately, respectful trumpet.

Politician – Lugubrious, luxurious, unctuous, and crass, the lyrics in this song are unabashedly male – “Baby, get into my big black car, Just wanna show ya’ what my politics are.” Bruce’s bass rhythm wanders like a fat man trying to choose between chocolates, cheesecake, power, and sex. Clapton's guitar expresses a confusion of emotions, wandering in the privileged jungle of temptation, a magnificent web of tones stretching and bending each other into sweeter and sweeter distortion, until the song thunders to a conclusion with Baker escorting the motorcade along like a whole squad of Harley-riding cops, vanishing into the clefts of the skyscraper-scarred horizon.

Those Were The Days – If you like majestic songs, you’ll like this one, which opens with the ringing of stately bells. (Click on the mp3 below to have a listen.) Windwood tunes his voice to a soft, reflective timbre to sing an anthem glorifying the golden days of Atlantis, firmly backed by Baker working the tom-toms and his double-bass bass drums gently, softly, perhaps to avoid waking the spirits who might hear. Clapton’s guitar marks rhythm with sharp blasts that break into an occasional tight solo to ornament the dark rhythmic figures cast by Bruce and Baker, setting them off with accents of ancient gold.

Crossroads – Ah if only boogie could be like this all the time. Clapton doesn’t really need a lot of help as he renders a great guitarist’s homage to this blues classic by Robert Johnson. Legend has it that if a bluesman goes alone to the crossroads with his guitar on a moonless night, he’ll meet the devil, and the devil will take his soul in exchange for the magic power to master the instrument. This song seems to express a corollary belief that the only way to come out right on the deal is to play so fucking fast that even the hellhound is left in the dust, howling “unfair!”

Spoonful – Willie Dixon rests easy in his grave when he hears this tune. With Bruce and Clapton thumbing the fat strings, the opening bars stomp towards us like a hoodlum, only to reveal a beautiful lyric like a diamond necklace offered to his girl: “Night spilled spoonful of diamonds, Night spilled spoonful of gold, Just a little touch of your precious love, Will satisfy my soul.” The jamming on this song is quite extended, but you know, joints were rolled fatter, and burned longer, back in those days.

Click here to download Those Were The Days.mp3.
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Re: Charles Carreon, The Arizona Kid

Postby admin » Thu Oct 03, 2013 6:53 am

OH, FOR A NIXON TO LEAD US NOW!, by Charles Carreon

2:13 pm, July 1, 2005

Nixon was a sneaky bastard, a sweaty, hard-drinking, suspicious, hands-on reputation-ruining former prosecutor who looked somehow right in a bulbous black Cadillac getting a pelting of rotten guavas in downtown Caracas. They said he wore too much makeup on TV, and his grizzled jowls became the target of a George Carlin punch line in which a jowl-print, taken from a moist plaster wall at the Watergate, becomes the smoking gun that points suspicion to the Oval Office.

But Nixon also coined the terms, “Peace With Honor,” and more pragmatic terms like “Phased Withdrawal,” and “Troop Reductions.” He ended the war in Vietnam, albeit while conducting secret wars in Laos, Cambodia, Burma and other heroin-producing nations in Asia's Golden Triangle.

Eventually, the last GI was out of a defoliated, napalmed, booby-trapped jungle filled with whores, drug dealers, phony South Vietnamese officials, and dotted with spots of urban night life where some of the girls spoke French. Eventually, the roof of the US Embassy was used to airlift out the lucky few who managed to get safe passage out of Saigon as it fell to the North Vietnamese, who had been accumulating forces for the final offensive for months. It was an ignominous end to a dishonest enterprise, that left friends of the Americans in Saigon to shift for themselves in a holocaust of revenge. Peace with honor, indeed.

The current leader of the free world, a man who slanders with a smile and a shake of his cocky little head, who stands straight and tall as a wooden soldier, isn't the same type of knave as Nixon, who had plans, who manipulated and machinated relentlessly, who tactically governed events by the force of his stratagems.

The secret problem Nixon had with winding down the war was how to revert the economy to a peacetime condition. “War is Good Business, Invest Your Son,” was a slogan often seen in Nixon's day. The young, being drafted to fight a war against people they'd never heard of in geography class, accused greedy capitalists of funding imperial aggression for profit. But the economic challenges of those times were so severe that Nixon actually imposed Wage and Price Controls for about two years, to combat “spiraling inflation.”

By spending about $200 Billion on war industry and spending hundreds more injecting funds in the Dept of Homeland Security and the Transportation Safety Administration, we have created a wartime economy in which even Wired magazine gives tips on how to land venture capital from the CIA, and the Dept of Education pays people to plug the No Child Left Behind Act on the radio. It is a new way of doing business, and has shifted federal funding from Blue States to Red States with a vengeance. The security buildup along the Mexican border is inflating border states like Arizona, Texas and Southern California with military and security personnel, construction and funding.

The rationale for all this spending was the deaths of over 3,000 people when two large skyscrapers collapsed for what some say are unexplained reasons. We have been throwing money at “security” and “terrorism” ever since, and that money has blown away like the $170 Million that the FBI paid SAIC to build a computer network that just got junked. Airline security is just inconvenient for travelers, but it's an engine of the economy and another sink of low wage employment for those who aspire to flip more than burgers, and are ready to step up to rifling through luggage for sex toys.

There's an old song called “Give Me 40 Acres, And I'll Turn This Rig Around,” about driving big trucks. Well, we're driving about twenty thousand big trucks in the desert, plus humvees and such, and if Nixon was president, every day some of them would be driving to the beach, gettin' loaded on cargo ships, and sailing home to the land of the free. Oh, for a Nixon to lead us now!
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Re: Charles Carreon, The Arizona Kid

Postby admin » Thu Oct 03, 2013 6:53 am


10:56 pm, July 11, 2005

Sitting outside the Ashland Community Food Store a couple of days ago, my friend Joe told me an interesting story. Joe said his Dad was Native American and lived on an Indian reservation, a tribe called the Tihwas in California. He was an alcohol counselor, and advised all the Tihwas not to drink. He was also an alcoholic, and tippled all the time. He had little stashes of whiskey and chocolate everywhere. When he died, at eighty, the Tihwas who came to his funeral filled up the coffin with little whiskey bottles and miniature Hershey bars.
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Re: Charles Carreon, The Arizona Kid

Postby admin » Thu Oct 03, 2013 6:55 am


5:20 pm, July 12, 2005

Well, there's one thing suspicious about this Valerie Plame imbroglio — Karl Rove “remained mum yesterday” according to the Wall Street Journal's 7/11/05 article entitled Democrats Step Up Attacks on Rove After Time Email. With Rove not talking, the fat is definitively in the fire as of now.


The amplified Democratic attacks suggest that the White House and Mr. Rove will face turbulence in the days ahead whatever the outcome of Mr. Fitzgerald's criminal probe. Under a 1982 law, it is illegal to knowingly expose an active-duty CIA covert agent, and federal prosecutors have been investigating. It isn't clear whether or not Ms. Plame was an active-duty CIA operative at the time her identity was reported in Mr. Novak's column and in Time magazine.

Deflecting attention from Rove's impending emergence in the role of post-9/11 Benedict Arnold, all the self-serving media handwringing is about how the Supreme Court turned its back on ”freedom of the press."


That discomfort continues to ripple through the news media as well. One journalist who reported but didn't write a story on the matter, Judith Miller of the New York Times, has gone to jail rather than disclose her sources, while Time magazine and Mr. Cooper ultimately decided to cooperate. Facing a federal judge's deadline to testify, Time turned over Mr. Cooper's notes. The reporter himself then agreed to testify after saying his source had released him to do so. Mr. Luskin has said Mr. Rove was the source in question.

Time Inc. Editor in Chief Norman Pearlstine sought to assuage dissatisfaction about the magazine's actions at Time's Washington bureau yesterday. A roomful of editors and reporters expressed anger and concern for two hours, according to people who attended the meeting.

Mr. Pearlstine told the staff that he had made an error in emphasizing that Time was ”not above the law,“ and thus had turned over Mr. Cooper's notes to the grand jury, a person at the meeting said. Mr. Pearlstine explained that under a different set of circumstances, the magazine might not have complied with the court order but that the circumstances in this case warranted that approach, the person said. Jim Kelly, managing editor of Time magazine, also was at the meeting and confirmed the account.

Having coughed up the emails, rather than pay a per-day contempt fine, Pearlstein is now backpedalling from his original act of contrition. ”Not above the law“ was wrong. Okay, thanks for letting us know you have no sense of citizenship. The media is a kingdom apart, the place where opinions are made, free from scrutiny.

This purported freedom of the press is simply the right to feed people garbage, even criminal garbage — information that the public insists it has no right to know — the identity of a Secret CIA Agent Specializing in Weapons of Mass Destruction. Exposure of Valerie Plame resulted in execution of many of her sources, according to sources you can find easily on the Net. This freedom to keep sources secret, even when the source is the propaganda minister, on an official propaganda errand, is bunk. Freedom of the press is the right to print any goddamn thing you want, not the freedom to destroy a woman's career, bring death and torture to her sources, and conceal the identity of a criminal wrongdoer. Obviously, the fact that Rove is the criminal complicates the matter. Will they appoint a Special Prosecutor?

How do we cut this gordian knot? Simple. Change a variable and solve the problem using that variable. Assume that Rove disclosed the information not to a reporter but directly to an agent of a foreign nation, say Pakistan. Say Rove called Musharraf directly and told him, ”Just so you know, my friend, Ms. Plame is with The Company." Now that would be a crime, and Musharraf couldn't claim the right to keep the identity secret if he were served with a Grand Jury Subpoena signed by Alberto Gonzales while in Washington D.C. So why should telling it to a reporter, who will then tell not only Musharraf, but also the entire gang of nuclear proliferators, make any difference?

Rove has earned himself a place in the Hall of Infamy. But don't wait on his pal Al to figure it out. He's already there.
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Re: Charles Carreon, The Arizona Kid

Postby admin » Thu Oct 03, 2013 6:56 am


7:54 pm, July 21, 2005


Summary: After a confrontation with a knife-wielding teenager in Ashland, Oregon failed to result in a citizen shooting, a group of disgruntled police officers in the small department began complaining that the teenager should have been “drilled,” but that because of Police Chief Mike Bianca's policies, they were unable to shoot the apparently intoxicated boy. In a reversal of the usual scenario, the townspeople of Ashland have rallied around their Chief of Police, who was an Ashland Police officer for years before getting the top-cop spot in the postcard-perfect town famous for its Shakespeare festival and low crime rate.

Usually, cops rally behind a beleaguered Chief of Police when citizens come calling for his head. In the town of Ashland, Oregon, known for its Shakespeare Festival, park-like atmosphere and low crime rate, a different type of drama is unfolding.

After the confrontation with the young man Last month was defused, Chief Mike Bianca, who was appointed Chief last year after years as a patrol officer on the Ashland Police Department, found himself accused by his own officers of being too soft, and limiting their use of deadly force to the point where it endangered officer safety. Ashland Patrol Officer Teresa Selby, a diminutive blonde, commented to the local press that, but for the nearby presence of bystanders, she would have “drilled” the uncooperative young man.

Selby's comments, and those of two other Ashland police officers who claimed Chief Bianca's tactics put them in danger, struck a nerve in this sedate town, where the streets are lined with souvenir, bead and jewelry shops, and average incomes and home values far exceed the Oregon norm. Last week, a rally in support of Chief Bianca drew hundreds, and today, the Mayor of Ashland came out in the Chief's favor.

Local sources say that the complaining officers are now thinking better of their actions. “They started something and now they can't finish it. They'll be lucky to get out with their jobs.” said a local political observer who preferred to remain anonymous.

Meanwhile, Ashland activists supporting Chief Bianca have announced another rally for July 29th at 3 p.m. at the entrance to Lithia Park, promising to march to City Hall and the police station on a campaign to “Clean up the Ashland Police Department.” The activists, adopting an appropriately theatrical touch for a town full of actors and artists, plan to march with brooms and other cleaning implements, are circulating flyers throughout the little town and anticipate a large turnout.

Despite the humorous approach, at least some Bianca supporters say they're deadly serious about removing the cops who mounted the mutiny. Charles Carreon, a former Deputy District Attorney in Jackson County who worked with the Ashland Police Department during his years as a prosecutor, supports Bianca and is helping to organize the march. When asked why he planned to march, he stated: “Mike is the best Police Chief this City ever had. He understands his community and they appreciate him. It looks like these other cops chose the wrong guy to pick on.”
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Re: Charles Carreon, The Arizona Kid

Postby admin » Thu Oct 03, 2013 6:58 am


9:47 pm, July 22, 2005

Emerson said, “Things are in the saddle, and ride mankind.” Never truer that when you have a computer riding herd on your heart. Pacemakers, also known as implanted defibrillators, have until now presumably been dangerous only in the vicinity of those ubiquitous hotdog-heaters and popcorn-poppers known as microwave ovens. Who would have suspected that the very same microwave could broadcast a TV signal, ruin a meal, or kill a retiree, depending on how you aimed it?

Well, revolt of the machines it may not be, but these Guidant pacemakers apparently on occasion get all cranked up and pace you right into the grave, or do other funny things. The origin of the defect — crappy sealer that lets moisture into the computer. Wish you'd told me that before you stuck it in my chest, Doc.

Here's what the NYT says:

July 19, 2005
Pacemakers by Guidant Have Flaw

The Guidant Corporation, already embroiled in controversy over recalls of heart devices, alerted doctors yesterday that nine of its older pacemaker models were prone to failing. Some patients might need to have the units replaced, the company said.

The alert covers 28,000 pacemakers made from November 1997 to October 2000 and still implanted in patients. Guidant said that a component used to seal the pacemakers could degrade, allowing moisture to build up and causing the devices to fail. Such failure could cause “serious health complications” in some patients, the company said. The flaw may have contributed to one patient's death, though that is not clear.

The pacemaker alert follows Guidant's recalls in recent weeks of tens of thousands of implantable heart defibrillators. Guidant's long delays in notifying doctors about problems with some of those devices have thrown a spotlight on the issue of when and how device makers alert physicians and patients to product flaws. It has also raised questions about how the Food and Drug Administration discloses safety data it collects about medical devices.

Late yesterday, Senator Charles E. Grassley, Republican of Iowa and chairman of the Senate Finance Committee, signaled his interest in reviewing issues surrounding the recent Guidant recalls.

In a letter to the F.D.A. commissioner, Dr. Lester M. Crawford, Mr. Grassley requested that the agency provide him with five years of annual reports filed by Guidant for the defibrillators and pacemakers that were the subject of recent company alerts or recalls. The Senate Finance Committee has previously investigated the agency's handling of several drugs, including Vioxx.

In his letter, Senator Grassley also asked agency officials to explain why they did not routinely make public such reports, which are filed annually by heart device makers for each defibrillator and pacemaker they make. An article last month in The New York Times highlighted how those annual reports contain far more detailed product-safety and performance data about heart devices than companies routinely provide to doctors. However, the F.D.A. treats the reports as confidential.

In its alert yesterday, Guidant said that doctors should consider replacing the affected pacemakers in patients who depend on the device for survival or to prevent serious health consequences. That category roughly ranges from 20 percent to 40 percent of pacemaker patients, two doctors said.

Because of their age, most of the pacemakers at issue will need to be replaced soon anyway, since their batteries are nearly drained. The company said that it would pay for the replacements.

While both pacemakers and defibrillators are implanted under the skin, they serve different purposes. A pacemaker regulates a heart that is beating too fast or too slowly. A defibrillator emits an electrical shock intended to interrupt a chaotic and deadly type of heart rhythm.

Guidant's recent spate of recalls, including the one announced yesterday, is likely to play a role in discussions of second-quarter earnings results due this week from both Guidant and Johnson & Johnson, which agreed in December to buy Guidant for $25.4 billion.

Today, Wall Street analysts are expected to ask Johnson & Johnson executives, when they discuss the company's earnings, if Guidant's recent problems might affect the timing or price of Johnson & Johnson's planned acquisition.

Asked for comment yesterday, a spokesman for Johnson & Johnson, which is based in New Brunswick, N.J., referred to a statement made in mid-June in which the company said it would close the Guidant deal this quarter, though it added that it viewed Guidant's product problems as “serious matters.”

The deal is valued at $76 a share to Guidant holders. But in recent weeks, the value of Guidant's stock has fluctuated sharply as investors have speculated on whether the deal's price will be revised. Yesterday, Guidant shares fell $2.10 to close at $67.31 a share, down 3 percent.

On Thursday, Guidant is set to announce second-quarter results. Those results will provide the first look at whether the company has suffered financial damage as a result of its recent recalls.

Analysts are split about how the steady beat of bad news from Guidant will affect its market share in the long term.

Guidant has been under scrutiny since late May when it was disclosed that the company failed to notify doctors for three years that an electrical defect in one defibrillator model could cause it to short-circuit when needed to save a patient's life. The company continued to sell units with the potential electrical flaw even after it began producing improved versions of the same model in which the problem had been fixed.

The F.D.A. is investigating how Guidant handled reviews of its products' dangers. Since late May, the company has issued alerts or recalled 11 models of defibrillators.

Yesterday, an F.D.A. spokeswoman said the agency was aware that Guidant had issued the pacemaker alert to doctors and that it was evaluating the matter. Guidant said it expected the F.D.A. to designate the alert as a recall, a formal classification that involves the type of physician notification that Guidant is already making.

A recall does not mean that a device should be removed. Instead, patients are typically advised to discuss with their doctors the risk posed by a device compared with the risk posed by the surgical procedure needed to replace it.

Several doctors said yesterday that they would probably recommend that pacemaker-dependent patients have the units replaced.

“To me, that is the conservative move,” said Dr. Eric N. Prystowsky, a heart specialist in Indianapolis who is also a medical adviser to Guidant. Nine older pacemaker models are involved. They are the Pulsar Max, the Pulsar, the Discovery, the Meridian, the Pulsar Max II, the Discovery II, the Virtus Plus II, the Intellis II and the Contak TR. The company said that the units, which are of an earlier design, have not been implanted for the last four years.

Guidant said it had identified 69 devices that may have had the seal problem, out of some 78,000 devices in which that component was used. Currently, about 28,000 of those units are still implanted in patients, with 18,000 of them in the United States.

In 20 known cases, the problem caused pacemakers to fail, and in 5 such instances, patients blacked out, apparently because of inadequate blood flow. In two other instances, the flaw may have caused a pacemaker to keep pacing at a high rate.

In one such case, that flaw may have contributed to a patient's death. However, because the unit was not returned to Guidant for inspection, the company said it was not clear if the death was related to the device or to the patient's health problems.

Copyright 2005 The New York Times Company
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Re: Charles Carreon, The Arizona Kid

Postby admin » Thu Oct 03, 2013 7:00 am


10:33 pm, July 22, 2005

That's the good news for Cyrus Kar, “an aspiring filmmaker from Los Angeles ... freed Sunday in Baghdad ... after more than seven weeks in solitary confinement in a military prison in Iraq.” The bad news, though, “American officials told him [was] that his United States passport had been destroyed in the course of an effort to test its authenticity ... and ... he might have to wait a week before a new one could be issued.”

Kar, who was born in Iran, is a naturalized US citizen and former US Navy man who went to Iraq to shoot a film about his famous Persian namesake, Cyrus the Great. Unfortunately, he and his cameraman were in a cab that was stopped at a checkpoint, and in the trunk of which were found 35 washing machine timers, and, needless to say, no other washing machine parts. Obviously the timers were destined for use to trigger delayed detonation of improvised explosive devices. In Iraq, when your clothes are dry, everybody hears about it.

Wrong place, wrong time to make a movie. Kar spent his seven weeks in a 5-by-7 foot cell, down the hall from two famous captives: Tariq Aziz, Saddam's former main man, and one of Saddam's brothers. But for the efforts of his family, who are smart and well-connected (see San Jose Mercury article below), he'd still be there.

The military claims Kar has been released, but I'm sure he'll be withholding judgment until he is back in his own home, drinking a cold brew. War makes fools of everyone.

In Iraq war, justice for the savvy, not all.
By Scott Herhold
Mercury News

It took serendipity for Cyrus Kar's sister to learn that the aspiring filmmaker was being held in Iraq by American forces. But it was no accident when he was released. That took a push on the levers of power.

A week after the 44-year-old San Jose State University graduate was booked into a detention camp near Baghdad, a Red Cross worker called Kar's sister, Anna, who happened to work for the Red Cross in Nairobi, Kenya.

The colleague told Anna that he had just seen her brother in Iraq. ``I said, `Oh, great, what a coincidence that you met him over there,'' Anna Kar told the New York Times.

The colleague straightened her out. He hadn't just bumped into Kar, a Navy veteran who had gone to Iraq to film a documentary. The Red Cross worker had visited Kar officially at Camp Cropper, an American military jail.

That news — and a call from Kar himself to his aunt in Los Angeles the same day — launched the family on a six-week quest to free the filmmaker from the suspicions of American military authorities.

They succeeded last weekend, when Kar and his cameraman were released. But his saga reveals two truths about our Iraq misadventure.

Bureaucratic war

First, we have more to fear from bureaucracy than from outright cruelty by American forces. Second, justice in the war on terror often depends on who is the most savvy.

``The lesson here is he had a family who knew what do to and they called us to get involved,'' said Mark Rosenbaum, the executive director of the ACLU Southern California Chapter, which filed suit to free Kar. ``He was very fortunate.''

Born in Tehran but raised in Washington state, Kar got a degree in marketing at San Jose State while moonlighting as a bartender. For much of the '90s, he worked in the valley's electronics industry.

After the collapse of the boom, he moved to Los Angeles and pursued a long-cherished project: a film on Cyrus the Great, an early Persian ruler known for his progressiveness.

``His goal of making the documentary was his full-time job,'' said his cousin Shahrzad Folger in a court declaration.

That passion led Kar this May to Iraq, where he hoped to film archeological sites at Babylon, an ancient city that Cyrus conquered in 538 BC. On his first day in Iraq, May 17, Kar and his cameraman climbed into the wrong taxi. It was stopped by Iraqi authorities, who found several washing machine timers in the trunk. The timers are commonly used in bombs.

FBI investigation

Kar and his cameraman protested that they knew nothing about the timers, that they were merely passengers. To no avail. They were both put in jail. And the FBI launched an investigation of the filmmaker, searching his Los Angeles apartment and seizing his personal computer.

His family knew nothing of this until a week later, when Kar called his aunt and the Red Cross worker called Nairobi. In some ways, the real story is how they responded.

Kar's cousin Folger, a University of Southern California graduate, took control of the effort. She called Sen. Barbara Boxer's office and the Navy. She called the State Department. She even tried a New York number for the U.S. Embassy in Iraq. All without much result.

An FBI investigator assured the family in mid-June that Kar had been cleared, passing a lie detector test. But when he still wasn't released, Folger contacted the ACLU.

And it was through a habeas corpus lawsuit — literally, produce the body — that the case got attention. When the story ran on the front page of the New York Times last week, you had the sense that the family had touched the real levers of power. Kar was released not long afterward.

Kar told reporters that although he nothing against U.S. forces, he had been treated as a ``mushroom'' — thrown into a dark spot, fed garbage, forgotten by the bureaucracy. His family knew enough to call the right people. But what about folks who aren't as savvy?
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